usatvline Chapter 271 The Delicacies of the Li Yang Dynasty, Zhao Qingxue's Childhood
Chapter 271 The Delicacies of the Li Yang Dynasty, Zhao Qingxue's Childhood
The night breeze was cool, carrying the unique atmosphere of the Liyang Imperial City.
It was a mixture of cooking smoke, the aroma of wine, and the hustle and bustle of the marketplace, a stark contrast to the cold, aloof air of the deep palace.
Zhao Qingxue took Qin Mu's hand and led him through the alley paved with bluestone slabs.
Her steps were a little unsteady, and her legs were still sore, but her face carried a lightness that she herself did not realize.
After leaving the palace gate, I walked east for about fifteen minutes, turned two corners, and suddenly the view opened up before me.
This is a street that is not very wide, with all kinds of stalls on both sides.
There were vendors selling wontons, with steaming pots bubbling with milky white broth, filling the air with a wonderful aroma.
There were vendors selling sesame seed cakes. The freshly baked cakes were sprinkled with sesame seeds, golden and shiny, and gleamed enticingly under the lamplight.
There were vendors selling candied hawthorns; bright red hawthorns strung on bamboo sticks, coated in glistening sugar, swayed gently in the night breeze.
There are vendors selling tofu pudding. The snow-white tofu pudding is served in a blue and white porcelain bowl, topped with sauce and cilantro, which looks very appetizing.
There are also stalls selling all kinds of snacks, fried, steamed, and boiled, their aromas mingling together to create a unique, down-to-earth flavor.
The streets were bustling with people: porters dressed in coarse cloth and short jackets, women carrying children, and groups of idle men chatting.
There are also young men and women like them, dressed smartly and clearly from distinguished backgrounds.
But nobody gave them a second glance.
Because Qin Mu had already concealed his and Zhao Qingxue's aura and appearance, making them look no different from ordinary people.
In this bustling night market, everyone is immersed in their own world, eating their own food and chatting their own stories.
No one would care about the appearance of two ordinary people.
Zhao Qingxue held Qin Mu's hand and skillfully navigated through the crowd, turning left and right, finally stopping in front of an inconspicuous stall.
It was a very small stall.
An old wooden table, four benches of varying lengths, and an old man busy at the stove.
On the table were several small dishes, a few empty bowls, and a pot of tea that was almost empty.
The old man was about sixty years old, with gray hair and a face etched with the lines of time.
But his eyes were bright, and he was intently staring at the pot on the stove, holding a pair of long bamboo chopsticks, occasionally turning the food being fried in the pot.
The sizzling sound of oil, mixed with the enticing aroma, makes one's mouth water.
Zhao Qingxue walked to the wooden table and naturally sat down on a stool.
The stool was a bit low, and when she sat down, her skirt almost dragged on the ground.
She quickly reached out and lifted it up, then gathered the hem of her skirt, the movements so practiced it seemed she had done it countless times.
Then, she looked up at Qin Mu, who was standing to the side, examining the stall.
"What are you standing there for?" she said, her tone urging, "Sit down."
Qin Mu looked at her.
Watching her sit on that somewhat worn-out wooden stool, and seeing the natural, perfectly natural expression on her face.
A hint of surprise flashed in his eyes.
But he didn't say anything, he just sat down opposite her.
The wooden stool was a bit shaky, and it made a creaking sound when you sat on it.
Qin Mu steadied himself and scanned his surroundings.
This stall is absolutely ordinary.
It could even be described as rudimentary.
The wooden tabletop bears many marks worn by time, as well as several dark stains from oil seeping into it.
Those benches were of different lengths, and some of them had limp legs, requiring wooden pieces to support their weight so they could stand steadily.
The stove in front of the old man was a very ordinary clay stove, with charcoal burning inside. The flames danced and flickered, illuminating the old man's wrinkled face.
The oil in the pan has been used for a long time and is quite dark in color.
But the irresistible aroma cannot be faked.
Qin Mu's gaze fell on the pot.
What's exploding inside?
Each one is golden and round, rolling in the oil, with a crispy exterior and an enticing aroma.
Zhao Qingxue followed his gaze, and the corners of her mouth turned up slightly.
"Fried cakes," she said. "That's what this shop's signboard says."
She paused, her gaze falling on the busy old man, a warm light flashing in her eyes:
"I used to eat here often when I was a child."
Qin Mu withdrew his gaze and looked at her face.
That peerless face appeared exceptionally gentle in the glow of the firelight.
There was no coldness in the deep palace, no majesty when facing ministers, no humiliation or resentment when insulted by him.
Looking at her like this, Qin Mu suddenly felt a little unfamiliar.
"You look," he said, a hint of amusement in his voice, "very skilled."
Zhao Qingxue was slightly taken aback.
Then she understood what he meant.
She gave a soft snort, her tone tinged with pride:
"Of course."
She paused, her gaze sweeping over the familiar surroundings, a hint of nostalgia in her voice:
"I've been eating here since I was a child."
