The beginning of the story of the Tang Dynasty's Imperial Son-in-Law: A rhinoceros comes knocki

Chapter 119 Everyone Gathers

Although Wang Zhihuan had his own thoughts, he remained outwardly calm, simply taking a few steps forward and bowing to Cheng Yaojin and Fang Xuanling.

"This humble citizen, Wang Zhihuan, met with Lord Cheng and Prime Minister Fang. I was unaware of your esteemed presence and have failed to greet you properly."

Cheng Yaojin waved his hand, his fan-like palm slapping the man's shoulder with such force that the man's shoulder slumped down: "What welcoming?! I'm here to see the rice, not for you to welcome me!"

Fang Xuanling returned the greeting gently, his gaze lingering on Wang Zhihuan's face for a moment before he nodded slightly: "Master Wang, there's no need for such formalities."

His gaze was as if he were examining something he had never seen before, filled with scrutiny and curiosity.

At this moment, Li Shimin, who had been standing at the back, stepped forward with a smile on his lips and spoke casually as if he were visiting someone: "Young Master Wang, we meet again."

Wang Zhihuan looked up and met those familiar eyes, and his suspicions were finally confirmed.

He cupped his hands in greeting, asked no further questions, and did not perform a grand ceremony. His tone was as calm as ever: "Master Li, please come in."

The tea is ready. We've also prepared some light wine for you all to enjoy later.

Li Shimin nodded and stepped into the courtyard.

Fang Xuanling followed behind, but his gaze kept looking towards the rice paddies outside the courtyard.

He noticed that Wang Zhihuan's attitude towards His Majesty was different from his attitude towards them.

It wasn't that they were more respectful, but rather more casual. It was like they were old acquaintances who had known each other for a long time.

He made a mental note of it.

Under the jujube tree, the stone table had been wiped clean, and the teacups were neatly arranged.

Xiaoman walked over with a teapot, filling each bowl with light, delicate movements, without spilling a single drop.

Cheng Yaojin plopped down, picked up his teacup, and took a big gulp: "Good tea!"

Li Shimin sat down opposite him, picked up his teacup, took a slow sip, and said nothing, his gaze falling on the rice paddies outside the courtyard.

That golden expanse rippled gently in the morning light, like a carpet of gold.

Fang Xuanling also sat down, but only occupied half of the stool, keeping his back ramrod straight.

He held the teacup very slowly, as if he was measuring the distance carefully.

Wang Zhi sat down opposite them, picked up his teacup, and took a sip.

"Young Master Wang," Fang Xuanling put down his teacup and got straight to the point. His voice was not loud, but he pronounced each word clearly, "We have come here today for no other reason than to see with our own eyes the harvest of your new rice."

I heard from my friend, Mr. Li, that the yield per mu (a Chinese unit of area, approximately 0.165 acres) is three shi (a Chinese unit of dry measure)—to be honest, I found it hard to believe.

Wang Zhihuan put down his teacup, his tone calm yet resolute and firm.

"I believe that now that Prime Minister Fang has seen it with his own eyes, he will naturally believe it."

Cheng Yaojin slammed his hand on the table, making the teacup jump: "Then get down on the ground right now! I can't wait any longer!"

Wang Zhihuan stood up and, without further ado, led everyone toward the ridge of the field.

Old Zhang was already there with his tenants, waiting.

They stood on the edge of the field, sickles in their hands, their expressions as if they were waiting for a major test.

Zhao Youtian and Wang Laogeng stood by the field, notebooks and pens in their hands, their faces solemn. They looked more like they were recording some important military or national affairs than harvesting rice.

Old Zhang looked at Wang Zhihuan like a soldier waiting to go to battle, his eyes filled with only one underlying emotion.

"Let's start harvesting," Wang Zhihuan said.

Old Zhang then gave a shout, and the tenants bent down and swung their sickles, felling a field of rice stalks with a whoosh.

The sound was crisp and clean, like a sharp knife slicing through paper.

Cheng Chumo led Cheng Chuliang and the three Yuchi brothers down to the fields, wielding sickles and working even harder than the tenants, each one bent over with their heads down.

As for why I'm working so hard, I won't tell you that; I'll explain it to others.

Cheng Yaojin stood on the edge of the field, hands on his hips, watching intently, occasionally shouting, "Chuliang! Cut it clean! If you miss a single ear of rice, you won't get any dinner tonight!"

Fang Xuanling stood on the other side of the field ridge, watching Zhao Youtian and Wang Laogeng squatting beside the freshly cut bundles of rice, carefully counting the ears of rice and estimating the number of grains.

The two old agricultural officials grew increasingly agitated, their fingers trembling, even the fingers counting the ears of grain were shaking.

Since arriving at this farm, I've been questioning myself every day, wondering if the path I've walked over the past few decades was all an illusion.

Many things that you never even imagined happen miraculously right before your eyes.

Li Shimin stood in the middle of the field ridge, his hands behind his back, watching silently.

A gust of wind blew by, causing the hem of his robe to flutter slightly, but he remained motionless.

