Chapter Thirty-Two: The Succubus

Before lunch that day, Zhao Huaian carried half a basket of copper coins to find Fatty Dou.

At that moment, Fatty Dou was savoring his favorite braised pork trotter from an earthenware basin. Upon hearing from his attendant that Zhao Huaian had come, he flew into a rage, slapping the wooden crate as he cursed:

"This Zhao Da is pushing his luck! For that wrestling match, I shouted until my throat went hoarse, and I didn't even ask for a single penny. What more does he want? Bah! Too much, this is simply too much!"

With that, Fatty Dou jumped up, grabbed an iron mace from beside his wooden couch, and prepared to fight Zhao Huaian to the death.

Just then, the green-robed house servant who had been by his side all day spoke up: "Young Master, that Zhao Da has backing."

Fatty Dou, one leg already out the door, ranted aggressively: "So what if he has backing? It’s too much, simply too much!"

But another green-robed servant added: "The one above him is Commissioner Song of the Vanguard Patrol, and behind him are our Regional Commander and the Zhongwu Army."

Fatty Dou’s other leg froze, unable to take another step, though he still muttered: "Isn't this just bullying an honest man? Huh? Are honest men just meant to be bullied?"

The next second, Zhao Huaian’s hearty laughter echoed from outside the tent: "Brother Dou, I’ve come to see you!"

Fatty Dou immediately tossed the iron mace under the wooden couch and, the moment the tent flap opened, plastered a beaming smile onto his face for the handsome, sun-drenched man entering.

...

When Zhao Huaian walked in and saw Fatty Dou already waiting at the entrance, he felt a twinge of guilt. "Though this Fatty Dou isn't much to look at, he’s a decent fellow. Old Six really shouldn't have stiffed him on the money; that’s just heartless."

He glanced over and saw a basin of meat on the wooden crate, his spirits lifting. "Coming to pay a visit at this hour was the right call—looks like I’ve scored a free meal."

He grinned and greeted the man: "Brother Dou, eating?"

Dou Lu-feng was wearing a smile, but his internal frustration remained. Hearing Zhao Huaian’s remark, he grew even more annoyed: "He comes here to sponge a meal off me? What kind of person is this Zhao Da? How did Commissioner Song ever take a shine to him? Am I not better than he is?"

"And this Zhao Da, he’s truly insufferable. When he needs something, it’s 'Brother Dou'; when he doesn't, it's 'Fatty Dou.' He’s not someone to be friends with—no, he’s not someone to have any dealings with at all."

However, considering himself a man of status, Fatty Dou couldn't bring himself to be rude. He called out to a green-robed servant: "Dou Lu-san, go to the back and ask if there’s any more meat. If not, never mind."

Despite the obvious hint, Dou Lu-san didn't seem to catch it. Instead, he smiled at Zhao Huaian: "Young Master Zhao, you’ve come at just the right time. They just slaughtered a pig in the camp, and the blood is still warm. I’ll bring some for you right away."

Zhao Huaian agreed repeatedly, though to ensure Dou Lu-san didn't bring the wrong cut, he specifically requested pork belly. Dou Lu-san bowed and retreated with a bright smile.

"This Fatty Dou is truly a wealthy man," Zhao Huaian mused. "Even his house servant is so polite." He set down his bamboo basket and sat by the wooden crate.

Fatty Dou was livid at Dou Lu-san’s lack of awareness and vowed to punish him once Zhao Da left. Distracted by his anger, he accidentally stubbed his toe on the wooden crate as he sat back down. The pain was excruciating, but he forced himself to suppress it in front of Zhao Da.

***

Seeing Fatty Dou’s face twitch, Zhao Huaian asked with concern: "Brother Dou, you should really eat less meat. I’ve heard that high blood lipids can lead to heart attacks or even strokes."

The beauty of the Chinese language is such that although Dou Lu-feng had never heard terms like "high blood lipids," "heart attack," or "stroke," the combination of characters made the meaning immediately clear.

Fatty Dou slammed his fist on the crate, causing the basin of pork trotters to jump, cursing inwardly: "I kindly offer you meat, and you curse yourself? Zhao Da’s conscience is completely rotten."

Yet, looking at the basin of pork, Fatty Dou felt a sudden tightness in his chest. He was startled—could Zhao Da be right?

Seeing Fatty Dou slam the table, Zhao Huaian cursed him for "not appreciating a good heart" and dropped the subject. He pointed to the basket he had brought: "Brother Dou, here is half a basket of coins. You left in such a hurry this morning that you didn't even turn around when I called, so I had to bring them over myself."

At these words, the tightness in Fatty Dou’s chest and the pain in his toe vanished. He bounded over to the bamboo basket, lifted the hemp cloth, and saw the gleaming copper coins. His mouth broke into a foolish grin he couldn't suppress. This golden radiance truly healed all troubles and pains.

Only when Zhao Huaian coughed twice did Fatty Dou snap out of it. He plunged his hand into the basket, feeling the solid weight of the coins, and felt deeply satisfied.

He shouted to his servants: "What are you doing? My dear friend Zhao Da is here, why haven't you fetched the wine?" He then roared outside: "Dou Lu-san! What's the holdup with that meat?"

