Chapter 46: The Great Scholar’s Haste

“Understood!” the two replied in unison. Zhang Wen hesitated for a moment before asking, “The fourth floor of Taibai Tower, three tables each day—how will they be assigned? And who are the guests? Please instruct us, Master.”

“All three tables will be in the main building. I’ll write down tomorrow’s guest list for you now. Later, send someone to deliver the invitations,” Cai Cong responded briskly. Winter Bamboo laid out the paper, and Cai Cong began to write. Yan Zhitui, Li Gang, Fang Xuanling, Du Ruhui, Changsun Wuji, Li Jing, Qin Shubao, Hou Junji...

He had already made inquiries. Every prominent official and noble currently in Chang’an was included, along with renowned scholars and literati—thirty in total. Once the list was complete, Zhang Wen immediately had the invitations written and dispatched.

It was just after work hours, and everyone had only just returned home. Li Jing had just washed his face and hands, intending to rest his eyes, when a servant came in to report, “Master, Taibai Tower from the east city has sent an invitation, asking you to attend a tasting banquet tomorrow.”

“Understood, you may go,” Li Jing said calmly without even opening his eyes. As the military god of the Great Tang, he received so many invitations daily that they could be carried in baskets.

“Um...”

“What else is there?” Seeing the servant hesitate, Li Jing grew impatient.

“Master, the people from Taibai Tower are waiting outside and request your confirmation. There are only thirty distinguished guests tomorrow; if you will not attend, they will invite others,” the servant replied nervously. Few dared to speak to Li Jing in such a manner.

“How interesting. A mere tavern dares to be so arrogant.” Li Jing’s eyes twitched—a sign of anger.

“Yes, it’s quite audacious. But Taibai Tower has deep connections; even the palace chefs come from there. It’s rumored that the owner is a prince who once lived among the common folk and often enters the palace,” the servant added quickly. These were popular rumors, but they had gained wide acceptance among the people of Chang’an, especially among the lower classes.

“So it’s him. Go tell the messenger: I will certainly attend tomorrow,” Li Jing waved his hand. If it was Cai’s family hosting a tasting banquet, it was worth appearing. Li Gang’s obsession with fine cuisine and Yan’s child nearly starving from not being able to eat—these had long ceased to be news in court.

Yan Zhitui and Li Gang, of course, accepted their invitations with smiles. Kong Yingda and Chu Suiliang also promised to attend. The literary circle comprised only a few prominent figures, and Li Gang and Yan Silu often spoke of the delicious meals they had enjoyed the previous night, leaving others unable to contribute and feeling immensely dissatisfied. Tomorrow, they were determined to savor the food themselves and see if it truly deserved its reputation.

The other generals, upon hearing that Cai Cong was hosting, all promised to attend. It wasn’t about the dishes; loyalty and courage were traits admired among martial men. Cai Cong had risked his life to save tens of thousands of civilians—not by force, but by wit—which earned their respect.

The next morning at court, officials greeted each other with smiles, asking, “Did you receive the invitation, brother?”

Those holding invitations smiled and nodded, a hint of pride in their demeanor. Those without looked puzzled—what invitation?

The questioners would then smile and walk away; the distinction was clear. Only thirty people in all of Chang’an had been invited, so clearly, you were not among them. Witnessing this, those without invitations would grab others to ask what was going on, and the invited ones would explain with amusement.

Those who received invitations were clever, seeing it as a favor to Cai Cong: you show me respect, I help spread the word for you.

Even Li Shimin noticed something was amiss: a few smiled in court with pride, while the rest looked dejected, as if deeply disappointed.

After court, those without invitations discovered that even clerks and servants were discussing the grand banquet at Taibai Tower, a sign that all of Chang’an knew about it. This only deepened their frustration—how could someone as prominent as themselves not receive a single invitation?

By afternoon, crowds had gathered outside the eastern market’s Taibai Tower: some were idly curious, others were scholars hoping to catch the attention of the eminent literati and officials attending. Perhaps, if noticed, they might become disciples and rise to fame.

