Chapter Fourteen: Clear Stew

The young man in white seemed to realize something as well. His expression straightened at once. “Ahem, haha! Take it!”

Zhou Zhi hesitated for quite a while. It felt wrong to accept such generosity for nothing in return, especially from strangers. It was their arrow that felled the wild goose; taking it for himself seemed improper.

“You’re supposed to be a man, aren’t you? Why are you hesitating like this? I told you to take it, so take it!” Seeing Zhou Zhi’s indecision, the young man in white raised an eyebrow in displeasure.

“In that case, I thank you, young master!” Zhou Zhi still held the wild goose in his hands as he cupped his fist in gratitude.

The youth in white no longer looked at Zhou Zhi, but turned and called out behind, “Brother, let’s go!”

The red horse was about to move when the youth suddenly turned back to Zhou Zhi. “Oh, right—give me back that arrow.”

At the words, Zhou Zhi quickly pulled the arrow from the goose’s neck and handed it to the youth.

She reached out a slender hand to take the arrow.

Pale and delicate as white jade, it was a hand that only a woman could possess. Remembering the earlier melodious laughter, Zhou Zhi was now certain: she was undoubtedly a woman in disguise.

His gaze brushed over that flawless hand, and he was taken aback, his eyes lingering in spite of himself. The young woman in white noticed him staring and her face suddenly turned cold. She snapped, “How rude you are!”

She snatched the arrow from his hand.

Zhou Zhi quickly looked away, a flush rising to his cheeks. It hadn’t been intentional—he was simply surprised and curious. Who would have guessed that the handsome youth was a woman in disguise? That such a slender, delicate hand could bend a bow and shoot down a flying wild goose was truly astonishing.

Chided thus, Zhou Zhi felt deeply embarrassed.

The young woman no longer paid him any heed. She placed the arrow back into her quiver, then squeezed the horse’s belly with her knees; the red horse broke into a gallop.

The man in blue and the four sturdy servants spurred their horses after her. As he passed Zhou Zhi, the man in blue shot him a fierce glare, clearly having noticed Zhou Zhi’s expression earlier.

Six horses thundered off in a cloud of dust, heading for Gaochang Town.

Zhou Zhi watched their figures recede and smiled bitterly to himself. What was that about? Am I the sort to leer at women? Utterly baffling.

Still, no matter what, today he had gained a wild goose—at least his family would have a taste of meat tonight.

Carrying the goose, Zhou Zhi returned to the grain-drying yard. The wild goose weighed four or five pounds and was nice and fat. The sight of it in Zhou Zhi’s hands made the other farmers green with envy. “Zhou Zhi, you lucky dog! Scored a wild goose for nothing, that’s fortune smiling on you!”

Their families were just like Zhou Zhi’s—rarely catching so much as a whiff of meat, living on whatever coarse grains they could muster.

Zhou Zhi gave a faint, silent smile but said nothing.

After all, there was only one goose—was he expected to share it with them? Besides, his little brother Zhou Shaocheng had already forgotten about chasing sparrows and was eyeing the goose hungrily, saliva nearly dripping from his mouth. And after that inexplicable reprimand from the girl in white, Zhou Zhi felt the goose was rightfully his.

He handed the goose to Shaocheng, telling him to take it home to their mother, so that tonight they could all enjoy a hearty meal of wild goose.

Shaocheng left for home, beaming with joy.

Half an hour later, Shaocheng returned to switch places with Zhou Zhi.

When Zhou Zhi got home, his mother and sister were busy in high spirits. The goose had already been plucked, and they were opening it up, removing the entrails and keeping the heart and liver. They cleaned the goose and chopped it into pieces no bigger than eggs, soaking the meat in cold water.

Mother Zhou He explained that soaking the meat for two hours would rid it of any gamy scent.

Zhou Zhi ate lunch while watching them work, feeling content. He thought, if only every day could be like this, with his mother and sister bustling about so cheerfully.

It would be—he promised himself. One day, the Zhou family would eat meat at every meal.

...

As dusk approached, Zhou Zhi gathered all the rice from the drying yard, loading it onto the wheelbarrow and hauling it home.

The rice was thoroughly dry now, so there would be no need to sun it again the next day. Zhou Zhi stacked it carefully along the north wall of the kitchen, for it would be needed as seed for next year’s planting.

