Where Immortals Once Walked-Chapter 253: Poria Cake

So this “Triumph on All Fronts” was not filled with odds and ends from the butcher. Instead, it featured lake shrimp, a thickened beef broth, paper-thin slices of flowerfish, the local specialty known as jumping mushrooms with their rich, crisp bite, and a handful of vegetables to round out the heat.

The dish won praise up and down the table. Even Li Fubo declared that he would be back often. The grandmaster artisan was not built for spice—two mouthfuls in, he had to sluice down three gulps of wine to cope—but the burn was simply too addicting. He dabbed his nose with a soft handkerchief again and again, laughing between sniffs.

Madame Ying tugged discreetly on He Lingchuan’s sleeve and murmured, “It’s delicious, truly, but it leaves our guests rather unbecoming.” Every face is flushed beet red, noses are running, and people are sniffing and huffing like bellows. What sort of high-class banquet is this? It’s fine for family, but for entertaining guests...

He Lingchuan nodded his head at once. “Mother is absolutely right.”

On other tables, he even spotted red-oil stir-fried river snails—a sign that the new chili-oil series was a hit with diners.

The city had only been reopened for business for three days, yet Hesu Tower was packed to the rafters again. He could practically hear money clinking into the till.

Since Governor-General He’s troops had won their first engagement, eight or nine out of every ten commoners who had fled Dunyu City had come back. But the old order had been shaken loose. Hence, many houses, shops, fields, and businesses had changed hands. This resulted in many goods plunging in price only to spike back up. Stability would take time.

The wounds ran deep. If nothing else, theft, looting, quarrels, and brawls had all become more frequent.

The provincial government office had been ready. He Chunhua issued edicts one after another, meant to tamp down disputes and steady the city’s pulse.

As long as the people stayed, and as long as they trusted the new governor, the wounds would heal, sooner or later.

Everyone at least understood that much.

* * *

He Lingchuan set aside what he was reading, rubbed at the ache behind his eyes, then stretched until all his joints popped like firecrackers.

If he was reading with this much diligence, he had to be dreaming.

And indeed, he was in Panlong City’s Literature Pavilion, the largest library in the city. Over the past five days, he had already gone through more than a hundred volumes.

Yes, five full days had passed.

In past dreams, he would last a day or two before snapping back to reality. This time was different. The dream had seen dawn and dusk pass five times, and he was still here.

A dream that made him study—what a life.

Complaints aside, he cracked open the next book.

Reading books with his spiritual sense allowed him to read much quicker than if he read them normally. With spiritual sense, he needed a second or two per page at most. Moreover, most of the books here were slim.

Panlong City seemed peaceful these days. The monster tide stirred up by the recent imperial nectar rain had largely ebbed. The newborn creatures were either clever enough to recognize who ruled the Chipa Plateau or the city patrols had beaten them into submission.

This cycle took place every few years. Everyone knew the drill. Reports of villagers attacked and fields ravaged had dwindled away, and the plateau had slipped back into calm.

With that, his workload as a patrolman had dropped. He had not been called out in days. 𝑓𝘳𝘦𝑒𝑤𝑒𝘣𝘯ℴ𝘷𝘦𝓁.𝑐𝑜𝑚

Skinny grumbled nonstop about the lack of action.

Aside from restocking necessities, buying food and drink, and trading a few bouts at the Martial Review Hall, He Lingchuan had spent his hours here in the library, feeding his head.

Even fighting got tedious when it came too often; Meng Shan was still recuperating and had not returned. It was time, then, to change up the rhythm.

The Literature Pavilion was lively. People came thirsty for knowledge. Now and then, clusters formed in corners, debating in low voices. He had heard that scholars and cultivators sometimes gave impromptu lectures here as well.

Even so, he was a touch disappointed. The Literature Pavilion’s collection was not the boundless sea he had originally imagined it to be.

The library was a tower of six floors. The top level held ancient texts and certain sensitive materials; the other five were open to the public. But there was one rule:

No borrowing—that is, unless you could secure a special hand-written dispensation.

On each floor, the shelves rose from polished stone to carved ceiling. If you wanted something high up, you took a ladder.

And yet, half the shelves stood empty.

He found very few travelogues, miscellanies, or natural histories; the handful available had been read to tatters.

By far the largest category was statecraft and military strategy, including records of neighboring realms’ politics, economies, and prominent figures, as well as analyses of famous battles, ancient and modern. The range was dazzling, the approaches many, the insights often sharp.

Those were the volumes he had devoured these past days, and they paid out richly.

There were also compendia of mid-ancient myths and marvels—mysterious and strange, the sort of thing that, read now, felt almost absurd.

Still, He Lingchuan had the nagging sense that certain topics he wanted simply did not exist in the Literature Pavilion.

For one, material on divinations.

In actuality, he had collected a few in waking life, but they were either confusing to the eye or somehow missed the mark. Of course, it was entirely possible that he simply lacked the head for that discipline.

But here, in the Literature Pavilion? Not a single such book on the public floors.

He had pored over the catalog until his vision swam.

Was it that he did not understand the library well enough to search properly? Or were the books he wanted all on the sixth floor?

He gathered up the volumes he had finished and made for the return desk. That was when a figure slipped past in front of him, a figure that seemed oddly familiar.

Thinking his eyes played tricks, he blinked hard and looked again. Then, there was no mistaking it.

