In Mozhu City…

A Daoist strolled leisurely down the street, followed by a young girl in tricolored clothing and a handsome youth dressed in black and white. Both carried strings of fish in their hands, drawing the attention of passersby.

The two, however, had very different demeanors.

The little girl was brimming with pride, clutching her grass ropes tightly, her head held high, and her expression serious. She walked with a bold and imposing air, like a small general returning victorious from battle.

The youth, on the other hand, was the complete opposite. Shrinking his neck and avoiding eye contact, he skulked along with his back to the wall, visibly uncomfortable under the gaze of so many onlookers.

The little girl frequently turned to glare at him, her eyes accusing him of sticking too close to the wall and failing to properly show off their haul to the townsfolk.

The group made their way to the city’s vegetable market, where they set up a stall to sell the fish in exchange for money.

Keeping two fish for themselves, they carried the rest of their earnings back to the inn.

The innkeeper was still sitting at the entrance, looking conflicted. The moment he saw Song You return, he raised his head and fixed his gaze on him.

“You’re back, sir?“

“Yes,” Song You replied with a smile, handing over one of the fish. “I caught a few while the ice hasn’t fully melted and saved one for you.”

“How could I possibly accept this?“

“I’ll still need to borrow your kitchen, after all.”

“If you need to use it, just let me know—there’s no need for this!” The innkeeper cupped his hands behind his back, refusing to take the fish.

And indeed, that was the arrangement.

When Song You first checked in, they had agreed he could use the kitchen as long as he paid for the oil, salt, soy sauce, vinegar, and firewood he used. However, over the past few days, Song You had frequently shared his dishes with the innkeeper and his wife.

The flavors were so exquisite that the couple often felt even the meals of the county or prefectural magistrate couldn’t compare. For them, as mere innkeepers, to enjoy such delicacies was an unexpected luxury and blessing. As a result, they stopped charging him altogether.

Whenever they cooked a good meal, they always sent some to Song You.

Though the innkeeper was somewhat profit-driven, he was a kind-hearted man at his core. This could be seen from the time he helped reprimand the seemingly deceitful youth at the entrance of the teahouse.

“Please don’t refuse, sir.”

“

Sigh…

”

The innkeeper heaved a sigh and finally accepted the fish.

Even as the three figures headed upstairs, the innkeeper turned to watch them, his face still full of conflicted emotions.

That evening, the river fish was sliced thin, heavily seasoned, and cooked to perfection. It was served in a bowl with chili peppers and spices spread on top. A ladle of hot oil was poured over it with a sizzle, instantly releasing an irresistible fragrance. Yet again, he had created a dish that was an extraordinary delicacy for the era.

Song You often felt a sense of disorientation during moments like this, as though he had traveled through time. He also thought to himself that living like this in such times wasn’t so bad after all.

Lady Calico, as usual, observed the process with great concentration.

However, their time in this small Zhaozhou town was visibly drawing to a close.

By now, it was late spring. Yet spring always arrived late in the north.

As the Daoist had predicted, after that day, the weather turned bright and sunny for seven or eight consecutive days. Temperatures rose rapidly, the ice and snow melted, and by mid-February, the river ice was completely gone, and there was little snow left on the official roads.

Taking advantage of the clear weather, Song You washed all his clothes, as well as the woolen mats, blankets, and thin quilts. He even cleaned his bags and pouches, drying everything using the innkeeper’s space.

Lady Calico, meanwhile, enlisted her loyal helper, the swallow youth, to catch more small fish by the river, which they dried into fish jerky.

With their luggage packed and the fish jerky stored, they were ready to move on.

He then settled the bill, bringing the luggage and key downstairs. The innkeeper once again stood before Song You, his face still marked with hesitation.

He wanted to discuss paying for the secret recipe for the braised meat, but he worried that Song You might set a high price. Even if he were to make an offer himself, he would still struggle over how much to propose, not to mention he was reluctant to spend the money.

After spending this time together, they had grown familiar with each other. He thought about shamelessly asking if Song You could teach him the recipe without bringing up money, but perhaps because of that familiarity, he couldn’t quite bring himself to be so brazen.

The innkeeper hurried over to take Song You’s belongings, asking attentively, “Are you leaving, sir?“

“Yes, I’m leaving. Thank you for everything during my stay,” Song You replied. “The room has been cleaned, and everything is as it was—nothing is missing. Would you like to go up and take a look?“

“I trust you completely, sir.”

“It’s still better to check.”

“There’s hardly anything to check—it’s fine.”

“Then please take the key.”

“Alright...”

The innkeeper accepted the key from Song You, looking up at him as though he wanted to say something but stopped short.

How could Song You not know what was on his mind?

Seeing the innkeeper’s expression, he chuckled. After a moment’s thought, he turned his head and pointed to a round winnowing basket nearby, asking curiously, “What’s that?“

“Oh, that? It’s dried mushrooms, a local specialty here. I think they’re called honey fungus. My younger brother sent them over last year. We didn’t finish them over the winter, and they got a bit damp, so I’m drying them out in this nice weather,” the innkeeper explained, his thoughts jumbled in his anxiety over Song You’s imminent departure.

With thoughts preoccupying his mind, his brain couldn't keep up. He simply answered whatever was asked, responding eagerly and attentively.

“I remember during the Shangyuan Festival[1], you made chicken stew and sent us a bowl. Inside, there was...”

