Ch 103: Guide to Feeding a Villainous Husband

Yu Jiuque disliked the phrase “a troubled autumn.”

Last year’s autumn had been anything but peaceful, and it seemed this year was no different.

However, the unrest of the previous year stemmed from the passing of the late emperor and the undercurrents of power that arose with the new emperor’s ascension—man-made disasters.

This year’s turmoil, on the other hand, came from a severe drought that swept through the southwest at the end of summer and beginning of autumn—a natural disaster.

Before the harvest, the land was scorched for thousands of miles, and it was already certain that several southwestern provinces would suffer a significant reduction in crops, if not complete failure.

In contrast, Shengjing was hit by continuous heavy rains. If not for the three-city Office of Military Affairs dispatching all its hundreds of personnel and mobilizing civilian craftsmen to dig drainage ditches day and night for three days, the capital would have almost been submerged.

Amid all this, the two people who could least afford to fall ill both fell sick.

One was the emperor, the other was Grand Secretary Fan, the head of the cabinet.

The emperor, already frail, had been overwhelmed with state affairs and unable to sleep well. After a night of cold rain, he caught a severe cold, with a fever that wouldn’t subside and a persistent cough and wheezing.

Grand Secretary Fan, on his way to the palace after the rain, had hurried too much and unfortunately slipped. At his advanced age—he could be Yu Jiuque’s great-grandfather—the fall fractured his bones.

At this point, the entire court suddenly realized that the only person left to lead them through this chaotic situation, where one crisis followed another, was Yu Jiuque, the de facto “inner minister,” though without an official title.

Yu Jiuque had no time to deal with others’ doubts.

Since taking charge of the Directorate of Ceremonies, everything he had done was, in his mind, beyond reproach, both to the court and his own conscience.

But this time, the disaster was relentless. The southwest faced a drought, and the north was on the verge of flooding.

Who knew what the Dragon King was thinking? If only he could distribute the rain more evenly, things would be much better.

Since ancient times, disaster relief has often gone hand in hand with the crackdown on corruption. Otherwise, how could one explain that before the imperial edict to dispatch relief grain even reached the southwest, several granaries in the local prefectures suddenly caught fire?

In the distant southwest, far from the emperor’s gaze, the local officials formed cliques, working together in corrupt collusion. If not for these incidents, no one would have noticed the group of local tyrants conspiring together.

Yu Jiuque submitted a long list of charges to the emperor, the extent of the corruption so vast that it made the sick emperor pound his bed in fury.

He asked Yu Jiuque for his opinion. Yu Jiuque gave a single word: “Execute.”

Such parasitic officials, feeding themselves on the fat and blood of the people, had grown bloated with greed.

Without executions, the anger of the people could not be appeased. Without executions, the officials across the nine provinces would not be deterred.

The cabinet, led by Grand Secretary Fan, disapproved of Yu Jiuque’s tendency to call for executions at every turn. They wanted to discuss the merits and faults of these officials with the emperor.

Punishment? Certainly. But as for beheading, couldn’t that be reconsidered?

However, their attempts at persuasion were in vain. The emperor, stirred by his anger, directly issued an imperial decree for the immediate execution of the officials upon their arrival in the capital.

With the sacrifice of three heads, Yu Jiuque once again managed to terrify the civil and military officials alike. Each of them began to quickly assess whether their own record was clean.

Those with guilty consciences, or those who had dealings with the southwestern officials, could barely sleep at night, keeping one eye open, terrified that they might be dragged from their beds by the agents of the Eastern Palace, thrown into prison, and find neither life nor death.

In the royal palace, past the Gate of Mental Cultivation, lay the Directorate of Ceremonial.

Outside the hall, the rain had stopped, but the sky remained gloomy.

As Yu Jiuque looked at the memorials before him, he felt a vein throb at his temple.

The southwest suffered from drought and total crop failure, while the north was flooded by heavy rains. If there were two things the court desperately needed right now, they were silver and grain.

