Chapter 960: Meat Dumplings Without Meat (3)

Qing only barely escaped the shackles of Infinite Strip-Down Hell about one and a half shichen later.

“Now. We’ve matched the silk and the embroidery, so shall we go look at jewelry next?”

“...Pardon? I don’t think I heard you right.”

“Of course we have to. Jewelry is one body with clothing, isn’t it? If you set a single focal point so it stands out at the very center of a unified ornament scheme, that’s what you call putting the finishing touch on the dragon’s eye, isn’t it?”

Putting the finishing touch on the dragon’s eye—there was an old story about the greatest painter under heaven, Zhang Sengyou. He painted a dragon, and then he stopped without drawing the pupils.

When people asked why he’d leave it unfinished, he said—

I drew it too well. If I dot in the pupils, the dragon will ascend and fly away.

People raised a fuss, calling it nonsense, so in the end he was forced to dot the pupils.

And the moment he did, thunder cracked, the ceiling collapsed, and the dragon ascended—an almost hallucination-like tale.

In other words, “dotting the dragon’s eye” meant completing a task by finishing the single most important step at the very end.

Which meant: jewelry played the role of the dragon’s eyes.

That was Lady Gyo’s long-held belief.

“Uh... I already have a lot of jewelry, and, um, adding jewelry too is kind of... too much? I mean, I’m... sorry? I’m already so grateful you’re making clothes for me I feel like I’m going to die, and at this rate I’m actually going to die.”

“This girl. Even your words are pretty. Come on. Let’s go.”

And so Qing got dragged—dragged—into Lady Gyo’s secret treasure vault, phase two: the jewelry storage room.

And thus, Qing’s age of suffering continued, with more still to come.

And then it was put on and taken off, hung and removed, set down and lifted, wrapped and unwound—after testing each piece one by one, you had to match combinations, too. Earrings, necklaces, bracelets, rings, decorative buttons, gemstone bands for the hair—one by one, checking color, checking balance, and then again...

How much time passed?

At last, Lady Gyo nodded in satisfied approval.

“My goodness. You’re truly as pretty as a painting.”

And at that very moment—RUMBLE!

A massive thunderclap shook the jewelry room like a bolt from a clear sky.

Had Qing finally been completed with the finishing touch and ascended to heaven?

No.

She was hungry.

Ah. Hungry enough that it had to be around the beginning of You-hour. She hadn’t even gotten a snack in the middle...

“Oh dear, you’re very hungry, aren’t you? We have to hurry the banquet along. You mustn’t fly away like a dragon because you’re starving.”

Lady Gyo said that, letting out a refined little laugh.

And Qing could only answer in a voice that sounded half-dead.

“Yes...”

*****

Anyway, the banquet—finally.

The banquet was lavish.

It had to be.

It was a matter of face, because of the Central Plain’s strange face-culture: the more leftovers there were, the higher the host’s prestige.

Which meant if the host was poor, it was polite for the guests to leave food behind even if the spread was thin, out of consideration.

You could ask, then—if rich people hold a banquet, doesn’t that mean a ridiculous amount gets left over? Isn’t that a waste?

But the leftovers were distributed to servants and beggars, so it wasn’t exactly a huge waste.

Honestly, compared to banquet culture in the Western Regions, it was practically frugal—since Western-Region banquets involved dumping expensive spices into food until it became inedible trash, simply to flaunt wealth.

And because their god supposedly said eating delicious food was a great sin.

Anyway.

Even with the banquet right in front of her, Qing stayed meek.

Dark shadows lay under her eyes; she sat there with an unfocused, hollow gaze, moving her chopsticks mechanically.

But even Qing’s unconscious, mechanical eating was different from other people’s.

Because Seomun Surin’s nuclear-fission education method—strict discipline, the kind that made you say Our kid got beaten and changed—had carved beautiful refinement into her body.

She took neither too much nor too little, lifted it lightly with only the very tips of her chopsticks, drew an elegant curve, and slipped it quietly into her mouth.

Her lips stayed cutely pursed as she chewed with a perfect little munch-munch.