“Yes, that was this mushroom here,” the innkeeper quickly replied. “But back then, I used the soaked version—this is the dried one.” He paused, realizing what Song You might be implying. “Sir, don’t underestimate these mushrooms. They don’t look like much, but they’re delicious! If you like, I’ll pack some up for you to take along. If they get damp on the way, just dry them out in the sun on a clear day.”

“How could I possibly accept that?“

“But we accepted your fish, didn’t we?“

“Since I really liked that chicken stew with mushrooms—and my cat also enjoyed it very much—I’ll shamelessly accept it...” Song You said with a smile, pausing for a moment. “But just the honey fungus alone might not be enough. I noticed you have chickens in the backyard. I wonder if we could buy one?“

“...”

The innkeeper’s eyes flickered as he felt conflicted.

Times were tough in the north, and the chickens in the inn were old hens, a bit too precious to part with. But then, remembering the taste of the braised meat…

“...!” The innkeeper gritted his teeth and said, “Why talk about money? I'll catch one for you right away, sir! But it won't be easy to keep it alive while carrying it, so it’s best to slaughter it quickly and enjoy the meat!”

“Is that alright?“

“Please don’t refuse, sir.”

“Then I’ll accept your kindness.”

Song You stood still, waiting.

The innkeeper might be a bit stingy, but he was genuinely offering to give Song You the chicken. Without further hesitation, he turned and walked toward the back.

A moment later, the sounds of chickens clucking and dogs barking filled the air. Not long after, the innkeeper returned, holding a chicken by the legs, tied with twine, and handed it to Song You.

“Thank you, sir.”

“Sir...”

“What’s the matter? Is there something else?“

“I… I wonder if...” The innkeeper’s gaze was still shifting, his expression filled with uncertainty.

“Why the hesitation?“ Song You asked with a smile, reaching into his robe and pulling out a piece of paper. “Is this what you were looking for?“

“This...”

The innkeeper stood there in a daze, reaching out to take it. It was an ordinary piece of paper, folded up. Upon opening it, he saw it was filled with writing.

It was none other than the recipe for the braising sauce.

There were no long, verbose explanations, nor any overly scholarly language. It was written in a style perfectly suited for someone with limited education. At a glance, one could immediately see the care and detail put into it.

Each ingredient, its precise quantity, the key techniques and precautions, the method for preserving and reusing the braising liquid, and the types of meat best suited for it—all were described clearly and concisely in the simplest language.

“This recipe uses quite a few spices. Fortunately, it doesn't include exorbitantly expensive items like ambergris or dipterocarps. While the ingredients aren't cheap, if you sell to wealthy patrons, you might still turn a considerable profit.”

“This...”

The innkeeper stared blankly at the Daoist.

“Thank you for the honey fungi and the plump chicken, and thank you for taking care of me these past two months,” the Daoist said with a gentle smile. “This recipe might be worth something, but the least valuable thing I could do with it is keep it tucked away and bring it back to the Daoist temple with me.

“You don’t need to say much; if you can spread it far and wide, so it reaches all corners of the land, then you’d be doing me a great favor. In the future, I won’t have to make it myself when I want to enjoy it.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“Farewell.”

Song You had already placed the saddlebag on the horse’s back, secured the chicken, and bowed to the innkeeper before heading out.

The innkeeper still held the paper in his hands, looking down at it, occasionally glancing up at the few departing figures. He followed them to the door and stood there, watching them leave.

The jujube-red horse seemed almost sentient. It required neither reins to guide it nor any commands from the Daoist; it simply knew what to do on its own. The calico cat continued trotting alongside the Daoist with dainty steps, occasionally turning its head to glance back at the innkeeper. Its gaze was uncannily similar to that of the little girl.

“

Whoosh

...”

A swallow darted across the sky.

The innkeeper stood frozen in place, still holding the paper.

It was now February. Business at the teahouse next door had quieted down considerably compared to the New Year’s rush. While feasting on lavish meals was certainly satisfying, people eventually returned to the simplicity of plain congee for their daily sustenance.

The storyteller at the teahouse continued his tales of gods, immortals, demons, and ghosts, entertaining his listeners. The sound of his voice drifted into the innkeeper’s ears.

But as the innkeeper listened, a thought came to him—

During these past two months, the Daoist who had stayed at his inn went to the teahouse almost every day with his cat to listen to the stories. Yet whether it was the listeners at the neighboring tables or the storyteller on stage, none of them likely realized that a living, spell-casting Daoist and two demons had been sitting right beside them the whole time.

If he told this tale to the storyteller, or perhaps found someone to write it down, wouldn’t it be a tale just as extraordinary as the stories being told on stage?

Returning to his inn, he carefully examined the recipe once more.

After all, he was the owner of the only inn in Mozhu City. Whether or not he was wealthy was one thing, but his experience and judgment were certainly not lacking.

The spices listed on the paper were all ones he recognized—except for one called “chili pepper,” which was unfamiliar to him. Over the past couple of months, he had seen the gentleman use it, explaining that it came from a southern deity named Swallow Immortal.

It was said that many people in the south had already begun cultivating it, and some had even brought it north to sell, though it remained quite rare.

Finding a source for it became a troubling question for him.

That dilemma lingered until he went upstairs to tidy the gentleman's room. On the windowsill, he saw a small potted plant. It wasn’t tall, swaying gently in the breeze, with tiny red lantern-like fruits hanging from it, delightfully charming.

1. The Shangyuan Festival is a Chinese traditional festival celebrated on the fifteenth day of the first month in the lunisolar Chinese calendar, during the full moon. Usually falling in February or early March on the Gregorian calendar, it marks the final day of the traditional Chinese New Year celebrations. ☜