So that’s why little physician Yu was so endearing.
The depths of winter were bleak, and Liuhe was desolate. The biting cold wind in Zhongling carried a scent of blood, slicing at people’s backs like knives. In the streets and alleys, all that could be seen were stiff corpses of fallen soldiers, blood seeping into the ground, impossible to scrape clean. Yan Chang ordered more than three thousand men to block the city gates, holding fast against Min Ji’s troops, while he himself led twenty thousand cavalry out of Zhongling. Corpses piled up under Chongtian Gate, making it nearly impossible to step anywhere when the anti-rebellion army entered the city.
Though Zhongling was recaptured, there was no joy within the city—empty and silent, not a soul in sight. As soon as the cannons stopped, Ji Hong had people beat gongs and shout in the streets, announcing the rebels had fled. Soldiers patrolling the streets shouted until their voices were hoarse before they saw people cautiously opening their doors. Thin figures timidly poked their heads through cracks, still dazed, unable to believe the rebels had truly escaped.
The moment a soldier carrying a gong glanced their way, the people retreated into their courtyards in fear.
New Year was near, but the windy air carried only the scent of blood, none of hot food bustling in kitchens. Livelihoods had been battered, and the people could not even get a mouthful of grain—they did not trust anyone. All these soldiers with guns and knives looked the same to them: man-eaters.
The military officials were ineffective, so they had to send the few clerks among them to knock door by door, selecting those who looked gentle and scholarly, wrapping them in the skins of Confucian scholars’ robes, pairing them with several renowned local scholars for porridge giveaways in the streets. The army granary distributed rice, the government treasury provided relief; when the pristine white rice was poured into the civilians’ hands, they stared at it, finally breaking into tears—after half a year, at last, they could eat a proper, safe, hot meal.
Min Ji submitted a memorial, requesting imperial permission to continue south and pursue Yan Chang; the Emperor approved. Ji Hong was ordered to inspect military governance throughout northern Jiangnan. When Zhongling was besieged, each garrison’s defenders protected themselves, watching Yan Chang slaughter in Zhongling without assisting at all. Now the Emperor intended to exact justice; no one could escape. Several garrison heads hanged themselves out of fear, the very night they heard Hell King Ji was coming.
Yu Jinnian oversaw the collection of corpses in the streets, leading a small group himself. He’d been frightened by the summer’s epidemic, fearing that if bodies decayed after the battle, a corpse plague would follow—winter or not, corpses still rot. He even made some plague-prevention sachets for the soldiers cleaning up, to purify the air in front of their faces, however little.
Ji Hong returned after another round of executions; soon, nearly all the military officers north of Jiangnan had been purged—corrupt officials, collaborators with the rebels, those who bought and sold posts, none were clean. All the government officers in every prefecture were terrified, praying this Hell King Ji would never come probing at their own doors and books. People claimed Hell Kings were fierce and frightening, but when they saw Inspector Ji, he looked as fair as an immortal—yet acted with cold-blooded ruthlessness. Throughout the north of Jiangnan, not a single official could form any ties with him.
Wiping away cold sweat, officials wondered, since when had the court harboured such a vicious, venomous beauty?
Ji Hong simply executed those who ought to die—he had to keep others for imperial service. After killing a few to warn the many, he returned to Zhongling without resting. Duan Ming followed, amazed at how Ji could suddenly endure so much, not stopping for breath—audit records in the morning, mete out justice in the afternoon, chop people by night, then travel overnight, a different place each day.
When they entered Zhongling, there was a faint flavour of New Year in the bleak city. Ji Hong dismounted and led his horse through bustling civilians; he happened upon a wedding party being greeted, a fiery red sedan chair blocking the street—a folk custom during troubled years: before the New Year’s Eve, marriage was auspicious. A gust lifted the sedan curtain, briefly revealing the bride’s face—she was thin but couldn’t contain her joy, spinning her round fan, head quickly ducking in shyness as the curtain lifted.
