Even a Straight Man Has to Become a Fulang Chapter 12

Chapter 12: A Feast for the Eyes 

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The village men stared hungrily at Zhang Zhiyuan’s bowl of noodles, smacking their lips. If they had not restrained themselves, they might have drooled. Their eyes gleamed with greedy opportunism and a sense of impunity.

 

They were all convinced that Ye Ning was just a Ger, inexperienced in the ways of the world, with a thin-skinned face and soft ears. There was no way he would dare argue or dispute with men of their stature. Moreover, since they were all villagers who saw each other every day, there was a shared sense of “face” to maintain—they didn’t think it worth tearing it apart over a few bowls of noodles.

 

Alas, they were all wrong.

 

Ye Ning indeed had taken the form of a Ger, but he was not naïve about the world, nor could he be coerced by others.

 

Ye Ning smiled lightly and said decisively, “This portion of sliced noodles isn’t for you.”

 

“Why not?” The village men still wore greedy smiles, but their lips stiffened as they glared at him, demanding an answer.

 

Ye Ning spoke slowly, deliberately: “Because your mouths are too dirty. Every word that comes out stinks, carrying a taste with it. If you eat this bowl of noodles and get sick—whether you paid or didn’t pay—it won’t matter. But if you fall ill and blame it on my noodles, where would I go to defend myself?”

 

The villagers froze. Zhang Zhiyuan was also taken aback. It took a moment for everyone to realize that Ye Ning was actually scolding them. Not only was he refusing them free food, he was also calling out their foul mouths.

 

“Pfft—” Zhang Zhiyuan nearly spat out a mouthful of soup, choking, and had to pound on his chest to calm himself.

 

“You! You—” The villagers turned red in the face. They had never been to school, but they could understand words when spoken plainly. Ye Ning’s sharp language left no room for argument, and these slippery, streetwise villagers had no way to respond. Red-faced and throats bulging, they pointed at Ye Ning.

 

“Ha! We’re all from the same village, see each other every day, and now you’re daring to offend us?”

 

“Yeah! Your noodle stall just opened, and we came to support you. What’s wrong with giving out a couple of bowls?”

 

“If this gets ugly, who would dare come eat at your Ye family’s stall in the future?”

 

Ye Ning was not intimidated by their threats. He calmly said, “Precisely because we’re all villagers, I’m only speaking casually, teasing a little. I haven’t even lifted a hand.”

 

Bang! Bang bang bang…

 

As he spoke, Ye Ning picked up the kitchen knife from the cutting board and began chopping vegetables. The bamboo shoots and mushrooms fell neatly under his blade, orderly and precise.

 

The villagers, unsure how to handle Ye Ning, let go of their pride. They snorted coldly. “Let’s go! Don’t stoop to argue with a Ger like him!”

 

“Long hair, short sense!”

 

“Let’s leave, let’s leave. What bad luck!”

 

Having gained neither advantage nor face, the villagers finally left, looking thoroughly defeated.

 

“Ye Ning!” Zhang Zhiyuan raised his thumb and laughed. “You’re amazing! Really amazing!”

 

He continued shoveling noodles into his mouth, nodding furiously with admiration. “Delicious! This broth is so fresh! It’s enough to make your eyebrows tingle… Ah—though it’s too hot to eat right away.”

 

Ye Ning smiled. “Cousin, don’t rush. There’s still more in the pot. If you haven’t had enough, just take some more.”

 

Zhang Zhiyuan felt a little embarrassed. “Then… then I’ll take just a little more. Just a little is enough.”

 

On the Jiang family’s wall, Cheng Zhao was still perched, leaning over to watch, and he couldn’t help sighing. “Heh, Ning Ger really doesn’t hold back with words. How come I never knew the Ye family had such a formidable Ger?”

 

Cheng Zhao spoke casually, but the words planted a seed in Jiang Changxin’s mind. Why had he not realized that Ye Ning was such a sharp, decisive person? If Ye Ning had always been this capable, why in his previous life had he married into the Zhou family, where those people could manipulate and control him?

