Chapter 4: She Appeared in His Dream
Fan Changyu lifted the braised pork offal from the pot with a bamboo sieve, letting the excess liquid drip away. A rich, savoury aroma filled the kitchen—an exquisite blend of spices and meat, far superior to anything she had seen on the cooked‑food street earlier that day. The colour alone was enough to stir one's appetite.
Little Chang Ning peered eagerly over the stove, only for her face to fall when she realised the contents.
"No pig ears…"
She adored pig ears.
Changyu poked the intestines and stomach with her chopsticks. They were so tender that the slightest pressure left small holes—perfectly cooked, flavourful, and soft.
"We'll have intestine noodles tonight," she said. "I'll braise pig ears tomorrow."
Chang Ning's eyes brightened instantly.
Taking advantage of the roaring fire, Changyu ladled out the braising liquid, rinsed the pot, and set water to boil for five bowls of noodles.
"Go tell Auntie Zhao not to cook supper," she instructed. "We'll all have intestine noodles together."
Chang Ning scampered off obediently.
Cooking noodles took little time. Changyu prepared four large bowls and one small bowl, adding a spoonful of rendered lard to each. When she poured in the boiling noodle water, the lard melted into the seasonings, releasing an irresistible fragrance.
She kept the dish simple—no broth, just noodles drained and topped with tender pieces of braised intestine, finished with a sprinkle of chopped spring onions. If her mother had been alive, she would have simmered a rich broth to elevate the dish further, but tonight simplicity would suffice.
She set her sister's bowl on the table, then carried the remaining three bowls next door.
---
When light, steady footsteps sounded on the wooden stairs leading to the loft, Xie Zheng opened his eyes.
A moment later, a woman's voice came from outside the door.
"Are you awake?"
"The door isn't latched," he replied. His voice was still hoarse, but far better than the day before.
Fan Changyu pushed the door open with her elbow, an oil lamp in one hand and a steaming bowl of noodles in the other.
"I heard from Auntie Zhao that a large falcon swooped down this morning and crashed through the downstairs window. How strange!"
Xie Zheng pressed his lips together, saying nothing.
He had not expected his gyrfalcon to be so foolish—diving headlong at the sound of his whistle.
Changyu glanced at him. Though still pale, he looked noticeably better.
Accustomed to his taciturn nature, she set the lamp on the table.
"Fortunately, it didn't injure anyone. Uncle Zhao will repair the window when he has time. This loft may be cramped, but at least it's quiet."
"Mm," he murmured.
She held out the bowl.
"I made noodles. Please make do with this."
The aroma reached him at once. The unfamiliar topping was the same fragrance that had drifted through the alley earlier, tormenting his empty stomach. After days of bitter medicine and thin porridge, this bowl felt like a feast.
He thanked her and began to eat.
The noodles were smooth, the soup rich despite its simplicity. The topping—soft, tender, and savoury—burst with flavour in every bite. Though he prided himself on having tasted many delicacies, he could not identify what it was.
"What is this?" he asked.
"Intestines," she replied, already turning to leave.
His chopsticks froze mid‑air.
Seeing his confusion, she clarified,
"Pork large intestine."
His expression changed at once.
Changyu blinked. She had seen people who disliked offal, but he had eaten with such relish moments ago. Why the sudden horror?
"What's wrong?"
"Nothing," he said stiffly.
He discreetly drew several deep breaths to quell the rising nausea.
Changyu, thinking only of her own bowl of noodles growing soggy, said,
"I'll head back. Leave the bowl on the cabinet when you're done. Auntie Zhao will collect it later."
The door closed softly behind her.
Xie Zheng stared at the bowl, torn between hunger and revulsion. He was no pampered noble—during harsh campaigns he had eaten bark and grass roots—but never animal intestines.
Pork intestines. The very passageway of filth.
Yet this was the most nourishing food he had been offered in days.
After a long internal struggle, he lifted the chopsticks again.
Heaven tempers a man with hardship before entrusting him with great responsibility…
He took a bite.
It was… quite good.
---
That night, Xie Zheng—who rarely dreamed—found himself dreaming of the woman who had saved him. In the dream, she was cheerfully herding a pig. Then, without warning, she drew a large knife, slit the pig's belly, and pulled out a long intestine.
"This is the intestine," she said brightly. "I'll cook it for you."
The pig's squeals merged with real ones outside, jolting him awake in a cold sweat.
The squealing continued. Dawn had barely broken, yet the household was already bustling. The elderly couple must have risen early to help the young woman slaughter the pig.
Remembering his dream, Xie Zheng's expression darkened.
Pigs. Slaughtering. Intestines. Everything about that woman seemed inseparable from pigs.
He pressed his brow and closed his eyes, trying to block out the shrill cries.
