24 Assorted Fried Rice

"Dr. Hang, thank you for coming to my rescue. Otherwise, there is no telling how long that woman would have kept up her unreasonable pestering." Wen Zhongxia sat down opposite Hang Yao with a relieved smile.

"It was just a small favor. Besides, if a student is mischievous and dishonest, it is only because I, as their teacher, have failed to instruct them properly."

Hang Yao watched the woman's composed expression across the table. He had just picked up his chopsticks, but set them back down, stating solemnly, "I apologize. I did not intend to conceal my identity earlier; I simply did not think it was necessary to mention it."

"I know. Actually, you didn't really conceal it, because I never asked."

Wen Zhongxia was quite surprised at first, but she quickly came to understand. She had made a premature assumption that anyone teaching at the Imperial Academy or the Directorate of Education would be a venerable scholar of at least forty or fifty years old, like the elderly Dr. Sun.

She had never imagined that the young man before her, who looked to be only in his twenties, was actually a doctor.

Stereotypes are truly misleading.

"So, you are not angry?"

"You helped me; why would I be angry?" Wen Zhongxia was merely searching her memory, wondering if she had said anything offensive to him while chatting idly with those students.

At most, she had echoed a few remarks about "Dr. Hang being so strict," and once teased the appearance of the top-ranking scholar. Seeing him in person now, she had to admit, the title was well-deserved.

Hang Yao finally felt at ease. He spoke in one breath: "My surname is Hang, given name Yao, courtesy name Chuchen. I am a native of the Eastern Capital, twenty-two years old, and I teach the classics and poetry at the Imperial Academy."

At these words, Wen Zhongxia was stunned. Even the two students nearby, who had been eavesdropping, widened their eyes. When had they ever seen Dr. Hang look so eager?

Seeing her dazed, Hang Yao felt his face heat up. He cleared his throat, glanced sideways, and put on a stern expression: "Are you two finished? Why haven't you gone to class yet?"

"Yes, sir!"

The two students scrambled to pack up and leave, whispering to each other about why Dr. Hang seemed to have two different faces.

Wen Zhongxia smiled brightly: "It seems they were right; you really are quite serious when you are in the lecture hall."

"I am only a few years older than them. If I am not strict, I cannot keep them in check," Hang Yao explained.

Wen Zhongxia nodded in understanding. "Eat your noodles quickly, or they will turn into a lump."

The noodle soup was still steaming. Hang Yao stirred the bottom twice, finally revealing the thin, white noodles.

"I didn't know if you preferred wide noodles or thin ones, so I took the liberty of choosing the thin."

"Thin noodles are perfect."

The noodles were smooth and chewy, and the soup base was enriched with two spoonfuls of braised meat gravy, coating the strands with a savory, flavorful layer. He picked up two pieces of braised intestine, placed them atop the noodles, rolled them up, and popped them into his mouth—they were tender and bouncy.

The bowl was filled with a generous amount of braised pork offal, allowing him to enjoy a bit of meat with every bite. He felt immensely satisfied. He held his chopsticks in one hand and a spoon in the other, eating with great elegance and barely making a sound.

Wen Zhongxia was quite impressed. If she encountered a delicious bowl of noodles, she would certainly be unable to control the slurping sounds. As she watched him, she said softly, "My surname is Wen, given name Zhongxia."

Hang Yao looked up abruptly, his eyes full of surprise. So her given name was Zhongxia.

Wen Zhongxia smiled. "Since you have introduced yourself, I should return the courtesy."

"In the summer of Jiangnan, the rain falls like a river. Loquat fruits hang like golden pellets, and the sweet banana blossoms reveal white lilies," Hang Yao recited instinctively.

"As expected of a teacher of poetry; the verses just roll off your tongue."

Hang Yao replied, "That is a masterpiece by the Tang Dynasty poet Fan Xun. I am merely borrowing flowers to offer to the Buddha."

"Doctor, Doctor! My name is Wen Mengdong. Is there a poem with my name in it?" Wen Mengdong suddenly leaned in, looking at him with eager eyes.

Hang Yao paused, searching his memory, and said, "There is. One goes like this: 'The cold air arrives in the first month of winter, the north wind is so bitter and sharp...'"

"Sister," Wen Mengdong pouted, "why does my name have to be followed by the word 'bitter'?"

Hang Yao: "..."

Wen Zhongxia laughed until she was slumped over the table.

...

"Cock-a-doodle-doo..."

It was unclear which neighbor kept the rooster that insisted on being the first to announce the time for the sun every day; its high-pitched cry traveled far.

