Fan Changyu found a bamboo sieve and scooped out the richly fragrant stewed pig offal, draining the moisture. The aroma of spices and meat blended perfectly, and the braised sauce color was exquisite—far better than those stewed meats seen at the deli stalls during the day.
Changning stretched up toward the stove, watching eagerly, and upon seeing that it was all offal, felt a little disappointed.
“There’s no pig ear…”
She liked eating pig ears.
Fan Changyu lightly poked the pig intestines and stomach with her chopsticks; a hole could be made with a touch—boiled until thoroughly soft and infused with flavor.
Taking advantage of the strong fire on the stove, Fan Changyu scooped out the stewing broth, washed the pot clean, and boiled enough water for five servings of noodles.
She instructed Changning, “Go tell Aunt Zhao’s family not to cook supper tonight. We’ll all eat intestine noodles together later.”
Changning obediently answered and ran next door to deliver the message.
Cooking noodles didn’t take much time. Fan Changyu prepared four large bowls and one small bowl in advance, putting in the seasonings. To make it more fragrant, she also added a spoonful of rendered lard, then poured in the boiling noodle broth. The lard and seasonings melted together, and the aroma instantly spread out.
Fan Changyu kept it simple—she scooped in the noodles, laid a layer of soft and glutinous chopped intestines on top, and sprinkled a bit of chopped scallions, and that was it.
If her mother were the one cooking, she would have simmered a pot of rich stock to replace the noodle broth—now that would make the flavor truly divine.
She placed her younger sister’s bowl on the table, letting her eat first, and carried the three large bowls of intestine noodles to the neighbors next door.
· ─ ·✶· ─ · ·
Connecting the attic and the lower floor was a wooden staircase. When steady yet light footsteps came from above the floorboards, Xie Zheng opened his eyes.
After a moment, the woman’s voice sounded from outside the door: “Are you awake?”
Xie Zheng said, “The door isn’t bolted.”
His voice was still hoarse, but much better than yesterday.
Fan Changyu pushed the door open with her arm, holding an oil lamp in one hand and a steaming bowl of noodle soup in the other.
“I just heard from Auntie that this morning a large falcon suddenly descended from the sky and crashed headfirst into the window of the room downstairs, smashing it completely. How could there be such a strange thing?”
Xie Zheng pressed his lips together and stayed silent.
He hadn’t expected that gyrfalcon to be so foolish—it dove straight down the moment it heard his whistle.
Fan Changyu glanced at his expression. Although his face was still pale, his overall complexion was much better than the day before.
Having grown accustomed to his taciturn nature, she placed the oil lamp on the table and said,
“Fortunately, the bird didn’t hurt anyone. The window of the room downstairs will have to wait until Uncle has time to repair it. The attic you’re staying in now is a bit small, but at least it’s quiet.”
Xie Zheng finally gave a light “mm” in response.
Fan Changyu handed him the bowl of noodles. “I made this—make do with it for now.”
Xie Zheng could already smell the aroma. The layer of something atop the noodles, which he had never seen before, was the very thing that had sent its fragrance drifting across the whole alley earlier.
That smell stirred up a stronger hunger within him. After drinking several days’ worth of unbearably bitter medicine and plain porridge, the bowl of noodles before him might as well have been a delicacy.
He gave a word of thanks, took the bowl, and lifted a bite with his chopsticks to eat.
The noodles were smooth and the soup rich—it wasn’t made from fine flour, but at this moment it tasted better than any noodles he had ever eaten before. The meat on top was tender yet chewy, and when bitten into, released an even richer, more fragrant taste.
Though he prided himself on having eaten many rare delicacies, he couldn’t tell what this was.
Xie Zheng asked, “What is this?”
Fan Changyu was just about to hurry back to eat her own bowl of intestine noodles when she heard his question. She answered, “Intestine.”
Xie Zheng’s hand, which was picking up the noodles, paused. The moment he heard the word intestine, an ominous premonition arose in his heart.
Seeing that he seemed unclear about what intestine referred to, Fan Changyu explained more directly, “It’s pig large intestine.”
His expression changed instantly.
Fan Changyu had seen people who didn’t like eating pig offal, but judging from how he had eaten earlier, he didn’t seem to find it distasteful. Now that his face had gone pale, she truly couldn’t figure out why. She asked in confusion, “What’s wrong with you?”
“Nothing.”
The reply came with some difficulty.
Xie Zheng quietly took several deep breaths before suppressing the wave of nausea that had risen.
Fan Changyu, still thinking about her own bowl of intestine noodles, feared it would overcook if she didn’t go back soon. She said, “Then I’ll head back. When you’re done, just set the bowl on the cabinet over there. Auntie will come up later to collect it.”
The door closed softly, followed by the sound of her descending the stairs.