Lady Gyo stared, deeply impressed.

She acted like a noble-born young lady from a truly prestigious house—and how could she be so proud and so pretty at the same time?

“My goodness, even the way you eat is pretty. Our sparrow should watch and learn. You’re so elegant, and so cute. I want to paint it and teach her, really.”

Lady Gyo’s smile looked utterly satisfied.

Of course, it wasn’t like Qing could eat the way she normally did in front of a friend’s parents—displaying the breathtaking duel of food versus Seomun Cheong’s void-expanding stomach, that stunning contest of rare delicacies.

If she did that, it might get back to Peng Daesan later as: Mom says you can’t play with her.

Still.

Once food went in, it felt like Qing’s vitality began filling back up.

In the first place, the exhaustion was half psychological—physically, with Qing’s superhuman stamina, how could she possibly get tired from holding fabric against her body, pinning basting stitches, and trying on and removing jewelry over and over for days on end?

It wasn’t her body that was tired. It was her heart.

Why was trying on clothes something that tormented a man this badly?

But delicious food improved her mood naturally. Her appetite revived. Her worn-down mind recovered.

There was a reason people said food was medicine.

Oh. Yeah. Duck skin is ridiculously good...

That was the moment.

Lady Gyo’s eyes flashed.

She sprang up, personally took a knife, and stood before the duck—SHHK, SHHK.

It was absolutely not something the hostess of a banquet should do. Normally it was a servant’s job, or the kind of thing a mother did for her small children.

“Oh my, you like Peking duck? Then here—tail skin is a real delicacy. Even if you roast a whole duck, you only get about half a palm’s worth. Even Daesan’s father, who has no appetite, would sit bolt upright from sleep if you offered him tail skin.”

“Ahem.”

“You can eat next time. We have an honored guest.”

“Ahem... Yeom the head cook is resting due to old age, so we almost never roast duck these days...”

“Honey?”

“Ahem. Ahem.”

“Um, I’m fine, really...”

“Oh my, since when does a guest refuse? Here.”

Uncomfortable. So uncomfortable.

And the way the father’s eyes were glued to that half-a-palm portion of tail skin—those wistful eyes dripping with regret—was uncomfortable too.

And the discomfort of everyone else—Moyong Jun, Miss Kim, our party—who tried to pretend they hadn’t seen or heard anything, but couldn’t hide how awkward it felt to be treated like they didn’t exist even though they were guests too.

At this point, even the best food—could you even tell if it was going in your mouth or your nose?

That was when—

“Hnnng...”

Qing let out a tiny sound without meaning to.

A bird’s tail—more precisely, the section at the rear where the tail feathers attach—had that exquisite combination of crisp shhk-shhk and chewy spring, with a fluffy layer of fat packed inside.

How could thick, crispy skin wrapped around that fat taste anything but incredible? A true delicacy.

“Here, darling. Try this too. It’s called Fuyong Chicken Slices. It’s our head cook Yeom’s signature seasonal dish—she’s older now, so she doesn’t cook much anymore.”

“Ah, thank you.”

“And this is called Tangpok Twin-Delight Soup—here.”

“Ah, I have a spoon, I—mmph.”

“And we can’t leave out Butterfly Sea Cucumber, either.”

“Mmhmhm, it’s goooood.”

The Qing who’d been complaining about discomfort a moment ago was nowhere to be found.

She was gulping down whatever was offered, snatching it up and swallowing like a baby bird being fed.

Still, it melted away the misery of wasting the entire day, like fatigue dissolving off her in one sweep.

Qing’s heart finally loosened.

She’d eat a big dinner, go to her room, doze off, then when they said the bathwater was ready she’d soak in hot water for a long while.

Then she’d dive into bed feeling drowsy and cozy, use petite Miss Moyong as a hugging pillow, and that would be the end of the day.

Tomorrow, they’d eat breakfast and leave.

...Or so she thought.

But as Qing relaxed, someone started speaking to her in a weird, creakily awkward way.

“Ahem. Um. Would you like some tea?”

“Ah, yes. Of course.”

“Good. Um. Is there any tea you like?”

