On New Year's Eve, Zhang Xing and Qin Bao ate their fill of crispy fried pork.
It was New Year's Eve, after all. They could indulge a little. Never mind that they had just returned from an exceptionally grueling assignment-even without it, didn't every government office in the Eastern Capital, apart from those responsible for the annual accounts and overseeing construction of the Bright Hall, have that famous saying?
Whatever it is, leave it until after the New Year.
In fact, the entire Eastern Capital overflowed with festive spirit. People burned bamboo, offered sacrifices to their ancestors, and gave one another copper coins tied with little strips of red paper.
The dignitaries in the north laid out banquets in an endless stream, yet never came to eat. Whatever they were doing, each change in proceedings required an entirely fresh spread of chicken, duck, fish, and meat, until every servant's belly brimmed with grease; poor people might be poor, but neighbors still pooled their money to buy a potful of oil and fry dough balls for their children to chew on; even the latest batch of corvée laborers received a gracious reward from the Ministry of Works: a portion of fried sweet cake on top of their customary winter clothing... of course, they certainly had to kowtow in thanks for imperial grace before they could collect it.
Strangely enough, someone far from home ought to miss his family all the more during festivals. Yet unlike Qin Bao, who unknowingly began wiping away tears and murmuring for his mother as they drank, and unlike Yue Niang, who seemed carefree in public but privately sat by the stable staring at the two horses and one mule all evening, Zhang Sanlang spent this New Year unexpectedly happily.
Or perhaps he was simply heedless. He