Chapter Twenty-Five: The Narrow-Minded Yun Hao

Hou Junji raised his knife and, in one swift motion, slit the chicken’s throat. His movements were crisp and efficient—no mere butcher could compare. Anyone could tell at a glance that he was no stranger to stealing chickens. Qi Biao tended the fire, Laishun plucked the feathers, while Yun Hao directed a mob of children as they dug up the yard, filling the courtyard with chaos and smoke. Meanwhile, Shan Xiongxin, drinking his wine, cast an anxious glance their way from time to time, worried that these little rascals might set his manor ablaze. He didn’t believe for a moment that these children, still wet behind the ears, could prepare anything edible, let alone something delicious. It was only out of respect for Wang Bodang that he let them carry on with their mischief.

Yun Hao felt a bit helpless; the only seasonings at hand were oil, salt, and a handful of wild Sichuan peppercorns. There were also several thick green onions—so thick, in fact, that they might as well have been sugar cane. Fortunately, there was a little cooking wine. After gutting the plucked chickens, he marinated them in a mixture of oil, salt, peppercorn water, and wine. Then he wrapped each chicken in lotus leaves, coated them all over with yellow clay, and thus constructed a Tang-dynasty version of Beggar’s Chicken. He built a roaring fire and placed the clay-covered birds atop it; once the clay baked hard into a crust, the chickens would be done. Just imagining the taste made Yun Hao’s mouth water uncontrollably.

Yet Hou Junji and his two brothers remained skeptical of Yun Hao’s culinary talents. The trauma of his previous “lump soup” haunted them—overshadowing even the expanse of the capital’s airport. All they hoped was that, should the chickens turn out inedible, none would end up in their stomachs. Even the children, whose eyes had been glowing at the prospect of a meal, now wore anxious expressions.

“What a waste of good chickens,” Qi Biao grumbled resentfully, before Yun Hao kicked him from behind.

“Chickens are meant to be ruined—uh…” Yun Hao regretted the remark as soon as he uttered it, realizing too late how ambiguous it sounded.

Qin Qiong, Wang Bodang, Xie Yingdeng, and Shan Xiongxin looked on in amusement. Only Qi Guoyuan hurried over, unable to contain his curiosity. In his life, he had eaten at least a thousand chickens, always steamed, boiled, or roasted—never once encased in mud. Peering at Yun Hao in confusion, he asked cautiously, “Is this thing even edible?”

“Of course! You’d better mind your tongue, or you’ll swallow it along with the chicken. Since you’re here, help dig some pits—there are still over a dozen chickens with nowhere to go,” Yun Hao replied, hands on his hips, unafraid of this tattooed mountain bandit. He still resented being stripped naked by Qi Guoyuan earlier, embarrassed in front of everyone. Today, he would make sure to teach this brute a lesson.

“You brat! Daring to order your elder around—shall I teach you a lesson?” Qi Guoyuan glared menacingly, but Yun Hao showed not a trace of fear. Feeling his dignity slip away, Qi Guoyuan grabbed the boy and spun him around, delivering a few hearty slaps to his backside.

“Let’s see you disobey again!” he scolded, but after the second strike, he abruptly stopped. Qin Qiong now stood before him, his face dark with displeasure.

“Brother Qin, children need to be disciplined sometimes! Uh, well, I’ll go have a drink,” Qi Guoyuan stammered, hastily making his escape as Qin Qiong’s fists were not to be trifled with—even eight of him couldn’t match a single one of Qin’s blows.

“Brother Qin, pay him no mind—the man’s a blockhead. Kids are bound to be naughty now and then. Come, let’s drink!” Wang Bodang, seeing Qin Qiong’s anger, quickly stepped in to mediate. For his sake, Qin Qiong restrained himself, snorted coldly, and returned to his seat.

Rubbing his stinging backside, Yun Hao glared daggers at Qi Guoyuan, already plotting his revenge. He was determined not to be underestimated.

As the fire subsided, Yun Hao scraped away the hot earth to reveal the lumps of hardened clay, each still steaming. His eyes gleamed with mischief as he selected the largest lump—one that had barely cooled—and rolled it with a stick to Qi Guoyuan’s feet. Bowing low, he declared, “I apologize for my earlier disrespect, Hero Qi. Please accept this Beggar’s Chicken as my token of apology. It’s rather hefty, so I’ll need your strong hands to lift it.”

“No matter! It’s the thought that counts,” Qi Guoyuan replied, feeling pleased with himself as he reached for the massive lump. The moment his hand touched the clay, he yelped in pain. The chicken tumbled down, landing squarely on his injured foot, nearly breaking it again. Having only judged by the cool exterior, Qi Guoyuan hadn’t anticipated the searing heat beneath—and paid the price.

A roar of laughter erupted from the gathered heroes. To be outsmarted by a child—none would come to his aid, not even Xie Yingdeng, who nearly doubled over with laughter. No brotherly loyalty there!

“This boy bears grudges and is cunning indeed. When he grows up, he’ll be no ordinary character,” Li Mi remarked to Wei Zheng, admiring the latter’s keen judgment of people and feeling drawn to make his acquaintance.

Stroking his beard, Wei Zheng wore the air of a sage who had long since seen through everything. Yun Hao thought to himself that it was all just a show.

Yun Hao selected another clay lump, rolled it onto a bluestone slab, and split open the hard shell with an axe. Instantly, a rich aroma burst forth, and clear oil trickled from the cracks. Wrapping his hand in hemp cloth, he pried off the clay, peeled back the lotus leaves, and revealed the snow-white chicken flesh.

The moment the fragrance wafted through the courtyard, the sound of collective swallowing filled the air.

With hands wrapped in hemp cloth, Yun Hao carried the Beggar’s Chicken straight to Qin Qiong’s table. Setting it down with both hands, he said, “Uncle Qin, please try my cooking. I hope it’s to your liking.”

“Good boy!” Qin Qiong patted Yun Hao’s head affectionately, tore a leg off the chicken, and took a bite. His eyes lit up in surprise, and he began to eagerly dig through the lotus leaves for more.

At that, the others could restrain themselves no longer. Those without cloth simply stripped off their clothes to wrap around their hands, hauling their own clay chickens to the stone slabs. Some, finding the axes in short supply, resorted to smashing the clay with their massive fists.

For a while, the courtyard echoed with the sounds of clay being smashed and lips smacking with pleasure. Many praised Yun Hao’s chicken, swearing that every bird they’d eaten before had been wasted, and vowed to quarter their own cooks for serving pig slop back at the stronghold.

As for Qi Guoyuan’s cries and moans—who cared? Eating chicken was the most important business of all.