Today, Wen Zhongxia and her family did not need to run their stall, but they still rose early with the rooster's call, as they were going to the Lu residence to prepare a banquet.

Actually, Mother Yang’s birthday was the day after tomorrow, but since today was a holiday for the Imperial Academy, she had decided to hold the banquet two days early so she could celebrate with her eldest grandson.

Since they didn't need to man the stall, Wen Zhongxia didn't have to prepare the flatbreads or wrap wontons early. There was still leftover rice from the night before, so she decided to make mixed fried rice for breakfast.

In addition to eggs, she diced shiitake mushrooms and cured meat, and pre-boiled green peas and corn.

With a sizzle, the eggs changed color in the hot pan. Before they were fully set, she poured in the leftover rice, ensuring every grain was evenly coated with egg. When the vegetables were added, the pan was instantly filled with a vibrant array of colors.

Fried rice was incredibly versatile; the ingredients often depended on what was available at home. Stir-fried over high heat in hot oil, it rarely turned out poorly.

"The mixed fried rice is ready!"

Xu Xiu took the white porcelain basin filled with fried rice and carried it to the main room. The rice was individual grains, glistening with oil and coated in golden egg. The red of the cured meat, the brown of the mushrooms, the green of the peas, and the bright yellow of the corn made for a beautiful, colorful sight.

As the three of them were eating, someone knocked on the door. Wen Zhongxia ran to open it, finding Lu Tianchuan standing there, with a servant waiting in a carriage.

Dressed in casual clothes, Lu Tianchuan smiled. "Mistress Wen, I am here to pick you up to take you to our home."

"How could we trouble you? It’s not far; we can go ourselves."

"We have a carriage at home; how could I let you walk?"

Wen Zhongxia invited them in. "Please sit for a moment. We didn't expect you so early, and we haven't finished packing."

The servant stayed with the carriage. Lu Tianchuan walked inside, saying, "My grandmother asked us to come early because she wants to invite you to have breakfast with us."

"That’s a pity; we are already eating."

"Big brother, hello!" Wen Mengdong came out holding his rice bowl.

Lu Tianchuan immediately noticed the colorful fried rice in his bowl, his eyes unable to look away.

"Young Master, why don't you have some fried rice with us?" Xu Xiu offered warmly.

Lu Tianchuan swallowed hard. "Thank you, but I’ll just eat when I get back."

"Don't be so polite," Wen Zhongxia said, already having brought out an extra pair of bowls and chopsticks. "There is still half a basin left; it's enough."

Only then did Lu Tianchuan sit down beside Dong'er with a blushing face, and Wen Zhongxia served him a full bowl.

The fried rice was perfectly cooked—not too soft, not too hard—blending the freshness of the mushrooms with the salty aroma of the cured meat. Occasionally, biting into a pea or a kernel of corn added a hint of sweetness.

Lu Tianchuan had been feeling a bit embarrassed, but with such delicious food, that feeling quickly vanished.

Wen Zhongxia served a portion to the servant outside as well. The servant was pleasantly surprised and bowed repeatedly to thank her. After inspecting the fried rice and taking a bite, he finally understood why his young master was always visiting that small food stall.

After breakfast, Wen Zhongxia and Xu Xiu quickly tidied up. The eight braised ducks, which had been set to soak overnight, were now perfectly flavored. They were neatly arranged in a clean bamboo basket—a dish previously ordered by Mistress Huang. She also made sure to bring a large jar of her homemade spicy sauce, which would be very useful for the banquet.

"It's a good thing I brought the carriage, or it would have been quite tiring for you to carry all this." Lu Tianchuan took the basket to the carriage; it was indeed quite heavy.

The group boarded the carriage and headed toward the Lu residence.

Last time, she had only seen Mother Yang, but this time she finally met the master of the house, Lu Bo. Unlike the landlord Wen Zhongxia had imagined, he possessed a scholarly air. His son seemed more merchant-like, so it seemed Lu Tianchuan took after his grandfather more than his father.

The three of them offered their greetings.

Mother Yang was in high spirits today. Upon hearing they had already eaten breakfast at home, she insisted it shouldn't have been so.

Wen Zhongxia smiled and said, "Madam, you are too kind. The three of us just had a bite to eat; the most important thing today is to prepare the banquet for you."

Mother Yang beamed. "Come, I will lead you to the kitchen."

Mistress Huang followed closely behind. "Mother, you should rest today; let me handle the arrangements."

"No, I cannot sit still."

Upon entering the kitchen, Wen Zhongxia exclaimed inwardly. The abundance of fresh ingredients was surprising, especially considering this wasn't even a major event.