After soaking in a hot bath until they were warm all over, then taking a few sips of sweet wine, tearing into a whole roasted rabbit with skin just slightly charred, and stuffing a few pieces of stewed, tender, fragrant braised meat—seven parts fat, three parts lean—into a white, plump, freshly warmed fine-flour bun, one could bite down and fill one’s mouth with rich, oily satisfaction.

Dong Rui had truly been starving. In two or three bites, he could finish one meat bun, then reach for the pickled cabbage and zucchinis. They cut through the grease and whetted the appetite, crunching crisply with every bite.

He ate until he tipped his head back and sighed. “Now this is living!”

Those bitter months before had merely been survival.

Zhu Daniang did not like human food. To her, it was overprocessed. She only liked things in their original, authentic flavor.

Simpler, then simpler...