Dou Lu-san, who had been waiting outside, rushed in with a basin of glistening boiled pork. "Coming, coming!" He placed the pork belly in front of Zhao Huaian, adding, "Young Master Zhao, this meat was simmered for over an hour in our camp’s homemade wine. It melts in your mouth—please, have a taste."

Dou Lu-san handed Zhao Huaian a small knife and retreated. The task fell to Zhao Huaian; looking at the massive, unseasoned slab of pork, his appetite vanished. Even the faint scent of wine couldn't mask the raw, gamey odor.

While Zhao Huaian hesitated, Fatty Dou resumed devouring his pork trotters, the talk of strokes and heart attacks long forgotten. Because he was in a good mood, he urged Zhao Huaian to eat.

Watching Fatty Dou enjoy his meal and seeing the expectant look on Dou Lu-san’s face, Zhao Huaian steeled himself and cut off a tiny piece.

As he put it in his mouth, the gamey stench surged upward, but his mouth was surprisingly honest. Saliva flowed, his jaw worked, and in the blink of an eye, the piece was gone. He cut another, and another. With his robust constitution, he polished off the entire basin of pork belly, leaving only the broth.

Zhao Huaian let out a loud burp. Seeing Fatty Dou’s stunned expression, he waved a hand: "Brother Dou, I’m stuffed, I really can't eat another bite. What? You want to give me two more basins to take home? Oh, how could I? I told you, we were friends at first sight—you truly love me. You’re such a generous man, and I, Zhao Da, am no slouch either."

He then began a lecture on culinary arts. He complained that boiling pork like that was a waste, insisting it should be braised in a clay pot with star anise and bay leaves to remove the odor, and that the blood must be drained and the meat blanched.

Zhao Huaian knew his ancestors didn't eat well, but he hadn't realized it was *this* bad. Just boiled water? Had they never heard of stir-fried pork with chili? He went on and on about pork recipes, unable to bear seeing such good meat go to waste.

***

He didn't realize that his "culinary lecture" had left Fatty Dou utterly shocked.

Fatty Dou now viewed Zhao Da as someone as towering as a three-story pagoda and asked with profound respect: "Master Zhao, are you perhaps from the Tianshui Zhao clan?"

Zhao Huaian waved his hand, cupped his fists, and gestured toward the southeast, looking proud: "I am but a humble man from Xinghua Village, Shou County."

Fatty Dou dared not look down on him further. Even if he hadn't heard of a noble Zhao family in Shou County, he assumed his own ignorance was to blame. Why? Because it is said: "Only a family of three generations of officials knows how to dress and eat properly."

Ordinary people struggle just to fill their bellies; how could they afford to refine their palate? Only the wealthy, with generations of status, could afford such sophistication. The Dou Lu family had once been prominent but had declined into local gentry after failing to produce a successful examinee for five or six generations.

Though they had become "countrified," the discernment remained. Fatty Dou realized Zhao Huaian’s words weren't idle talk—he had actually experienced such things. Using spices to remove odors was common, but using them for *pork*? Spices were expensive; usually, they were reserved for fine mutton when honored guests arrived.

Hearing Zhao Da speak of spices as if they were everyday kitchen staples, Fatty Dou concluded that Zhao Huaian must be from a major Shouzhou clan, perhaps one involved in maritime trade—the only people who possessed such vast quantities of spices.

Fatty Dou quickly calculated that he needed to maintain this relationship. He bowed to Zhao Huaian: "Master Zhao, I have gained a great bargain by trading a meal for your recipes."

Zhao Huaian didn't care at all. He waved it off and asked casually: "By the way, does the camp sell spices? I’d like to buy some. I’ve always grilled mutton with my brothers, but after tasting things here, I think I’ll try stewing."

Fatty Dou froze, then stuttered: "Zhao Da, as far as I know, only a few shops in the West Market of Chengdu would sell such things. How could a rough camp like ours have spices? Even if we had them, no one here could afford them."

Hearing this, Zhao Huaian was shocked, realizing that the price of spices in this era was vastly different from the future. He had overplayed his hand. To save face, he coughed and changed the subject: "Old Dou?"

He realized his mistake and immediately corrected himself: "Brother Dou, why don't we team up again?"

Fatty Dou lowered his posture, appearing incredibly respectful: "Brother Zhao, I shall continue to call you Zhao Da, and you call me Fatty Dou. That’s much closer."

He smiled broadly: "Zhao Da, I understand your intentions. Say no more. Let us join forces—we’ll wring every drop of oil from the bones of those poor wretches."

Watching Fatty Dou pat his chest, his flesh wobbling as he wore a truly sinister grin, Zhao Huaian momentarily hallucinated that the man had grown horns and a tail. He shook his head, wondering if partnering with Fatty Dou was a good idea.

But regardless, he felt their relationship had deepened. This was how human relations worked! At first, Fatty Dou had been unhappy at being called "Fatty," but now he was asking for it. This meant he truly saw him, Old Zhao, as a friend.

Of course, Old Zhao’s social skills were no joke. The title of "Great Tang’s Number One Charmer" would be his soon enough.