Xie Zheng looked at the bowl of noodles in his hands, brows tightly furrowed, hesitating whether to continue eating.
He wasn’t someone raised in luxury; back in the difficult days of marching with the army, he had even gnawed on bark and grass roots—but he had never eaten the intestines of livestock.
Pig intestine? Wasn’t that what held pig dung?
Just the thought made it hard to swallow.
But recalling his current state of injury, and that this was the most nourishing food he’d been given in days, Xie Zheng struggled for a long moment before finally picking up the noodles again, stiffly bringing them to his mouth.
When Heaven is about to place a great responsibility upon a man, it must first distress his mind and fatigue his body…
It actually tasted… quite fragrant.
· ─ ·✶· ─ · ·
That night, the seldom-dreaming Xie Zheng uncharacteristically dreamt of the woman who had saved him.
In the dream, the woman was cheerfully herding a pig. As she walked, she suddenly drew a large knife, sliced open the pig’s belly, and pulled out a long length of intestine. Looking straight at him, she said,
“This is intestine. I’ll cook it for you.”
The squeals of pigs inside the dream overlapped with those outside it, jolting Xie Zheng awake. He found himself lying on the bed.
The sound of pigs crying next door still echoed. Looking out the window, he saw that dawn was just beginning to break.
From downstairs came movement—it was likely the old couple who had risen early to help the woman slaughter pigs.
Recalling the dream he had just had, Xie Zheng’s face darkened.
Herding pigs, slaughtering pigs, pig intestines… Everything related to that woman seemed inevitably tied to pigs.
He pressed his brow and closed his eyes again, trying to shut out the sharp, grating squeals outside.
Just a few more days. The gyrfalcon had already carried his message back; his old subordinates would soon come for him. It wouldn’t be long before he could leave this place.
He would leave behind a generous sum of money for the woman and the old couple as repayment.
· ─ ·✶· ─ · ·
In the Fan family’s backyard, Fan Changyu had already tied the pig to the slaughtering bench with a thick rope. Having inherited her father’s unusual strength, she alone could hold down a pig that normally required several men.
The slaughtering bench in their house wasn’t made of wood, but of stone—specially commissioned by her father.
After the pig was tied down, no matter how much it struggled, it couldn’t move an inch—saving her the trouble of having to press its tail.
The long, sharp bleeding knife went straight in from beneath the pig’s neck, nearly to the hilt. The shrill squeal stopped instantly, and blood poured out along the knife’s edge, filling the wooden basin beneath the stone bench to the brim.
When slaughtering a pig, it was considered auspicious to kill it in one stroke, and the more blood let out, the better.
Aunt Zhao, who had come to help, glanced at the full basin of pig’s blood and immediately smiled.
“This basin of blood will be enough to eat for several days.”
Fan Changyu didn’t respond. She drew out the knife, her expression uncharacteristically stern. Blood had splattered onto her face and sleeves.
Each time she killed a pig, she seemed like a different person—radiating a fierce, sharp aura that kept others from approaching easily. It was that particular murderous energy peculiar to those who dealt in slaughter.
After draining the blood, Fan Changyu untied the rope, dragged the pig over to the cauldron of boiling water, ladled hot water over it to scald the skin, then began scraping the hair with a shaving knife.
At the doorway, Changning peeked into the courtyard. Aunt Zhao said, “Ning-niang, go play outside. Children shouldn’t watch such things, or you’ll have nightmares at night.”
Changning muttered softly, “I’m not afraid,” yet still lingered before reluctantly leaving.
When Fan Changyu finished scraping the pig, she rinsed it once more. Without letting Carpenter Zhao and Aunt Zhao help much, she alone lifted the pig and hung it from the iron hook on the courtyard pillar, then split it in half with a cleaving knife.
Half remained hanging on the hook; the other half she hoisted onto a door plank propped up by two benches and began cutting the meat.
The old Zhao couple watched in stunned silence.
“This girl truly takes after her father…” they murmured.
After cutting up the pork, Fan Changyu hurried to load it onto a pushcart to sell at the meat market. The twenty catties of pork that Chef Li from Yixiang Restaurant had ordered yesterday, she entrusted to Carpenter Zhao to deliver.
After some thought, she also packed a portion of stewed offal for Chef Li—not out of a desire to sell her own braised goods to a restaurant chef (she wasn’t so arrogant as to show off her craft before a master), but simply to thank him for his previous patronage.
When she reached the meat market, she was among the early arrivals. Only a few stalls had opened; the butchers were still setting up their pork for the day.
Someone who knew her spotted her and exclaimed in surprise, “Yo, Changyu, are you opening your family’s butcher shop again?”
Fan Changyu answered crisply, “Yes.”
She unlocked the door of her shop, which had been closed for over a month. Inside, everything was neat and tidy; the items were still arranged in the way her father had kept them—only covered with a thin layer of dust.
