Even a Straight Man Has to Become a Fulang Chapter 113

Chapter 13: Look at One Another 

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It was exactly the time for lunch. Cheng Zhao, feeling peckish, had gone to grab some noodles, and at the same time, the Jiang household began serving their meals.

 

Because Jiang Changxin suffered from a condition that made him extremely sensitive to food, he rarely had much of an appetite, often managing only a bite or two. The small kitchen prepared very simple meals for the young master: soft white porridge, sometimes paired with plain, lightly salted greens, or plain noodles boiled in water, never a single egg, as even the smell of eggs made him queasy.

 

Today, Jiang Changxin’s meal was supposed to be a bowl of plain white noodles with just a pinch of salt—completely free of any greasy or strong flavors. Yet somehow, the small kitchen made a mistake. The pure white noodles were instead replaced by a rich, oily, and heavily flavored braised pork dish.

 

Upon seeing the oily mess, Jiang Changxin’s face instantly went pale, and he immediately vomited. The commotion drew the attention of the main courtyard—Old Master Jiang, Master Jiang, and the matriarch all arrived.

 

Master Jiang personally went to fetch a physician, while the matriarch, worried for her son, stayed by his side without leaving for even a moment.

 

When Cheng Zhao returned, he saw the young master lying on a soft, red-lacquered carved couch. The white gauze draped from the couch looked even more lively than his face. Jiang Changxin’s eyes were closed, his face deathly pale, sweat streaming down his temples and soaking the collar of his clothes.

 

“Why hasn’t the doctor come yet?” the matriarch fretted, urging anxiously, “Hurry! Go check again!”

 

“The doctor is here!” a maid called, as Master Jiang and the physician hurried into the room. The doctor quickly checked Jiang Changxin’s pulse.

 

These were all long-standing ailments. The doctor had been specially summoned from the county outside the village to manage Jiang Changxin’s condition, a renowned physician. Yet the young master’s symptoms rarely improved—sometimes they eased a bit, and other times they worsened.

 

Old Master Jiang, deeply worried, looked at Jiang Changxin with a complex expression. “Doctor, what do you think?”

 

The doctor pondered for a moment, then said, “There’s no need to worry. It is indeed a flare-up of his condition. I will adjust the prescription and, once prepared, have the young master take it.”

 

He then instructed further, “The young master should avoid greasy and strong foods. Keep meals light, and ensure he gets plenty of exercise to stimulate digestion.”

 

The matriarch nodded at each instruction. The doctor continued, “It’s also best if he drinks some porridge or eats easily digestible noodles before taking the medicine.”

 

“Quickly, go, have the kitchen bring some porridge—plain white porridge,” she instructed immediately.

 

“Yes, yes.”

 

The servants bustled about. Jiang Changxin didn’t open his eyes, appearing to sleep, though his brow was slightly furrowed. When he heard the doctor mention food, his Adam’s apple moved slightly, revealing that he wasn’t truly asleep but suppressing the urge to vomit. To everyone else, Jiang Changxin always appeared simple-minded, but now, with his flare-up consuming his energy, he didn’t bother opening his eyes, pretending instead to be asleep.

 

Soon, a servant returned from the small kitchen with porridge specially prepared for Jiang Changxin: a soft, almost mushy white rice porridge, boiled in plain water without anything added. The bowl was covered with a lid, and a gentle steam rose through the gaps.

 

The matriarch took the bowl gently and said softly, “Xin’er, come, drink some porridge so you’ll be ready for the medicine in a moment.”

 

Jiang Changxin seemed not to hear, still keeping his eyes closed.

 

The matriarch lifted the lid—and her eyes widened in shock. She gasped, “What… what is this? Why isn’t it porridge? Which lazy servant brought the wrong food?”

 

Cheng Zhao, standing nearby, exclaimed in surprise, “Isn’t this the Pian’er Chuan I just bought from Ning Ger’s stall? The small kitchen must have mixed up the bowls! Quickly, take it away!”

 

As the lid was lifted, a curling steam rose, releasing an irresistible, rich, fragrant aroma that immediately filled the bland, flavorless room. The nearby servants sniffed eagerly, all silently thinking, This smells amazing!

 

The small kitchen had only one bowl of the Pian’er Chuan prepared. The noodles and broth were combined, the noodles pure white and perfectly separated, the broth creamy with a pale yellow hue. When it touched the noodles, they became translucent, almost glowing, making the noodles look exquisite.

 

Even the matriarch felt that the aroma of this dish was excessive. She had grown up in a prominent family and married into a scholarly household, having seen countless delicacies, yet she had never known that a simple bowl of noodles could be so tantalizing.

 

But this was no time for indulgence. She repeatedly said, “Quickly, take it away, take it away—don’t let Xin’er see!”

 

Ye Ning?

 

Jiang Changxin finally opened his eyes, glancing at the bowl of sliced noodles being hurriedly taken away by the maid.

 

He propped himself up and gave a silly little smile, gesturing to the maid. The matriarch was startled. “Xin’er? You… you want to eat those noodles?”

 

Jiang Changxin was curious. Cheng Zhao had been eagerly looking forward to tasting the noodles. What kind of flavor could they possibly have? Usually, he had no appetite for anything. Just a glance at the Pian’er Chuan earlier—neatly presented, with no greasy smell and firm, springy noodles—was enough to pique his interest.

 

The matriarch was overjoyed. “Don’t take it away! Bring it back quickly—let the young master try it.”