But to mobilize these two resources was as difficult as ascending to heaven.

The imperial treasury was not well-stocked—an old issue of Dayong.

The granaries were burned—sabotaged by corrupt officials.

These were not matters that could be resolved overnight.

Now, the emperor was bedridden, the crown prince was still too young, the grand secretary was at home nursing his fractured bones, and the ministers of the Six Ministries couldn’t meet without getting into a fight within minutes.

Outside, the storm clouds were thick, and the court was ablaze with chaos.

Yu Jiuque silently raised his hand, rubbing his temples forcefully. He picked up his teacup, intending to take a sip, but then his nose itched, and he let out a loud sneeze.

That sneeze was followed by three more, one after another, leaving his head in a daze and startling the junior officials from the Six Ministries who had come to report.

They had come with just one goal: to complain, to plead for money.

And they were terrified that if they didn’t complain properly or plead correctly, they might lose their heads to the Eastern Palace.

Yu Jiuque wiped the tip of his nose with a handkerchief, silently praying that he wouldn’t catch a cold as well. When he looked up again, he found the room too dim and sent the young eunuch to light a few more lamps.

The warm yellow palace lamps were lit, one after another, their flickering flames casting shadows, yet the added light did little to warm the hearts of the junior officials present.

As the room brightened, Yu Jiuque finally looked properly at the pale faces of the court officials standing below.

Beneath the desk, hidden by his wide official robes, his hand rested on his belly, now four months pregnant and already noticeably swollen.

“Gentlemen, it’s late. If we keep delaying, the palace gates will soon be locked.”

His tone was sharp, the words cold.

“So, if you have something to report, speak quickly. If not, get out, and stop delaying my dinner.”

With that, the officials soon dispersed.

None of them doubted that if they had tried to bring up their complaints about insufficient funds, Yu Jiuque would have lashed out at them with a barrage of scorn.

And what would they do next?

Naturally, they would go back and find ways to scrape together money and grain. Only if the grand attendant was satisfied would the emperor behind him be satisfied.

Otherwise, the wrath of the Son of Heaven would be something no one could endure!

Yu Jiuque, pleased with the outcome, managed to return home for dinner just as dusk fell.

The recent bad weather had affected business at the restaurant. The roads into the city were muddy, making it difficult to supply meat and vegetables. With the looming shadow of disasters both north and south, even the streets of Shengjing were filled with a heavy gloom.

Qin Xia had handed the shop over to the staff and left early, waiting at home for Yu Jiuque’s return.

Yu Jiuque went in first to change his clothes. After removing his outer robe, his inner clothes were light and thin, hugging his belly, revealing the obvious curve.

His hands and feet were cold, and he had already put on a thicker autumn shirt at home. After coming out and sitting beside Qin Xia, he drank a cup of hot rice milk, finally feeling like he was alive again.

All his worries vanished the moment he saw Qin Xia.

Leaning into his embrace, it felt as though his whole body would melt away.

Qin Xia noticed that his little husband’s eyelids were drooping, as if he would fall asleep at any moment, and quickly roused him.

“Eat first, then you can nap.”

Yu Jiuque rubbed his eyes and sluggishly responded.

But when he saw the full table of dishes, he was instantly wide awake.

Qin Xia, seeing the light return to his eyes, was secretly relieved.

As long as his appetite remained, there probably wasn’t much to worry about.

On the table tonight was a dish Qin Xia had made for the first time—Yunnan Ghost Chicken.

The authentic ghost chicken used black-boned chicken, which was perfect for someone in pregnancy.

It nourished the blood, replenished qi, relieved fatigue, and quenched thirst.

Qin Xia didn’t make chicken soup. The layer of oil on top of the soup isn’t all that nutritious, and besides, Yu Jiuque doesn’t even like drinking it.

The ghost chicken is a cold, sour, and spicy dish, which can be understood as a type of special shredded chicken.

