The red soup base bubbled and simmered in the copper stove, while molten gold butter, crimson chilies, and dark brown Sichuan peppercorns sank and floated in the boiling water, like countless ignited meteors, exploding with waves of spicy, numb air. The smell carried the unique dominance of Sichuan, like an invisible key that instantly pried open all the sensory nerves in the nasal cavity. A woman at the next table, holding a baby in swaddling clothes, sneezed, and the baby in the swaddle puckered up from the spiciness, clenching its delicate little fists tightly, drawing good-natured laughter from the surrounding diners. A waiter passed by with a tray, his voice like a bell piercing the heat: "Enjoy your meal, sir! Our boss has spent an entire night simmering this soup base with thirty pounds of butter and five pounds of chili peppers!"
Jiang Yan's hand, holding a bamboo chopstick, hovered three inches above the hot pot. The steaming heat, tinged with spiciness, assaulted his face, making his crow-feathered eyelashes flutter. A fine trickle of sweat trickled down his nose, gleaming like diamonds in the flickering candlelight. He stared at the thin, cicada-wing-thin tripe in the colander. His Adam's apple rolled as he took a deep breath, his lips moving slightly as he silently counted "one, two, three." As he scooped the tripe out, water droplets formed sparkling silver threads along the edges of the leaves, catching the chili oil escaping from the red broth like a scattering of burning sparks. As the chopsticks reached his lips, he could even hear the chili oil sizzling through the veins of the tripe.
"Hiss!" The moment the tripe touched his tongue, Jiang Yan's entire body trembled, as if struck by thunder. He snatched up the celadon bowl and poured the entire bowl of cold tea down his throat. The bottom of the bowl clattered against the table with a resounding clang, and the tea splashed like silver beads, wetting the front of his moon-white robe, leaving streaks of varying depths on the dark-patterned fabric. The spiciness spread like wildfire from his taste buds to his throat, then down his esophagus to his stomach. He arched his back and coughed violently, his ears red as if stained with cinnabar jade pendants, and even the corners of his eyes flushed crimson. "Too spicy!" he panted, his voice hoarse as if rubbed with sandpaper. "This is more than ten times spicier than Old Man Wang's spicy soup in the alleys of Chang'an's West Market!" Spilled tea, mixed with his hot breath, formed tiny droplets on the tabletop, winding along the wood grain like a river, reflecting the dancing flames of the copper censer.
Nian Li lay on the mottled old wooden table, laughing so hard that she fell back and forth. The pomegranate red pompom on her head swept across the edge of the vinegar pot with her movements, and the pot swung dangerously on the table. She stretched out her little arms like lotus roots to hug the vinegar pot, and the amber liquid swayed out of the mouth of the pot like a stream, spreading into a winding lake on the table. The aroma of vinegar and the thick smell of butter collided with clear sparks in the air. "Dad, grandpa said that vinegar can relieve spiciness!" She shook her little head proudly, and the silver bells jingled in her hair, but she didn't notice that the vinegar had soaked through the bamboo embroidery on Jiang Yan's cuffs, leaving faint water marks on the fabric. Seeing this, the waiter smiled and handed over a rag: "Young lady, pour the vinegar slowly, otherwise it will become a vinegar hot pot!"
Si Yan quietly retreated behind the elm chair and took out an oil-paper bag with frayed edges from his sleeve pocket. The paper bag was warmed by his body temperature, revealing the outline of the off-white sugar cake inside, with some osmanthus crumbs on the corners. He tiptoed and stuffed the sugar cake into Jiang Yan's palm, his little face full of seriousness that was inconsistent with his age, and the tip of his nose was still stained with the hot pot oil he had just touched, like a small amber mole. "Dad, sweetness can suppress spiciness." The osmanthus crumbs on the sugar cake stained Jiang Yan's fingers, and the sweet fragrance and the remaining spiciness intertwined, weaving a strange smell network in his palm, which actually subtly suppressed the burning sensation. Jiang Yan's fingers holding the sugar cake trembled slightly, not knowing whether it was because of the spiciness or because of the emotion.
Jiang Yan was so moved that his eyes were slightly hot. Just as he was about to praise his son "Si Yan is still sensible", the lingering spicy taste on his tongue suddenly erupted like a dormant volcano. He was tongue-tied and stuck out his tongue. He gasped repeatedly because of the spiciness, and a "hissing" sound came from his throat, just like a scalded snow lion dog. Nian Li slapped the table and laughed so hard that she couldn't straighten her back. She pointed her little finger at her father's red tongue and screamed, "Dad's tongue is like the red silk sold at the Lantern Festival in the West Market! It can be used for dragon dances!" She laughed so hard that her shoulders shook. The silver ornaments in her hair drew tiny arcs of light in the candlelight, and even the pom pom on her head jumped along with it. The diners at the neighboring table all looked at him sideways. A little girl with two braids pointed at Jiang Yan and whispered in her mother's ear, causing a burst of laughter.
Su Jinli scooped the duck throat out of the hot pot. The crisp, tender ingredients, coated in glistening red oil, trembled and shone on the chopsticks. Droplets of oil slid down the veins, creating tiny splashes in the white porcelain bowl. Her eyes curved as she ate, beads of sweat oozing from her forehead. She wiped her cheeks with a handkerchief, a faint blush immediately appearing on them. "This is spicy enough! Jiang Yan, can you handle it?" Before she finished speaking, Jiang Yan, in a fit of anger, picked up a piece of duck blood and threw it fiercely into the hot pot. Once the blood color faded, he shoved it into his mouth, as if to challenge the spicy soup for a victory. The way he chewed with his eyes closed, he looked like a soldier charging into the battlefield.
"Spicy! Spicy! Water--!" Jiang Yan jumped up like a lit firecracker, and the elm chair legs scraped against the ground with a harsh sound, which seemed particularly abrupt in the noisy store. He grabbed the sugar water in front of Nianli and poured it into his mouth. The amber liquid splashed all over his body, and even the jade belt buckle on his chest was stained with sticky sugar stains, shining sticky in the candlelight. Nianli quickly picked up the vinegar pot and wanted to pour it, but Su Jinli grabbed her wrist and said, "If you pour it again, your father will become young ginger soaked in a Zhenjiang vinegar jar for three days and three nights!" Si Yan was anxious watching from the side, and his little brows were twisted into knots: "Mom, if you put too much vinegar, it will be sour!"
Si Yan, however, had already pulled out his rosewood abacus, the beads clattering between his fingers. The clattering of the beads and the gurgling of the hot pot miraculously echoed, creating the most unique rhythm in the restaurant. "Dad ate spicy food and consumed three bowls of Biluochun and two pieces of sugar cakes, which is a total of seventy-two coins according to today's market price," he fiddled with the beads, his little fingers nimbly jumping back and forth on the beam, "plus twenty coins for mental damage compensation, a total of ninety-two coins, which will be deducted from my pocket money if it's considered a work injury..." Before he could finish his words, Jiang Yan blocked his mouth with the remaining half of the sugar cake. The father and son quarreled at the dining table, and Si Yan's abacus jingled between his legs, almost falling to the ground. The diners around him laughed so hard that they fell over. A scholar in a green shirt joked, "This young master will definitely be a genius in accounting in the future!"
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