Meanwhile, his mother and sister were already busy at the stove. A large iron pot half-filled with water was boiling furiously. His sister, Zhou Luyun, tipped all the goose meat into the pot to cook it on a high flame. Seeing her use such a simple method, Zhou Zhi smiled and said, “Sister, if you cook it like this, the gamy taste will linger. Let me try.”

“You?” Zhou Luyun was astonished, and even their mother was taken aback. Zhou Zhi had never cooked before; he only knew how to eat.

Zhou Zhi kept smiling. “I remember two years ago, when father brought home an injured wild goose. The meat you cooked was delicious, but it still had a gamey taste.”

“Oh? And you think you can get rid of it?” Luyun asked in surprise.

“I can try. I think I can do it,” Zhou Zhi replied.

Seeing his sincere expression, mother and sister looked at him as if he were a stranger. At last, Mother Zhou He said, “Let him try, Luyun. After that fall and fainting spell, he does seem to have changed a lot—maybe he really can cook the goose well.”

Luyun had no choice but to agree.

Zhou Zhi squatted by the stove and added several more bundles of firewood, making the flames roar. In the time it took to drink a cup of tea, the water boiled and the dark-red goose meat rolled in the bubbling pot.

Luyun stood by, puzzled. “Aren’t you just stewing meat like I did? What’s different about your way?”

“It’s quite different,” Zhou Zhi chuckled. He rose and, using long chopsticks, fished out the half-cooked goose meat, then ladled out all the hot water and discarded it.

“Hmph! What a waste of time,” Luyun grumbled.

“Just watch, Sister. This first boiling removes part of the gamy scent, but the smell remains in the water, so it must be thrown out,” Zhou Zhi patiently explained.

Seeing how knowledgeable he sounded, Luyun grew even more astonished. Her brother truly had changed after that fall, as if he suddenly understood so many things.

Repeating this process three times, Zhou Zhi finally stopped when the meat was about a third cooked.

For the last boil, he brought half a pot of water to a rolling boil, tossed in all the goose meat, and let it bubble fiercely before turning down the flame to a gentle simmer.

Taking advantage of the low, steady fire, Zhou Zhi added a dozen soybeans. Since the family kept an official horse, they grew some soybeans for its feed. Goose meat was tough and slow to tenderize, but the ketones in soybeans helped it cook soft.

He then went out to the yard, picked several scallions, washed and chopped them, and threw them into the pot. The family had a row of scallions growing, though they usually ate them raw with sauce, never as a seasoning.

Their father loved garlic, so in the spring they’d planted some, which was now harvested and stored in the woodshed. Zhou Zhi fetched two heads, peeled and minced the cloves, and tossed them into the stew.

That was all he could do. If he’d had some spices, it would have been better, but in the Ming Dynasty, such things were expensive luxuries, bought only by the wealthy. Families like theirs had no idea what spices even were.

Ideally, there would have been chili peppers, but those wouldn’t arrive from the Americas until late in the Ming. What a pity.

As the goose meat simmered and bubbled, a rich, mouthwatering aroma began to waft through the kitchen. Young Shaocheng was already standing by the pot, hungrily licking his lips.

“Shaocheng, go fetch the half-jar of wine Old Zhang gave Father at New Year,” Zhou Zhi suddenly remembered.

That year, Old Zhang had helped a wealthy family butcher a pig and received a jar of wine as a gift, half of which he passed on to Zhou Tie.

Zhou Tie had never drunk before and, after a single taste, found it delicious. But he feared becoming addicted, knowing that in a poor household any such habit could ruin them, so he’d never touched the wine again, leaving the half jar in the woodshed.

Wine was the best way to remove gamey flavors—how could he have forgotten?

Shaocheng, eager for the goose to be finished, dashed off and returned in a flash.

After so long, the wine’s fragrance filled the air as soon as the clay lid was lifted. Zhou Zhi poured some into the pot, then added salt.

The small fire continued to burn, keeping the pot steadily boiling.

After half an hour, Zhou Zhi stopped feeding the fire.

The little kitchen was filled with a mouthwatering scent. Zhou Zhi exclaimed excitedly, “At last, the clear-braised wild goose is ready!”