Clad in scarlet court robes, Ji Hong walked beside the colorful procession, radiant yet his face pale, brows furrowed, even dressed as a groom, he exuded coldness for no reason.
Not until the wedding procession moved on, revealing a lean figure at the gate across the street sharing candy with a child, did Ji Hong’s brow relax for the first time in days, as if his heart dropped hidden worries and returned to his chest.
Duan Ming understood at last—no wonder they rushed on so desperately; it was all because the young master was missed!
Snow fell thick and swirling for days, reddening faces with cold.
Yu Jinnian looked up, spotted the dashing Lord Ji at the steps, and the black horse by his side snorting at him. His amber eyes brightened instantly, as if light struck them. Leaning against the doorframe, he laughed: “Well, our great lord is back too!”
Far-off suonas played jubilant tunes of “A Hundred Birds Facing the Phoenix” and “Snapping Laurel Branches,” but none were lovelier than his single, “Back.”
Twentieth day of the twelfth month, Zhongling finally settled, the gods ascended, and nothing was taboo.
Ji Hong suddenly wanted to claim some of that New Year’s festivity too.
Yu Jinnian was very fond of Ji’s big black horse, its mane oily-bright and majestic. He went up the steps and reached out to touch it, looking carefully and cautiously. Snowflakes lay on Ji Hong’s shoulders, like frosted plum blossoms. Ji took a sudden step forward, drew the youth into his arms, embracing tightly, bowing to hide his head against the youth’s neck. Yu Jinnian was startled, froze a moment, then gently placed his hand on Ji’s back, stroking a few times, warmly saying, “What are you doing? You’re squeezing me.”
The unease in Ji’s heart was soothed by every stroke; exhaustion stored for days finally broke, crashing over him like a landslide. His shoulders sagged, nearly pressing onto Yu Jinnian. Passersby all knew generals lived in this estate; even if the two hugged openly by the door, few dared to look closely.
Yu Jinnian was squeezed all the way inside, hurrying to have the main gate closed before exhaling in relief.
“Just glad you’re back safe,” he said.
Ji Hong didn’t move, his palm pressed to Yu Jinnian’s back, feeling his furnace-like warmth: “It seems I haven’t seen you in ages.”
Yu Jinnian laughed: “What nonsense—did the cold freeze your brain?”
Ji Hong was not confused; he simply couldn’t bear for Yu Jinnian to leave his side even for a moment. He had lost enough already, as if every time he closed his eyes, heaven and earth would crumble, pushing him toward an abyss. Since Yan Chang’s defeat and escape south, Ji often thought of his second brother Ji Yan, pondering over words Ji Yan had left unfinished or hadn’t managed to say—but he never dreamed of him again.
The last time he saw his brother in a dream was after the great fire in Xin’an; Second Brother told him to properly mend his heart’s house, so future inhabitants would not live in poverty.
Ji Hong wondered whether his heart was warm enough now—did it feel comfortable to dwell in, or did it need more repairs?
He bit down hard on the youth’s neck; Yu Jinnian shivered, quickly pushed him away, looking left and right—there were more than just the two of them in this estate. The compound was big: Generals Min Ji, He Lianzhi, and Wei each had their own small courtyards, and everyone gathered in the front hall often for strategy, with many officers coming and going—seen by anyone, their faces would be lost far and wide.
He spotted a corner of a robe passing behind the moon gate, but couldn’t see who it was before Ji Hong kissed him abruptly. Though Zhongling’s aura of blood lingered, Ji always carried a faint fragrance, fresh as snow. Yu Jinnian half-closed his eyes, watching real snowflakes fall from the sky, landing right at their mingled lips—one cool touch, instantly melted, swallowed by who knew whom.