Li Chengqian stood behind him, his eyes following the tenants' sickles, silently calculating in his mind—how much grain would be reaped with each slash?

How many people can this acre of land support? His gaze was deep, not as if he were watching the rice harvest, but as if he were reading a memorial to the throne.

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Li Qing squatted on the edge of the field, holding a freshly cut rice stalk in his hand, counting the grains on it.

He counted very seriously, his lips moving slightly, as if he were chanting scriptures.

"One hundred and eighteen grains." He looked up, his eyes sparkling. "This ear of grain has one hundred and eighteen grains!"

Li Zhi stood behind him, glanced at him, and said nothing.

He simply took the stalk of rice from Li Qing's hand and counted it himself.

Chengyang squatted on the other side, drawing something on the ground with a small stick.

Sizi squatted down next to her, holding a rattle drum and banging it on the edge of the field. The rattle scared the frogs in the field away, who then jumped into the irrigation ditch with a splash.

Chang Le stood under the jujube tree, turning his gaze from the field to the direction of the kitchen.

Inside the kitchen, everything was bustling with activity.

Old Zhang and his son have already slaughtered the pig.

A large, fat pig weighing over 180 pounds was gutted, and the pieces of meat were neatly arranged in a wooden basin, like soldiers in formation.

Wang Zhi was squatting at the kitchen door, holding a knife in his hand, processing pork belly.

Xiaoman helped by handing over scallions and ginger, Zhou Xia chopped vegetables, and Tiedan tended the fire. The flames in the stove licked the bottom of the pot, crackling and popping.

Steam rose from the kitchen, and a fragrant aroma wafted out in waves.

First, put the pork belly into the pan. As soon as the hot oil hits, the pork sizzles in the pan, and the surface gradually turns golden brown, with a layer of fine bubbles rising to the surface.

Wang Zhi also poured in a bowl of Shaoxing wine. As the wine heated up, steam rose up, carrying the aroma of meat and wine, which poured out from the kitchen doors and windows, filling the entire courtyard.

The aroma was so strong it felt like you could grab it with your hand, and it swirled and wafted into your nose.

The people in the field all straightened up and glanced in the direction of the kitchen.

Cheng Chuliang sniffed: "No need to guess, it must be Brother Wang making braised pork."

Yu Chi Bao Huan nearly dropped the sickle in her hand: "The smell alone makes me hungry."

Cheng Chumo glared at them: "It's a pity we can't eat until this land is harvested! You guys need to hurry up, get on with it."

In the kitchen, Wang Zhi added soy sauce and a bowl of water to the pot, and then added a few pieces of rock sugar.

He covered the pot with the lid, turned down the heat, and let the braised pork simmer slowly.

Thin wisps of white steam rose from the edge of the pot lid, and a bubbling sound came from inside the pot, as if a pot of satisfaction was being simmered.

Then he picked up four large pork knuckles, blanched them, coated them with sauce, and put them in the pot. The sauce was homemade, dark red in color, and salty and fragrant.

After the pork knuckle skin is coated with sauce, it becomes shiny and oily, as if it has been glazed.

Next up is the pig intestines. Old Zhang left them from when he slaughtered the pig that morning; they've already been turned inside out and washed.

Wang Zhi was still not satisfied, so he rubbed it twice with flour, kneaded it twice with salt, and finally rinsed it clean with wine.

Every step of the process was meticulously followed, with hands covered in flour and salt, rubbing them together with a soft, rustling sound.

At that moment, he didn't care at all whether flour and salt were precious.

To be honest, most people in the Chinese bloodline are born with a longing for delicious food.

Wang Zhihuan went too far; otherwise, he wouldn't have spent so many merit points to exchange for so many ingredients.

Tie Dan squatted down beside him, frowning as he watched. "Master, is this really edible? I ate this last time!"

"What?" Wang Zhihuan didn't even look up. "Regret it? If you regret it, then don't eat today."

"No, no, how could I regret it? I'm just a little incredulous."

Tie Dan scratched his head and chuckled.

Cut the large intestine into sections, blanch it to remove the odor, and then stir-fry it in a wok.

Put ginger, garlic, dried chili peppers, and Sichuan peppercorns in the pot, and when the oil is heated, the spicy and numbing aroma explodes out.

The smell was like a powerful punch thrown from the kitchen, spreading throughout the entire yard.

Tie Dan sneezed from the choking, but didn't dodge. He squatted down at the kitchen door and sniffed hard.

"It smells so good!"

By noon, more than half of the rice in the fields had been harvested.

Cheng Chumo straightened up, wiped his sweat, and called out towards the edge of the field, "Dad! Why don't we eat first? I'm hungry!"

Just as Cheng Yaojin was about to scold him, Wang Zhihuan came out of the kitchen, carrying a large plate of braised pork, and placed it on the long table in the courtyard.

The plate of meat trembled precariously, the sauce slowly flowing over the pieces, glistening with oil.

"Dinner's ready," he said.

A group of people came up from the field and lined up to wash their hands at the well. A long table had already been set up and was laden with vegetables.

A large earthenware bowl of braised pork, the pieces of meat red and glossy, the sauce thick and rich, trembling as it steamed.

