Even a Straight Man Has to Become a Fulang Chapter 11

Chapter 11: Hating Food Disease 

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Ye Ning used small fish and shrimp to extract a rich, flavorful broth, simmering it until the stock was dense and aromatic. The noodles were firm and uniform; after being lifted from the boiling water, they were quickly plunged into cold water. This alternating heat and cold preserved their chewiness, keeping them from becoming soft or mushy.

 

The pale noodles lay neatly in a large bowl, and Ye Ning ladled the steaming broth over them with a splash. The rich, savory liquid coated the noodles, infusing them with a subtle, briny flavor that never felt oily. Sunlight made the noodles glisten like crystal. Just from looking, one could tell that this bowl of Pian’er Chuan was extraordinary, a feast for both the eyes and the appetite.

 

The fresh taste of the river ingredients wafted gently on the summer breeze, and the watching villagers instinctively sniffed the air.

 

“It smells amazing…”

 

“Really smells good, proper and authentic.”

 

“How come I never knew that soup made from small fish and shrimp could taste this fresh? Compared to Ning Ger here, our wives at home couldn’t cook a proper meal to save their lives.”

 

“Don’t even get me started. My Fulang too—whenever I ask him to make noodles, it turns into a mushy mess. Just looking at it kills my appetite!”

 

The aroma drifted along the river and soon reached the walls of the Jiang residence. Cheng Zhao, perched atop the wall, was the first to catch the delicious scent. Though the smell hinted of river-fresh seafood, it wasn’t fishy at all; it was even more fragrant than meat stock. Instantly, his stomach churned and growled, and his mouth watered uncontrollably, his cravings fully awakened.

 

Cheng Zhao had once been a member of the imperial family, familiar with all manner of delicacies. Though he had fallen on hard times, hiding in the Jiang household, he was still from a wealthy, respectable family with no shortage of food. Yet here he was, driven to lustful hunger by a simple bowl of noodles. If anyone else heard him, they would think he had gone mad.

 

“Ah, no!” Cheng Zhao inhaled the aroma sharply, suddenly remembering something. He smacked his forehead, leapt down from the wall, grabbed a large fan, and sprang back up again, furiously waving it to try and blow the delicious smell away.

 

He muttered urgently, “No, no! Master cannot be exposed to such food aromas!”

 

Jiang Changxin furrowed his brow and instinctively lowered the clock cover, using his sleeve to shield his nose and mouth. Even the normally composed Yu Yuan moved quickly. Unable to find a fan, he hurriedly used his sleeve to fan the air, attempting to disperse the enticing scent.

 

Ordinarily, the aroma of Pian’er Chuan was so inviting that even someone who disliked noodles would be drawn in. But Jiang Changxin reacted as if facing a dire threat.

 

The reason was simple—Jiang Changxin suffered from a condition known as hating food disease.

 

In short, he had anorexia nervosa. The Jiang family always prepared their meals meticulously: steamed, poached, or lightly boiled, with an emphasis on simple, bland dishes. Even the meat they served—chicken without any fishiness, for example—was mild. Strongly flavored meats, like beef, lamb, or seafood, were strictly avoided. Jiang Changxin could neither eat nor even tolerate the smell of such foods.

 

Old Master Jiang, Master Jiang, and the matriarch had long been worried about his condition. Every time Master Jiang traveled for business, he would return with dozens of doctors to treat his son, yet none succeeded.

 

It was only because Jiang Changxin had secretly practiced martial arts that he survived. In ancient times, severe anorexia could be fatal, almost like a terminal illness.

 

The origin of this condition remained a mystery to everyone, including the family and even Cheng Zhao and Yu Yuan. Jiang Changxin carried a secret: he had been reborn.

 

In his previous life, Jiang Changxin had been simple-minded but had never suffered from anorexia. After rebirth, however, he suddenly could not taste food properly and could not eat, a direct consequence of his “second life.”

 

In his past life, after being restored to the palace, he quickly regained his status as a prince, was later appointed crown prince, and the eunuch faction weakened, leaving everything flourishing. His birth mother, Empress Cheng, had been killed by the eunuchs. The emperor appointed a new Empress Wang, who had no blood relation to Jiang Changxin but had been a close friend of Empress Cheng. She treated Jiang Changxin as her own son with complete devotion.

 

Jiang Changxin thought his hardships were finally over, but he did not realize…

 

The Jiang Changxin of those years, appearing foolish and dazed, was not suffering from a head injury, but from poisoning.

 

While Empress Cheng was alive, she had cared deeply for her close friend, Empress Wang, who was then still a concubine. When the little prince was born, Empress Cheng fell ill after childbirth. Empress Wang, pretending to be attentive, spent her days tending to Empress Cheng and the newborn.

 

Believing her to be warm-hearted, Empress Cheng had no idea that Empress Wang secretly envied her status and the fact that she had borne the prince. Empress Wang poisoned both her and the infant secretly.

Empress Cheng did not die of natural illness—she had been poisoned. The infant, Jiang Changxin, also ingested the lethal poison and narrowly survived. Only after Old Master Jiang removed him from the capital, and as the days passed and the toxin gradually weakened, did he finally recover consciousness.

