The official dispatch sent to the Capital City sank like a stone into the sea.
Yang Ge waited and waited, but there was neither word nor movement. Several consecutive issues of the newly arrived court gazette still painted a picture of flowers in the wind and moonlit snow, peaceful years, and tranquility throughout the realm.
The longer he waited, the more anxious he became, and the more irritable.
Every day, once the inn's mealtime rush was over, he tossed aside his apron and ran to the Upper Right Office.
Every day, he returned disappointed.
"Shopkeeper, I'm heading out..."
On the nineteenth day of the first month, most of the guests who had stopped at the inn for a meal had left. Yang Ge untied his apron, called out to the old shopkeeper basking in the sun by the entrance with his teapot tucked against him, and prepared to leave for the Upper Right Office.
But the old shopkeeper, who had never interfered in his private affairs before, stopped him today. "Young fellow."
Yang Ge halted. "What is it, Shopkeeper?"
The old shopkeeper smiled amiably. "Nothing much. These past few days, everything's tasted rather bland, and I keep remembering that Sizzling Pork Kidney you made for New Year's the year before last. Could you make it for me again today?"
Yang Ge's heart lurched. He hurried over, caught the old shopkeeper's wrist, and carefully felt his pulse. "Are you feeling unwell somewhere?"
Medicine and martial arts belonged to the same family. Having trained to his level, his understanding of the body's meridians was scarcely shallower than that of some seasoned physicians.
The old shopkeeper let him do as he pleased and chuckled. "Nothing's wrong, really. I'm just craving it."
Yang Ge checked the pulse at his left wrist, then switched to