Four braised pork hocks are arranged on a large plate. The skin is a deep reddish-brown color and shiny with oil. They can be easily separated with chopsticks to reveal the tender white meat inside.

The stir-fried pork intestines are served in a large bowl, with red oil floating on top. The aroma of peppers and numbing spiciness is enough to make your mouth water just by smelling it.

Pig's blood tofu is made by cooking tender white tofu and dark red pig's blood together, with bright green scallions floating on top, creating a distinct color contrast.

The sauerkraut and pork bone stew has a milky white broth that is tangy and appetizing, with a thin layer of oil floating on top of the soup.

The cucumber salad is refreshing and crisp, while the pickled vegetables are savory and delicious, perfect with rice.

The staple food is freshly cooked rice, each grain distinct, translucent, and with a fragrant aroma.

When Tie Dan brought out the food, he blurted out, "This was harvested from that early-ripening field to the south the day before yesterday. They only harvested a little bit, and the farm owner said to save it for everyone to have a taste today."

The rice grains looked much larger than ordinary millet, each one resembling tiny fragments of jade.

In addition, several jars of freshly opened pine wine were placed on one corner of the stone table.

As soon as the wine jar was opened, the rich aroma of wine mixed with the smell of meat filled the entire courtyard, as if an invisible shroud had been placed over it.

Cheng Yaojin's eyes lit up. He grabbed the nearest wine jar, poured himself a full bowl, and took a big gulp.

The wine dripped down the rim of the bowl and onto his robe, but he didn't bother to wipe it off.

"Good wine!" He wiped his mouth, picked up a piece of braised pork and stuffed it into his mouth. After chewing a couple of times, his eyes shone even brighter. "The meat is good! The wine is good! Young man, you live a more comfortable life than I do! How about we switch?"

"No, Your status as Duke Lu is not something we commoners can exchange."

Your current status is the result of every drop of your blood.

Duke Lu, it's not just a title, but also the glory of your life.

How dare I, a mere commoner, presume? How could I possibly be worthy?

The three men, including Master Li, exchanged glances, said nothing more, and continued eating.

Yuchi Baohuan also secretly poured herself a bowl, took a small sip, and winced from the spiciness, but she still couldn't bear to put it down, so she took another sip.

The spiciness shot from his throat all the way to his stomach. He hissed and gasped for breath, but he still didn't put the bowl down.

Cheng Chuliang had already eaten half a bowl of rice, his mouth stuffed full, his cheeks bulging like steamed buns: "Brother Wang, what if I can't get to eat your braised pork when I get back?"

"Then you can stay here. I have plenty of room, not to mention anything else." Wang Zhihuan sat down with his teacup in hand.

He spoke softly under the jujube tree.

Cheng Chuliang thought about it seriously and actually nodded: "It's not impossible."

Cheng Chumo slapped him on the back of the head: "Eat your food!"

Yuchi Baolin ate slowly, but he chewed each bite very carefully, as if he were savoring some delicacy.

He suddenly put down his chopsticks and looked at Wang Zhihuan: "Master Wang, this pork is even better than the mutton my cook makes."

Yuchi Baoqi didn't say anything, but silently picked up another piece of fatty intestine with his chopsticks. This was the fourth time he had taken the initiative to do so.

He ate discreetly, but his chopsticks were faster than anyone else's.

Yuchi Baohuan ate the fastest. He had already finished one bowl of rice, so he stood up and went to get another one. He was walking very fast, as if he was afraid that someone else would snatch all the rice away.

Cheng Yaojin, his face flushed from drinking, poured himself another bowl of wine and raised it to Wang Zhihuan: "Young Wang, this old man toasts you!"

This wine, this meat, this rice—they're all good stuff!

Wang Zhihuan picked up his teacup and clinked it against his: "Please, Master Cheng, feel free to make yourself at home."

Si Zi sat next to Chang Le, holding a small bowl in her hands, with a few pieces of braised pork and a small ball of rice in the bowl.

She scooped up a piece of meat with a spoon, stuffed it into her mouth, her cheeks puffed out, and mumbled, "The meat cooked by the pot cooks is the best!"

Chang Le took a handkerchief to wipe the grease from the corner of her mouth, but she twisted and turned, refusing to cooperate. She shook her head from side to side, still chewing meat, and mumbled, "Big sister, Si Zi can wipe it herself!"

"What are you going to wipe? You've got it all over your face." Chang Le laughed and pressed down on her shoulder, wiping her mouth clean. Si Zi complained, but obediently leaned closer.

Chengyang sat on the other side, eating much more politely than Sizi.

She picked up a piece of pig's blood tofu, put it in her mouth, her eyes lit up, and then she picked up another piece.

The chopsticks were extended very lightly, as if doing something very solemn, but the speed was not slow at all.

Li Zhian ate quietly and slowly, finishing most of his bowl of rice and taking a lot of vegetables with him.

He's not picky about food; he'll try a little of everything, but not much of anything. He'll pick up a piece with his chopsticks, chew it slowly, and then pick up the next piece.

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