 

In his previous life, Jiang Changxin had been unaware of Empress Wang’s treacherous heart. After returning to the palace, he still regarded her as a close friend of his mother and had no defenses against her. Secretly colluding with the eunuchs, Empress Wang repeated her trick, poisoning his meals. When the poison took effect, it was only then that Jiang Changxin discovered the culprit was Empress Wang herself.

 

Jiang Changxin slowly clenched his fists inside his sleeves, the veins on the back of his hands standing out sharply. His gaze grew colder, more intense. Perhaps because of memories from his past life—where he had almost died from Empress Wang’s carefully poisoned meals—this life’s Jiang Changxin now felt disgust and revulsion at the sight of food. Initially, he could not eat large portions of meat, but over time, his aversion had grown to the point that even the slightest whiff of a meal made him queasy.

 

He never revealed the truth about his rebirth to anyone, so others did not know why he suffered from such severe anorexia. The villagers of Qingtian Village thought perhaps that the young master of the Jiang household was simply too privileged, unused to ordinary life and its foods—a condition that only appeared in wealthy families, a kind of affected “rich person’s illness.”

 

Ye Ning poured the broth over the noodles and carefully added three smooth, pale eggs on top of the Pian’er Chuan, then handed the large bowl to Zhang Zhiyuan.

 

Zhang Zhiyuan was surprised. “Why… why three eggs? Three in a row—surely that’s too extravagant.”

 

Since arriving at the Ye household, Zhang Zhiyuan had never tasted a shred of meat from them. He knew his status as a guest and had been accustomed to poverty since childhood, so he never dared to hope for such things.

 

Ye Ning smiled faintly. “These three eggs are a blessing, wishing you, my cousin, success in three consecutive examinations.”

 

Zhang Zhiyuan froze for a moment, stunned.

 

Ye Ning continued, “Cousin, your character is noble, and your knowledge profound. Success in three successive tests will surely come naturally. I merely offer this as a good omen. Nothing extravagant.”

 

Finally, Zhang Zhiyuan smiled, a little shyly. The village was cramped, and few ever praised him for his scholarship. People often called him a poor, pedantic scholar better suited to the fields. Being praised by Ye Ning suddenly made him feel bashful.

 

“Not… not extravagant at all,” Zhang Zhiyuan said, holding the bowl carefully as if afraid to eat it.

 

Ye Ning urged, “Cousin, try it quickly. If it cools, it won’t taste as good.”

 

“Ah!” Zhang Zhiyuan nodded eagerly. Without even sitting down, he leaned over the wooden table, picked up a generous clump of noodles with his chopsticks, and slurped them into his mouth.

 

“Mm!” His eyes widened, shining with excitement. Suddenly, he froze, like a clam stuck mid-shell. The watching villagers thought he had choked and held their breath.

 

After a moment, Zhang Zhiyuan swallowed and raised his thumb. “Delicious! Fragrant! Absolutely fragrant! I never knew small fish and shrimp could create such a rich, flavorful broth! And… and the layers of taste in this soup—far more complex than mere river fish, not one bit monotonous or fishy.”

 

Ye Ning smiled. “In addition to the fish and shrimp, I also added preserved vegetables and bamboo shoots, which naturally enrich the flavor compared to just plain river fish.”

 

“No wonder, no wonder.” Zhang Zhiyuan nodded repeatedly, then immediately buried himself in eating, his mouth occupied by the springy, tender noodles, unable to speak further.

 

The villagers exchanged glances. They had only intended to watch the young master at work, but Zhang Zhiyuan’s eager eating sparked their own appetites. They began to salivate, some wiping their mouths with their dark sleeves, almost drooling.

 

“This…” One villager could no longer resist, puffing himself up as if showing off his wealth. “Two coins or not, it’s expensive, but give me a bowl. I want to taste it and see if the soup noodles are worth the price!”

 

The others, lacking coins for such extravagance, chimed in: “Old Li, we’ve always been close. You know I help you when your family needs it. Today, you owe me a taste of the noodles.”

 

Another villager, more brazen, added, “Ning Ger, your noodle stall just opened today. Let’s bring you some good luck. Two coins each, one bowl per person. If it tastes good, we’ll spread the word. Isn’t that right?”

 

Zhang Zhiyuan was stunned. He had never seen such shameless begging. Though poor, he had always known to rely on himself, not to demand free food or drink with such entitlement.

 

If word got out that Ye Ning freely gave away noodles, all the opportunistic villagers in the village would surely flock to him. Running a stall was already difficult; if they took advantage, he might lose not only profit but even his initial investment.

 

The villagers, feeling numerous and confident, saw that Ye Ning was a young, gentle, thin, soft-spoken Ger—easy to bully. They shouted constantly, pressing their advantage.

 

“That’s right! Even if you don’t make money, you can at least make a fuss.”

 

“Exactly! One bowl each, bring me more noodles!”

 

“I want three eggs too! And more fish and shrimp!”

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