Chapter 70: The Grand Opening of the Restaurant

Time slipped by, and the servants of the Princess’s manor began sipping Laba porridge, made from beans, rice, and dates.

A month passed, the snow gradually melted, and the world, once sealed in ice, stirred to life again. Water ran ceaselessly along the roads, mud puddles abounded, making travel difficult; passersby could hardly avoid wet shoes and soiled hems.

At Qujiang Pool, the waters rose, nearly reaching the second step of He Gong Pavilion.

On this day, the restaurant was to open its doors. As its owner, the princess naturally had to be present for the ribbon-cutting ceremony with Ding You and the Ding family.

The brewery had already prepared several hundred jars of malt beer, ready to be sealed and stored; as for marketing and sales, those channels had long since been arranged.

However, as she approached the manor gates with Yu Chao’en, Chuer, and others, they were unexpectedly assailed by a volley of stones.

Yu Chao’en was struck squarely on the forehead, a large bump swelling immediately as he muttered curses at whoever had wrapped the stone in white paper. Upon closer inspection, he found a poem scrawled on the paper, one insulting the princess. Although he was a eunuch and no scholar, he had heard enough poetry to know this one was crude and poorly metered, its meaning incoherent and vulgar—a senseless piece of verse.

Just then, a figure in plain clothes dashed past the gates, seemingly spying on the manor.

Wu Yueling sensed something amiss. The stone just now? She glanced at Yu Chao’en, noticing the odd expression on his face and the blood trickling down his brow.

Before she could act, more stones flew over the wall, pelting her vicinity.

Wasting no time, she activated the fortress from the storeroom, shielding herself and several trusted servants. The stones rattled against the barrier, the durability dropping from ninety to eighty-nine percent.

Someone was attacking her with stones—how absurd! Once the barrage ceased, she deactivated the fortress and ordered Hua Chuer to pursue the culprits, for she had heard multiple footsteps outside, not just one. She also summoned the princess’s guards to give chase.

Wu Yueling picked up one of the stones, unwrapping the paper to find another “ugly poem.” Reading it, she felt it was a direct insult—could it be someone discovered her lazing in bed all winter? But the name “Wang Lizhi” was a complete mystery. Her conclusion: some madman was behind this nonsense.

The stone-throwers, once caught, claimed to be commoners. After some rough handling from Hua Chuer, they admitted to being followers of the Manichaean sect.

Interrogation revealed the reason: rumors in the streets accused her of feigning talent, of seeking unearned fame. Only then did she remember what the cook mentioned a month ago—unsavory tales about the princess were circulating, transformed into children’s rhymes.

Wu Yueling mused at how even in ancient times, slander and malice found their way. Didn’t the Tang Code deal with such things? The Manichaeans, it seemed, had only delivered the poem, while the instigator, Wang Lizhi, had openly declared he feared no scrutiny, waiting at an inn in the Eastern Market.

She saw no need to dwell on it. First, she gave the stone-throwers a sound beating, making her stance clear, then released them.

As for the beating, Yu Chao’en relished it—brandishing a stone, he repaid the favor, the swelling on his brow vivid evidence of his satisfaction.

“That fellow is truly baffling. A prodigy in his teens, is he? What did I ever do to deserve such sudden infamy?” Wu Yueling muttered as she sat in the carriage, eyes wide in disbelief. “I have no recollection at all. If not for this incident, I’d never have known. The one who braved the snow last time was that Cockroach Lord, and he’s no Wang!”

“Yes, young lady, you’re indeed talented. I, Wan’er, am wholly convinced by your poetry, but how could such baseless slander have spread over the winter?” Wan’er pouted in frustration.

Hua Chuer, equally indignant, declared, “Miss, let me go capture this Wang Lizhi, grind his face into the dirt, slap him a few times—he’ll think twice before crossing us again!”

Little Mi, after some thought, finally spoke, “This Wang must be from the gentry. They always see themselves as superior, never marrying outside their ranks. Princess, for him to write such a poem shows he has no respect for the royal family!”

“Let’s not concern ourselves with him for now. On to the restaurant—today is its grand opening! Let’s set unhappy matters aside. And Wan’er, stop frowning! A smile makes you ten years younger, but too much worry will turn your hair white!”

At Wu Yueling’s teasing, Li Wan’er earnestly asked, “Really? If I worry, will I truly age?”

Wan’er’s sudden confusion lightened the mood within the carriage, dispelling the earlier gloom.

