Chapter Twenty-Four: What Is He Up To?

Since his reincarnation, he had spent nearly two months drifting from place to place, but now he was finally settled. Hou Junji and his two scoundrel friends, upon discovering a place where they could freeload for food and drink, dropped by every few days to take advantage. Eventually, they simply moved into the Two Sages Manor, and in the end even brought a gaggle of younger ones to stay permanently.

Wang Botang had absolutely no sense of being a guest. He took full responsibility for Yun Hao’s friends, ensuring that any who came would want for nothing in food or drink. Moreover, every month he provided Madam Zhao with some silver for Yun Hao and his mother’s expenses. In his words, “When the Qin family brother fell on hard times, you and your mother offered a helping hand. That is true friendship—the kind of timely aid that not everyone can provide.”

Having finally tasted the sweetness of his investment, Yun Hao could hardly contain his delight. Wang Botang stuffed a heavy pouch of silver into Yun Hao’s hands. Madam Zhao, emerging from the inner rooms, protested, “This won’t do, this won’t do,” but her face was already blossoming with joy. With this money, she and her son could open a small shop and secure a livelihood. This was a matter of survival, and deserved proper gratitude.

“I can’t accept such a generous gift without having earned it—Uncle Wang, this is too much,” Yun Hao said, feigning humility as he clutched the silver tightly to his chest. His eyes were fixed warily on Wang Botang, ready to dart behind Qin Qiong at the first sign that the man might reclaim the gift.

“Hahaha! This boy is a clever one. So young, yet already knows how to curry favor. He’ll surely grow up to be a remarkable character,” came a jeering voice—Weizheng, the kind of man likened to a rat in a soup pot or a speck of filth in a loaf of bread. Amidst the chorus of praise for Yun Hao’s loyalty, Wei Zheng jumped out with his barbed words, which always seemed to carry hooks that made everyone uncomfortable.

Yun Hao ground his teeth in annoyance. Was it so hard to say something nice? Would it kill him to praise along with Shan Xiongxin? He always had to be contrary, always had to interpret the world from another angle. I’m not Li Er, Yun Hao thought. No wonder, after you died, they dug up your grave. If it were up to me, I’d have you shot for five minutes straight.

“Oh? Why do you say that, Daoist?” Li Mi stroked his beard. He was quite fond of Yun Hao; the child’s face was rosy and round, made all the more adorable by his recent good eating. The King of Hell had promised Yun Hao several things, but at least good looks had been delivered.

Yun Hao’s lips were red, his teeth white, and his features so delicate that anyone who saw him would exclaim what a handsome child he was. As for Wei Zheng—he hardly seemed human.

Wei Zheng only smiled in silence, affecting the air of a sage. These charlatans always spoke in riddles, as if to prove their extraordinary wisdom. This act worked best on people like Li Mi, whose gaze toward Yun Hao now grew serious, his smile fading into deep suspicion.

“Heh! If you call me uncle, then take it. Consider it my gift to you. I really shouldn’t have scalded you with boiling water that day—my conscience has been troubled since. Take this as my apology, will you?” Wang Botang, afraid Yun Hao might return the silver, patted the boy’s head and glanced at Madam Zhao.

“Since Uncle Wang insists, then I’ll accept it with thanks. I have nothing else to offer in return but a meal for all my uncles. Please, sirs, wait a moment while I cook a few dishes myself.” Being young had its advantages—after addressing everyone as uncle, they each produced a small gift, and soon Yun Hao’s arms were full.

At the mention of Yun Hao’s “masterful culinary skills,” Hou Junji vanished in an instant. Qi Biao’s stomach churned, and Lai Shun clung to the doorframe, his legs shaking. Yun Hao kicked the pair and dragged them off to help in the kitchen.

As a woman, Madam Zhao was ill-suited to entertain the guests, so she followed Yun Hao to the kitchen instead. Meanwhile, the heroes in the courtyard fetched tables and stools, while Shan Xiongxin ordered up wine and laid out some seasonal fruits to begin drinking.

“Hao’er, it’s all well and good for you to host, but we have nothing prepared. If we slight these gentlemen, it won’t look good,” Madam Zhao said upon seeing that aside from some rice and flour, there was little else—certainly not the meat these heroes considered essential. In these times, beef was off the table; slaughtering an ox was a serious crime that could land one in prison. Shan Xiongxin, wanting to maintain a model citizen’s reputation, wouldn’t dare break this taboo.

They could only eat pork or mutton, but in this era, pigs were never castrated, so their meat was pungent and unappealing even to these hearty men. As for mutton, it was best eaten fresh, but there wasn’t a sheep to be found, nor would anyone have slaughtered one now even if there was.

“Don’t worry, Mother. I’ll handle the food today. Recently, I found a book at Master Shan’s with all sorts of cooking methods. Just wait and see—when I’m done, they’ll be licking their plates,” Yun Hao lied casually; Madam Zhao couldn’t read, so he could have claimed his copy of Romance of the Three Kingdoms was a cookbook and gotten away with it.

“There are books with recipes?” Madam Zhao’s eyes widened in amazement. She wasn’t knowledgeable, but had never heard of a book with cooking instructions.

Was it possible there were no cookbooks in this era? Yun Hao blinked and was more convinced than ever—if all they did was boil or stew, who needed recipes?

“In books, the wealthy need not buy good land; therein are stores of grain. One need not build grand halls; in books, there are houses of gold. Traveling, you needn’t worry about companions; books provide carriages and steeds. Don’t fret about a good match; books hold beauties as fair as jade. If a man wishes to fulfill his life’s ambitions, let him study the classics by the window,” Yun Hao recited with the air of a sage, surpassing even Wei Zheng’s mystical posturing.

Madam Zhao, already stunned, was ushered out of the kitchen. Yun Hao then ordered Lai Shun to handle the fire, Qi Biao to fetch water.

“Hao, you’re not making that lumpy soup again, are you?” Lai Shun managed to ask, his stomach churning.

“All you know is lumpy soup! Mind the fire and fetch the water. There’ll be something good for you when the food’s ready,” Yun Hao said, kicking Lai Shun before catching sight of Hou Junji lurking hesitantly at the door.

“Don’t just stand there—go fetch some chickens. There are plenty of speckled hens by the haystack near the wall; grab eight or ten. If anyone asks, say Master Shan wants them.” He wouldn’t let free labor go to waste. At the mention of chicken, Hou Junji cheered and ran off to catch them.

Before long, a great pot of water was steaming. Hou Junji, accompanied by two farmhands, returned carrying a cage of speckled hens. Seeing Yun Hao and the others kneading dough on the ground, a sense of foreboding washed over him. What on earth were they up to?