Chapter 7#

Moye Grilled Meat#

Xu Daochun was still prostrated on the ground, putting on a splendid show of terror — this was his stock-in-trade. He had served Mi Linan for two years and was the most skilled at reading faces. Every dish he had presented to Mi Jin tonight was carefully crafted, not a single one haphazard or filler.

The Crown Prince had his episode last night. Wei Chi Liang and the others couldn’t fathom the mystery behind it; only Xu Daochun knew in his heart — the Prince’s episode was necessarily due to patricide. The Mi clan’s affliction was, to outsiders, attributed to the phases of the moon, but the close attendants all understood tacitly that it was also affected by emotions.

Thus, Xu Daochun had long since figured it out: Mi Jin was in a foul mood, and he had arranged these dishes precisely to observe Mi Jin. If Mi Jin ate them all, it would indicate that this master had a weak temper — spineless and easy to manipulate. If Mi Jin didn’t eat a single bite, it would indicate that this master had no self-awareness — a fool, like Jin Mingshi’s kind.

Now it was clear. Xu Daochun congratulated himself inwardly — this one was like Mi Linan: he didn’t like being figured out, would show his displeasure when displeased, but knew where to draw the line. Just like right now — having swallowed that fish, having conveyed his attitude, he wouldn’t lose his head and take it out on someone further.

The little calculations in Xu Daochun’s mind worked like a kaleidoscope, but Mi Jin couldn’t be bothered with him any longer. The Crown Prince stared at Sha Que for what felt like a long time, then suddenly said: “Split half of that moye grilled meat over there and reward it to the soldiers on duty tonight.”

“Yes, I’ll have someone see to it at once.” Xu Daochun raised his upper body slightly, feigning hesitation. “And the remaining half…”

“Get someone to carve it into slices,” Mi Jin set down his chopsticks, one hand resting on the curved armrest, his gaze still locked on Sha Que. “Him, then.”

In Dongyuan, everyone ate separately, one seat per person. According to Senluo’s regulations, when Mi Jin dined, there had to be eight people attending him. But since they were still in Ayuo City and Xu Daochun’s palace servants were limited in number, the attendants were reduced to four.

Usually, one palace servant skilled in cooking would wait below the steps, using his exquisite knife skills to slice the roasted meat to appropriate sizes onto a plate. The plate would be passed up the steps, then delivered into the room by another servant specifically responsible for serving. Everyone in the room had to remove their shoes, hence no other sounds were permitted while walking. Once the plate reached the master’s seat, someone had to divide it again, pairing it with seasonal vegetables such as wild rice shoots, bamboo shoots, chives, and shepherd’s purse, before it was passed to Xu Daochun. Finally, Xu Daochun would inspect the arrangement of dishes and present it to the master’s table.

This entire sequence applied solely to the roasted meat; fish vinegar, soup, noodles, cakes, cheese, and drinks each had their own procedures. But none of them were Sha Que’s routine. He had undergone inspection below the steps and had surrendered his short blade; just as he was about to remove his shoes, the attendant surnamed Xu stole several glances at him.

Sha Que lifted his eyelids; the other man immediately snapped his gaze away. He knew why. With a face like his, once properly washed, one rarely encountered someone brave enough to stare at him without blinking. Most people still cared about appearances and wouldn’t want to reveal their infatuation in public. This couldn’t be blamed on him — he hadn’t even done anything yet.

“Give him a knife,” Mi Jin watched Sha Que settle into a seat beside the table. “The sharpest one.”

Sha Que, with lowered brows and docile eyes, took the knife from Xu Daochun. This particular blade was meant specifically for carving moye; whether it could stab someone depended on placement — stabbing Mi Jin was probably out of the question. If that fellow had another episode from pain, Sha Que would have a hard time dealing with his snake scales with just this small knife.

“Crown Prince,” Sha Que’s temper was impeccable, “do you prefer large pieces, or small pieces?”