After boiling the black-boned chicken, it’s torn into thin strips and mixed with minced scallions, ginger, garlic, and chili. Instead of lemon, a certain sour fruit is used, along with salt and MSG for seasoning, and finally, it’s garnished with coriander.

Considering his partner’s taste preferences, Qin Xia also added a bit of crushed peanuts.

Yu Jiuque picked up his chopsticks three times in a row, clearly showing that it suited his palate.

“Eat slower,” Qin Xia reminded, as he served him a spoonful of sweet and sour pork with pineapple.

The pineapple came from a batch of candied fruit that Yu Jiuque had “requested” from the palace, shared out from the imperial kitchen. This method of preserving fruit could keep it fresh for a long time, though the extended soaking in syrup made it so sweet that eating it alone could numb your mouth. However, it was perfect for cooking.

The pork tenderloin was marinated and then fried. A sweet and sour sauce made from tomato, sugar, and cornstarch was prepared, and the candied pineapple and pork were stir-fried together with some bell peppers for garnish.

The ghost chicken was sour and spicy, and the sweet and sour pork was tangy and sweet. With these few dishes, they both finished the rice in their bowls.

After the meal, Qin Xia accompanied Yu Jiuque on a walk around the courtyard to help with digestion.

As they discussed the difficulties of disaster relief, Yu Jiuque felt overwhelmed.

“The heavy rains have stopped in the north, and the granaries are under surveillance by the secret agents, so there shouldn’t be any issues there. But the southwest is thousands of miles away. By the time the relief grain gets there, people will likely have already starved to death.”

Qin Xia, who had a general understanding of Dayong’s geography, listened to Yu Jiuque’s account and pondered whether his modern knowledge could be of any help.

In the end, his skills as a chef led to a possible solution—

The southwest is mountainous, humid, and warm. In such regions, there is a wild plant that Dayong’s common people might not know how to eat, but which provides a strong sense of satiety: konjac.

Konjac, also known as devil’s tongue, has many benefits. However, Qin Xia didn’t know if this plant went by a different name in Dayong. He explained the advantages of konjac to Yu Jiuque, and the young man quickly realized the potential of such a food.

It’s wild, commonly found, easy to transport once ground into powder, and just a small amount could provide enough food for many people. Most importantly, Qin Xia emphasized its ability to make people feel full.

When people are starving, they’ll eat anything—from tree bark to grass roots, even soil.

If this ingredient could keep people fed and had no major health risks, it would be a godsend!

Yu Jiuque immediately summoned his subordinates, instructing them to search for this plant based on Qin Xia’s description and the illustrations he drew. They were also to ask southwest natives in the capital, as local people would likely recognize it.

Konjac is prized for its root, but its above-ground stalks and leaves are quite distinctive. The leaves gather at the top, resembling a tiny tree.

The next day, news came back, and it was closer than expected.

One of the secret agents was from the southwest, and it turned out to be none other than Lu Liang.

The moment he saw the drawing, childhood memories resurfaced.

“This plant is called ‘grey grass’ in our area. We can sell it to pharmacies, but the root is poisonous and cannot be eaten. Every child knows that if you eat it, your mouth will swell up as if it’s on fire, and you’ll start vomiting and have diarrhea.”

When Lu Liang learned that the root of the grey grass could be ground into a type of “tofu,” he expressed his surprise, saying he had never heard of it, nor had he seen anyone eat it in such a way.

“If it were edible, we would’ve dug it up long ago. This stuff grows all over the place in our region.”

As a result, grey grass wasn’t a valuable medicinal plant. A large basketful would only fetch a few copper coins, and it was usually harvested by children from farming families to supplement their household income.

Yu Jiuque, trusting Qin Xia, never doubted the edibility of the plant.

However, the urgent task was to quickly gather a batch of grey grass roots so that Qin Xia could create a sample, allowing Yu Jiuque to plan the next steps.

