Xie Yan compared the prescriptions and realized that, in this world, some things were simply impossible to perfect.
No clinic could provide a solution that was ideal in every way. There was no way to treat the illness gently while also fully restoring the body—they always had to compromise.
He remembered Lu Yang’s condition from before and had seen him regain his energy. Counting the days, summer had arrived, and autumn was not far off.
Once they returned to Sanshui County, they could visit the old doctor and adjust the prescription every half month, trying to make Lu Yang as comfortable as possible.
Xie Yan relaxed his brow and nodded in agreement.
Lu Yang smiled warmly. “If you don’t agree, I’ll have to take matters into my own hands.”
Xie Yan straightened up immediately, unafraid. “This is something you’re supposed to listen to me about anyway.”
Lu Yang narrowed his eyes. “What thing am I supposed to listen to you about? I don’t have to listen to you about anything.”
Xie Yan didn’t relent. “About your treatment—you need to follow my guidance.”
He wasn’t angry. As he spoke, he pressed closer to Lu Yang, shamelessly hugging his husband in the middle of the street, cooing and whining, “Just this once, listen to me. I can’t help worrying—have a little pity on me.”
Lu Yang wasn’t angry either; he was quietly pleased.
“All right,” he said. “Then you’re taking me out to eat.”
Xie Yan agreed.
The city’s curfew came later, and as night fell, lanterns lit up shops, oil lamps glowing, and business continued.
They strolled the streets, browsing. Stalls sold all kinds of pastries—plain ones, scallion pancakes, meat-filled buns, vegetarian buns, stuffed flatbreads, and steamed buns. Sweet pastries perfumed the air.
There were steamed buns with all kinds of fillings: seven or eight kinds of vegetarian fillings, and even more with mixed meat and vegetables. One filling, many variations. Dumplings and pastries alike.
In the county, no bun shop dared offer so many fillings, afraid they wouldn’t sell them all.
Fancy buns were even more elaborate than Lu Yang had imagined, shaped like delicate pastries. There were oversized birthday buns, bigger than his head—he couldn’t imagine how long it would take to steam them fully.
Snacks stretched on endlessly: sugar figurines, sesame balls, rolling pastries, candied fruits, roasted sweet potatoes, and many kinds of cakes—mung bean cake, rice cake, jujube cake.
Even fried twisted dough sticks, which in the county required a trip to a teahouse, could be found on street corners here. He didn’t know if the sellers were from the same shop.
Restaurants lined the streets. Lu Yang was amazed. “Do people in the city not cook at home? So many restaurants, all full?”
Xie Yan, having been to the city before, had some understanding of it through chats with Wu Pingzhi. “There’s a dock here. Many merchants from out of town come to trade. They stay in inns and eat meals. These restaurants can’t keep up with the demand.”
Most restaurants had only a few guest rooms, usually with dining on the first floor, elegant rooms on the second, and large dormitories in the back for attendants—housing a dozen people at a time.
Because of the dock, city restaurants functioned as inns.
Also, with the imperial exams held twice every three years, scholars often came to the city to study or buy books, needing lodging. Even in the off years, some traveled to the provincial or capital exams and still needed accommodations. City restaurants doubled as inns.
Only a few focused solely on dining; these were the grand banquet halls.
Xie Yan had a servant lead the way; he wanted to take Lu Yang to a grand banquet hall.
Lu Yang whispered about the cost, “We didn’t bring much silver—you can’t have the God of Wealth come ransom us.”
Xie Yan had already checked. “Don’t worry, we can afford it. I wouldn’t bring you here to let you go hungry.”
His thoughtfulness had grown; he considered many things now.
Lu Yang was pleased and went along, following him to the banquet hall.
During exam season, the hall was filled with scholars.
They were easy to spot by their clothing and demeanor. From outside, the noise of the main hall was lively. Across the street, another hall had scholars shouting, dueling in literary games—the atmosphere was electric.
Lu Yang loved the excitement and wanted to eat here.
Being new and careful, he and Xie Yan found a corner table, listening to others’ conversations. Their own chat was about health and business, pretending Xie Yan wasn’t a scholar and that they weren’t there for exams.
When the waiter came, Xie Yan let Lu Yang choose whatever he liked.
Lu Yang asked, “What’s your specialty here?”
The waiter, recognizing outsiders, glanced at Xie Yan’s upright posture and refined demeanor and rattled off a list:
“There’s Champion Pork Knuckle, Champion Chicken, Champion Lion’s Head, Champion Salted Duck, Champion Braised Pork, Champion Sliced Meat… Wine: Champion Red, Champion Gold. Tea: Champion Tea, Champion Rising. Which would you like?”
Lu Yang gave Xie Yan a playful glance. “Do you have Champion Chicken Soup?”
Xie Yan’s eyes went wide.
The waiter said yes.
Xie Yan had invited him to eat, yet Lu Yang wanted the chicken soup. The waiter obediently listed the dishes:
“Our most famous dish is Braised Pork Knuckle with Soybeans—stewed three hours, tender, not greasy, broth rich and sweet, nourishing and delicious. Our loyal customers love it. Also, Preserved Vegetable Braised Pork, our chef’s specialty—he personally makes only a few jars a year, once gone, it’s gone. You’re early; after the exam, the preserved vegetables will be gone until next year!”
They ordered the two dishes.
One soup, one main dish, plus a pot of Champion Rising Tea.
The tea, Maojian, was made from carefully selected first-and-second leaves, each long and slender with pointed tips. In the cup, the leaves floated. Usually called Maojian, during exam season it became Champion Rising.
Lu Yang learned something new.
He rarely drank tea and had never tasted one so good. Xie Yan hadn’t had good tea in years. The couple, quirky as ever, took a few bites of each dish but drank the whole pot of tea.
They listened to scholars debating as they sipped.
The scholars—some lower-level, some students awaiting results—gathered to discuss topics and aspirations, the hall lively with chatter.
As always during exams, some bets were placed, gambling on who would surprise everyone and take the top spot.
Lu Yang understood—they had a betting table. Bets closed at noon the next day. He wanted to place one, backing his own scholar husband.
After tea, they lingered a while. Too full to eat, they packed the meal to take home.
Drinking so much tea, they couldn’t sleep at night.
Lu Yang still worried about missing the Champion Chicken Soup, insisting Xie Yan bring it to him.
For this, Xie Yan didn’t need to consent—Lu Yang simply claimed it.
He sat facing Xie Yan, embraced him, eating the soup as if it were a test for champions, kissing him, savoring the tea’s fragrance.
He took the initiative, controlling the experience himself.
Occasionally, he felt restless—sometimes his energy faltered, and he would teach Xie Yan how to please him.
How to do it, where to touch, heavier or lighter, he explained in detail.
Satisfied, he still teased Xie Yan, murmuring “gentle… champion…” using the unconsumed chicken soup to fill himself in another way.
Saying he was full, he was actually hungry.
Late at night, they lit a lamp and took out the slightly cooled food to eat.