Xu Daochun hurriedly spoke up from behind: “How can you ask the Crown Prince such a thing? You need to use your own judgment about the right portion.”

“Based on your observation,” Mi Jin’s words carried a hidden edge, “do I prefer large, or small?”

“Based on my observation,” Sha Que looked toward the Crown Prince, and those eyes in this dim, candlelit chamber seemed to be veiled in mist, “you can swallow anything.”

“Your eyesight is still that good.” Mi Jin leaned forward slightly, gripping Sha Que’s wrist and turning the blade toward himself. “When will your awareness catch up?”

This was a fine position. With just a bit of force, the blade could pierce Mi Jin’s throat. But Sha Que knew — Mi Jin was baiting him, and also mocking him.

“Is it that my service has been insufficiently attentive?” Sha Que was very solicitous. “If there’s anywhere I’ve failed to grasp Your Highness’s deeper meaning, please enlighten me further.”

Mi Jin could feel Sha Que’s concern — the blade had nearly reached his Adam’s apple. His eyes angled downward, and in the shadow was a slightly puzzled face. Sha Que gazed at him just so, as if awaiting an answer.

Beauties were generally of two kinds: those beautiful in appearance, and those beautiful in manner. But one who could be called a true great beauty had to possess both — only then could one bewilder the heart. The more casually Sha Que carried himself, the more it revealed that he understood his own power. Only someone who knew their own power would dare to act with such abandon, not even bothering to employ a sliver of technique.

Xu Daochun’s eyes darted to Mi Jin first, but Mi Jin’s expression was unreadable; they darted to Sha Que, but he could only see Sha Que’s back. He pondered for a moment and said: “The palace servant who specializes in carving moye is still waiting below. Crown Prince, should we call him in…”

“Relax,” Mi Jin seemed not to be answering anyone in particular. He gripped Sha Que tightly and plunged the blade halfway into the roasted moye. “His knife skills surpass everyone’s. No need for anyone else to teach.”

Sha Que’s wrist went numb from his grip, yet Mi Jin stubbornly refused to let go, leading Sha Que by the hand to personally carve the moye.

The moye was perfectly cooked — crispy skin, tender flesh — still hot when it arrived. Sha Que had no grudge against this sheep, but he guessed Mi Jin might. The Prince separated its bone and meat with meticulous precision, his movements clean and swift; were it not for the fact that he was still holding Sha Que, it would have been hard to detect that he was venting.

Mi Jin said offhandedly: “You received the new waist token.”

“Mm…” Sha Que was happy to slack off, saving his strength for Mi Jin to expend. “Otherwise, how would I have the chance to come here and serve you?”

“Weren’t you just calling me ‘Your Highness’?” Mi Jin’s tone was biting. “Oh, I remember now — last night.”

“You still remember last night,” Sha Que followed the thread. “Then did I protect you well enough last night? Was I valiant enough?”

“You’ve already been promoted,” Mi Jin tossed the bones onto the tray. “Do you even need to ask?”

“If I don’t ask clearly, I won’t rest easy,” Sha Que pressed on, clearly unsatisfied. “I didn’t even sleep well during the day.”

“Is it that you won’t rest easy until you ask clearly,” Mi Jin said, “or that you never rested easy to begin with?”

“You gave me a new waist token,” Sha Que let himself be led, arranging the meat slices neatly. “Asking about ’to begin with’ now would be too late, wouldn’t it?”

“Nothing is ever certain,” Mi Jin scraped off the meat scraps. “Some people can change their minds even when the arrow is already on the string.”

He was referring to the events of last night — how Sha Que had attempted to kill him, entered the room, then changed his mind.

“What arrow can still be withdrawn once it’s on the string?” Sha Que was quite astonished. “Wasn’t it just nocked falsely from the start?”

“I can see it now — you know how to handle a blade, AND you know how to shoot arrows.” Mi Jin bit his words tight.

