Chapter 21: An Honored Guest Arrives, Part 1

Chapter 21: An Honored Guest Arrives (Part 1)

The young man in humble attire realized his own impropriety, his face flushing with embarrassment and apology. He opened his mouth, as if to say something to make amends for his blunder, but youth held him back—he fumbled for words, unable to speak, lost as to what to do.

At that moment, the people in the little courtyard took notice of the commotion outside the gate. Several men near the entrance set down their wine cups and stepped out, their gazes shifting between the young man and Zheng Ji. Some villagers began whispering among themselves.

“Zhang Fu, you’ve caused trouble again,” an older aunt remarked with a smile. “Wasn’t it you who broke the well rope last time? With those clumsy hands, how will you ever find a wife?”

As soon as the aunt finished speaking, the onlookers burst into hearty laughter.

The young man now realized the inconvenience he had brought upon Zheng Ji and hurried forward, wiping the dirty water from the traveler with his sleeve, apologizing repeatedly.

“Ah, you youngster, it’s no matter for me—I can rinse off and be fine. But what of this cloth? What will become of my livelihood? You see, a few pieces can still be dried and used, but this one is soaked through—how can it be sold?”

Only now did everyone notice that several bolts of cloth had been splashed with dirty water, one of them thoroughly drenched.

“Can’t you wash it?” another man asked.

“Ah, if I wash it, it’s no longer new cloth—who would buy it then?” Zheng Ji sighed again and again, troubled by this misfortune.

Just then, an elder parted the crowd and stepped forward. His back was slightly stooped, but his gait was steady and strong; each step exuded calm authority. He wore a blue robe faded from washing, and leaned on a wooden staff carved with a simple dove-shaped head, darkened from years of use.

“Good fellow, I am Zhang Fu’s elder. Our neighbor has built a new house, and we’ve come to offer our congratulations. It was careless of him to splash this water and ruin your cloth. Though we farming folk aren’t wealthy, when wrong is done, it must be made right. If you cannot sell this bolt, let us buy it from you—would that suffice?”

Zheng Ji was relieved at the elder’s courteous manner and willingness to pay for the cloth. “That would be wonderful, thank you, elder,” he replied, bowing gratefully.

“It’s my kin who erred, so thanks are unnecessary,” the elder said with a smile, stroking his beard. He looked Zheng Ji up and down, noting his soaked upper half, and asked, “May I ask your name, young man?”

“I am Zheng Ji, from Wei City. I deal in cloth and small wares.”

“Oh, Zheng Ji, you are drenched, and the night air is chill. If you catch cold, it will be no trivial matter. Besides, you are delayed—the city gates are surely closed by now. Sometimes a chance encounter is better than an invitation. Why not come inside, change your clothes, and share a meal with us? The night is deep and dewy; stay here till morning, and when your clothes are dry, you can be on your way.”

Zheng Ji’s stomach was already rumbling, and the scent of wine had tempted him. Hearing the elder’s invitation, he was moved.

The men, seeing the elder had spoken, immediately helped Zheng Ji gather his cloth. One took hold of the ox’s reins, leading it to the rear courtyard. The old ox, guided by the thick rope, lumbered slowly, its hooves tracing long marks in the earth.

The men surrounded Zheng Ji, helping him wipe away the water from his clothes, laughing and joking as they ushered him into the courtyard.

A child in white, seeing this, banged the copper gong by the door and shouted in shrill delight, “The feast is starting, the feast is starting!”

Welcomed so warmly, Zheng Ji was swept forward by the crowd. After some polite shuffling, he found himself seated at the elder’s main table.

“An honored guest has arrived—bring more food!” the elder called out. Several youths hurried over, plates piled high with fruits and dishes. At a nearby table, some young girls glanced this way, their shoulders shaking with laughter as if sharing a joke.

Zheng Ji took an empty seat, and the elders and men at the table nodded in greeting, their faces beaming. On his right sat a goat-bearded old man, happily munching fruit; on his left, a burly, dark-faced man was pouring wine, urging, “Drink, drink!” He placed a full wooden cup before Zheng Ji.

“My apologies for intruding,” Zheng Ji said, seeing such hospitality. Though he had missed the city gates and was imposing on their generosity, the food and drink saved him from paying for an inn, and if the cloth sold for even the base price come morning, it would be a fair deal. His mood grew ever brighter.

As the table filled with laughter and wine, Zheng Ji swirled the drink with a straw, releasing a rich aroma—warm and complex, with the sweetness of grain and the tartness of fermentation. He could not help but breathe it in deeply. “Excellent wine!” After a few cups, his cheeks grew redder.

Soon, a youth brought over a wooden tray, lacquered in red. Before it even reached him, Zheng Ji caught the scent.

“Try this stew, friend. We country folk eat hearty, lots of meat and wine, ha!” The burly man pushed the dish toward Zheng Ji.

It was a bowl of stewed pork knuckle. The skin gleamed golden in the lamplight, shimmering with tenderness. The meat had absorbed the spices over long hours, its fragrance rising irresistibly.

Zheng Ji swallowed eagerly, lifting a piece with chopsticks. He felt the softness and springiness—the pork skin nearly translucent, quivering between the sticks.

He took a bite, and the meat melted instantly, releasing warmth and spice, laced with a hint of sweetness. Zheng Ji had never tasted such delicious stewed meat.

“How does the stew suit you, Zheng Ji?” the elder asked with a smile, stroking his beard.

“It’s perfect, perfect—I’ve never eaten such wonderful stew,” Zheng Ji replied, unable to put down his chopsticks.

“This stewed pork knuckle isn’t tonight’s main dish, though,” the elder laughed. “It’s one of our village’s secret recipes—you won’t find it anywhere else.”

“What’s the main dish, then?” Zheng Ji asked, curiosity piqued. If the pork knuckle was so delicious, surely the main dish would be an even greater delight.