Chapter 3: The Influence of Culinary Delights

Chang’an possessed an unparalleled allure in this era, the largest metropolis in the world and the most populous city on earth. The ancient capital of thirteen dynasties, this was the zenith of Chang’an’s prosperity.

At this moment, Li Shimin had just ascended the throne, and the shadow of fratricide still lingered in the hearts of every Tang citizen. Yet even so, the city bustled as always; to the common folk, it mattered little who claimed the throne—so long as they could eat their fill.

Cai Cong’s destination was the Western Market, also known as the Market of Benefit, the most thriving commercial district in the empire. He and Cai Gang paid their fee and were given a small stall. Cai Gang watched the throngs with apprehension, uncertain how he could possibly sell chickens now muddied by earth.

Cai Cong, ever polite, borrowed brush and ink from a neighboring vendor and wrote upon a wooden board: “Transcendent Chicken, one hundred coins each.” The bold, spacious strokes were written in the Yanzhi style—a skill he had learned from his teacher in the band of thieves. Calligraphy was, after all, the first craft he had mastered, and now his brush moved with practiced ease.

Once the sign was ready, Cai Cong took his seat beside the ox cart, its cargo a collection of earthen lumps. Yet he had overlooked one thing: this was the Western Market—a district of the poor. How many here could even read? And who among them could afford a chicken for a hundred coins?

“Brother Cai, shouldn’t we be calling out?” Cai Gang, seeing the crowds flock to other stalls while theirs was ignored, grew restless—after all, Cai Cong had promised him a fifth of the rice profits.

“Then shout, ‘Transcendent Chicken! The world’s finest! Only a hundred coins each!’ Louder!” Realizing his mistake in choosing this location, Cai Cong quickly composed a slogan.

“Transcendent Chicken! Transcendent Chicken! The best chicken in the world—come buy, come buy!”

“Transcendent Chicken! The tastiest chicken meat!”

Once a man has cast off his shame, he becomes bold indeed. Cai Gang’s calls grew louder and louder, so much so that onlookers might think a brawl was about to break out.

“What kind of chicken costs that much? For a hundred coins, I could feast at the Guesthouse!”

“Exactly, does he think he’s selling to the Emperor?”

“This old dog’s no merchant. All this shouting, but he hasn’t even shown us the chickens!”

“That’s right! Hey, seller, where are your chickens?”

Most were drawn by the price, just there for the spectacle, jeering when they saw no sign of the so-called “Transcendent Chicken.” Cai Gang, who had lived in poverty all his life, had never faced such a crowd; flushed and flustered, he could not utter a word.

“If you want to see the Transcendent Chicken, where’s your payment?” Only now did Cai Cong rise and speak calmly. He bore no malice, but his words nonetheless implied that these gawkers had no money—an artful turn for one skilled in the ways of the world.

Some among the crowd grew sullen—truly, their pockets were empty. Others, composed and confident, were servants of wealthy households, well accustomed to procurement and its hidden profits.

“Why does your boy speak so? Does he look down on us?” A burly man stepped forward, seizing Cai Gang by the collar and lifting him off the ground.

“Please, release my uncle. I meant no offense. The Transcendent Chicken is sealed in earth—once opened, it must be eaten and cannot be kept long.” Cai Cong gazed earnestly at the man, his fair face and dimples, large bright eyes all the picture of innocence, though inwardly he was pleased—a bit of conflict would only stoke curiosity.

The big man, abashed, set Cai Gang down, realizing he had overreacted. How could such a small child utter words so cruel?

A servant in plain garb crouched and asked with a grin, “Little brother, is this chicken truly so delicious? Sealed in mud and still edible?”

“Of course it is! This is a secret recipe, known only to me. My uncle is just here to help. Sir, why not buy one? Perhaps your master will be so pleased he’ll promote you. Really, it’s very good.”

Liu Hu, the servant, suddenly felt he’d asked the wrong person—this child was more skilled at selling than any fishmonger or market hawker; he mustn’t be fooled.

But Cai Cong was confident. True Chinese cuisine would only blossom in the Song dynasty; before then, fare was mostly soup noodles, and even the finest variations could not compare to his secret Transcendent Chicken. As for Tang dynasty meats, they were boiled or roasted at best, with the wealthy sprinkling a few spices.

“Don’t hesitate—I’ll open one for you.”

Seeing Liu Hu waver, Cai Cong took a stick and cracked open one of the earthen lumps.

“Wait, don’t—” Liu Hu protested, remembering that once opened, the chicken must be bought. Was this not forced selling? He was about to protest when, suddenly, an intoxicating aroma swept into his mouth, flooding his senses and making his mouth water. The words of protest died on his lips.

“This is the Transcendent Chicken?” Staring at the tender meat, Liu Hu felt as if he’d been injected with energy. The fragrance, tinged with lotus leaf, was unlike anything his master had ever tasted.

Cai Cong nodded, then smiled. “Why not buy one, sir? Your master won’t think it expensive.” Although nobles of this era favored mutton, chicken was also common fare, and Cai Cong believed that deliciousness was the best persuasion.