Ji’s hand clamped his chin; Yu Jinnian couldn’t escape, nor bear to refuse, so to hell with courtesy and shame—he wrapped his arms around Ji and stood on tiptoes, returning the passion. Ji Hong’s kissing skills had improved greatly—very addictive. Twined together in the snowy courtyard, snow slid off their shoulders; Yu Jinnian thought he glimpsed young General He Lianzhi staring, thunderstruck and in utter despair at the moon gate.
Yu Jinnian thought: Poor soul, scared another one. Wonder who would be the next to have their worldview shattered? At this rate, the whole court would soon know about the Duke’s heir’s “scandal”—and his own as well.
Lost in thought, he burst out laughing.
With the general situation settled, the rebel troops’ flight was just their death throes. Further south, Ji Hong no longer followed; he would lead a group of civil officials from the capital to continue inspecting Jiangnan, curing the nation of its ills. Snow fell on and on, as if to cover all of Zhongling’s bloody frost, and the two of them staggered back to their own courtyard, a world unto themselves regardless of the commotion outside.
The charcoal fire sizzled in the room; a wooden window separated winter and spring. The incense burner curled with sweet pine, scent seeping into their bones. Yu Jinnian, sprawled in a brocaded quilt, felt as if a beast starved all winter was burrowing deeper and deeper between his bones. Wet gnawing sounds made even winter’s ice sweat. Both were exhausted, but meeting each other…fire and dry wood, one touch ablaze.
Ji Hong’s body was cooler, freshly snowed from outside, lying warm and smooth against him like a just-warmed piece of jade. He was as white as jade, seemingly unable to tan at all. Summer to winter, Yu Jinnian had been out and about constantly; now stripped bare, he was actually a shade darker than Ji Hong, his limbs on Ji like wheat dropped into milk—he chuckled quietly.
Wandering thoughts drew harsh punishment from Ji, making his laughter climb abruptly, threaded now with tears—lovelier than that “You’re back” at the door. It had been too long since such intimacy; once ablaze, the fire would only go out after burning to ashes. Every sensation enlarged: rustle of brocade, whisper of falling snow, footsteps in the courtyard, water drips from eaves, heavy sighs behind.
Brocade upon silk, cotton kneading velvet, layer upon layer, creased like waves lapping the shore. Scoop up a handful, and white foam bursts in the palm.
Ji Hong bit down; Yu Jinnian wept, “A-Hong!”
The waves rose into a tsunami, roaring and surging.
Still, Ji Hong clung to his little medicine immortal, holding him tight while they slept; not even a single attendant was outside, with snow piled thick, the whole world still. Ji Hong lay on his side, looking at him; beneath his eyelid was a trace of scarlet flushed with blue. That day, threatened on Yu’s city wall, he hadn’t known Yu Jinnian snuck to the front, nor did he have any intention of using him to exchange for hostages.
Min Xuefei hadn’t told him, letting the youth act in their play on his own.
Yu Xu on the wall was foolish, and Ji Hong below the wall was just as foolish. Screams and wails rent the air like bloody knives, shredding him into pieces; the saw-toothed shouts scraped bone and flesh, and only Min Xuefei’s men held him back from losing his mind and rebelling then and there.
When the screams ceased, he knelt on the battlefield, whole body trembling, mind blank.
Yu Xu descended gleefully with Ji’s “trophy,” leaving a pack of old Confucianists to stare at each other. Those officials and scholars were useless to him; all he wanted was to torment Yu Jinnian. Ji Hong stared at the execution tent in the distance, staggering up only to fall again, unable to stand. When Min Xuefei went to support him, Ji backhanded him—his silver-iron vambrace slicing a bloody line on the general’s chin.
He did not know what he looked like at the time. Later, Min Xuefei said he wanted to eat people, flay skins, crack bones, devour alive—red eyes like a vulture’s, repeating only one thing: “Let him pay with his life.”
Min Xuefei realized the joke had gone too far, and for days, he dared not approach him, communicating only through subordinates. Lianzhi hadn’t been on the battlefield that day; after learning the story, he beat Min, then did his utmost to make up. All the best meals, drinks, and charcoal were sent to their house.
