Five Years After My Death, the Mad Emperor Still Summons My Spirit

Ming Lingyi didn’t know that a huge wave of students from the Imperial College was about to descend on her restaurant. She was currently so busy she was running off her feet.

At noon, she was making crispy pork belly. It was a three-finger-wide cut of pork belly with alternating layers of fat and lean meat. The fat was white as snow, the lean meat red as a sunset cloud. First, she marinated it with seasonings like vinegar, green onions, ginger, and garlic, then soaked it in a sweet wine concoction to draw out and eliminate any gamey taste.

The reason the people of Dayan disliked pork was largely because its foul, gamey odor was so difficult to remove.

Back when Li Yun had taken her to a small town on the border, Ming Lingyi had been amazed the first time she saw the local vendors using all sorts of spices to prepare their meat.

Li Yun, who had been washing her bowl and chopsticks with hot water beside her, had explained, "These spices come from the Western Regions. Not only do they enhance the flavor and texture of the food, but many of them can also eliminate the inherent gamey smell of the meat."

After marinating the pork belly, Ming Lingyi blanched it in boiling water. Once cooked, she scooped it out and quickly plunged it into the bone-chilling well water Xiao Chun had just drawn.

In that instant, the cooked pork contracted abruptly, a process that would make its final texture exceptionally springy and tender.

She made several cuts into the pork, but not all the way through the skin, so that it remained connected in one long piece.

Then, she rubbed it with five-spice powder and salt, working the seasonings into the grain of the meat.

Flipping it over, Ming Lingyi used a brush to coat the skin with a layer of honey. After it air-dried, she brushed on a second layer.

She repeated this process three times, finally ensuring the pork skin was coated in a thick, glistening layer of honey.

The lard in the iron wok was already bubbling. As the slab of pork slid in, the oil splattered violently, the sound like tearing silk.

Ming Lingyi listened to the fierce crackling of the skin meeting the roiling oil, her expression unchanging. She used long chopsticks to turn the meat, watching as the skin gradually took on an amber glow and the layer of fat became as translucent as a thin tile. At that moment, a rich, meaty aroma and the scent of caramel fused into one, complementing each other beautifully.

When Ming Lingyi saw the meat crisscrossed with tones of red gold and the crispy skin looking like cracked ice-glaze porcelain, she finally lifted it out and placed it on a cutting board.

Xiao Chun, who had been outside pestering Aunt Gui for gossip, suddenly twitched her nose.

She swallowed hard. Even though she’d eaten breakfast not long ago, this indescribable yet utterly unique aroma filling her nostrils made her feel like there was still a little empty patch in her stomach, just waiting to be filled.

Aunt Gui, of course, smelled it too and couldn’t help but sniff the air.

She lost all interest in gossiping about Granny Qiu’s family and simply stared at Xiao Chun, asking, "Xiao Chun, what is your Mrs. Ming making now? It smells awfully good."

Xiao Chun shook her head. She only listened to her young miss’s orders and rarely asked about anything else.

’Anyway, she believed that whatever her young miss did was right. All she needed to do was stay by her side and do whatever she was told.’

Aunt Gui swallowed. Her husband worked as an accountant for someone, and his boss was fairly generous, paying a full four taels of silver a month. Unfortunately, they were raising three sons, each one a constant expense. She also took in sewing and laundry to supplement their income, so they rarely ate out.

If she hadn’t been driven mad with craving by the sweet aroma of pastries from Ming’s Restaurant the past few days, she probably wouldn’t have come to buy this Jade Plum Shocking Snow Cake.

Although the ridiculously expensive pastry was indeed delicious, perfectly matching the price Mrs. Ming charged, Aunt Gui wouldn’t be a frequent customer.

But now, with this smell lingering in her nostrils, Aunt Gui thought, ’Just one taste should be fine, right?’

After taking all the fried pork belly out to cool, Ming Lingyi flipped it over. She took her knife and lightly scraped the skin—which was now covered in a layer of fine, dense bubbles and glistening with a caramel hue—and heard a crisp sound.