 

She personally brought the bowl over, carefully blowing on the broth to cool it, and instructed, “Xin’er, be careful, it’s hot. If you can’t eat it all, don’t force yourself. Eat slowly… chew thoroughly…”

 

Jiang Changxin picked up the jade chopsticks, his knuckled hands trembling slightly. After all, he had already vomited everything he could, and with a body so tall and large, it would be difficult to manage more. He lifted a strand of noodle cautiously, bringing it to his lips, instinctively holding his breath, and carefully slid it into his mouth.

 

Jiang Changxin had a habit when eating: he held his breath to reduce any greasy flavor and to prevent a flare-up of his condition.

 

He chewed the noodle absentmindedly, intending at first to swallow quickly, but to his surprise, the Pian’er Chuan had none of the heavy, oily taste of braised meat. Instead, a subtle sweetness typical of river delicacies accompanied the freshness, without any fishy smell. The flavors were perfectly layered. The noodles were smooth yet firm, springy and satisfying, but not difficult to chew.

 

Jiang Changxin paused mid-swallow, then tentatively picked up another noodle and tried it…

 

The matriarch had forgotten to breathe herself, eyes wide as she stared at her son, full of amazement. Her son was eating! He had eaten a strand without vomiting—and then had another!

 

But she dared not exclaim, afraid of disturbing him. Once this moment passed, there would be no other place like this in the village. The chance to get Jiang Changxin to eat even two bites of something like this was rare in all of Qingtian Village.

 

Old Master Jiang and Master Jiang also looked on in delight. They exchanged glances, careful not to disturb him while he ate.

 

After about ten bites, Jiang Changxin finally set down the jade chopsticks.

 

The matriarch beamed with joy. “Xin’er, lie down and rest now. Soon it will be time for your medicine.”

 

Everyone else respectfully withdrew, giving him privacy. The matriarch closed the door and leaned toward Cheng Zhao, asking in a low voice, “Whose noodle stall did you say this was from?”

 

Cheng Zhao was still stunned. The young master had actually eaten something—and it was noodles! This was even more astonishing than a pig climbing a tree or a tree suddenly blooming!

 

Yet… poor Yu Yuan. The sliced noodles he had brought for himself were now eaten by the young master. It seemed Yu Yuan would not have the fortune to taste them.

 

Cheng Zhao explained in detail, “Matriarch, you may not know, but it’s Ning Ger from the Ye family, from the southern end of the village. He reopened the Ye family’s noodle stall, right outside the residence, around that corner.”

 

“The Ye family…” The matriarch thought for a moment and suddenly understood. “Ah… so it’s… that Ye family.”

 

Recently, the Ye family’s marriage affairs with the Zhou family had caused quite a stir. The matriarch did not enjoy gossip, but she had still heard about it. The Zhou family had handled things ruthlessly, but behind the scenes, people instead commented on Ning Ger, mocking him as unlikely to marry anyone. This, of course, was an unfair fate for a Ger like him.

 

The matriarch was surprised. “Ning Ger from the Ye family has opened a noodle stall?”

 

“Exactly,” Cheng Zhao nodded. “This is the noodles I just brought back. I didn’t expect the small kitchen to mix up the bowls, but it gave the young master a chance to taste them.”

 

The matriarch pondered. “Ning Ger’s noodle stall… if it can get Xin’er to eat, then Ning Ger must be extraordinary. Tomorrow, I must go see for myself.”

 

Ye Ning’s stall had been open for two days. On the first day, only Zhang Zhiyuan had eaten two bowls, Cheng Zhao had eaten two, and had packed another one to take away. Zhang Zhiyuan had helped support the stall, so Ye Ning naturally did not charge him, and he did not accept money from Cheng Zhao either. In short, there was no income that day.

 

On the second day, a few people came to the stall, but not to eat—they came for curiosity. Many villagers knew that Ning Ger from the Ye family had not married into the Zhou family and instead had opened a noodle stall. A Ger openly running a stall was extraordinary. In such a small, cramped village, there was no other like it.

 

A few onlookers stood scattered in front of the stall. At first, Zhang Zhiyuan thought they were there to eat, but he soon realized otherwise—they were just here for the spectacle.

 

“Look! It’s Ning Ger! He’s really cooking noodles here.”

 

“Who has ever seen a Ger run a noodle stall?”

 

“Not marrying into the Zhou family doesn’t mean he has to do this! Does he have no shame?”

 

“I think his noodles aren’t that special—doesn’t seem that tasty.”

 

“Yes, I don’t smell anything remarkable either.”

 

Ye Ning only glanced at the chattering villagers and ignored them, continuing to prepare the broth. When the lid of the pot lifted, the aroma of the soup rose immediately. The villagers who had just claimed there was no smell instinctively inhaled deeply, and their stomachs rumbled.

 

“Smells amazing,” someone said as they approached.

 

The Jiang matriarch, accompanied by the head maid, walked into the noodle stall. The villagers watching exclaimed, “Is that the Jiang matriarch?”

 

“Look at the crowd! The Zhou family could never compete with this.”

 

“The matriarch actually came to Ning Ger’s small stall to eat noodles?”

 

“Maybe not. The Jiang matriarch has seen everything—would she really be curious about a two-coin bowl of noodles?”

 

The matriarch surveyed the simple surroundings. There was only one counter inside, the tables and chairs were plain, yet everything was impeccably clean. Every corner and chair back was spotless.

 

Satisfied, she nodded and adjusted her skirts before sitting down. Finally, she spoke. “How much are the noodles?”

 

Ye Ning replied, “Two coins a bowl, with free refills of broth and noodles.”

 

The matriarch didn’t respond immediately. Instead, she looked at Ye Ning with a curious gaze, taking in every detail—from the strands of hair to the corners of his clothing—leaving nothing unnoticed.

 

He didn’t look like someone just there to eat. Rather, he looked like someone… to be observed.

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