Chapter 90: The Gentleman

Moonlight slanted through the doorway.

The back kitchen had been lit with lamps.

Madam Wenjing softly yawned, then scooped half a gourd of water from the stove.

The boiled water from last night had been kept warm on the stove—it was still hot enough for washing up.

Every night, she slept only two watches before rising to prepare today’s pastries.

When dawn began to break and the kitchen helpers and apprentices arrived, the back kitchen would grow frantic as everyone prepared today’s meals.

They would work until after noon, past mealtime, when Dao Bashi took the stage to tell stories.

Only then would Madam Wenjing have time to sleep another two watches.

Altogether, her daily sleep was not short.

After growing accustomed to this routine, even if she rose at dawn, she felt only slight fatigue, never exhaustion.

Once washed, her spirit gradually stirred awake.

Madam Wenjing rolled up her sleeves, poured glutinous rice flour into a basin, mixed it with warm water, and added a touch of sugarcane juice.

Five wooden basins: one held plain dough, the other four colored with peach blossoms, blue-leaf extract, banana flowers, and soybean powder.

The inn’s pastries had always been its signature.

The kitchen helpers could easily manage roasted lamb or blue-leaf rice, no problem.

Only Madam Wenjing herself could master the exact texture of the pastries.

After kneading several dough balls, she covered the basins with damp gauze, lit an incense stick, and timed it.

In this brief pause, she took half a bowl of sugarcane juice from beside the stove, mixed in warm water, and sipped slowly.

Her grandfather died early, and though he suffered many illnesses, that was expected.

But her parents both passed away two years ago—both from digestive ailments.

The couple ran a tavern themselves, grew the business steadily, hired staff, and turned it into a full inn.

Yet as tavern owners, they never ate properly in their youth; in old age, they lost all appetite and died thin and sick.

For years, her mother had often warned her: pay attention to diet, rise early but don’t overeat—yet you must eat something.

“Can sugarcane juice be fermented into wine?”

Madam Wenjing sat by the stove, suddenly thinking, “I think Dao Bashi once mentioned a Jin dynasty poet named Zhang Zai who wrote of sugarcane wine.”

“Too bad Dao Bashi probably didn’t know the details.”

Madam Wenjing lifted the bowl and drank a large gulp with boldness, “Then I’ll figure it out myself—when I brew it, I’ll shock that blind man.”

Tap!

Madam Wenjing heard the cane strike the ground and turned her head.

Chu Tianshu and Cheng the Blind had somehow arrived outside the kitchen.

Both walked without a sound.

Did they approach on purpose and tap the cane to alert me?

A thought flashed through Madam Wenjing’s mind; she rose with a smile, “Why are you two up so early?”

“Just killed a few people.”

Chu Tianshu pointed at Cheng the Blind, “He spotted a group with ill intent during the day, went to deal with them at night, and interrogated them—they were sent specifically to kill Madam Wenjing.”

“So we came to ask: did your family ever have any major enemies?”

Madam Wenjing paused, startled.

Cheng the Blind also turned his face slightly toward Chu Tianshu.

Why so blunt? You just blurt out murder?

I should’ve said it myself!

“Here’s the thing,”

Cheng the Blind added, “Those men were from the famous Yuwen clan of the Tang realm’s underworld. I had old grudges with them, so I paid extra attention.”

“They’re ruthless. They traveled far—won’t give up after one failure.”

“Think carefully: if you’ve accidentally gotten entangled in something, identify the root early, so you can prepare and counter it.”

Madam Wenjing crossed her arms and fell into thought.

The incense in the corner burned lower and lower until its last ember fell into the ash.

Madam Wenjing snapped back to attention.

“The incense is done?”

She returned to the basins, took a wooden mold, pinched off pieces of dough, packed them in, filled one mold, then swiftly dumped it into the steamer, shaking it loose.

Cheng the Blind said, “Don’t rush—you can think slowly.”

“I’m not rushing.”

Madam Wenjing turned with a smile, “This step in pastry-making requires speed—maybe it sounds chaotic, but that’s just how it is.”

She looked down at the dough balls, hands moving steadily, speaking as she worked.

“You’re always hesitant, never close—do you think I, a commoner, can’t truly understand your world of martial artists?”

“But before this was Wang Cheng, it wasn’t so peaceful—swordsmen duels were common inside and outside the city.”

“Since childhood, I’ve seen more than a few fresh corpses, washed blood off the floor more than two or three times.”

Though she kept her head down, her expression clearly held a smile.

“The first time you acted in this inn, you stopped two swordsmen from dueling here—saved this place from being ruined.”

“So you should know this place isn’t peaceful—yet you treat me differently. Is this concern clouding your judgment?”

Cheng the Blind’s hands tensed slightly, then relaxed; he sighed, “Let’s talk about the matter at hand.”

Madam Wenjing suddenly looked up at him.

Her almond eyes were bright, carrying a piercing intensity.

The usual gentle charm seemed to have fermented to a turning point, revealing her true nature—a spirited, determined beauty.

Chu Tianshu watched silently, finding it fascinating.

Cheng the Blind could easily spin and cut down three or four Madam Wenjings with one slash.

Yet at this moment, their perceived strength and weakness were completely reversed.