“Yes, yes, I’ll take one—no, two!” Liu Hu was so excited he forgot himself. Two hundred coins was not too dear; even if his master disliked it, he would not be punished.

“Uncle Gang, wrap up two for him.” Cai Cong counted the coins and instructed Cai Gang to pack two chickens in lotus leaves.

“I’ll take two as well!”

“I want one!”

“My master is the magistrate of Chang’an county—save me two!”

“To hell with you, my master’s an official at the Ministry of Personnel—save me two!”

The servants, now revealing their backgrounds, dared not offend the Ministry, which oversaw official appointments.

The Transcendent Chickens sold out quickly. Servants, ever shrewd, guessed this delicacy could win over their masters’ palates—a little competition was only natural.

As the crowd began to disperse, Cai Cong called out, “I also have fresh rabbit and soybean soup—would anyone like some?” With a wave, he signaled Cai Gang to roll out the large cauldron of rabbit soup.

When the lid was lifted, a delicate aroma with a hint of wine wafted forth. Everyone involuntarily stopped, their throats gulping.

“Little brother, how much for this?”

“One hundred coins for half a rabbit. Please bring your own bowls.” Rabbit was already expensive, so this price wasn’t high—the soup sold out swiftly. After paying the vendor for firewood used to heat the soup, the two set out for the rice shop with their ox cart.

The markets closed at curfew, and anyone found wandering after dark would be arrested. After buying their rice, the two joined the crowd leaving Chang’an as the drum signaled the city’s closing.

With the cart heaped with rice, Cai Gang drove with a foolish grin, his hands trembling on the whip. Cai Cong sat atop the rice, smiling serenely.

Food was scarce in the Tang dynasty, so variety was limited—noodles and fish, sometimes raw, were the staples. Frying, braising, stewing, and the myriad methods of later ages were unheard of in these times.

Liu Hu, careful not to let the cook take credit, placed the Transcendent Chickens and rabbit soup on a small fire to warm. His master had not yet returned; the cook was preparing dinner, but Liu Hu dared not leave his treasures unattended.

Liu Fu, an official in the Ministry of Works, was a typical case of much work, little pay, and returned home exhausted. “Tell the staff to serve dinner,” he said to the steward after washing.

Meals were never extravagant: two side dishes and a plate of mutton was his supper. As he ate, the steward entered. “Master, Liu Hu claims to have bought a great delicacy today, kept warm just for your return—shall I let him in?”

“That rascal’s always scheming. Bring him in! Let’s see what rare treat he’s found—bear’s paw, perhaps?” Liu Fu wiped his mouth and laughed, though he was secretly curious; Liu Hu had a keen eye and wouldn’t bring anything unworthy.

Liu Hu, eager to impress, brought in a plate of soup and rice, and had two chickens carried in.

Liu Fu tasted the soup—it was indeed delicious, though he had sampled many dishes at various restaurants and was not unduly impressed. He glanced at Liu Hu, thinking him lacking in discernment.

“Heh, master, the soup is just to cleanse your palate; this is my true offering.” Liu Hu, always quick, presented the two earthen lumps.

He dared not play coy—any further hesitation might be seen as mocking his master, and he could end up in a mass grave by morning. He took up a stick and gently broke open one Transcendent Chicken. Steam rose, releasing a tempting aroma, and the tender yellow meat was irresistible. Liu Fu’s pupils contracted as he inhaled deeply, then, remembering his dignity, coughed softly and asked, “Liu Hu, what is this dish? How can it be so fragrant?”

“Master, it’s called Transcendent Chicken. There was a child selling it in the Western Market today; I was quick enough to snatch two. As for how it’s made—I have no idea.” Liu Hu was diligent, using the word “snatch” to stress how rare it was.

“Stop! Steward, send this chicken to Director Yan immediately.” Seeing Liu Hu about to break open the other, Liu Fu hurriedly stopped him. Among scholars, sending rare food was a subtle favor, far better than cash. Director Yan was none other than Yan Liben, Minister of Works.

As night fell in Chang’an, carriages traversed the eastern wards. Others had the same idea as Liu Fu; even the city guards let them pass after verifying their credentials. Thus, the Transcendent Chicken graced the tables of numerous high officials that night. If the dish had been poisoned, the empire would have come to a halt by morning.

No emperor could tolerate happenings beyond his control, least of all the great Li Shimin.

Cheng Yaojin had managed to grab one before heading to the frontier. On Changsun Wuji’s table sat three, delivered by those eager to curry favor with his powerful household.

Li Shimin gazed at the tender chicken on his table, eyes resting on a wooden plaque that read: “Transcendent Chicken, one hundred coins each.” His deep gaze betrayed no hint of his thoughts. After a long pause, he tore off a piece and tasted it.

“Find out who made this dish.”

Such was the journey of a single dish—within a single night, it had appeared on the tables of over a dozen ministers. If it had been poisoned, the empire itself would have faltered.

No emperor could accept events beyond his grasp, much less the immortal Li Shimin.