The jinyiwei took their orders, but this time, they weren’t seeking intelligence or chasing down criminals. Instead, they were heading into the countryside, hoping to find grey grass somewhere nearby, outside the southwest.

They had consulted with local doctors, who confirmed that grey grass wasn’t exclusive to the southwest; it also grew in the north, though it was relatively rare.

Three days later, two baskets of grey grass roots, in varying sizes and shapes and still covered in dirt, were rushed to Lord Yu’s residence. They were as dirty and unappealing as could be.

Qin Xia, however, showed no disdain, instead breaking into a smile.

“This is exactly it!”

Konjac, or grey grass root as it was called in Dayong, was round and concave in the middle. He was certain it was the right plant.

With the roots in hand, everything else would fall into place.

It was already late, and the mills in the city had long since closed. With grain prices soaring, fewer people could afford to have their grain ground.

Just as dinner was halfway served in the backyard, there came a loud and abrupt banging at the door.

The mill owner put down his chopsticks, cursing as he went to answer. Upon opening the door and seeing the uniforms of the secret agents, he nearly passed out.

The jinyiwei grabbed him by the arms, one on each side, forcing him to come along, while they hauled in a basket of “ugly pumpkins,” ordering him to grind them into powder.

The mill owner didn’t dare ask what these things were. Instead, he called his son, hitched up the old donkey, and they toiled through the night.

By dawn, the two baskets of grey grass roots had been ground into a large sack of powder. The agents tossed a piece of silver onto the millstone, hefted the sack, and left.

The mill owner ran over to check, and to his amazement, it was five taels of silver!

Suddenly, he felt the jinyiwei weren’t so terrifying after all. At least when they asked common folk to do work, they knew how to pay!

The grey grass root made its way through the process and returned to Qin Xia in a transformed state.

Hearing the commotion, he got up, ready to head to the kitchen and teach the staff how to make grey grass tofu.

Yu Jiuque was also awakened. He pushed himself up from the bed, clearly lacking energy. He had been waking up frequently at night, unable to get a full night’s rest, with dark circles under his eyes.

Qin Xia urged him to sleep a bit longer, but Yu Jiuque refused. He forced himself to get up, wash, dress, and have a simple breakfast.

He had already planned that after making the grey grass tofu, he would take it to the palace. Seeing is believing, and this would be enough to convince those officials who were clueless about farming.

When they arrived at the kitchen, the staff had already prepared a large pot of boiling water, following Qin Xia’s earlier instructions.

Qin Xia took a small porcelain bowl, scooped out a portion of grey grass powder, and poured it into the pot, stirring slowly with a large wooden spoon.

After about fifteen minutes, the grey grass mixture in the pot had thickened to a paste-like consistency.

With several people working together, they transferred the grey grass mixture into a wooden basin, then poured in filtered ash water to replace lye. Before long, the thick grey grass paste began to slowly solidify.

Qin Xia, calm and composed, used a wooden spatula to cut the grey grass tofu into small pieces. He took one of the pieces, placed it on a cutting board, and sliced it into thin strips.

He then added salt, sugar, vinegar, chili, and minced garlic as seasoning, and soon, a plate of Dayong-style sour and spicy konjac noodles was ready.

Yu Jiuque got his own portion, while Qin Xia handed the rest to the secret agents waiting nearby.

Lu Liang was the first to pick up his chopsticks to taste it. He had never imagined that the poisonous and ugly root of the grey grass could be transformed into something that looked a bit like cold noodles, but was clearly much more substantial.

Especially after being prepared by Qin Xia, the aroma alone was enough to stimulate his appetite!

He eagerly picked up a strip and put it in his mouth. The texture was smooth yet firm, and the sour and spicy flavor was mouthwatering. He thought to himself that even if this dish were sold at a restaurant, he would gladly pay for it.

