Chapter 10: The Crotch of the Pants Grows Cold
Cheng Zhao pressed his hands over his eyes, peeking through his fingers with large gaps. He marveled, “This Ning Ger… why is he so different from all the other Gers? He’s actually wading into the water to catch fish himself!”
As he spoke, he nudged Yu Yuan beside him. “Have you ever seen a Ger wade into water to catch fish?”
Yu Yuan ignored him entirely, remaining expressionless like a wooden post.
Cheng Zhao continued, “I heard that Ning Ger was ill not long ago, almost lost his life after falling into an icy hole. How could someone with such a fragile body even go into the water?”
Jiang Changxin’s gaze lingered on Ye Ning by the river. Doubts flickered in his mind. Having lived a full life, he had heard in the past about Ye Ning, said to be the most strikingly beautiful Ger in Qingtian Village—no other Ger could compare. Even with Jiang Changxin’s restored intellect and worldly experience, no one in all of Great Liang could match Ye Ning’s appearance.
Yet in Jiang Changxin’s memory, Ye Ning was still just a Ger. Like other Gers, delicate, proper, staying within the household, raised to be a good match for a husband and to teach and guide children.
Because of Ning Ger’s beauty, the Ye family naturally sought a well-off household in Qingtian Village as a match—namely, the Zhou family.
The Ye family also knew that the Jiang family came from a scholarly lineage. The old master had once served as an official and had worldly experience. Yet the Ye family never tried to aim so high as to court the Jiang family and instead focused on the wealthy pig-raising Zhou family.
In the past life, Ning Ger had married into the Zhou family. In this life, however… the scandal over Ye Ning breaking off the engagement with the Zhou family had spread far and wide. Jiang Changxin, not foolish, had naturally heard about it.
Everything was proceeding as it should, entirely under Jiang Changxin’s control, except for Ye Ning—he was an exception, unique in every way…
Ye Ning grabbed a large, fat fish with swift, decisive movements, waded to shore, and tossed it into a bamboo basket he had prepared beforehand. He seemed to sense something, raising his head sharply and turning precisely toward the direction of the Jiang estate walls.
Jiang Changxin, trained in martial arts, had secretly practiced his skills after his rebirth. With little to occupy him at the estate, he spent time training and reading, developing a naturally alert temperament.
The moment Ye Ning looked up, he hunched his shoulders and leapt down from the wall, avoiding Ye Ning’s gaze.
Cheng Zhao reacted too slowly and was almost spotted. Yu Yuan grabbed him by the collar and pulled him down. The sudden weightlessness caused Cheng Zhao to instinctively open his mouth to shout, but Yu Yuan had anticipated it and covered his mouth with one hand, preventing even the smallest sound.
The three landed safely below the wall. After a moment, Zhang Zhiyuan’s excited voice rang from outside, along with the receding footsteps of two others—they were probably heading back to the noodle stall.
Cheng Zhao cautiously climbed back onto the wall. The noodle stall was not far from the riverbank, and the high wall offered an unobstructed view, providing a perfectly clear vantage point.
“They’ve gone back,” he whispered.
“They seem to be killing the fish…”
“Third Young Master Zhang really is a scholar with no strength, oh… the fish got away.”
“Now they’re chopping vegetables.”
“Mixing the dough… looks like they’re preparing a meal.”
Cheng Zhao watched and reported everything in minute detail. Yu Yuan let it go in one ear and out the other, while Jiang Changxin calmly lifted his tea cup and sipped, seemingly accustomed to Cheng Zhao’s chatter.
Ye Ning returned to the noodle stall carrying the bamboo basket and began sorting the fish. Small fish and shrimp would be used for stock, while the large fat fish would be roasted, each with its own flavor.
His movements were decisive and efficient as he began to prepare the fish. Standing beside him, Zhang Zhiyuan enthusiastically offered, “I couldn’t help with catching the fish earlier… perhaps I can help you now…”
Before Zhang Zhiyuan could even finish speaking, catching his breath, Ye Ning had already started preparing the fish. Blood flowed from the fish, and a strong fishy smell hit Zhang Zhiyuan’s nose. He stumbled back three steps, taking cover at the doorway. “Ye Ning, be careful! Don’t… don’t hurt your hands…”
Ye Ning: “…..”
Ye Ning said nothing, merely cast a calm glance at Zhang Zhiyuan and continued his work. He cleaned the fish’s innards carefully, paying particular attention not to break the bitter gall bladder, for that would taint the fish meat with a bitter flavor and ruin its natural taste.
Zhang Zhiyuan realized his earlier reaction had been over the top. A Ger could handle preparing fish, yet here he was, a grown man, hiding so far away—it was ridiculous. Clearing his throat, he asked, “Cough… cough… Ye Ning, is there… anything I can help you with?”
Ye Ning was still arranging the fish. He had only intended to have his cousin stand aside and not interfere, but seeing Zhang Zhiyuan’s eager expression, he couldn’t bring himself to dampen his enthusiasm. After all, his cousin was warm-hearted and not a bad person.
“Could you wash the bamboo shoots and mushrooms for the noodles?”
Zhang Zhiyuan nodded vigorously and rolled up his sleeves. “Don’t worry. I help out at home all the time. Washing and cutting vegetables is easy for me. I’ll wash them and cut them up for you once I’m done.”
Ye Ning nodded. “Thank you, cousin.”
“No problem, no problem,” Zhang Zhiyuan replied. He was not some scholarly scholar who avoided manual work, and his household didn’t have the luxury to be above it. He washed the vegetables with practiced efficiency until they were spotless, placed the bamboo shoots and mushrooms on the cutting board, and drew his knife to start chopping.
Bang!
Thud… thud, thud.
Clang, clang… clang!