Key point: Yu Jinnian himself had no idea, thinking the plan was Ji Hong’s, agreeing cheerfully, thinking he was helping. Actually, that scream hadn’t even come from him—just a single brief shout. A camp soldier skilled in mimicry had picked up Yu Jinnian’s tone, then produced a scream truer than truth, frightening Ji Hong senseless.
The youth entered the city with innocent pride, leaving Ji unable even to scold him afterwards—a lump of old grievance and blood swallowed down.
Infuriating.
Ji Hong got out of bed; whatever the grievance, it still fell to him to serve the youth. He fetched warm water to clean him; the youth flopped on his back like an overturned turtle, too lazy to move or even open his eyes. When Ji turned him, he shuddered, rolling over to show his back, defenselessly falling asleep again. Ji then lifted his ankle, wiped him with a cloth; Yu Jinnian’s voice, hoarse now, rasped with every sound.
Yu Jinnian spread his hand, clutching Ji Hong’s sleeve, tucking it possessively against his chest.
Ji Hong felt content all over.
Cleaned up, Yu Jinnian didn’t awaken. Ji tossed the towel and bowl aside and climbed back onto the couch, hugging him to doze again; outside, wedding drums throbbed from who knew which house—this festive season made the whole city seem eager to send off calamity with marriages.
Ji Hong too washed away his grief, enjoying a rare, peaceful, and extended afternoon nap.
……
Little Turtle Yu woke, clambering up at dusk. Snow was heaped thick on the windowsill. Ji Hong was writing reports—having executed so many, he had to give an accounting. The bed was neatly laid with spare clothes. Yu Jinnian dressed silently, saw Ji sitting properly and writing, then trotted over and kissed him on the ear: “You’re amazing!”
Ji Hong was used to his wild ways, set down his pen, and drew him in for a kiss: “Shameless.”
On the table was a dish of little golden candies; Ji Hong pinched one and put it in his mouth: “Nanyun Zhai’s pear syrup candy, Zhongling specialty—good for the throat.”
Yu Jinnian tasted it, discerning hints of licorice, apricot kernel, and dried orange peel. The candy melted crisply on his tongue, the clear sweetness moistening his parched throat like a spring—no wonder it was a famed local product. He picked another, half-complaining, half-jesting: “If not for you, would I need to soothe my throat like this?”
Ji Hong glanced at him, pretended to reach: “Shall we go again?”
Yu Jinnian instantly fled, clutching his waist, as Ji Hong smiled quietly at his retreat.
Leaving the courtyard, he met Lianzhi carrying a bamboo basket, cheerfully latching onto his arm and heading for the kitchen. Even though Ji and Min Xuefei were at odds, Lianzhi and Yu Jinnian remained as close as ever.
When Ji Hong was on duty days before, the two had cozied up together day and night, whispering secrets, not coming back even to sleep—their meals and nights spent in Yu’s room. Min Xuefei, though jealous, dared not voice it. Now that Ji Hong was home, surely Lianzhi would return to his own side? Not so—he still preferred running to Yu Jinnian.
Master Yu’s cooking was just so good!
Lianzhi was truly beautiful, his smile even more dazzling—a different style from the cool beauty of Ji Hong, but in a world full of vivid beauties, it was cold types like Ji Hong who stood out. Yu Jinnian thought, no wonder General Min, so old yet unmarried, finally fell for Lianzhi; after years with Ji Hong, one could never be enamoured with ordinary noblewomen.
Lianzhi dragged Yu all the way to the kitchen and proudly pulled out two…softshell turtles from the basket.
“……” Yu Jinnian stared, puzzled.