 

Could it be…

 

Jiang Changxin’s heart flickered. Was it possible that, in this life, someone besides himself had also changed?

 

“Um…” Cheng Zhao stammered, usually a smooth talker, but now awkward and fidgeting, scratching the back of his head. He said shyly, “Master, this… these noodles… they’re so fragrant. Back in the capital, I’ve never heard of anything called ‘Pian’er Chuan.’ That…”

 

Cheng Zhao had been the young master of the noble Cheng household in the capital. He had tasted every kind of delicacy, seen all sorts of exotic animals and birds—but he had never heard of a place that served “Pian’er Chuan.” He had no aversions to food, but now, overcome by the aroma, his stomach growled and his mouth watered uncontrollably. He couldn’t wait a moment longer.

 

Jiang Changxin knew Cheng Zhao’s nature well. Had the eunuchs not thrown everything into chaos, Cheng Zhao would still be a pampered young master in the capital. He wouldn’t need to endure hardships with Jiang Changxin.

 

Jiang Changxin said lightly, “Want some?”

 

Cheng Zhao nodded vigorously.

 

Jiang Changxin sighed and waved his hand. “Go on then.”

 

“Ah!” Cheng Zhao replied, elated, and hurried off. Before leaving, he reminded Yu Yuan, “Take care of the master. I’ll come back with a bowl for you after I’ve eaten.”

 

Yu Yuan said nothing, only giving him a sidelong glance.

 

Cheng Zhao had thought that Yu Yuan would disdain the noodles. After all, this man was always cold and indifferent toward everything. The only thing occupying his heart was revenge—he longed to follow Jiang Changxin back to the capital and wipe out the eunuchs. In daily life, he was extremely frugal in eating, drinking, and clothing, showing almost no desires at all.

 

Yet, in the end, Yu Yuan said simply, “Go quickly, come back quickly, don’t let the noodles get soggy.”

 

Cheng Zhao: “…” So even this stone block wants to eat noodles?

 

Cheng Zhao darted off at top speed, thrilled beyond measure. Jiang Changxin, meanwhile, used his sleeve to cover his nose, avoiding the scent of the Pian’er Chuan. No matter how delicious, he feared he would never be able to enjoy them in this life.

 

Cheng Zhao ran in a single burst, and as he neared, he saw that the noodle stall had no customers. Yet, smoke curled from the cooking fires, and under the bright sun, there was a surprising sense of calm and peace, like time itself had slowed.

 

“Ah,” Zhang Zhiyuan exclaimed with delight. “You’ve come?”

 

Cheng Zhao smiled. “Third Young Master Zhang, the aroma of your noodle stall is irresistible. I could smell it all the way from the courtyard wall. I thought I’d grab a bowl while I had the chance.”

 

Zhang Zhiyuan waved his hands repeatedly. “This is Ye Ning’s stall. I’m just stopping by to help casually.”

 

Ye Ning glanced at Zhang Zhiyuan again. Though a bit reserved, he truly was a gentleman—he didn’t take even a small advantage. Having helped so much, if it were anyone else, upon receiving even one compliment about the stall, they would have jumped at the chance to boast, to decorate their own reputation. Zhang Zhiyuan, however, did not do so; there was not a hint of vanity in him.

 

Ye Ning walked over and smiled. “Young Master Cheng, would you like some noodles?”

 

Cheng Zhao replied, “I’m not a Young Master. Just call me Cheng Zhao. Quick, serve me a bowl—it smells too good.”

 

The broth was already prepared, but the noodles had all been eaten by Zhang Zhiyuan and needed to be freshly cooked. That was the secret of Pian’er Chuan: the flavor was best when freshly boiled. Overcooked or soggy noodles would lose their springy, silky texture, losing the essence entirely.

 

Ye Ning moved with swift precision, immediately putting noodles into the pot. The hot water churned and bubbled, and even so, the noodles gave off an aroma richer than any other stall’s, a subtle, irresistible scent.

