"What happened to the salted duck eggs from the fifteenth of last month? A dog eat them?" Zheng Hui shot Yur Ping a sideways glance.
"WOOF WOOF!" Yur Ping replied with a perfectly calm expression.
Li Qingxian chuckled.
Zheng Hui laughed in exasperation. "If you were my son, I’d beat you three times a day! You can eat when you’ve lost some weight."
Yur Ping sighed.
Zheng Hui suddenly glanced at Li Qingxian, then at the small pile of salted duck eggs. He turned to Yur Ping and said, "Go pick out four salted duck eggs. If they don’t gush oil when we crack them, you’re paying!"
"Brother Zheng, you’re a true bro!" Overjoyed, Yur Ping cupped his fist, then scurried over to meticulously pick out the salted duck eggs. He carried them back with great care and handed them out to the other three.
"Guaranteed to be dripping with oil!"
"Four bowls of lamb offal soup, three white flour buns—two sliced and one whole—coming right up..."
As the four of them were gently tapping their eggshells, Old Zhang, a man around sixty, approached with a tray. He was accompanied by a middle-aged man who bore a resemblance to him. They carefully set down the bowls of lamb offal soup and the white flour buns resting in the bowls.
"Thank you," Li Qingxian said, gently pulling the bowl of lamb offal soup toward him, quickly snatching his hand away from the scalding rim.
In the large, coarse white porcelain bowl, the broth was a milky white. Strips of lamb offal—lung, liver, heart, and tripe—were piled so high they broke the surface. Specks of chopped green onion dotted this small mountain of meat, and steam billowed from it.
He took a light sniff. The fragrant aroma was mixed with an extremely faint gaminess and funk. He inhaled again. The scent of green onions chased away the gaminess, leaving a rich, meaty fragrance.
’That’s a very generous helping of offal.’
Li Qingxian glanced at the lamb offal soup on the other customers’ tables; none of the bowls were as packed with meat as their four.
"Master Zheng, please, eat," the father and son said, standing by the side.
"Go on, busy yourselves. Don’t mind us," Zheng Hui said with a wave of his hand.
"Alright. Enjoy your meal, and just let us know if you need anything," Old Zhang said before leaving.
Zheng Hui grabbed a white flour bun with his left hand. With his right, he pinched the edge of the bun between his thumb and forefinger, tearing off a thumb-sized piece and dropping it into the lamb offal soup. He continued this, one piece after another, in a smooth and nimble motion.
Han Anbo dumped half a bowl of sliced white flour bun into his soup, set the other half aside, and lowered his head to begin eating.
"What a waste..."
Yur Ping muttered under his breath. He first sprinkled in some white pepper, then added a spoonful of chili into his bowl. Lowering his head, he took a deep breath. "Brother Han," he said while stirring with his chopsticks, "you’re supposed to have pepper and chili with lamb offal soup to cut the gaminess and bring out the flavor. You’re not getting the full experience eating it like that."
Han Anbo just smiled and continued eating his soup with the soaked bun, adding neither pepper nor chili oil.
Following his old habit, Li Qingxian poured the entire bowl of sliced white flour bun into his soup and sprinkled on some pepper. Then he picked up the spoon of chili oil, preparing to add a dab to his bowl.
"You’re just getting over your illness. Wait a few more days before eating spicy food," Han Anbo said, looking up.
"That’s right. No spicy food for a few days, and go easy on the pepper too," Zheng Hui added.
"Alright."
Li Qingxian smiled and put the chili oil back. He cracked open his peeled salted duck egg, which oozed a bright, glistening yellow oil.
He took a bite of the yolk. It was soft and delicate, bursting with a savory, salty flavor.
"The rich have their way of eating, the poor have theirs. Lamb offal soup with soaked bun is still a way of eating..." Zheng Hui lectured as he skillfully tore apart the tough white flour bun.
The other three exchanged glances and quickened their pace of eating.
After a few bites, Yur Ping suddenly started looking around, then stood up and disappeared into the crowd.
"He’s like a monkey. Qingxian, don’t you learn from him," Zheng Hui said, shaking his head and continuing to tear his bun.
Li Qingxian lowered his head and blew on the scalding surface of the soup. He took a careful sip. The pepper masked the off-flavors, leaving a rich, meaty taste. The offal was cooked to perfection—some parts tenderly chewy, others melt-in-your-mouth soft.
Just as Zheng Hui was down to a piece of bun half the size of his palm, Yur Ping returned, carrying a small steamer basket.
"Make way, watch out..." Yur Ping navigated around the people blocking his path, sat down on the long bench, and placed the steamer and a paper-wrapped packet of soft flatbread on the table.
Nine steaming shaomai were arranged in the basket.
The three men stopped eating and stared at Yur Ping in unison.
"What are you looking at me for? Eat your lamb offal soup," Yur Ping said, slowly pulling the steamer basket toward himself, right to the edge of the table.
