Chapter 115 Empress Cao: Which move should we use...?
Zhao Zongshi's eyes widened suddenly.
He has never entered officialdom and has never held any official position in the court. But the fact that His Highness the Crown Prince could even reveal information to him can only mean one thing: preparations for the expedition are almost complete.
How could this not be surprising and exciting?
Zhao Zongshi immediately cupped his hands and said, "I wish Your Highness great success in military affairs and a victorious start."
Fusu immediately broke into a smile. No one would be unhappy to hear such a blessing. However, he still said, "You shouldn't be wishing me well; you should be wishing General Di and the soldiers well. I only did some logistical work, which is nothing."
Zhao Zongshi was about to say something when a sudden chill touched his nose, interrupting him. The others all looked up at the sky, Fusu still holding his small hand out in the air. A moment later, a snowflake landed on his palm and melted into water.
"It's snowing again." He pulled his coat tighter and muttered to himself, "This year's snow is both early and plentiful."
"Then I won't keep you any longer, Brother Zongshi. You should find somewhere to take shelter from the snow and read the newspaper to them after the snow stops. General Di and I have other matters to attend to, so we'll take our leave first."
Zhao Zongshi was reluctant to part with him, but the weather was uncooperative, and he could only see him off. He stood there for a long time, watching the Crown Prince's figure gradually disappear. Only then did he come to his senses and pull his collar up to keep out the wind, snow, and cold air.
Ah, I almost forgot, even the cotton-padded clothes I'm wearing are thanks to His Highness the Crown Prince. In just two short years, Zhao Zongshi has completely lost count of how he endured the bitterly cold winters of Bianjing when he had no cotton-padded clothes to wear.
Your Highness's achievements are evident to all in the Song Dynasty, yet you only refer to yourself as "someone in charge of logistics." Isn't that a bit too self-deprecating?
The snowflakes fell heavier and heavier, quickly soaking Zhao Zongshi's shoulder. He quickly forgot about his feelings and found shelter from the snow.
Meanwhile, Fusu and Di Qing left the Imperial Guard camp and reached the crossroads, where it was time for them to part ways.
"General, please return to your residence quickly, lest you catch a cold. The Song Dynasty still needs you."
Di Qing blinked and joked, "It's snowing today. I'm afraid I'll have a fresh hot pot to eat as soon as I get back to the manor. This is all thanks to His Highness the Crown Prince."
Fusu smiled and said, "That's because the general's wife is virtuous."
He "invented" hot pot two years ago. After the promotion of cotton-padded clothes, the restless energy of the citizens of Bianjing (Kaifeng) made them dare to go out and about again. However, there was no warm food available at the night market. Eating cold food in the dead of winter was too much of a hardship, so Fusu simply published the recipe for hot pot in the "Seeking Knowledge" newspaper and spread the word.
Within ten days, hot pot stalls appeared in several of Bianjing's most popular night markets. Whether day or night, the air was filled with the steaming broth, and business was booming.
This style of eating gradually became popular not only among commoners but also among officials. They would gather around a stove to brew tea and chat late into the night, not around a fire, but around a golden bronze stove used for hot pot. It's clear that Di Qing's family also enjoyed this style of eating, which is why Fusu, having heard of it, made a teasing remark.
After the two parted, the snow fell much more heavily. Fusu hurried back to the palace, and as soon as he entered Kunning Palace, he caught a whiff of a long-lost fragrance.
"Your Majesty, shall we have hot pot today too?"
"Also? Who else ate it?"
Fusu said, "It was General Di. As soon as he saw the snow, he said he could eat it when he got home." He never expected to enjoy this treatment himself.
Empress Cao took Fusu's warm hand and led him into the small flower hall. Charcoal braziers were placed around the hall, making it as warm as mid-spring. Fusu pulled his thicker cotton coat around his fur collar and surprisingly felt a long-lost sense of stuffiness.
But he couldn't care less, because Empress Cao pointed at the copper pot in the center of the small flower hall: "Yes, and it's the butter pot that you couldn't bear to eat. As soon as it snows, I order people to set up the pot. How is it, is it still authentic?"
