Chapter Nine: The Secret Lies in a Pot of Fresh Broth

A dish of pickled celery, a bowl of okra soup, and a large basin of rice—there wasn’t a trace of meat, not even the glimmer of oil. The elders in the courtyard were dumbfounded when they saw the food brought out.

The patriarch, holding his wine bowl, froze in place. “Is… is this all?”

“Yes, just this!” Wu Ning replied, as if it were only natural.

It had taken Wu Ning the whole afternoon to prepare even this much.

The old man’s breath caught in his chest. He thought to himself, All the care your Fourth and Fifth Uncles have shown you, and for what? He knew Wu Ning’s family struggled, but surely things weren’t this dire. To finally have a meal at Wu Jiulang’s table, and this was all they got?

“Wasn’t there supposed to be lamb ribs?” the Fifth Uncle asked, somewhat incredulous. He’d personally watched his wife bring them over; where had they gone?

“Lamb ribs?” Wu Ning smiled mysteriously, knowing everyone had misunderstood.

With a flourish, he lifted the lid off the rice basin. “The lamb ribs are right here!”

A collective gasp escaped the group as the fragrant steam billowed forth. “Remarkable!”

They’d expected nothing but plain rice beneath the lid. Who could have guessed—reds, yellows, whites, greens—all vibrant and artfully arranged.

The sauce had mingled in the basin, and as the lid was removed, the aroma of meat, sauce, and rice rushed out in a wave. Even the usually composed patriarch couldn’t help but lean forward to inhale the scent deeply.

“Delicious!”

“Ha! Truly wonderful!” Fourth Uncle laughed heartily and turned to the others. “Jiulang’s skills keep improving!”

He made a gesture. “Let Father have the first taste.”

Though Wu Changlu was eager to dig in, propriety demanded the elders be served first.

The old patriarch wasn’t shy—he was, in fact, quite impatient. He was just about to reach out with his chopsticks when—

“Wait,” Wu Ning stopped him.

The old man glared, annoyed. “What now?”

Wu Ning grinned apologetically. “That’s not the way to eat it.”

If you eat all the toppings, what about the rice underneath?

Without further explanation, he took a spatula and began mixing everything together in the basin. The aroma intensified, and though the presentation was less appealing, each grain of rice was now coated in glossy, red sauce, glistening alongside the lamb ribs and vegetables—utterly mouthwatering.

He served a bowl to each person and nodded to the patriarch to begin.

But now the old man was in no hurry. He ordered, “Balang, Jiulang, Shisanlang, to the table!”

“And Qiao’er, go eat at the stove.”

Right, Wu Ning thought wryly: the old man is nothing if not a stubborn traditionalist, favoring the boys over the girls.

According to custom, women weren’t permitted at the table. Even Fifth Aunt hadn’t come over.

There was nothing to be done. Wu Ning slipped a few extra pieces of lamb into Qiao’er’s bowl and brought it to her at the kitchen hearth.

By the time he returned, half the rice had vanished in the blink of an eye.

Was everyone really this ravenous?

Wu Ning grumbled inwardly: Country bumpkins, the lot of them!

He sat down and raised his own bowl. Then came the sound of furious shoveling—no one said a word; only the clatter of chopsticks and the rush of appetites filled the air.

In no time, Wu Ning’s bowl was picked clean, only a few bones remaining.

He hadn’t tasted this flavor in years.

“Delicious!” Wu Changlu exclaimed, filling his third bowl. “Absolutely delicious!”

The lightness of the radish, the richness of the lamb, the saucy rice—how could it be so good?

Now that he was nearly full, Wu Changlu finally remembered to try the soup.

He took a small sip and paused, puzzled.

This lamb rice had such strong flavors it was hard to notice subtle differences, but the okra soup—he knew exactly how it should taste, having had it countless times. Yet this bowl from Jiulang was different.

“What did you put in the soup, Jiulang?”

Wu Ning set down his bowl, delighted.

“Fourth Uncle, you’ve got a sharp tongue! It’s just a couple ladles of fresh stock.”

The secret was in the pork bone broth simmered beforehand.

Some might say, it’s just old stock—nothing special. In Tang Dynasty taverns, each kitchen had its own secret stock for flavor.

But this was different. Wu Ning called it “fresh stock” precisely because of its freshness.

Truth be told, what Wu Ning found hardest about life in the Tang wasn’t the hardship, but the blandness of even the best food. Cooking methods were simplistic, seasoning limited, and there was something missing from every dish—monosodium glutamate.

Perhaps some in later generations disliked MSG, but Wu Ning had grown up on it and found food lacking without that burst of umami.

This fresh stock served as a stand-in for MSG.

Technically, he shouldn’t have known these tricks, never having cooked in his previous life. But as luck would have it, he remembered something about MSG.

When Wu Ning was young, there was a rumor that MSG could cause cancer. His mother, alarmed, stopped using it altogether. But the family missed that savory flavor, so she devised her own way to enhance umami—making stock from pork bones, chicken, mushrooms, and kelp. The resulting broth was nearly as effective as store-bought MSG.

Wu Ning later learned that MSG is sodium glutamate, and that homemade stock could contain the same substance, especially with kelp. The effect and ingredients were essentially the same—redundant, really.

That rumor was soon debunked by scientists, and Wu Ning’s mother stopped bothering with the homemade stock, but he remembered the trick.

Now, even without kelp, his fresh stock still worked wonders, providing that essential sodium glutamate—MSG.

To the Tang people, unfamiliar with such flavors, it was a revelation.

If the expert Tang Yi had been present, he would have scolded Wu Ning for talking nonsense. It was true that kelp contained plenty of sodium glutamate, but without kelp, Wu Ning’s stock owed its umami to nucleotides—another component of modern bouillon.

Still, whatever the science, the broth did its job.

Wu Changlu, learning of the secret, asked Wu Ning for the recipe, planning to keep a pot of fresh stock at home. After all, who doesn’t want even a bowl of okra soup to taste extraordinary?

“Fourth Uncle, if this recruitment isn’t for war, what is it for?” Wu Ning asked, once everyone was nearly finished and the rice was almost gone. He was eager to steer the conversation toward his own concern but had to settle for idle chat, asking about Fourth Uncle’s month-long assignment.

Perhaps the patriarch was in a generous mood after such a satisfying meal, for he didn’t cut Wu Ning off but let him ask.

Fourth Uncle sipped his soup. “It’s not a small matter, but not enormous either. Orders have come down—some very important figures from the capital are coming to Fang Prefecture.”

Wu Changlu’s face grew grave. “Naturally, the Prefecture Army must provide a guard detail.”

Wu Ning was startled. If the Prefecture Army had to provide security, this was no ordinary visitor.

Such an important guest would travel from the capital with an imperial escort and be protected by local officials upon arrival. That still wasn’t enough—they needed the Prefecture Army too?

“Who could warrant such protection?” Wu Ning couldn’t help asking. “Is it some member of the imperial family?”

Wu Changlu let out a cold laugh. “You guessed correctly—it is indeed the imperial clan. And not just one, but three of them!”

“Three?” Wu Ning was stunned. “Who?”

“The Empress’s nephews—Wu Chengsi and Wu Sansi. And Princess Taiping!”

…