Chapter 43: Fine Penmanship, Poor Cooking

The bamboo pens were finally finished. Wu Yue Ling gazed at the thirty or so identical pens laid out on the table. After filling each with ink, she tested them one by one, eventually selecting the two best for reward—a string of coins for each.

Outside the pavilion, a crowd of craftsmen waited, whispering among themselves. After all, a string of coins was enough for a night of revelry in the city.

Mo Qianjin was anxious, unsure whether the princess would like his work. He had carved a peony flower into the pen, pouring hours of effort into it.

Mo Dingkun stood beside his father, the sole of his left shoe pressing the toe of his right, fingers entwined. His pen was identical to his father's, and if the princess favored theirs, fortune would smile upon them. Who knew—perhaps she’d reward them with two strings of coins, doubling their prize.

As Mo Dingkun was lost in pleasant thoughts, the princess emerged with her attendants.

"Who designed these two identical pens?" Wu Yue Ling held up the two peony-engraved bamboo pens, her voice ringing out.

Mo Qianjin raised his aged hand. "Me, me, me! I designed it!"

"And me, me, me! I helped him," Mo Dingkun quickly added, raising his hand and standing straight.

"What are your names?" Wu Yue Ling asked, puzzled. The two seemed familiar—weren’t they the father and son who’d praised her earlier? Yet they looked nothing alike.

"Princess, I am Mo Qianjin, his father!"

"And I, Princess, am Mo Dingkun, his... his son..."

Wu Yue Ling recalled them now—the pair of craftsmen who’d lauded her before. Though they bore no resemblance, she smiled. "Hmm, these bamboo pens are comfortable and smooth to write with. Well done. You’ve won the reward—two strings of coins!"

Mo Qianjin and Mo Dingkun were overjoyed, returning to their room amidst the envy and congratulations of their peers.

"Father, we’ve made it! Ah, I remember Little Cui at the Jade Pavilion in the East Market. Maybe tonight I’ll spend the night there..."

Slap. Mo Qianjin’s large hand landed on Mo Dingkun’s head, making him howl in pain. "Always thinking about the women at the Jade Pavilion! Listen, rascal, this money is for your marriage, not for wasting in brothels! I expect you to give me a grandson!"

"Father, I can’t bear you a grandson... Ouch, stop hitting me! I will, I will, alright?"

Wu Yue Ling sat by the window, sketching with her bamboo pen. After finishing her drawing, she completed the first draft of Journey to the West.

The young lynx, as usual, sat on the windowsill gazing at the scenery outside, while the white tiger curled up at Wu Yue Ling’s feet, sleeping.

A few days later, Yu Chao’en had scoured every corner of Chang’an, bringing back every child and daughter for sale he could find. Along the way, he clashed with the Manichaeans, and if not for his guards and the princess’s decree, he might have been beaten—since the Manichaeans were after the same thing.

The annex of the Princess’s residence was now too small to house everyone; it was only a former annex, and over a thousand people had been brought back, including over three hundred youths in their teens. This far exceeded Wu Yue Ling’s expectations. She barely managed to fit six per room, moving Wan’er and others to the Heavenly Bestowal Pavilion, which had three floors and plenty of empty rooms.

The expenses were enormous, but fortunately Wu Yue Ling had already prepared many empty two-story houses in the back residence and hills, as well as vacant fields. If necessary, they could plant rice by the lake.

Wu Yue Ling thought ahead: the brewery, farming, watermelon cultivation—all would need their help, as would the tavern. Calculating carefully, even these seven hundred people might not suffice... The Princess’s residence, by modern standards, could host several large parks.

Yu Chao’en finished weeding the fields, inspecting the crop called chili, which had already borne tiny, pointed fruits. Sweating, he felt a surge of pride—this was the task the princess had given him. Though excluded from the annex and not allowed to stay in the Heavenly Bestowal Pavilion, he felt guilty for his past misdeeds. Yet he knew he’d have to continue, or else serve Gao of the Inner Court and Li, the Right Chancellor, to preserve his life. If he wanted to survive, he’d have to play both sides, feigning loyalty to the princess; otherwise, when the winds changed, he’d be the first to fall.

Resolute, he fetched water from the pond by the gardens, tending the field before reporting to the princess that the chilies had borne fruit.

After inspecting the chilies, Wu Yue Ling found the palace cooks searching for her. Led by a tall, burly head chef, they finally found her in the gardens.

Over a hundred chefs knelt together, begging Wu Yue Ling to teach them new culinary arts. She was helpless—the new kitchenware was ready, but she didn’t want to teach, not out of stinginess, but because it was too troublesome.

She went to the kitchen, ordering the iron skillet and spatula brought out.

Wu Yue Ling stood before the kitchen; Hua Chuer sat atop the roof, eager to learn how such delicious dishes were made, perhaps to steal a few tricks.

Wu Yue Ling rolled up her green patterned sleeves. The hundred chefs followed suit, some quickly, others more slowly, watching those around them.

Unaware, Wu Yue Ling raised the skillet and spatula, glanced at the hundred chefs, and her eye twitched.

All one hundred raised their skillets and spatulas, mirroring her.

What was this, a skillet battle? Calm down, everyone put them down!

Wu Yue Ling cleared her throat. The hundred chefs did the same, some coughing repeatedly.

Resigned, Wu Yue Ling set down the skillet.

The hundred chefs followed, confused—was this lesson about picking up the skillet, coughing, and putting it down?

"Let me tell you, it’s not like that. Don’t follow my every move. I’ll teach you how to stir-fry," Wu Yue Ling picked up the skillet and spatula, rubbing her forehead. Half the chefs mimicked her, picking up their skillet and spatula and rubbing their foreheads.

"Alright, here's how it's done. Always add oil first, adjusting the amount depending on taste. Now..."

All afternoon, Wu Yue Ling taught and explained, exhausted. After clarifying the method, she let them try for themselves. The results were catastrophic.

Wu Yue Ling sat before the dining table, waiting for the dishes.

First came a bowl of soup—too little salt. Next, a dry, oily dish she set aside after half a bite. Then—an utterly burnt, blackened concoction...

She put down her chopsticks, looked at the array of dishes, and clapped her hands. "Come, come, don’t be shy. Choose your own dish. Don’t waste food. Eat up!"

Wu Yue Ling couldn’t bear to watch their expressions or hear their complaints. She went to a small stove, set the skillet, cracked eggs into a bowl with salt, and whisked.

Heating the skillet to a glow, she added oil, waited, then tossed in sliced garlic. The rich aroma filled the air. She poured in the eggs, stirring until pale yellow, grabbed a handful of chives, stirred again, added a splash of water, and finished—a fragrant plate of chive scrambled eggs.

Wu Yue Ling picked up a pair of chopsticks, tasted it—it was quite good. She placed it on the table and beckoned the chefs to try.

A few tried the chive eggs, then suddenly everyone rushed to grab a bite, showering praise on her cooking. Some even licked the plate with abandon.

Wu Yue Ling rubbed her forehead, silently conceding defeat.

That evening, she decided to let Ye, Xiaochun, and Xiaomi, who were learning to cook, teach the chefs. She simply couldn’t manage it herself.

Hua Chuer clamored to teach as well, claiming she’d learned by observing. But after a day, she left—no matter what she cooked, it always turned out black.