It was the uniquely pleasant sound of perfectly crisped pork skin.

The next second, Ming Lingyi’s kitchen knife sliced horizontally, completely separating the long strips of pork belly. Fatty juices overflowed and the aroma billowed out, even coaxing a stray cat from under the eaves to lift its head and meow incessantly.

The first customer at Ming’s Restaurant that afternoon was Du Xuan, the owner of the Inkstone Pavilion, a stationery shop diagonally across the street that sold the Four Treasures of the Study.

The moment he stepped inside, he called out to Ming Lingyi, who was still out of sight, busy in the back kitchen. "Oh, Boss Ming, what are you making? The smell is incredible! I’ve been across the street all morning, and I can’t smell any of my ink or books, only the fragrance from your restaurant! It’s driving me mad with hunger!"

As Mr. Du spoke, a smiling Ming Lingyi emerged from the back kitchen.

She was carrying something in her hands—what looked like a few small wooden plaques.

"Well now!" Mr. Du was something of a cultured man himself. He had passed the exam to become a Scholar back in the day, but lacking any real talent for academics, he didn’t mind the transition from scholar to merchant and started a business selling ink and books. Besides selling the Four Treasures of the Study, his little shop also sold paintings and calligraphy from poor family students on consignment, making him a semi-expert appraiser of sorts.

Mr. Du’s sharp eyes now spotted the characters on the wooden plaques in Ming Lingyi’s hands, and he exclaimed, "Excellent calligraphy!"

Ming Lingyi looked down. ’I can’t believe someone noticed these little trinkets.’

Her handwriting was slightly different from Ming Yao’s. Ming Yao had practiced a rather beautiful style of Zanhua small regular script, fitting for a young lady in her chambers, while Lingyi had trained in the Academy style since childhood.

This was because her first teacher was none other than Grand Tutor Ming himself.

In addition, since Ming Lingyi had been frail with a weak wrist in her youth, she preferred the Academy style, a script that appeared conventional and orderly, with its brushstrokes’ power hidden.

Later, after she married, Ming Lingyi saw a great deal of Li Yun’s calligraphy.

Li Yun’s calligraphy was much like the man himself: its edge was exposed, the brushstrokes sharp yet possessing an elegant, unrestrained quality.

When you see a person’s handwriting often enough, your own style will subtly change.

As a result, the calligraphy on the plaque in Ming Lingyi’s hand, which read "Crisp Fat, Gleaming Honey," seemed conventional, square, and uniform at first glance. In truth, it held a faintly exposed edge that had little to do with solemnity and more resembled a newly sharpened blade.

Ming Lingyi smiled. "Just a bit of casual scribbling."

’It’s nothing compared to a great scholar’s work, of course.’

But Du Xuan shook his head. "Boss Ming, this Academy style of yours seems ordinary at first, but upon closer inspection, one can appreciate its subtleties." Du Xuan had intended to critique it further, but when he made out the five words, "Crisp Fat, Gleaming Honey," he couldn’t help but swallow first. His tone suddenly shifted, his face filled with curiosity. "I just don’t know what this ’Crisp Fat, Gleaming Honey’ is?"

Ming Lingyi laughed out loud. She found this Mr. Du to be a truly amusing character.

’Who else could be discussing scholarly matters one moment and then, in the next, be so down-to-earth as to talk about filling their stomach?’

"It’s pork belly," Ming Lingyi said.

"Then why give it that name?"

Ming Lingyi explained, "’Crisp Fat’ refers to the crispy skin and the fat. ’Gleaming Honey’ describes how the skin’s caramelized color is like a honey glaze, made even more lustrous by the added honey. The name describes the ’color’ of the dish, hence its origin."

Beneath the crispy skin, the fat glistened like flowing beeswax, tempting all who saw it.

A name on a menu must, of course, balance both appetite and elegance to truly stir the hunger of the restaurant’s patrons.