Lianzhi explained: “My subordinates spotted bubbles in the river. Knowing there’d be something good, they dug with shovels and caught these two hibernating turtles! They say turtle helps strengthen the bones—generals ride daily and need the nourishment. Pity I’m clumsy and can’t cook it myself…”
He actually wanted him to cook! Yu Jinnian inspected the turtles—their bellies bright and glossy, skirts thick and broad—both fine specimens. In the dead of winter, turtles in hibernation were lucky to be hauled out—the turtle’s luck running thin. He tapped their shells; the legs thrashed inside, still vigorous. Yu Jinnian smiled: “No problem. Turtle is delicious—how about a soup?”
“Of course, we listen to the little divine doctor,” Lianzhi beamed. “Stew them both—one for you all.”
The two busied themselves in the kitchen—slaughtering, draining, chopping. One boiled water, one tended the fire; the new kitchen maids had nothing left to do but gape at their teamwork.
Turtle, a river product, also had a fishy odour. Yu Jinnian blanched the pieces twice with ginger and scallion, drained them, then stir-fried them with a touch of yellow wine until lightly browned and fragrant. Then he simmered it all in water—no more fishiness.
Lianzhi watched attentively, as if ready for pen and ink to take notes on every step.
Spotting a few slender fish in the basket—barely enough for a bite—Yu Jinnian prepped those as well, pan-fried both sides, slipped them into the clay pot with the turtle, and added hot water. He sent someone for Su Ting to fetch Chinese medicinal herbs: astragalus, codonopsis, angelica, prepared rehmannia, and a handful of bright wolfberries—he then set everything to a slow simmer.
When the soup turned milky, it was most delicious.
Softshell turtle is a cooling food, and in this winter chill, it needs warming herbs for balance. Yu Jinnian thought for a moment before adding a couple of slices of ginger and a pinch of Sichuan pepper.
It seemed simple enough, but when Lianzhi recalled it, he still worried he’d forget the steps, especially the turtle-cleaning and the medicine pairing. Yu Jinnian teased him, saying General Min would surely pamper him with utmost care—he’d never fall so low as to have to make his own meals. Rest easy!
Lianzhi blushed, stammering for words.
Yu Jinnian mused: It was rare these days to find someone as easy to tease as Lianzhi. Back then, when Ji Hong first arrived in Xin’an, he’d been the very picture of uprightness: gentle, dignified, learned, elegant—teased red-eared with nowhere to turn but to glare speechlessly. Thinking of their first time, Ji had been as shy as a bride, knowing nothing until coached.
Now he was all white on the outside, black on the inside—an inky-bellied turtle, even saying things like “let’s do it again” with a straight face!
Clearly, the face grows thicker with use.
And whose example was that!
Yu Jinnian rapped the turtle shell in the pot; it thumped in protest, splashing him with a bit of soup. Ha! Even a turtle shell dared bully him! He smacked it again with the back of the spoon, but the shell proved stubborn—and then spoke—
“What are you doing?”
Yu Jinnian rolled up his sleeves, pointing at the shell: “You dare bully me?”
The “turtle shell” murmured, “Who’s bullying you?”
Yu Jinnian blinked at Lianzhi’s stifled giggles, then turned abruptly—and crashed into a broad, soft chest, scented sweetly of pine. He buried his face, refusing to move, muttering, “You always know where I am.”
Ji Hong slipped the spoon from his hand, covering the pot to let the soup simmer and granting the turtles their peace: “If you want me to lose you, why do you always go to the kitchen? Next time, pick somewhere else.”
But what if you can’t find me?
Yu Jinnian muttered quietly, “Fine, the pharmacy then.”
Ji Hong chuckled.
Lianzhi, nearly doubled over with laughter, slipped out. At once, Wu Ji, the former eunuch attendant to Ji and company, silently followed. Seeing Lianzhi smiling with curved eyes was rare—he couldn’t help glancing back, then lowered his hands and grinned too, flattering, “That’s why everyone likes Doctor Yu. Such a personality—there’s no second in the world.”
Indeed, even one is a treasure.