The three men remained silent, their eyes fixed on him.
"I didn’t have a bun, of course I’m not full."
The three remained silent.
Yur Ping grit his teeth, sighed, and said, "One each. No more!"
With that, he reluctantly picked up his chopsticks. With one hand guarding the steamer, he used the other to place one shaomai on each of their plates.
Zheng Hui smacked his lips after finishing his. "Tsk, beef and radish filling. Very nourishing."
Yur Ping kept his head down.
Li Qingxian and Han Anbo ate, laughing.
After finishing his shaomai, Li Qingxian went back to his lamb offal.
Yur Ping ate two shaomai in a row, then suddenly picked up another and placed it on Li Qingxian’s side plate. Under the surprised gazes of the other three, Yur Ping hesitated for a moment, then added one more.
"That’s all you’re getting," Yur Ping said with an expression of pure agony, then lowered his head and started slurping his lamb offal soup. SLURP SLURP.
The gazes of Zheng Hui and Han Anbo softened.
Li Qingxian looked at the shaomai in the morning light. They shone as brightly as that orange had. He smiled happily, picked up a shaomai, popped it into his mouth, and chewed heartily.
After finishing the shaomai, he drank more of the lamb soup.
The meat warmed his stomach; the soup warmed his heart.
Yur Ping looked up at Zheng Hui. "Did it gush oil?"
Zheng Hui glanced helplessly at the eggshell by his bowl. "It did," he said.
Yur Ping let out a sigh of relief.
Han Anbo pushed his remaining half-bowl of sliced white flour bun over to Yur Ping.
"Thanks!" Yur Ping’s face lit up. He picked up his bowl and walked toward Old Zhang, calling out, "Old Zhang, add half a bowl of lamb broth! Just the broth, no meat."
"You got it!"
A moment later, Yur Ping returned with his bowl of broth and happily began eating his bun soaked in pure lamb soup.
"This is how it’s done!"
After finishing his meal, Han Anbo scanned his surroundings, his gaze lingering for a moment on a few people carrying weapons.
The sun rose higher, and the crowd on Xile Street grew larger.
By the time the four had finished eating, they were warm all over, with fine beads of sweat on their foreheads.
"So satisfying!" Zheng Hui laughed as he took a handful of rusty copper coins from a leather pouch, counted them, and picked out some to pay. Old Zhang tried to refuse a few times but eventually gave in and accepted the payment.
The four hadn’t walked more than a few steps when someone behind them shouted, "Old Zhang, add more lamb for me, don’t be so stingy."
"Yes, Sir Officer!"
Zheng Hui suddenly stopped, turning to look at the man who had ordered the extra lamb, his brow furrowed.
Li Qingxian was curious. Zheng Hui was known for his good temper; why the sudden look of displeasure?
Li Qingxian looked over. The man had unbuckled his saber and set it on the table. With one foot on the bench, he sat down in a commanding posture.
He was smiling as he sprinkled pepper onto his lamb soup. Beneath the steam, large slices of lamb were piled high into a small mountain.
It was far more lamb and offal than any other table had.
Giving the man a once-over, Li Qingxian saw he had an ordinary appearance and was wearing what looked like a Military Officer’s Uniform from the Military Department. On his chest was the same patch as Zheng Hui’s: a Junior Tenth Grade White Horse Patch.
’Could it be that Captain Zheng has bad blood with this person?’
As Li Qingxian was wondering, Zheng Hui’s face darkened. He turned and walked forward.
"We’ve eaten our fill. Time for patrol."
Li Qingxian didn’t press the issue and followed behind.
As the four of them walked down Xile Street, the surrounding crowd parted for them like a school of fish for a great whale.
Zheng Hui spoke as they walked. "After we patrol Wanping Street, it’s the usual plan. We’ll split into two groups and meet up at the Wanping Archway. The sooner we finish, the sooner we can get back to the Government Office. Anbo, you partner with Yur Ping. I’ll take Qingxian. We’ll switch back once he’s fully recovered."
"Yes, sir," Han Anbo responded.
"Thank you, Captain Zheng," Li Qingxian said.
"What’s there to thank me for? As long as you don’t cause me any trouble, that’s better than anything. But you’re a lot quieter than usual today. Did the sickness scramble your brains, or have you finally seen the light?" Zheng Hui said loudly as they walked.
The clamor of the street muffled Zheng Hui’s voice.
Li Qingxian replied, "I’m not sure myself. I just feel like I need to live differently, not be so muddle-headed like before. But as for how, exactly, it’s hard to say."
Zheng Hui’s eyes lit up. He turned and clapped a hand firmly on Li Qingxian’s shoulder. "Good! Lord Li’s spirit in heaven will surely be very gratified!"
"That’s the way, Xiaoli!" Han Anbo said with a cheerful laugh.