 

Cheng Zhao had no idea, but his nose did not deceive him. Ye Ning had carefully selected these noodles at the market, and they were not much cheaper than high-quality meat. The essence of Pian’er Chuan lay not only in the broth but in these simple, plain noodles, which could not be treated carelessly.

 

The pale noodles tumbled in the boiling water. For a moment, it was hard to tell whether the noodles were whiter and more tender or if Ye Ning’s slender hands were. Even such a simple act as cooking noodles looked exceptionally graceful, visually pleasing and appetizing.

 

Ye Ning scooped the noodles out, rinsed them in cold water, and with a skillful twist of his wrist, placed them in a deep bowl. They didn’t just fall haphazardly—they were layered like a little folded quilt, strand by strand, perfectly arranged. He then poured in the steaming broth, releasing a rich, fragrant aroma that wafted through the air.

 

Cheng Zhao was already seated, taking chopsticks from the holder. They were smooth and polished, crafted by Ye Ning himself, comfortable to hold. He asked anxiously, “Is it ready? Is it ready?”

 

Ye Ning personally brought the bowl over, placing it before Cheng Zhao. The broth was rich, creamy with a hint of yellow, the noodles white and tender, just peeking through the surface. Small fish and shrimp were arranged in a circle on top. Simply looking at it made ten Cheng Zhaos’ mouths water.

 

Cheng Zhao eagerly grabbed a handful of noodles and stuffed them into his mouth like a waterfall.

 

“Mm—ss! Hot… so hot… hmm hmm, fresh! This broth is fragrant, and the noodles… they’re springy but don’t hurt the teeth! Hmm hmm, delicious! Hmm hmm!”

 

Watching Cheng Zhao eat, Ye Ning nearly laughed out loud. No need for further proof—the Pian’er Chuan were clearly a success.

 

Cheng Zhao finished a bowl in just a few bites. Unsatisfied, he went for a second, eating both bowls thoroughly. He drank all the broth and peeled every small fish and shrimp, finally sighing in satisfaction and setting the large bowl on the table.

 

Cheng Zhao pulled a handful of copper coins from his sleeve. “Here’s my payment for the noodles. I’ll take another bowl back with me.”

 

Ye Ning said, “Yesterday, Young Master Jiang helped me a great deal. Today’s few bowls of noodles are on me. I only hope you won’t find my noodles too humble.”

 

Cheng Zhao quickly replied, “Yesterday, we didn’t really help much. How can this work?”

 

Ye Ning insisted on not taking the money. He packed the noodles for him, thoughtfully using two large bowls—separating noodles and broth so that they wouldn’t clump during the journey. He placed the two large bowls into a food container and handed it to Cheng Zhao.

 

Cheng Zhao said, “Ning Ger, you’re straightforward. In the future, I’ll come to eat at your stall again, but one thing—you must not refuse payment. Otherwise, how would I dare come?”

 

Ye Ning smiled. “Of course, I will charge in the future. You can rest assured, Young Master Cheng.”

 

Cheng Zhao, fully satisfied, carried the food container back to the Jiang family mansion and first placed it in Jiang Changxin’s small kitchen. Because Jiang Changxin suffered from a condition that made him sensitive to smells and certain foods, Cheng Zhao feared that the aroma might trigger a reaction. So he left the Pian’er Chuan in the kitchen for Yu Yuan to eat later, after which they could return.

 

As Cheng Zhao had just returned from the small kitchen to the courtyard entrance, the previously calm yard suddenly erupted. A crowd of servants rushed around, nearly bumping into him.

 

“Cheng Zhao! Where have you been? What took you so long?”

 

Cheng Zhao, puzzled, asked, “What’s wrong? What happened?”

 

The maid who always attended the matriarch, an experienced housekeeper, was sweating profusely. “Just now, some careless hand brought the wrong dish for Young Master. They mistakenly served him oily, braised meat instead of his plain, clean white noodles!”

 

“Poor thing! Young Master smelled the oily, fishy scent, and his condition flared up immediately. His face went pale—it was unbearable!”

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