“Authentic!” Fusu exclaimed. “And it’s made with beef tallow, that’s too extravagant.”
But the corners of his mouth couldn't help but curl up.
In ancient times, cattle were important tools for production, and killing them indiscriminately for meat was illegal. Beef and beef tallow were therefore extremely precious. That's why, when Fusu published the recipes in the newspaper, he only listed "clear broth base," "three-delicacy base," and "chicken broth base," etc., without mentioning beef tallow at all. Otherwise, the illegal slaughtering of cattle would have become even more rampant.
But the problem is, if it's hot pot, how can it not have a butter-flavored broth?
Unable to resist his cravings, Fusu asked the kitchen for a dead cow, rendered beef tallow, sprinkled peppercorns, added broth, and simmered it into a flavorful soup base. He then sliced beef for hot pot and treated the whole family to a hearty meal, thoroughly indulging their cravings.
After that incident, he never mentioned it again, lest word get out and others imitate him. Little did he know that Empress Cao had silently remembered the matter, and somehow obtained another piece of beef tallow, which she rendered into a broth. The Kunning Palace was now filled with the fragrant, spicy aroma of hot pot.
Fusu took a deep breath. Sigh, everything tasted good in times of scarcity. In his previous life, he always tried to avoid classic hot pot flavors and try new broths instead. Sour soup, pork tripe and chicken, soy milk broth… but in the Song Dynasty, he realized there was a reason why classics are classics.
He looked at Empress Cao, hesitating for a moment as if he wanted to say something but couldn't. Hmm, should he speak? Would Her Majesty be displeased if he did?
"What's wrong, missing your father?"
Fusu admitted somewhat awkwardly, "Yes."
The opportunity to enjoy hot pot was rare, and he didn't want to eat alone; he wanted to invite Emperor Renzong as well. However, his parents' relationship had always been strained, and they only communicated because of him. For Empress Cao to prepare hot pot for him, and for him to invite the Emperor, seemed like he was using her as a pretext for his own gain. Fusu was afraid of displeasing Empress Cao.
His lips pursed slightly, revealing a hint of distress. His snow-white face was surrounded by a fluffy fur collar, making him look quite adorable. Empress Cao couldn't resist and pinched Fusu's smooth cheek: "I knew you were thinking about your father."
Fusu asked cautiously, "Then, Your Majesty..."
"Afraid of upsetting your mother?" Empress Cao shook her head with a smile: "It is human nature and filial piety for a son to care for his father. Does Your Majesty want to see you be an unfilial person?"
At the same time, another familiar footstep sounded outside the small flower hall. The figure hadn't arrived yet, but the voice had already spoken: "So Su'er cares about me so much. I am truly moved."
Fusu turned his head: "Your Majesty!"
He immediately understood that Empress Cao must have guessed his thoughts and summoned the Emperor in advance, giving him no chance to be in a dilemma.
Fusu was so moved that he didn't know what to do.
The Emperor stopped in front of him. Several years had passed, and Fusu had grown taller; he could no longer be called a little boy. The Emperor no longer needed to squat down; he could simply reach out and touch Fusu's face: "Why do you look a bit cold? How long have you been out in the wind? Are you chilled?"
Of course, the Emperor and Empress Cao couldn't resist the temptation either, their fingers lingering a moment longer on the soft, smooth cheeks, even in winter. So soft, with a layer of fine downy hair on the sides—it felt wonderful to touch.
"Not long." Fusu sniffed. "Even if you catch a cold, a hot pot meal will warm you up in a while."
"It's obvious our Su'er really loves hot pot with butter; he can't stop talking about it," the Emperor teased, pretending not to notice why Fusu was sniffling, and led him to his seat. Empress Cao then ordered the palace servants to light the stove before dismissing them. The large flower hall was now empty except for the three of them.
Without maids to serve you, you have to put all the ingredients in and scoop them out yourself. But isn't that the essence of hot pot? When they first started eating hot pot, Fusu insisted on being self-sufficient. Later, the Empress and the Emperor followed suit, and after enjoying it, it became a fixed habit.
