Chapter Forty-Six: Chef Yun

There was nothing to be done; trying to keep something as simple as ice-making a secret from Chai Shao was simply impossible. Discussing intellectual property rights with him felt to Yun Hao like a form of self-torment.

Still, the ice was finally made, and he prepared a large basin to send to Li Er. He ordered two young maids to crush the ice and place it by Li Er's side, treating him as though he were a prized seafood to be kept fresh. In modern seafood restaurants, this was a common practice.

Chai Shao laughed, “Brother Yun, there’s no need for hidden words among honest men. You’ll have a share in this business, no need to worry about a thing. How about thirty percent for you?” Grain was expensive in Chang’an, and prices in Jinyang weren’t any better. Chai Shao was to marry Li Xiuning, the third daughter of the Duke of Tang, and the financial strain was not insignificant. Now, with this new way to earn money, he was naturally overjoyed. At the same time, he grew more curious about Yun Hao, who had already brought him so many surprises in just one day.

Who knew what surprises might come in the future? This was exactly the kind of person one should befriend; there might be further benefits down the road, especially since the boy had just taught Changsun Wuji a lesson. That wail of agony was truly heart-rending. If he tried to use force to suppress Yun Hao, it might backfire. To be resented by such a youth would be unwise.

To receive thirty percent of the shares for nothing, Yun Hao felt Chai Shao was already being exceedingly generous. In these times, the powerful would take every advantage, even killing to protect a recipe, since commoners’ lives were worth little. A bit of money to bribe the authorities was all it took, especially for orphans like Yun Hao with no one to rely on or protect them.

It was much the same in later generations. Legend had it the old proprietor who invented Yunnan Baiyao was starved to death because he refused to reveal the secret recipe. Yun Hao dared not follow in those footsteps; with no other choice, he nodded in agreement. The reality was that power ruled the land, as it had for thousands of years in China.

“Agreed! It’s settled, then!” Since Chai Shao had shown him respect, Yun Hao had to accept, especially since he was currently in a vulnerable position. With this new ice-making venture, at least he would have some income in the future—far better than renting a shop and opening a restaurant with his mother, which was always uncertain. At the very least, with Chai Shao’s backing, he wouldn’t have to worry about street thugs eating without paying or extorting protection fees.

Their two palms met with a clap, and in the Sui dynasty, this was as binding as any contract. No one would think of going back on their word, even without a written agreement, and Yun Hao loved the sincerity of this world.

His stomach began to rumble. Glancing at the setting sun, Yun Hao realized he hadn’t eaten since breakfast. Although people in this era typically ate only two meals a day, the idea of three meals was deeply ingrained in his mind. Zhao, his mother, was happy to see him eat heartily and grow strong, so she prepared three meals every day. But today, the courtyard was crowded with people, and Zhao, being a woman, could not appear in public. Besides, these bastards were far too brazen, parading around in broad daylight in nothing but loincloths. Any household with womenfolk would have fled at the sight.

Yun Hao knew it was pointless to complain to Chai Shao; after all, Chai Shao was decently clothed, mindful of the ladies in the household. In his previous life, he watched Red Sorghum, where the distillery workers toiled naked.

To celebrate his first business deal, Yun Hao decided to treat himself to a good meal. There wasn’t much in the kitchen, but he fetched a piece of pork from the well, stored there since morning, and called over a strong fellow to pound it with two mallets until the fatty and lean pork belly was reduced to mince.

“What are you making, Brother Hao?” Chai Shao, ever curious, peeked into the kitchen. These days, anything Yun Hao fiddled with, Chai Shao observed carefully, always weighing its commercial potential. To Chai Shao, Yun Hao was a walking money tree; any act might yield enormous profits. He was already considering how to bring this little fellow into his household and keep him there as a god of wealth.

“Your second master is injured; naturally, his meals must be special. If you want wounds to heal quickly, nutrition is essential. It’s a pity there’s no beef to be had in Jinyang. If there were, a spiced beef wrap would be perfect.” Yun Hao could not help salivating as he spoke. In this era, the law strictly forbade the slaughter of cattle. A murderer might go unpunished, but someone who killed a cow would certainly face justice.

“So, what are you making?” Chai Shao longed for beef as well, but even the Duke of Tang’s household could only secretly have a cow for New Year, and even that was after bribing the right people. In recent years, the emperor always found fault with the Duke of Tang, so even a taste of beef during the festival was rare—just thinking about it was disheartening.

“I’m making fried meatballs—they’re rich and flavorful. Add a couple of green vegetables for balance, and it’s a nutritious meal. A pot of thin rice porridge will counteract the greasiness and satisfy cravings. I guarantee your second master will recover quickly after eating this.” As Yun Hao spoke, he kneaded the filling, always stirring in one direction to give the meat the desired texture, mixing in various seasonings as he went.

He added a few medicinal spices, especially pepper water, which he poured in gradually as he mixed so the flavor would infuse the meat. As for scallions, ginger, and garlic, he used just a little for aroma—too much would overpower the dish. There was no need for excessive seasoning in meatballs.

Yun Hao harbored a grudge against vegetable oil—it had an indescribable taste he disliked. He preferred soybean oil. Mentioning this to Chai Shao, the latter thumped his chest and promised to have someone press oil from soybeans the next day; soybeans were grown right outside Jinyang and weren’t expensive.

Enduring the smell of vegetable oil, Yun Hao squeezed out meatballs with his chubby little hands, dropping them into the hot oil. The meatballs floated and sizzled, their aroma assaulting the senses. Even the noble Chai Shao was reduced to a drooling husky, lying by the door eagerly watching, only holding back from squatting beside Yun Hao because of the ancient maxim that gentlemen keep their distance from the kitchen.

The meatballs were fried to a crisp, saturated with oil and juice. People of this era loved greasy food. The last time Yun Hao made fried meatballs at Erxian Village, everyone complained they were too dry, so this time he made sure there was enough fat to sate even the heartiest appetite.

He scooped one out with a bamboo skimmer and tossed it into a basket for Chai Shao to taste. Chai Shao nearly swallowed it whole, then claimed he couldn’t tell if it was cooked and needed to try another pound to be sure.

What a glutton with no experience of the world, Yun Hao thought, and wrote Chai Shao off as such. As for the burly men outside, drooling like guard dogs, Yun Hao the chef paid them no mind.

The courtyard bustled with activity, inside and out—a scene of lively industry. Yun Hao didn’t realize that it was precisely this busyness that allowed him to avoid a disaster.