“It’s precisely because I can’t think of the real issue that I’m talking about this first.”

Madam Wenjing had turned away, stacking the steamer baskets one by one, placing them over the large pot, then sitting on a small stool behind the earthen stove.

She struck flint, lit straw, then kindled wood.

After arranging several logs, she clapped her hands and stepped out.

“I truly can’t think of anything recent that would draw a Tang family all the way here to kill me.”

“If it’s an old grudge, that doesn’t make sense either.”

Madam Wenjing spoke calmly, “My grandfather was captured by the former King of Nanzhao and brought here like other captured Tang people, forcibly relocated across Nanzhao.”

“By my parents’ time, we’d gradually made the tavern prosperous.”

“We’re common folk—we’d have no deep-rooted grudges in the Tang realm.”

Chu Tianshu pondered: “That’s truly strange.”

“If the killing intent isn’t from old grudges or recent entanglements, it might stem from… your identity.”

Chu Tianshu offered a theory: “After your family came to Nanzhao, besides running the tavern, did you gain any other status?”

Madam Wenjing’s expression shifted: “Even when the Six Zhao merged, this city was already among Nanzhao’s greatest, and Tang people had already settled here.”

“Since they weren’t accustomed to local customs, they banded together for mutual aid and formed the Gentleman’s Alliance.”

“Heaven moves strongly—the gentleman strives ceaselessly. Earth is yielding—the gentleman carries all with virtue.”

“Later, as the former King of Nanzhao repeatedly captured Tang people, nearly every Tang settler here received aid from the Gentleman’s Alliance and joined.”

Madam Wenjing counted on her fingers, “Our family has been part of it for over thirty years.”

“Each year, the Gentleman’s Alliance collects donations, carefully accounts for the funds, and uses them to aid members in dire need.”

“Our tavern was once harassed—thanks to the Gentleman’s Alliance mediating, we survived. When our business thrived, we donated generously, and now I hold the title of Elder.”

Upon hearing this, Chu Tianshu and Cheng the Blind immediately realized: this was why the Yuwen clan had targeted Madam Wenjing.

“The Gentleman’s Alliance exists to help Tang settlers—why would a Tang family want to strike us?”

Madam Wenjing asked, “Do they want to seize control of the Alliance and remove obstacles?”

“But that doesn’t make sense—I’m just an Elder in name, a donor with a good reputation, holding no real power.”

Cheng the Blind said, “Better safe than sorry—send word to all the Alliance Elders.”

Madam Wenjing smiled, “The real powerholders of the Gentleman’s Alliance have all secured official posts in Nanzhao.”

“Since the king moved his capital here, they now live within Wang Cheng, their status elevated—they’ve hired swordsmen as guards, their defenses far tighter than mine, hard to assassinate.”

Still, as the kitchen helpers and apprentices arrived, Madam Wenjing dispatched several to carry boxes of pastries, delivering them to the Alliance Elders as a warning.

Chu Tianshu, seeing the pastries steamed, stepped over and took two plates.

The kitchen had already grown busy.

He and Cheng the Blind walked to the main hall, ate the pastries with plain water, tasting them.

Nanzhao had plenty of sugarcane, but the juice here wasn’t very sweet; boiled, it tasted odd—not as refreshing as raw.

Madam Wenjing’s stirring, kneading, and heat control were all perfect.

The timing of steaming, the intensity of the stove’s fire—all mattered. Too little, and it turned slightly bitter; too much, and it turned soggy, tasting of rust.

Only with perfect heat control could the natural sweetness of the glutinous rice be fully revealed.

Blended with sugarcane juice, they compensate for each other’s shortcomings.

Over the past few days, Chu Tianshu had sampled several pastries, all cooled, their texture sweet and fragrant with a slight chewiness.

When eaten warm, the aroma is stronger, the texture softer and more glutinous, yet the mouth does not feel cloying afterward—only a clean, sugarcane-like plant fragrance remains.

“Good!”

Each time Chu Tianshu ate a piece of pastry, he drank a large gulp of water; the warm pastry and slightly hot water gave his body a sense of clarity.

It was a sensation similar to, yet distinct from, the exhilaration of eating spicy food or meat.

“Breakfast must be light—fine grains with warm water.”

Chu Tianshu felt the food transforming within his belly, sensing his digestive organs as nimble as his fingers.

If he wished, he could consume everything he had just eaten in an instant.

Yet he could also control his digestive capacity, slowly breaking down and absorbing the food, gently and peacefully.

If he chose the former, whether eating meat or vegetables, he felt no difference—everything was swallowed whole, violently absorbed.

But if he chose the latter, because the slow absorption process was so finely perceived, only the experience from grains felt truly comfortable—no heat from meat, no chill from vegetables.

“So this is it: those who eat grains gain wisdom and finesse. Truly reaching the realm of ‘Food as Immortality,’ controlling digestion, abstaining from meat and vegetables becomes easy—but one still retains a certain dependence on grains.”

“Thus, ancient cultivators described the highest standard of fasting with the term ‘Bìgǔ.’”

Chu Tianshu ate another piece of peach-colored pastry and closed his eyes in contemplation.

Food as Immortality—fully accomplished!

(End of Chapter)