While the others were already eating, Qin Xia didn’t rest. He instructed the kitchen staff to divide the mixture into two batches: one to make simple grey grass noodles using a slotted spoon, and the other to make grey grass cakes with his help.

The process for the grey grass noodles was similar to the tofu, except that before the mixture fully solidified, they used the slotted spoon to shape it into strips.

The grey grass cakes were not difficult either. The grey grass powder was used like flour, kneaded into a coarse dough, pinched into pieces, flattened, and then baked until ready to eat.

With these unassuming grey grass roots in Qin Xia’s hands, three different dishes were created. Not only would they be life-saving in times of famine, but if this recipe spread throughout Dayong, it could help poor families fend off hunger on regular days as well.

And perhaps, it could even serve as rations when the military faced food shortages.

Yu Jiuque glanced at Qin Xia, who was busy in the kitchen, and the corners of his lips lifted slightly.

At that moment, he thought that if the people of the southwest could survive this disaster, he would ensure that Qin Xia’s contributions were recorded in the history books for future generations.

A single recipe, saving countless lives.

…

With the emperor’s health restored, and his return to court, the city of Shengjing seemed to spring back to life overnight.

The weather cleared, and the rain clouds dispersed. The southwestern prefectures affected by the disaster were able to maintain order under the court’s steady arrangements, with few refugees fleeing their homes despite the drought.

In comparison, the impact of the northern floods was limited, and the region didn’t suffer a complete crop failure.

The emperor issued a decree, instructing local officials to assess the agricultural losses and, based on the situation, grant up to three years of tax exemption on grain.

In the Golden Hall, the officials shouted praises to the emperor.

After the court session, Yu Jiuque met with the emperor privately.

Through the intelligence returned by the Eastern Palace, Yu Jiuque had another list of officials in his hand.

During the southwest disaster, all sorts of corrupt figures had emerged—those who should have stayed hidden and those who shouldn’t have appeared at all. None escaped the eyes of the jinyiwei.

The local officialdom had rotted to its core, but they couldn’t bring every official to the capital for execution. That would leave no one to govern.

The emperor took the list, studied it for a long time, and finally marked it with his vermillion brush before returning it to Yu Jiuque.

After reviewing the annotations, Yu Jiuque knew who should be publicly arrested and who should be secretly warned and reprimanded.

The emperor fully trusted Yu Jiuque to handle the matter.

However, as the emperor hadn’t seen him much in the past half month, he now noticed that Yu Jiuque, like himself after recovering from a severe illness, had lost a considerable amount of weight.

His frame had become so thin that, despite the loose official robes, it was hard to conceal his figure.

“Someone, bring a chair,” the emperor ordered.

Yu Jiuque hurriedly declined, saying he did not dare.

Being seated in the imperial study was a privilege typically reserved for senior officials of the cabinet.

“When I tell you to sit, you sit. Come closer, so we can speak more easily.”

Since the emperor was in a rare leisurely mood, and Yu Jiuque was indeed aching in his back and waist, he had no choice but to accept the favor. He cautiously sat at the edge of the chair, back straight and upright.

The emperor then waved his hand, dismissing all unnecessary attendants.

He had seen firsthand Yu Jiuque’s hard work over the past few days.

There had been no shortage of murmurs within the court regarding the emperor’s heavy reliance on a Ge’er eunuch. In fact, the memorials impeaching Yu Jiuque formed their own dedicated pile every day.

Why, then, had the emperor continued to “persist in his course”? The reason was simple: Yu Jiuque was a loyal and dedicated servant.

From the time the emperor was reinstated as crown prince to his secure ascension to the throne, Yu Jiuque had been instrumental.

Moreover, if it weren’t for Yu Jiuque discovering his “dear brother’s” plot to tamper with his food, the emperor might have long since met the King of Hell.

Such a loyal attendant, akin to a great general, was rare indeed.