Meng Baolai greeted guests at the door, trembling with excitement. Cai Cong was preparing a grand dish and overseeing the kitchen himself, so he could not greet guests personally. For the host to cook himself was a greater honor than welcoming guests at the door—none would take offense.

The wine was Sanjiang Letang, renowned in its day. Cai Cong, however, barely glanced at it—wine under thirty degrees, cloudy, not particularly enjoyable. But the guests, self-styled connoisseurs, praised it enthusiastically.

The wine made them exuberant, but the dishes brought restraint: Golden Silk Crisp Sparrow, Five-Color Beef Strips, Lotus Seed Tofu, Crispy Roast Suckling Pig, Silent Salted Beef...

Heavens, if people of later generations heard this, they’d go mad—he could prepare the Manchu Han Imperial Feast, yet chose to be a master thief? The names were borrowed by Cai Cong, and the dishes, made by amateurs, could hardly compare to the real Manchu Han Feast. Yet even so, everyone ate with gusto—seventeen courses, leaving each guest utterly satisfied.

Chu Suiliang, delighted, composed a food ode on the white wall, and others followed suit, composing impromptu poems. The generals were less refined—rather than waste time, they’d rather eat more.

“Honored guests, please rest and enjoy some soup to cleanse your palate. My master has been preparing the final dish since yesterday, and it is ready to be served. Please await its arrival and honor it with your tasting,” Meng Baolai announced loudly. He had to—the scholars, in high spirits, recited poetry so loudly the street could hear, while the generals gambled on dishes, making the scene as lively as a night market.

On hearing Meng Baolai’s words, all fell silent, staring at him like hungry wolves. Hou Junji swallowed and asked in disbelief, “Did you say this dish has been cooking since yesterday?”

“Yes. My master wishes to apologize: time was short and ingredients scarce. If there are shortcomings, please forgive us. Sea cucumber, abalone, shark fin, dried scallops, and conpoy are all coastal ingredients and could not be procured in time. Please accept our apologies,” Meng Baolai explained.

At this, everyone gasped in amazement—a dish cooked for an entire day and night, yet still not a finished product? It was almost unbelievable.

Meng Baolai wasted no time. He clapped his hands, and a group of waiters brought in small tureens. Unlike the other dishes, which filled the air with aroma, this dish was nearly scentless.

“The dish is called ‘Supreme Fragrance.’ Fish lips, turtle skirt, deer sinew, pigeon eggs, duck gizzards, fish maw, pigeon, spare ribs, pig stomach, lamb shank, trotter tips, tendon, old hen breast, yellow-beaked duck breast, chicken gizzard, duck gizzard, winter mushrooms, winter bamboo shoots, and so forth—twenty-eight steps to prepare before it reaches the table. Please, honored guests, taste it.”

As soon as Meng Baolai finished speaking, the waiters revealed the dish, lifting the lotus leaves. Instantly, a rich aroma filled the air, intoxicating all present. The soup was thick and brown, rich but not greasy, its fragrance spreading throughout the room. Many recognized it as Buddha Jumps Over the Wall, a delicacy Cai Cong had learned in his previous life to please his teacher.

“Delicious! Li Ji is close to this fellow, but he’s not in Chang’an this time—what a loss! Thinking on it, I feel elated.” Li Xiaogong, after tasting a spoonful, slapped the table and exclaimed, while also expressing sympathy for Li Ji, who was away in Luoyang.

“Tasting this Supreme Fragrance, I fear no other food will ever satisfy me. The only regret is that it’s not the finished product; I can’t imagine how sublime the true Supreme Fragrance would be,” Li Gang sighed after finishing. He sealed his tureen and rose to leave.

He had shared a lifetime with his wife, and such a delicacy was best enjoyed together—it would be far more joyful than eating with these old men. Many shared his sentiment, and likewise got up and departed.

The scholars reciting poetry and debating affairs in the street were stunned to see these eminent figures rushing off, hugging their jars tightly. Some wondered, should I stop and listen to their views, make a friendship across generations? Don’t leave so quickly!

With the big names gone, the crowd soon dispersed. Yet all were intensely curious—what was in those jars the dignitaries hugged so tightly? Though hurried, it was clear they were very happy.