After the fire was lit, ripples began to appear on the surface of the soup in the copper pot, and every now and then a bubble would rise. More and more bubbles appeared, and the boiling steam spread out in all directions. Fusu quickly put the whole plate of meat into the pot.
Then, I stared intently at the broth, holding my breath and counting down the seconds, waiting for the slices of meat to float to the surface.
The way he looked on was incredibly craving.
The Emperor and Empress Cao, holding chopsticks, didn't move—they were both startled by their son's quick reflexes. They couldn't help but chuckle, then exchanged a knowing smile.
It seems that only when indulging in culinary desires does Su'er act like a real child. Well, not even eight years old.
Fusu was focused on waiting for the pot to boil, completely unaware of his parents' inner grumbling. A dozen seconds later, he said, "It's cooked." As he spoke, the slices of beef, cooked through, floated to the surface.
Three pairs of chopsticks simultaneously picked up pieces of meat from the pot and placed them in Fusu's bowl. Fusu's face flushed instantly. He knew his greedy behavior had been noticed. Otherwise, the Emperor and Empress wouldn't have served him first.
The slices of meat emitted a rich, numbing aroma, tantalizing Fusu's nose and taste buds. He swallowed, then simply lowered his head to devour the food. Oh well, so what if he's seen? Eating the meat is the priority.
The freshly cooked slices of meat were still hot. As Fusu put one into his mouth, he stuck out his tongue and blew on it a few times. Empress Cao couldn't help but say, "Eat slowly."
Fusu grunted twice, then picked up another piece of meat, and... burned himself again.
Empress Cao sighed, both helpless and amused. This child, with a tongue as swift as a cat's, why doesn't he know to eat slower?
It seems I'll have to resort to that move.
She put down her chopsticks and casually asked, "Your Majesty, will this snowfall affect our plans?"
Empress Cao used the word "we" without any hesitation. Her grandfather was a famous general who helped Emperor Taizu establish the dynasty, and she was the one who provided the map of the Sixteen Prefectures. In the past few years, she and the Cao family behind her had also put in a lot of effort in the preparations for the northern expedition.
Fusu slowly raised his head from the bowl he had been burying his head in, his chewing movements noticeably slower. He was no longer in a hurry, nor was he craving food; he pricked up his ears and listened intently to the Emperor's reply.
The Emperor noticed his son's change and immediately understood Empress Cao's intention, finding it amusing. Instead of answering directly, he offered a carrot: "Does the Empress think there's some kind of impact in asking this?"
Empress Cao said slowly, "It's only October this year, and it's already snowing in Bianjing, a whole month earlier than usual. Today's snow further proves that the severe cold is no coincidence. The transition from winter to spring will also be later. We might have to postpone the day we set out to send troops."
Agricultural societies typically launched campaigns against nomadic peoples in the north during the spring. The south enjoys a warm and suitable climate in spring, and the bountiful harvests of autumn and winter have given them a strong and well-equipped army. Meanwhile, the northern nomadic peoples, weakened by the depletion of resources during winter and the loss of fodder for their livestock, are at their weakest point of the year.
At least, Emperor Wu of Han's victories against the Xiongnu were all fought in the spring.
“No, it should be earlier,” Fusu immediately retorted.
Then, realizing he still had food in his mouth, and that speaking in a muffled, inconvenient way, he simply swallowed the meat in one gulp: "The Song Dynasty is cold, but the North will only get colder. The Liao Kingdom will certainly not have an easy time. And, coincidentally, they are at their weakest point..."
"So, Su'er, do you mean you intend to send troops ahead of schedule and launch a surprise attack on Liao during the winter?" The Emperor frowned immediately: "The soldiers have never experienced the severe cold of Shuofang before, and they will surely not be able to adapt."
“I know,” Fusu said. “In contrast, the officials and people of the Sixteen Prefectures live in harsh winter conditions. They are at least more adaptable than the Song army. If we rashly confront them in winter, the advantage is not on our side. Therefore, I intend to subdue them without fighting.”
His trump card, which he had been planning for so long, can finally be put to use.
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Author's Note: [Dog head with rose in hand]
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