Ye Ning glanced up and couldn’t help but frown slightly. Zhang Zhiyuan wasn’t just chopping vegetables—he seemed to have some deep-seated grudge against the bamboo shoots and mushrooms. Gripping the knife’s wooden handle tightly, he brought all his strength down with each slice. It wasn’t so much cutting as it was smashing—the pieces were irregular, some large, some small, oddly shaped.
Still, it could pass as chopped. Ye Ning sighed helplessly.
“Ye Ning,” Zhang Zhiyuan asked with curiosity, “what are you planning to make?”
Since it was just a noodle stall, cooking tools were limited, and so was the food that could be prepared. Ye Ning intended to make noodles for the first time and replied, “Pian’er Chuan.”
“Pian’er… Chuan?” Zhang Zhiyuan looked confused.
In Great Liang, Pian’er Chuan was not known, but in Ye Ning’s memory, in the world before it had changed, before the apocalypse, Pian’er Chuan was a famous noodle dish from Hangzhou. He had tasted it once—the soup was rich, the noodles silky, simple but refined. Just thinking about it made his mouth water. Many times, when he was hungry and enduring hunger, he had imagined a steaming bowl of this dish, thinking of how blissful it would be.
Now, transplanted into Qingtian Village, even with all the family complications and nearly being married off to a pig farmer, Ye Ning was fortunate enough to have the conditions to cook himself a steaming bowl of Pian’er Chuan.
A small smile tugged at Ye Ning’s lips. When speaking of food, his usually cool expression softened like a gentle spring breeze, warm and soothing.
Pian’er Chuan relied on bamboo shoots, pickled vegetables, and pork to flavor the broth. Its original name was Pian’er Cun, gradually pronounced Pian’er Chuan over time.
Ye Ning had the bamboo shoots and pickled vegetables, but pork was currently unaffordable. So he decided to adapt the dish, using small fish and shrimp to create the broth. The river-fresh seafood added sweetness and richness—though it lacked the depth of pork, it was still flavorful enough.
While the broth simmered, Ye Ning began kneading the dough. The pale, soft dough, under his slender, nimble hands, seemed almost magical, becoming smooth, elastic, and round. During the resting period, he tidied up the vegetable chunks Zhang Zhiyuan had roughly chopped, making them more uniform and presentable.
Under the intense midday sun, layers of steam rose and drifted with the summer breeze, carrying the rich aroma of the broth.
It was noon, and several villagers were returning from the fields, carrying hoes on their shoulders, ready for lunch. After filling their stomachs, they would return to work in the fields in the afternoon.
The noodle stall was to the north, out of the villagers’ usual route, yet the strong aroma wafted through the air. It smelled faintly of river-fresh seafood but richer, more layered, teasing their hungry senses.
“Smells amazing! What is that?”
“Look, the noodles are steaming. Could it be the Jiang family cooking?”
“No, wait! Look! It’s Ye Ning’s noodle stall!”
The villagers crossed the small wooden bridge together and stopped in front of the stall. They didn’t come inside, standing at a respectful distance while craning their necks to watch.
“Wasn’t Ye Ning’s noodle stall closed already?”
“Ah! Isn’t this Ning Ger, the one recently broken off by the Zhou family? And now a Ger is running a noodle stall?”
Ye Ning heard their teasing but ignored it, focusing on cooking the noodles. The villagers, growing bored of being ignored, tried harder to get his attention. “Ning Ger, how much for a bowl of noodles?”
Ye Ning finally spoke: “Two copper coins a bowl.”
“What?! Two coins?!” the villagers shouted. “I could buy a whole basket of fish and shrimp for that!”
“Exactly! That’s way too expensive. Who’d want to eat your noodles?”
Although the broth was delicious, the villagers were unwilling to spend two coins. Still, that didn’t stop them from standing nearby to watch. At this moment, they weren’t in a hurry to go home to eat; they were captivated, staring at Ye Ning as if just looking at his tall frame, delicate waist, and fair, smooth face could fill their stomachs.
“Don’t tell me…” one villager laughed. “No wonder a bowl of noodles costs so much! Look at that tender little hand—kneading dough like that, if it were on any other young man, he’d be a godly cook!”
Zhang Zhiyuan stepped in front of Ye Ning’s stall, stopping them from gawking too much. “Do you have any shame, critiquing a Ger like this?”
The villagers were shameless. “Open for business, what’s wrong with looking? If you don’t want people to see, close the stall! Why bother opening it at all?”
“You guys…” Zhang Zhiyuan was trained in proper scholarship and logic, yet these twisted arguments made him red with frustration.
Ye Ning stopped Zhang Zhiyuan with a quiet gesture, saying nothing. He walked to the cutting board and placed a few bamboo shoots on it. With a swift motion, he pulled a knife from the rack.
His gaze was calm as he focused on the bamboo shoots. Knife in hand, he moved with incredible speed and precision—dodo-do-do-do. In an instant, the bamboo shoots were sliced into thin, even pieces. Each slice was delicate, almost translucent under the harsh sunlight, thinner than a cicada’s wing, glowing like paper in the sun.
Bang!
Ye Ning twisted his wrist, letting the knife’s tip hit the cutting board with a cold, crisp sound, and he calmly fixed his gaze on the villagers.
“Whoa…” The villagers shivered, an inexplicable chill running down their spines. The motion was terrifying—this was no ordinary slicing of bamboo shoots; it was… something else entirely.
Cheng Zhao, perched on the wall and spying, couldn’t help but draw in a sharp breath, so scared that his usual nonstop commentary fell silent.
Jiang Changxin raised an eyebrow. “Why have you gone silent?”
Surprisingly, it was the usually silent Yu Yuan who murmured appreciatively: “What knife skills.”
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