Chapter Sixteen: Encountering a Beauty on the Long Street

The bullet named “Huanglian” had been flying outside for four days now. Meanwhile, a certain man surnamed Feng had been cooped up at home for just as long.

During the first half, Li Changsheng, that fellow, had been making regular deliveries of food. In the latter half, however, he had been temporarily conscripted by Fatty Sun. There was no help for it; the first batch of Huanglian was now packaged and ready for transport. As for Feng Jingzhe, it was absolutely impossible for him to go—he would never do such a thing in his entire life.

So, to keep up the facade of exclusive business rights, Li Changsheng was sent as the family’s representative. Over thirty carts set out in single file from the Eastern Market, passing through Chunming Gate, with townsfolk lining the roads, pointing and gossiping about this city-shaking procurement.

Of course, what truly captured everyone’s attention was the lending opportunity that had arisen from this grand purchase. The high returns on interest, coupled with rumors of more and more people joining in, had stirred even the most ordinary citizens to eagerness. Even with the prestigious Shiweitian Restaurant backing the enterprise, everyone still wanted to see for themselves this sure-win business deal.

Now, seeing the Huanglian piled high on the carts, most people felt reassured. Especially when they saw Li Changsheng, a member of the Feng household, leading the transport on horseback—this further confirmed the authenticity of the Feng family’s exclusive operation.

And so, deprived of his regular meals, Feng Jingzhe finally dragged himself out of bed, reluctantly driven by hunger. For once, the sun was not yet high in the sky. After a hasty wash, he set out, yawning, to continue his interrupted tour of Chang’an.

To someone who had seen the skyscrapers and grand constructions of a later age, the ancient mortise-and-tenon buildings held only a brief novelty. As for the allure of local food—forget it! Without the magic of modern culinary technology, the street snacks were merely edible, not delicious.

Having wandered the vast Eastern Market, Feng Jingzhe finally settled on a shop selling lamb noodle soup—it was at least passable. The ingredients, at least, were genuine: an entire lamb carcass simmered in a great cauldron, the tender meat dipped in a sauce made of pepper and mustard greens, offering a distinct flavor.

Once his belly was full, Feng Jingzhe was overcome with laziness. In his previous life, he had been bound by endless strictures; in this one, he would do only as he pleased. No more endless ten-kilometer weighted runs, no more suffocating armed swims, no more five-minute mealtimes.

Even this unfamiliar city seemed less inviting to explore once he was sated. The sunlight overhead was just right; he tossed a few copper coins to the busboy who cleared his dishes, and soon, a server from the teahouse across the street brought him a pot of freshly brewed tea.

The clear tea held no strange ingredients; the old method of pounded tea had been gradually replaced by pan-frying in recent years. Feng Jingzhe was grateful for this, though he sighed inwardly. Just like the fine salt sprinkled in his soup earlier, so pure and free of impurities, it meant that some of the few money-making ideas he still had from his old world must now be crossed off the list.

The tea washed away the greasiness in his throat. Leaning against the wooden pillar of the awning, Feng Jingzhe half-closed his eyes, savoring the hubbub of the crowd around him.

Suddenly, a different sort of commotion arose ahead. A two-horse carriage was making its slow way through the crowded street, driven by an old man with a snowy beard and a wide-brimmed hat—clearly no young man. But it was the passenger who drew everyone’s gaze.

Through the half-lifted curtain of the carriage window, one could glimpse a young woman of exquisite beauty, with almond eyes and delicate features. From a distance, Feng Jingzhe found her oddly familiar. If not for her youth, he might have mistaken her for Widow Wang whom he had met before.

The resemblance was uncanny—features, expression, the very quirk of a smile or frown—more than eighty percent alike. The young woman seemed to be visiting Chang’an for the first time, peeking out of the carriage and gazing around with open curiosity, her lovely face alight with wonder.

Men, confronted with such beauty, could not help but steal a second glance. Her behavior naturally drew the attention of the local rakes and dandies.

Just as Feng Jingzhe was lost in contemplation, a man suddenly blocked his view.

“My good man, would you mind moving aside? You’re blocking my sunlight,” he said, tapping his teacup on the table.

But the man in front was too absorbed in his own gawking to notice, prattling on regardless.

“Whose daughter is that? Such beauty! When did Chang’an attract such a marvel?”

“Master, that’s the carriage from Red Sleeves Pavilion! I recognize the crest on the door—Madam Liu must have found herself a new courtesan.”

“Really? If Madam Liu has brought in a new girl, then I must be the one to claim this fresh blossom.”

“That’s easily done, let’s go ask Madam Liu about her. Learn her tastes in advance, and on the day she’s introduced, you’ll have the advantage… Heh heh heh…”

The master and servant were deep in their scheming when suddenly a cup of tea splashed over, landing directly on the young master’s shoes.

“Ow! That’s hot! Who dares—”

The young man spun around, ready to unleash a torrent of abuse, but the words caught in his throat when he recognized Feng Jingzhe.

“Well, well, who else could it be but Third Young Master Feng…”

The man knew him, but Feng Jingzhe had no idea who he was and didn’t bother to stand up.

“You’re blocking my sun, you know. If you want to ogle women, do it elsewhere.”

“What a joke! This isn’t your place—my young master can stand wherever he pleases.”

Feng Jingzhe didn’t argue. He simply refilled his cup from the steaming pot and gestured as if to splash more water.

This was piping hot. The pair leapt back in fright.

“What are you doing, Feng Jingzhe?”

“Blind, are you? I’m rinsing my teacup.”

“Rinse away, but why splash us?”

Fan Zihui demanded angrily, one shoe still dripping.

“What a joke. This isn’t your place, I’ll splash wherever I please.”

Fan Zihui was nearly apoplectic with rage, but just then, the carriage drew near. He remembered he wanted to make a good impression at Red Sleeves Pavilion that evening—he couldn’t let a beauty see him quarreling in the street; first impressions mattered.

Swallowing his anger, he retreated a few steps, and Feng Jingzhe, finding the scene dull, prepared to head home for a nap.

At that moment, the carriage passed directly in front of him. Whether by intent or accident, the girl inside let a pink silk scarf slip from her delicate hand, and the wind carried it away.

The scarf fluttered gently, drifting toward Fan Zihui’s face, its fragrance almost perceptible. Was this fate? Fan Zihui closed his eyes and tilted his head, preparing to catch it.

But just as the silken touch was about to brush his skin, a hand suddenly shot out from the side and snatched the pink scarf away.