He Lingchuan hurried after the figure, lengthening his stride into a quick trot. An elderly librarian snapped a fierce “Shh!” at him for disturbing the silence.

He slowed at the figure’s shoulder and gave a light, pointed cough. “Ms. Sun?”

No response.

He had to put a bit of weight in his voice. “Sun Fuling!”

The young woman turned.

He was then met with that familiar set of milk-white skin, rose-red lips, and almond eyes that were as bright as glass.

“Hoh,” she breathed, genuinely surprised. “What are you doing here?”

“Reading.” He lifted the stack in his hands. “I haven’t seen you in days.”

He had stopped by home now and then these five days; her courtyard had been quieter than his.

“Shumin State Academy held its year-end examinations. I was one of the question-setters, so I wasn’t allowed to leave the grounds.” This was, of course, to prevent any leaks.

“And now?”

“They finished today.” She exhaled a breath of air. “The children get thirteen days of winter holiday, and I get to rest.”

“It seems you’ve been working hard. Is it paid leave?”

“No,” she said with a laugh. “No classes, no pay. But the academy distributed some rice and oil, and a bit over a kilogram and a half of mutton.”

That’s better than money in some ways. It’s a winter bonus that you can eat. “Are you going to give any of your students special sessions over the break?”

“Special sessions?” She blinked. The term was new to her. “I can’t cook.”[1]

“Ah, that’s not what I meant.” Since arriving in this world, this was the first time he had heard a young lady declare so forthrightly that she could not cook. “I meant, would you tutor a few students privately?”

She shook her head. “That’s forbidden. If they catch us, the punishment is heavy.”

“Why?”

“They’re afraid we’ll hold back in class and save the real content for paid lessons. It wouldn’t be fair to the other children.”

He went to return his books, then joined her outside. Only then did he notice she had two slim volumes tucked under her arm.

“You can borrow from here?”

“Of course.” She smoothed a stray lock behind her ear. “I’m a teacher at Shumin State Academy.”

Ah, so she’s got special privileges.

The sunlight today sparkled, and the snow on the steps lay thick and clean, crunching underfoot.

Outside, the Literature Pavilion opened onto two long streets, their paving smoothed with polished bricks. In weather eight or nine degrees below freezing, stall-keepers were reluctant to linger outdoors, but most storefronts were open, with a brave few proprietors calling to passersby.

Even from a distance, he caught the scent of rice cakes steaming in one of the shops, and his stomach gave an eager flutter. For the past few days, he had been living on flatbreads filled with scallion and egg—good hot or cold, but dull in repetition.

He asked Sun Fuling, “Hungry?”

A white cloud puffed from Sun Fuling’s lips as she said, “Starving. I’ve been eating at the academy, and it’s the same handful of dishes on a loop. I’m sick of them. Mm, what should we buy?”

“How about this one?” The aroma of the rice cakes was too tempting, and on a day like this, he wanted honest carbohydrates.

Inside, the shop was tiny but dense with steam and warmth.

Steamed twisted rolls, plain buns, meat buns, sweet scallion-sugar buns, and a dozen other baked goods waited in bamboo baskets.

But none of those were the source of that fragrance.

He followed his nose to a round basket and lifted the lid. Inside lay snowy white squares of rice cake. They were so clean that they looked like newly fallen drifts of snow, only these were piping hot and fragrant.

“Let’s get this,” he said, and when she nodded, he passed a few coppers across the counter.

“Poria cake[2]?” the plump proprietress beamed. Her round face made her look like a bun herself. “Excellent choice.”

“Uh...” Sun Fuling’s fuling (poria)?[3]

Sun Fuling spoke up before he could overthink the pun. “Yes. Big pieces with jujubes on top.”

So they stepped back into the cold, each enjoying a warm white brick of poria cake. In the air so frigid that your breath turned to frost, the cake warmed their palms like a stove.

He Lingchuan ate with happy greed. The texture was soft, plush, and hot; along with Poria’s mild, clean perfume, the starch released a subtle sweetness the longer he chewed. The shop had kneaded in bits of dried longan, too.

Most importantly, it was filling.

He glanced at Sun Fuling. She cupped her piece of cake in both hands and took quick, small bites, like a chipmunk attacking a nut. Watching her eat made it clear that the stuff was genuinely good.

They walked shoulder to shoulder through the slow river of pedestrians, and for the first time since arriving in Panlong City, he felt a lazy ease descend—one of those small, ordinary happinesses that belonged to regular people.

This city, these people—full of the warmth of daily life.

He let out a long, involuntary breath.

She tilted her head. “What’s wrong?”

“Have you ever been to the Literature Pavilion’s sixth floor?”

She said plainly, “I’ve gone up following others, mostly to move materials.”

“Is it full of secrets?”

“Of course. Some things the authorities deem unfit for public view, while others are locked away for fear of spies.” She smiled faintly. “If not, why bar the doors and post guards? Hm, why are you asking?”

1. The term that He Lingchuan used is the modern idiom, 小灶, which literally translates to small stove. These days, this term is typically taken to mean to give someone extra or special treatment, often by cooking better meals. Do note that it’s not the meals but the extra effort that is the focus here. ☜

2. This is a traditional Chinese pastry made from a blend of ingredients like poria mushroom powder, glutinous rice flour, and brown sugar, which is then baked into a soft, cake-like snack. ☜

3. The fuling (茯苓) in Sun Fuling (孙茯苓) is the Poria (茯苓) in Poria cake (茯苓糕). ☜