Chapter 447: Day 12 into the Farming Story

Chapter 447: Day 12 in a Farming Novel

However, Di Qingji's mind was wandering.

Images from that quiet afternoon in the little courtyard kept flashing through his head: the dappled shadows beneath the old tree, the clear tea in the plain white porcelain cup, the wisps of rising steam, and that young man in blue quietly brewing tea, head bowed as he listened.

And those eyes—clear, calm, like they could mirror the deepest unease in a person's heart, yet somehow carrying a strangely calming power.

He shook his head, chuckling to himself.

What was wrong with him? It was just one meeting, one conversation—why couldn't he let it go?

Was it because he'd never met someone he clicked with like that? Or was there really just something about that Young Master An that was hard to put into words?

But that weird sense of connection really had him... unable to shake it.

Maybe in a couple of days, once he'd wrapped up the loose ends on this escort job, he really ought to find an excuse to send a proper invitation and formally ask Young Master An to meet up again?

Where should they go?

Young Master An seemed pretty classy—he'd probably like somewhere with a nice, elegant vibe, right?

Would he accept? Remembering An Yi's noncommittal "If fate allows, we'll meet again someday," Di Qingji suddenly felt a bit unsure of himself.

A few of the escort guards leaned in, pointing at Di Qingji and whispering to each other: "What's up with the Junior Escort Leader? He's got such a weird smile on his face!"

"No idea!"

"It's like... uh, a spring breeze blowing on his face!"

"That's called a spring breeze scraping his face!"

"Winter wind is what scrapes your face!"

"More like grinning like an idiot!"

"No idea!"

"Are you guys trying to say 'beaming with joy'?"

"No idea!!"

"Tsk! How do you guys not know anything?!"

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Around noon the next day, the sun was already high, casting warm rays down.

An Yi, just as he'd planned the day before, headed toward the eastern market in town.

An Yi went with the flow of the crowd, catching the spicy, savory aroma in the air that got stronger with every step.

Following the smell, he easily found the now fairly well-known malatang stall on a corner in the eastern market.

At the front of the stall sat a big pot of soup.

Inside, a milky-white broth laced with tempting red chili oil was rolling and boiling, sending up thick clouds of fragrant, spicy steam. The mouthwatering smell of numbing spice and heat wafted out from here, drifting halfway down the street.

By now, a pretty long line had already formed in front of the stall—about twenty-something people, give or take.

Jiang Chiliu himself, wearing an apron with his sleeves rolled up past his elbows, held a pair of long bamboo chopsticks and occasionally stirred the food simmering in the pot with practiced ease.

A fine sheen of sweat dotted his forehead. Compared to over a month ago, when he'd been pulled from the river pale, weak, and soaking wet, Jiang Chiliu now had fuller cheeks and a healthier color. Even though he was busy, his eyes were bright and full of life.

An Yi got in line at the back, watching the scene with a smile.

The protagonist's little stall was indeed doing great, just like the original novel described—business was booming.

The smell in the air was seriously tempting, making your mouth water.

Jiang Chiliu moved fast—greeting customers, tallying up bills, taking money, blanching ingredients, adding seasonings—all in one smooth motion. He'd clearly gotten the hang of it.

The line moved up, and when it was An Yi's turn, he grabbed a little bit of everything.

Seeing a big spender, Jiang Chiliu looked up with a warm smile: "Got it! Hang on just a sec, it'll be ready in no time!"

The moment his eyes landed on An Yi's face, he visibly froze for a split second, a clear flash of admiration passing through his gaze.

But he quickly snapped out of it, deftly dropping the ingredients into the boiling broth and using his long chopsticks to stir and control the heat.

A moment later, he used a long-handled bamboo strainer to scoop out the cooked ingredients and noodles, let the excess broth drain, and dumped them into a big bowl. Then he ladled a big scoop of the boiling, glistening red broth over the top, instantly releasing an even richer aroma. Last, he sprinkled a handful of chopped green onions on top.

"Here you go, sir, your malatang's ready—careful, it's hot." Jiang Chiliu handed over the steaming bowl with both hands.

He clearly hadn't recognized that the person in front of him was An Yi, the broke good-for-nothing who'd been hanging around outside the Li family's gate a month ago.

An Yi gave him a small smile without saying much, then paid the copper coins according to the prices on the wooden sign next to the stall.

The stall had a nice little policy: you put down a few coppers as a deposit for the coarse ceramic bowl. You could take the bowl anywhere nearby to eat, and as long as you brought it back, you got your deposit back.

An Yi carried his bowl of malatang, looked around, and spotted a tea stall with an awning kitty-corner across the street. He walked over.

The tea stall was doing decent business too—a lot of customers who'd bought malatang came here to order the cheapest pot of rough tea, eating and drinking to cut through the heat.

The stall owner was a cheerful middle-aged guy who greeted An Yi warmly as he walked up.

An Yi found a seat, set down his bowl, and ordered a pot of plain tea.

The tea stall owner's son, a kid of about fifteen or sixteen, hurried over with the teapot and cup.

He visibly froze when he saw An Yi, two red patches blooming on his cheeks. His movements got all stiff as he set things down, mumbled a soft "Enjoy your tea, sir," and hurried off with his head down.

An Yi smiled and said thanks.

An Yi picked up his chopsticks, grabbed a piece of greens, blew on it to cool it off, and popped it in his mouth.

Really good, actually.

An Yi squinted slightly, savoring the flavor.

This bowl of malatang was better than similar snacks he remembered from plenty of other worlds.

Jiang Chiliu really had a gift—no wonder business was booming and word spread so fast. The original novel's long-winded descriptions weren't exaggerating at all.

Comments section:

"Wait, who is this guy?"

"...Oh my god, did the author seriously spend like a thousand words just describing his looks??? Is the author crazy? Is some major character about to show up?"

"I feel like I just read a whole chapter of appearance description! All that 'features like a painting,' 'ethereal aura'... stacked up so thick I barely recognize these words anymore!"

"Is the author just padding word count? I'm dying laughing, that came out of nowhere!"

"Could be an important male supporting character? With this setup and looks, he's definitely gonna have a big role!"

"Could he be Liu Geer's future benefactor? Or... Fu Cong's love rival? (suddenly hyped.jpg)"

"Fu Cong: alert.jpg"

"..."

An Yi savored his food while listening to the lively comments around him, a barely-there smile playing at the corners of his lips.

The tea stall owner's son, that shy kid, stole several more glances at him, and every time he was caught, he would hurriedly look away, his ears turning bright red.