Thinking of her father, a sour ache rose in her chest. But knowing now wasn’t the time for grief, she quickly steadied herself, fetched water, and wiped down the entire shop from inside to out. Only then did she begin laying out the fresh pork on the chopping block. She also set out the stewed offal she had prepared the night before.
By the time the sun reached mid-morning, a few people began to trickle into the market to buy groceries.
The Fan family’s butcher stall occupied a good location. And since the nearby stalls were all manned by burly men or aunties, her being a young woman made the older ladies shopping for meat feel she’d be easier to bargain with. Passing by, many would ask her how much her pork sold for.
Fan Changyu responded with a pleasant smile, quoted the price, and added, “Today’s the reopening of my family’s shop—buy a catty of fresh pork, and I’ll give you an ounce of stewed offal for good luck.”
Hearing that buying fresh meat came with braised meat as a bonus, the aunties were tempted; most ended up buying pork from her stall.
Barely after opening, she’d already made several sales—and among the neighboring stalls, hers was the busiest.
Across the way, a butcher from the opposite stall grew jealous and shouted, “Fan Er Girl! You can’t go breaking the market rules! Everyone in this market sells at the same price. What’s the meaning of adding freebies to your sales?”
Fan Changyu knew this man had never gotten along with her father. But she wasn’t intimidated in the slightest. Speaking neatly and quickly, she replied, “Uncle Guo, that’s wronging me. Isn’t the pork I sell the same price as everyone else’s? How’s that breaking the rules? I’m just giving a little something extra to celebrate reopening the shop. Which market rule says I can’t? Or is Uncle Guo bullying me because I’ve lost my parents and you think a lonely girl like me’s easy to push around?”
Unable to outargue her, the man’s sallow face flushed red. “Sharp tongue, aren’t you! I can’t win with you!”
One of the nearby butchers who was friendly with the Fan family chimed in, “Alright, Old Guo. The girl’s only selling one pig today—why fuss so much with a junior?”
Wearing the label of bullying the young wasn’t a good look. So Butcher Guo grumbled, “Fine! Today you can give out your freebies—but not tomorrow!”
Fan Changyu had only ever planned to give out freebies for a single day. The stewed meats would be for sale tomorrow.
She said, “Of course.”
Only then did Butcher Guo drop the matter.
Even so, waiting for customers to approach on their own made sales rather slow. Across the street, Butcher Guo’s face was nearly twisted in anger—but those who had thought to check his prices, upon seeing his fierce, menacing expression, didn’t dare go near.
Since she would only be giving out free offal for one day, Fan Changyu figured she should take the chance to make her name known.
When the marketplace grew livelier with people coming and going, she made a snap decision and began calling out, “Fresh pork for sale—buy a catty of pork and get an ounce of stewed offal free!”
Her shout worked wonders; soon, a good crowd had gathered to ask about prices.
Fan Changyu bargained cheerfully while her hands moved deftly, chopping and cutting meat pieces. She even put on a show of feigned pain as she gave up a few coins in price. Before the morning market was even halfway over, nearly all her pork had been snapped up—far exceeding her expectations.
Across the way, Butcher Guo’s expression had soured to the point of rivaling the stench of his own latrine board.
Fan Changyu paid him no mind. After tidying up her stall, she packed her knives into a cloth pouch, slung it over her back, locked up the shop, and—her money pouch now satisfyingly full—headed to the tile market to buy two more pigs.
As she passed by Butcher Guo’s stall, he glared viciously and barked, “If you dare give out those damn freebies again tomorrow, don’t say I bullied you, girl!”
Fan Changyu snorted coldly through her nose and ignored him.
Tomorrow, she wouldn’t give them out—she’d sell them.
Walking down the street, Fan Changyu quickly ran the numbers in her head.
The ninety-catty pig she’d slaughtered today—after removing the head and offal—had yielded about seventy catties of meat. Sold all at fresh-meat prices, her gross profit came to just over two strings of cash.
Once she stewed the pig head and offal to sell tomorrow, there’d be another tidy sum of income.
After subtracting the cost of the pig, today’s net profit would still be more than one full string of cash!
Feeling the satisfying weight of the money pouch against her chest, Fan Changyu’s steps grew light. The annoyance from Butcher Guo’s earlier provocation had vanished into thin air.
But just as she left the meat market and was about to enter the tile market, a voice suddenly called out urgently from behind her—“Changyu! Changyu!”
Fan Changyu turned and saw that it was Carpenter Zhao, running toward her in a rush, his face filled with anxiety.
Fan Changyu quickly asked, “What happened, Uncle Zhao?”
Carpenter Zhao was panting so hard he could barely speak.
“Go home quick! Your uncle brought men from the gambling den—they smashed your door and are rummaging through your house looking for the land deed! Your aunt and I are old—how could we stop them?”
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