“If the Family Head brews it for me, even roasted grain would be a fine tea, wouldn’t it?”

“Um... yes. Right. No, I mean—thank you for saying that.”

It was Peng Heon, Family Head of the Hebei Peng Family—the Upright Gentleman Peng Heon.

He was respected as a gentleman because he never hesitated to teach juniors, had a plain and simple personality, didn’t throw around authority, and carried himself with easy modesty.

But.

What did “plain and simple” really mean?

It meant he didn’t crave much, his words and actions were honest with no hiding—

And above all, he disliked emotional drain and preferred things simple and concise.

And there was one situation people like that struggled with the most.

‘Husband. Husband, go talk to our darling for a bit.’

‘Huh? Talk about what?’

‘What do you mean, “what”? Do you want our eldest to grow old alone, lonely forever? A girl appeared—the one he supposedly likes enough to chase around. As parents, we have to help.’

‘The young ones will handle it.’

‘My goodness, Husband. I watched her. She’s so awkward about receiving things—she’s naturally modest and kind. And she listens so obediently to adults, but answers sweetly and cutely too. Even her expression is sincere. She’s so lovable I almost wish she were my daughter.’

‘Mm.’

‘Her character is outstanding, so if she were ugly we wouldn’t even have to worry, but her face is like a flower and her bearing is like the moon—flower-face, moon-form. She’s the kind of woman every man in the world dreams of. Even if it’s Daesan, I can’t relax. We have to bring her in before someone steals her.’

‘Mm.’

‘And Daesan takes after you—he can’t even say one smooth, flattering line. So you have to step up and win her favor.’

‘Favor? What favor? How do I “win” it?’

‘Tell her what a great kid he is, how good the family is—and I heard the Heavenly Flower Sword is famous for her martial bone too. You can look at her martial arts.’

‘That’s... mm... mmm.’

Peng Heon, as head of the Hebei Peng Family, was one of the Martial Alliance’s core figures.

Which meant he also knew Qing’s true realm.

What was there to “look at” between two people in the Harmonization Realm? With her growth speed, he might end up needing instruction from her later.

‘But don’t push too obviously or Daesan might recoil even harder—be subtle. Husband, you understand what I’m saying, right?’

‘Mm.’

‘Stop with the “mm, mmm.” If it’s for your child, what can’t you do? Husband. Hmm?’

‘Mmm...’

So Peng Heon had been pushed into coming.

But still.

For a plain-and-simple man, wasn’t this an impossible assignment?

Win her favor—how?

So now there was only the faint, delicate sound of tea being poured.

“Um. Sir. The tea tastes good.”

“Mm. It does.”

“Is this Iron Goddess?”

“It is.”

“The aroma is really nice. Do you usually enjoy Iron Goddess?”

“Mmm. Not particularly.”

“Then do you like another tea? Iron Goddess is a very good tea to serve guests, isn’t it?”

“Is it? I don’t really know tea.”

“Oh. Then maybe you enjoy alcohol more?”

“Mm. Not really.”

Qing was usually someone who didn’t get awkward, but when the other person was awkward, even Qing couldn’t do much.

This was exactly it—no matter how she tried to open a conversational path, she kept getting one-word answers like yes or no.

Why are you suddenly being this awkward?

You weren’t like this the last time I saw you.

You even gave me light guidance sparring.

But of course—

Peng Heon had come out on direct orders from his wife, and he genuinely didn’t know what he was supposed to do.

So Qing felt sorry for him, shoved into a seat that didn’t suit his nature.

And Qing, dragged into it with him, felt sorry for herself too.

But it was also hard to say, If you have nothing to say, I’ll take my leave.

The easiest way to open the flow would be to talk about martial arts—

But that only worked when Qing was clearly the junior and the inferior. In the current situation, it made the picture feel... wrong.

Bringing up martial arts when she was in the same realm as a far more senior martial artist felt, frankly, awkward.

So Qing’s eyes rolled around.

“...”

“...”

“...”

“...”

And so the night grew deeper.

The tea fragrance was rich—

And it was a night that felt absolutely suffocating.