The restaurant was grand and tall, three stories high, with a banner inscribed “Journey to the West” fluttering in the wind, welcoming the princess.

Ascending to the third floor, they found Ding You and Yao Zi’ang brimming with excitement. Ding You’s joy was at finally becoming the restaurant’s manager, while Yao Zi’ang was eager to begin storytelling—he had a genuine affection for the character Sun Wukong and had even crafted a telescopic bamboo staff.

A martial artist and a scholar, Yao Zi’ang possessed the sturdy bearing of a man of arms, tempered by a touch of scholarly grace—a blend of strength and gentleness.

He left a favorable impression on Wu Yueling, who looked forward to his performance.

“Are you ready?” the princess asked.

Ding You, nearly beside himself with excitement, replied, “Ready!”

Yu Chao’en, watching, thought, “The princess wasn’t asking you, but Yao Zi’ang. Why are you so worked up?”

Yao Zi’ang, after Ding You’s answer, took a deep breath and confirmed his own readiness, eager to take the stage set before the restaurant—his stage.

With all prepared, Wu Yueling commenced the ribbon-cutting. A bonfire was lit, dried bamboo tossed in, crackling as she drew her sword and sliced through the ribbon barring the entrance.

Then, a bang sounded from the stage. Looking up, Wu Yueling saw a pale red flower bloom and vanish in the sky—a firework, specially crafted and set off to attract attention.

Sure enough, the explosion drew passersby in the Western Market to a halt, all gazing toward the stage.

Yao Zi’ang seized the opportunity, leaping down and landing firmly on the wooden platform, spinning his staff in circles, striking a pose—one leg raised, hand shading his eyes, bamboo staff slung across his shoulder—moves executed with effortless grace, earning applause from the crowd.

He began his tale, interspersed with martial flourishes. A little monk from Great Goose Pagoda, out to buy rice, was drawn in by the spectacle and squeezed his way to the front, chin propped on the stage, enraptured by the storyteller’s “Journey to the West.”

From the third floor, Wu Yueling watched with satisfaction, finding the effect excellent. She had several maids bring out plates of dishes stir-fried by Wu Xiaoqi for the crowd to sample, followed by small cups of barley beer. The passersby praised both food and drink, and soon the restaurant’s first floor was packed, lively and bustling.

Outside, a storyteller recited tales; inside, another told the same story, if not with the same flair, at least without boredom. Coupled with these novel dishes—reasonably priced and delicious—the restaurant was an instant hit.

Before long, Wu Yueling heard from Yu Chao’en that Prince Shou had arrived.

Who was Prince Shou? After a moment’s recollection, she remembered: he was Li Mao, who had once brought her watermelon among the Sixteen Princes’ Residences. Since he had come, he must be received properly.

She sent word via Yu Chao’en to the kitchen, instructing them to prepare some dishes for their guest.

“Congratulations, Princess, on your grand opening!”

Wu Yueling looked at the refined, scholarly middle-aged man before her, returning his bow with a polite smile and inviting him to be seated.

“I listened to the story downstairs—very interesting, quite to my liking. I wanted to dine and hear the tale, and upon asking the manager, learned you were here as well. What a happy coincidence!” Though older, Li Mao spoke gently, his demeanor mild and unassuming.

Wu Yueling observed his features; despite his congratulatory smile, a certain weariness and sorrow showed through. “Your Highness is most considerate. In a moment, you must try our stir-fried dishes and barley beer—I trust you’ll enjoy them.”

“Thank you for your thoughtfulness, Princess. Only—” Li Mao sighed, his tone turning somber, “I hear rumors have been spread against you lately. Princess, Chang’an is a deep pool—one must tread carefully.”

Wu Yueling thanked him for his advice, then the conversation turned to other matters. Li Mao praised her journey to bid farewell to Yan Zhenqing, calling her a rare woman of virtue.

After Li Mao took his leave, Wu Yueling learned from Yu Chao’en that he had once been her adoptive mother’s former husband—a fact not to be spoken of openly. Only upon Li Mao’s visit did Yu Chao’en reveal these secrets: Li Mao was a figure the emperor himself regarded with caution, and it was best to keep distance.

Wu Yueling now understood—a father cuckolded by his own son, truly a tragic figure. But it mattered little to her; if anything, she felt pity for Li Mao. Were she in his place, she’d have rebelled long ago.

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