The Mystery of Zhang Gong

The young man lifted his eyelids. “There’s only plain noodles left.” 

Lan Jue’s eyes swept across the stall and only saw a shallow basket placed on the table, four or five chicken eggs asleep within. 

“Add a poached egg inside. Cook it a bit longer.” 

The youth hummed in response; his expression appeared as if he didn’t want to add the eggs, but he didn’t say anything. 

The low tables by the side were empty, indicating that this noodle stall didn’t actually have such good business. Lan Jue casually sat down at a table. On it were bottled vinegar and two dishes; one with chilli and the other with a few heads of pickled garlic.

Lan Jue spoke: “Stall owner is from the northwest. It’s common to eat noodles with vinegar there, however, this way of eating is quite rare in the Capital.” 

The youth hummed; he grabbed a handful of flour and sprinkled it on the chopping board. “I’m from Nanchi, Xichuan County.”

Lan Jue smiled slightly. “Nanchi, where the tea leaves are produced? I’ve heard the tea is best drank boiled in milk with added table salt. In the earlier days, foreigners liked his drinking method.”

The young man rolled a rolling pin, his head covered in flour, and said dryly, “the winters are cold there, the winds stiffer than knives; drinking such foreign tea can keep you warm. During the coldest days, we’d have to add two drops of wine.”

“Yes, alcohol in the west is very strong, unlike the fragrant ones in the Capital,” Lan Jue said.

The youth didn’t answer, his head faced down as the knife thumped against the chopping board. 

The noodles had just been put into the pot before a scholar hurriedly ran into the stall and shouted, “My brother Zhang Ping, why are you still selling noodles? Didn’t I say there’s something good I have to show you in the morning? Hurry up and go back – they’ll be here in one hour.” 

Zhang Ping grabbed a handful of shredded green cabbage and lowered it into the pot. “I’ll sell this off first.”

The scholar groaned. “You’re reluctant to lose even half a (1) wen.” 

Zhang Ping slowly spoke. “If I don’t earn, then I’ll have no food.”

The scholar sighed, then dragged a small bench to sit down on. “If you let an opportunity fly away just for these few copper coins, then the loss would truly outweigh the gain.” 

Lan Jue was watching from the sidelines; when the scholar finally sat down properly, he began talking to him. “This brother is…?”

The friendly-looking scholar cupped his hands immediately. “Thank you for asking. This junior is called Chen Chou. May I ask what this brother’s name is, and if you’re also an examinee?

Lan Jue smilingly answered. “That’s right. This junior is called Cao Yu, from Nan County. I just arrived at the Capital.”

Master Lan was actually not young anymore, but his self-esteem was properly maintained; his colleagues in court would often praise his elegance – which allowed him to appear like a twenty-eight-year-old youth – so when conversing with these younglings, his old face wasn’t flushed nor was he out of breath when calling himself a junior. 

Sure enough, Chen Chou didn’t feel a sliver of doubt and keenly said, “what a coincidence. Where does Brother Cao live? Brother Zhang and I are both examinees from Xichuan County. In the future, let’s become closer and discuss literary principles.” 

Lan Jue sounded surprised. “Ah? So it turns out the stall-owner is also an examinee?”

Chen Chuo paused and looked at Zhang Ping with an expression of shame and fluster. “Ah… Yes, yes… Brother Zhang’s family is poor, so he has to temporarily live like this. He’s actually very knowledgeable; for the selection exam back at Xichuan County, he took third place. Some people would often slander him – Brother Cao, please don’t listen to them.” 

“Scholars, farmers, artisans and merchants are all foundations of our nation; there’s no such thing as high or low, noble or humble. I’ve heard that the court ministers once sold calligraphy on the streets and took shelter in ruined temples in their earlier years. What difference is there between selling noodles and selling calligraphy? Many can write good calligraphy, but few can make good noodles like Brother Zhang.” 

These words Lan Jue said mostly from sincerity because the person who sold calligraphy on the streets in their earlier years was him. Vice Minister Lan had suffered when he was younger, so he was especially compassionate to such impoverished young people. 

It’s a pity many people believed him to be a selfish person only concerned with gaining advantages; it truly was a misunderstanding of the world. 

Chen Chuo smiled once again. “Yes, yes, Brother Cao’s opinion is the truly authentic one; unfortunately, not everyone is as reasonable as Brother Cao.”

Lan Jue spoke with even more reason. “Even Gods from the temples would get cursed at, not to mention us common people. If they want to talk, let them talk; just act how you want – this is the so-called ‘each look after themselves’. 

Chen Chou rubbed his hands and repeatedly nodded his head. “Well-said, Brother Cao!” Seeing Zhang Ping come over with a bowl of hot noodles, he turned his body to make way. “It’s a pity Brother Zhang and I have something important to do today and cannot continue talking with Brother Cao. If Brother Cao is free one day, just go to Little Mice Alley. Brother Zhang and I live in the innermost courtyard, where the door faces north.”

Lan Jue nodded and picked up a pair of chopsticks – he naturally wouldn’t go there. 

Chen Chuo stood up and rubbed his hands. “Brother Zhang, it’s late. How about this, I’ll go and wait first at the teahouse in the eastern alley. The private room on the second floor has already been booked. After you’re done, get yourself changed and hurry there.”

Zhang Ping responded with his head buried in the chopping board. 

Chen Chou apologised to Lan Jue again. “Brother Cao, I’m sorry, I really don’t mean to urge you. Eat slowly, I’m leaving first; if you think these noodles taste good, then please patronise Brother Zhang’s business more…” 

With a series of goodbyes, he left. 

Lan Jue stood up to see him off. When he sat back down, he pretended to not pay attention and, with a ‘pa’, swept the bowl away, causing the soup to spill all over the floor and even the bowl to break; the poached egg stained with mud, laying in the residues of the soup and bowl. 

Lan Jue sighed. “How did my hands slip? I’ve ruined Brother Zhang’s noodles and shattered your bowl; I’m really ashamed.” He took a money pouch out from his sleeve and casually grabbed a handful of copper coins before throwing them onto the table. 

Zhang Ping walked to the table expressionlessly; he looked at the ground, slowly squatted down, then picked up the poached egg. 

Holding the egg, he walked to a bucket of clean water, ladled a scoop of water, and carefully washed the egg before placing it in a bowl. Then, he took a broom and swept the noodles and broken porcelain into a dustpan. 

Lan Jue was about to leave when Zhang Ping stood up with the dustpan and suddenly said, “Master Lan, there wasn’t poison in this bowl of noodles.”

Lan Jue stopped and turned around. In the twilight, Zhang Ping stood leaning on the broomstick, like a lone jujube tree standing over a grave in the wilderness; he looked directly at Lan Jue with a faint haziness in his eyes. 

“Master Lan, I went to your home entrance not because I have a grudge against you. Your residence guards ate my noodles but didn’t pay, so I was asking for the bill that day.” 

(1) Wen – Copper cash, a currency used during Imperial times. A string of 1000 wen was equivalent to one liang (tael) of pure silver.