"So many years have passed—"
She reached out and gently stroked the rough surface of the wooden table:
"Nothing has changed at all."
Qin Mu raised an eyebrow.
He looked at her, at the nostalgic light in her eyes, at the way she stroked the table, and at the faint smile on her lips.
"When you were a child," he began, a hint of disbelief in his voice, "would you have come to a place like this?"
Zhao Qingxue understood the implication in his words.
She looked up and glared at him.
"Whom do you look down on?"
Her voice carried a hint of dissatisfaction, and a touch of coquettishness she herself didn't realize, "Can't I eat at a place like this?"
Qin Mu couldn't help but laugh when he saw her like this.
The laughter was very soft, almost inaudible in the noisy night market.
But the smile was genuinely written in his eyes.
"It's not that I look down on you," he said, his tone carrying a hint of genuine surprise, "I just didn't expect—"
He paused, his gaze lingering on her face, and spoke slowly and deliberately:
"The Empress of Liyang, who lives a life of luxury, would come to a place like this."
After hearing this, Zhao Qingxue remained silent for a moment.
Then, she gave a soft hum.
"Living in luxury?" she repeated the words, her tone carrying a complex emotion.
Her gaze fell on the busy old man.
"I haven't lived a life of luxury since I was eight years old."
Qin Mu didn't speak, he just looked at her quietly.
Zhao Qingxue continued, her voice soft but each word clear:
"After my mother left, I was sent to the Imperial Ancestral Temple and knelt alone for three days and three nights."
"Nobody feeds me, nobody drinks me."
"After kneeling, I was so hungry I almost fainted."
"It's Zhang Xiang—"
She paused, a warm glint in her eyes:
"Zhang Julu secretly brought me here, and we ate a bowl of wontons."
"From then on, I often sneaked out on my own."
"Life in the Imperial Ancestral Temple was too unbearable; only when I come here can I feel—"
She pursed her lips, her voice even softer:
"I'm still a child."
Qin Mu listened in silence.
He looked at Zhao Qingxue, at her face that appeared exceptionally gentle in the firelight.
Looking at the complex emotions in her eyes.
There was nostalgia, warmth, sadness, and a tenderness he had never seen before, almost fragile.
This woman was never born to be an empress.
She also had moments of vulnerability, times when she wanted to escape, and times when—
When protection is needed.
Qin Mu suddenly reached out his hand.
He gently took her hand, which was resting on the table.
Zhao Qingxue's body stiffened slightly.
She looked up at him.
A complex emotion flashed in those deep purple phoenix eyes.
Qin Mu looked at her and smiled gently.
He didn't speak.
He simply held her hand, his grip gentle yet exceptionally firm.
Zhao Qingxue looked at him, at the gentle light in his deep eyes.
She pursed her lips.
He did not pull his hand back.
She simply let him hold her hand.
The two sat there, hand in hand, in front of the simple stall, in the bustling night market.
The old man was still busy, the fried cakes in the pot sizzling and the aroma growing stronger.
The surrounding crowd remained noisy, with shouts of vendors, laughter, and children chasing and playing all rising and falling.
But all of this is irrelevant to them.
They just sat there, hand in hand, waiting for the fried cakes to be ready.
At that moment, time seemed to stand still.
Zhao Qingxue suddenly felt that this feeling was really good.
It's not about the intrigues and backstabbing in the palace, nor the sword fights in the court, nor those schemes and conspiracies that can never be unraveled.
Just like that, simply sitting here.
With a man.
Holding hands.
Waiting for a serving of fried cake.
A slow smile curved her lips.
The curve was shallow and faint, yet it felt incredibly real.
Qin Mu saw the smile on her lips.
He didn't say anything, but he held her hand even tighter.
"Fried cakes are here!"
The old man's voice rang out, tinged with a kind smile.
A plate of golden-brown fried cakes was placed in front of the two of them.
Steaming hot, with a wonderful aroma.
Zhao Qingxue's eyes lit up instantly.
She released Qin Mu's hand, picked up her chopsticks, took a piece of fried cake, blew on it, and then—
It was handed to Qin Mu.
"Try it," she said, her voice filled with anticipation.
Qin Mu looked at the fried cake in front of him.
The golden-yellow skin was still steaming and shiny with oil.
He opened his mouth and took a bite.
The crispy outer layer crumbles between your teeth, revealing soft and sticky glutinous rice inside, mixed with sweet red bean paste filling.
The texture, the flavor, it really was—
not bad.
He nodded.
"It's delicious," he said.
Zhao Qingxue couldn't help but laugh when she saw his serious expression.
"What are you standing there for?"
Qin Mu's voice rang out, tinged with amusement, "Eat quickly, it won't taste good if it gets cold."
Zhao Qingxue snapped out of her daze, her face flushing slightly.
She quickly lowered her head, picked up a piece of fried cake, and stuffed it into her mouth.
The hot, sweet taste spread through my mouth.
Just like her mood right now.