“It would be strange if one could see such things. Like how nobody’s forehead has ‘snake’ or ‘bug’ written on it.” Sha Que still held the knife. “Everything requires a process of mutual understanding.”

“What counts as mutual understanding?” Mi Jin had finally finished processing this half of the moye. “Slitting open the belly, or peeling off the skin and stripping the bones?”

“Crown Prince,” Sha Que tilted his head. “Your words are so cruel. When two people meet and get to know each other, it’s not like animals tearing at each other — talking about slitting bellies and all that just scares me.”

Mi Jin met Sha Que’s gaze. He remembered clearly — how last night, this person had seized the assassin by the hair and rammed the blade through the assassin’s belly until it spilled.

“Scared to the point your hands tremble,” Mi Jin removed the blade and tossed it onto the tray. “I was just talking.”

“Was it trembling, or tingling?” Sha Que’s hands were greasy. “I can tell the difference perfectly.”

Mi Jin pulled a cloth from Xu Daochun and draped it over Sha Que’s hands. Just like that — with hands full of grease and grime, the way he had during the day holding A-Ye’s head — he watched Sha Que, and his gaze was actually quite explicit: a desperate self-loathing mixed with a frenzied incitement.

Perhaps he truly wanted Sha Que to kill him — right now, the next moment, anytime at all.

Unfortunately, Sha Que was off duty tonight. He glanced at Mi Jin, then at the blade on the tray, and finally began wiping his own hands.

Xu Daochun couldn’t discern Sha Que’s intentions at all. He half-reclined, cautiously edging between the two, and called softly: “Crown Prince, the water for washing hands has been served.”

“Put it here,” Mi Jin said. “You — and everyone else — leave.”

Xu Daochun’s heart wavered slightly, but he ventured: “Then let this one…”

Mi Jin said coldly: “Sha Sanqing.”

“…Then we’ll leave to Captain Sha of the Third to attend the Crown Prince’s meal,” Xu Daochun retreated. “We’ll wait outside the door.”

All the palace servants kept their heads bowed and arms at their sides, following Xu Daochun out of the chamber. Farther away from the table stood a bronze lamp in the shape of a silver-headed bear; closer at hand sat a small three-legged lotus lamp. Yet even so, the light in the room was still insufficient.

Sha Que couldn’t get his hands clean, so he pointed to the copper basin Xu Daochun had left behind. “You eat your food — let me use this, if that’s alright?”

How accommodating he was — actually negotiating with Mi Jin.

Mi Jin said nothing.

Sha Que lifted the cloth and placed it in Mi Jin’s hand, coaxing gently: “If you need to throw up, you can do it now — there’s nobody else here anyway.”

Mi Jin’s Adam’s apple bobbed. The fish he had just swallowed kept surging up with its fishy taste. Actually he knew — this fishy smell was neither from the bite he had broken through nor inherent to the fish. It was the nausea that had been clinging to him ever since today — or even three days ago — the moment he cradled A-Ye’s head, never having dissipated.

Before dinner, Mi Jin had washed himself again, because of his hands — these hands had, one by one, cleaned his father’s, his brothers’, and his teacher’s heads before placing them in the treasure casket. The casket was now right beside his leg; without even closing his eyes, at any time, in any place, he could see them watching him.

Xu Daochun, that beast.

They had come here and never, for a single moment, truly respected Mi Jin. How dare he instruct Mi Jin to eat at a time like this? He should have known — any person with a conscience should have known — that whatever Mi Jin shoved into his mouth right now would only make him want to vomit.

Mi Jin clenched his teeth, fighting against the nausea. After a moment, he grabbed the meat from the tray and shoved it into his mouth.

The knife and bones rolled across the mat. Sha Que forgot to wash his hands. He leaned in close, Mi Jin reflected in his eyes, his voice soft and slow: “You’re really something.”

He leaned close to his ear, calling to him.

“Mi, Wu, Ye (xie).”