Just a few more days, he told himself. His falcon had already delivered his message. His men would find him soon. Then he could leave this place.
He would leave a generous sum of money behind as thanks.
---
In the Fan family's backyard, Fan Changyu had already tied the pig to the stone slaughter bench her father had commissioned years ago. She had inherited his remarkable strength; a pig that normally required several men to restrain, she held down alone.
With a swift, practiced motion, she plunged the long bleeding knife into the pig's neck. The squeal cut off instantly. Blood gushed into the wooden basin beneath the bench.
A clean kill with a single stroke—an auspicious sign.
Auntie Zhao beamed at the full basin.
"This will be enough blood to eat for several days."
Changyu did not answer. Her expression was stern, her face and sleeves flecked with blood. Whenever she slaughtered a pig, she seemed to transform—her aura sharp, fierce, and unapproachable. The natural presence of one accustomed to taking life.
After draining the blood, she scalded the pig with boiling water and scraped off the hair. Chang Ning peeked from the doorway.
"Ning, go play outside," Auntie Zhao said. "Children shouldn't watch this. You'll have nightmares."
"I'm not afraid," the child whispered, though she retreated reluctantly.
Changyu rinsed the pig, hoisted it onto the iron hook, and split it cleanly in half. One half remained hanging; the other she carried to a makeshift table to butcher.
The elderly couple watched in awe.
"This girl truly takes after her father…"
When the pork was cut, Changyu hurried to load it onto a handcart. She asked Carpenter Zhao to deliver the twenty catties ordered by Chef Li of Yixiang Lou. She also packed some braised offal for him—not to curry favour, but simply to thank him for his support.
At the meat market, she was among the earliest arrivals. Only a few shops had opened. When acquaintances saw her, they exclaimed in surprise.
"Oh, Changyu, you're reopening your family's shop?"
She smiled and confirmed it.
Inside, everything was just as her father had left it—clean, orderly, but coated in a thin layer of dust. A pang struck her chest, but she pushed it aside. She scrubbed the shop from top to bottom, arranged the fresh pork, and displayed the braised offal.
By the time the Chen hour reached its sixth period, customers began to trickle in.
Her shop's location was excellent, and her youth made the aunties think she might be easier to bargain with. They asked her prices, and she told them cheerfully—adding that, in celebration of the reopening, each catty of pork came with one tael of braised offal free.
Free braised meat? The aunties were delighted. Many bought pork on the spot.
Soon she had made several sales—while the neighbouring pork shops remained closed.
Across the street, Butcher Guo glared.
"Fan girl! You can't break market rules! We all sell at the same price. What's this about giving away free food?"
Changyu knew he had always disliked her father. She replied sweetly,
"Uncle Guo, my prices are the same as everyone else's. How have I broken any rules? The free gift is just to celebrate reopening. Is there a rule against that? Or do you think I'm easy to bully now that I'm an orphan?"
Butcher Guo flushed.
"You—! I can't out‑argue you!"
A friendly butcher chimed in,
"Come on, Old Guo. She's only selling one pig today. Why pick on her?"
Grumbling, Guo relented.
"Fine! But don't do it again tomorrow!"
"I won't," she said truthfully. Tomorrow she would be selling braised meat, not giving it away.
As the market grew busier, she began calling out,
"Fresh pork! Free braised offal with every catty purchased!"
The effect was immediate. A crowd gathered. She haggled, chopped, and sold with cheerful efficiency. Before the morning was half over, nearly all her pork was gone—far more quickly than she had expected.
Butcher Guo's face had soured to the colour of old cabbage.
Changyu ignored him, cleaned her shop, slung her knives over her back, and set off for the pig market to buy two more pigs. Her money pouch bulged pleasantly.
As she passed Guo's shop, he growled,
"If you give away anything tomorrow, don't blame me for bullying you!"
She snorted and walked on.
Tomorrow she would not be giving anything away—she would be selling it.
Walking down the street, she calculated her earnings. A ninety‑catty pig yielded about seventy catties of meat after removing the head and offal. Sold at fresh‑meat prices, she had earned over two strings of cash. The head and offal, once braised and sold tomorrow, would bring even more.
After deducting the cost of the pig, she had made over one string of cash in profit.
Her steps grew lighter. The earlier quarrel with Butcher Guo was forgotten.
But just as she left the meat market and approached the pig market, she heard someone calling urgently behind her.
"Changyu! Changyu!"
She turned. Carpenter Zhao was running toward her, breathless and pale.
"What's wrong, Uncle Zhao?"
He gasped,
"You must go home at once! Your uncle brought men from the gambling den—they broke down your door. They're ransacking the house looking for the property deed. My old bones and your aunt couldn't stop them!"