Furthermore, Yu Jiuque had never sought personal favors in front of the emperor. He didn’t try to push any sisters or relatives into the imperial harem, nor did he entangle himself in court factions or engage in bribery or corruption.

The few times Yu Jiuque had made requests were mostly related to his husband, who ran a restaurant outside the palace.

For example, last time, he had specifically come to the palace just to ask for a jar of “candied pineapple.”

Thinking of this, the emperor couldn’t help but want to laugh.

After all his hard work and contributions, continuing to treat a pregnant Ge’er like a workhorse seemed contrary to the benevolence expected of a ruler.

Moreover, Qin Xia had contributed a valuable food recipe this time, which should be rewarded according to custom.

By the way, the long-standing rule that palace eunuchs could not marry before leaving the palace… it seemed a special exception should now be made.

When Yu Jiuque left the palace, he carried with him an imperial decree and a string of rewards.

The emperor’s generous favor had finally brought closure to the matters that had weighed on his mind for so long.

The emperor had formally acknowledged his relationship with Qin Xia, so from now on, Yu Jiuque no longer needed to hide his pregnant belly while moving about in the palace. For now, it was manageable, but as the months progressed, it would become increasingly difficult to conceal.

The rewards they received were generous—gold, silver, jade, fine silks—enough to fill the storerooms of their residence.

However, after some discussion, Yu Jiuque and Qin Xia decided to donate part of the rewards to three Ciji Institutes in the city. They also added several thousand taels of silver from their own family businesses and sent the funds to the southwestern prefectures for disaster relief, using Yu Jiuque’s connections.

…

In the study.

Yu Jiuque was nibbling on small biscuits made from a mixture of grey grass powder and flour, with sesame and red beans, as he watched Qin Xia work on the abacus, calculating the year’s business profits.

The dinning hall in Qinan County, Heguang Pavillion, and the distillery in the capital, and the candy shop they co-owned with Xing Yiming all together brought in several thousand taels in revenue for the first half of the year.

But after deducting the one thousand taels they had donated, the remaining profits weren’t much.

“We still need to keep working hard,” Qin Xia sighed, his fingers sore from using the abacus. He closed the account books one by one and stretched.

A small biscuit appeared at his lips, and he instinctively took a bite and chewed.

Yu Jiuque had become hungrier than before, but Qin Xia was careful not to let him overeat. With the konjac powder readily available, he had made plenty of low-calorie snacks to keep Yu Jiuque feeling full without gaining too much weight.

Now that Yu Jiuque had the emperor’s special permission to take a day off every three days, he always carried a pouch of these biscuits when he went to the palace, snacking on a few whenever he had time.

“Gagaga!”

Just then, Da Fu came rushing back inside after playing outside.

No one stopped it, so it freely waddled into the study, which was the heart of their residence.

With its head held high, Da Fu immediately caught the scent of food as it entered and began pestering Yu Jiuque for a bite.

Yu Jiuque gave it a biscuit, which was quickly devoured, leaving crumbs scattered all over the carpet.

After eating three biscuits along with its two owners, Da Fu was extra pleased, shaking its feathers and circling around them.

As it circled, it eventually stopped beside Yu Jiuque, resting its head against his swollen belly.

This had become a new habit of the goose since Yu Jiuque became pregnant.

Yu Jiuque put down the now-empty plate, one hand resting on his belly, the other gently stroking Da Fu.

Everything was calm, but after a while, Da Fu suddenly straightened its neck, staring intently at Yu Jiuque’s belly. At the same moment, Yu Jiuque himself sat upright.

Qin Xia, watching closely, felt his heart leap with alarm.

“What’s wrong?”

He stood up, ready to call for a physician.

Yu Jiuque didn’t say anything at first, but smiled, gesturing for Qin Xia to come closer. He took Qin Xia’s hand and placed it on his belly.

Qin Xia held his breath, focusing intently. After a moment, he felt a gentle movement beneath his palm.

It was as if someone on the other side of the skin had softly tapped his hand.