Chapter Three: The Uninvited Guest (Part I)

“Here comes the lamb. Where should we put it?” Zhou Jianliang entered, carrying an entire skinned lamb carcass, steam still rising from his body after a fresh bath.

“Over here, near the door. It’s a bit cooler by the entrance,” Zhang Qian said promptly, standing up to greet him as he pointed to a table cleared specifically for this purpose. “Second junior brother, give him a hand. Third junior brother, come help me!”

“Alright!” Following Zhou Jianliang, Guo Nu and Ren Cong were used to Zhang Qian’s casual manner. They agreed and split up—one helped Zhou Jianliang place the frozen lamb, neither fully thawed nor fully solid, onto the table, while the other quickly brought over brass bowls to Zhang Qian.

Zhang Qian moved deftly, placing pre-prepared scallions, minced garlic, and sesame oil separately into four bowls, signaling Ren Cong to arrange them neatly on the central square table. Then, he swiftly lifted a brass kettle of simmering old hen broth from the stove, filling four small copper hot pots with chicken soup. The creamy white broth paired with the golden-red copper pots was instantly appetizing.

“Much obliged, much obliged!” Although both were fifth-rank officers, Zhou Jianliang, a lower fifth-rank resolute captain, was two grades below Zhang Qian, a higher fifth-rank deputy director of the Armory Bureau. The military was always strict about rank and hierarchy. Seeing Zhang Qian pour soup for him, Zhou quickly clasped his now free hands together and bowed deeply. “Truly, I am unworthy of such kindness, Deputy Director…”

“If you’re a friend, no need for formalities. If not, then just leave—there’s no place for you here!” Zhang Qian rolled his eyes with a smile, cutting him off. Then, he turned to refill the kettle with cold water and placed it back on the stove.

“Well…” Zhou Jianliang dared not be polite anymore, folding his long bow and standing awkwardly by the door, unsure where to place his hands and feet.

Seeing this, Zhang Qian smiled again, casually took a short knife specially crafted by a craftsman for himself from a third table, and tossed it with its sheath into Zhou’s arms. “If you have nothing to do, help slice the meat. Thin slices, paper-thin is best. Third junior brother, come help me light the pots. Second junior brother, keep assisting Captain Zhou!”

“Got it!” Guo Nu and Ren Cong responded, each beginning their tasks.

Seeing everyone so at ease, Zhou Jianliang no longer hesitated. Drawing the short knife from its sheath, he cut a rectangular strip of loin from the lamb’s back, then began slicing swiftly on a cutting board Guo Nu handed him.

Having fought on battlefields for years, his skills with blade and gun were exceptional. In moments, he had sliced a large plate of thin lamb loin slices.

Meanwhile, Zhang Qian pushed Guo Nu aside and personally handed over the second plate, signaling with his gaze for another plate of lamb leg. Then, pointing to the tail, he indicated to cut a plate of pure white lamb fat to accompany the wine. (Note: Early Chinese sheep typically had large tails functioning like a hump. Modern sheep are hybrids with smaller tails.)

…

One giving orders, the other wielding the knife—they worked with perfect harmony. Soon, six different cuts of lamb were prepared. The chicken broth in the copper hot pots simmered anew over the alcohol stove, filling the room with a rich aroma as it bubbled and simmered.

“The entire Armory Bureau is being relocated to Weiyang Palace, so conditions are a bit rudimentary now. Captain Zhou, please don’t mind!” Zhang Qian said cheerfully, setting down the last plate before quickly returning to his seat facing west. He reserved the spot by the stove on the south side especially for Zhou Jianliang.

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“Deputy Director, no need to be so formal. It’s a blessing to have a warm meal on such a cold day. I am deeply grateful!” After a busy fifteen minutes, Zhou Jianliang had gradually relaxed into the room’s atmosphere and smiled as he took his seat.

Before his seat was fully settled, his gaze was drawn to the flickering flames beneath the copper pots. Turning slightly, tilting his head, he examined the fuel compartment and wick carefully, only snapping out of his reverie when a splash of boiling broth reminded him where he was.

“Here, have a little to start with, to line your stomach. Zhang, the chief supervisor, hasn’t had time to come here lately, so we brothers can be a bit freer!” Zhang Qian deliberately ignored Zhou’s astonished expression as he picked up a slice of lamb loin with chopsticks, briefly cooked it in his hot pot, then dipped it in the broth and chewed heartily.

Chinese sheep fed purely on grass and grain were far more tender than the hybrid sheep fattened on feed in the twenty-first century. The old hen broth simmered on the stove was full of flavor. Though lacking sesame paste and fermented tofu, sesame oil sufficed as a dip. Even so, Zhang felt as if he wanted to swallow his tongue in delight.

Guo Nu and Ren Cong, accustomed to exotic delicacies, had never encountered such a flaming copper pot before. Eagerly, they picked up lamb slices and mimicked Zhang Qian’s method, following the entire process. Then, they widened their eyes, as bright as copper bells, and slapped the table. “Amazing, senior brother! This is the right way to eat lamb. What we had before was a waste!”

“Best with wine, sipping slowly—it tastes even better!” Zhang Qian smiled at them and raised his wine cup to set the rule. “While on duty, no pressing for drinks to avoid mistakes. Drink within your limits!”

With that, he took a small sip, set down the cup, and resumed his assault on the lamb.

Having been in the Tang capital for nearly three months, Zhang Qian was finally tasting hot pot. To say he wasn’t excited would be a lie. So once he started eating again, he didn’t want to put down his chopsticks, and all his original “official business” plans were forgotten.

Zhou Jianliang, sitting with his back to the stove, was even more thrilled than Zhang Qian. He imitated the three brothers’ manner—dipping lamb, sipping chrysanthemum wine popular in Chang’an’s high society, tilting his head to glance at the hot pot, and repeating the process absentmindedly.

Only after finishing a full copper cup—about two taels, roughly sixty degrees proof—did he finally tear his eyes away from the flames, set down chopsticks and cup, and lightly cupped his hands in respect toward Zhang Qian. “Deputy Director, what do you call this stove? Does it contain gunpowder? How much? With such a vessel and this method of heating, how long can it last?”

“This, I call an alcohol stove. It holds about one and a half jin of alcohol. How long it lasts—I haven’t had time to record exactly, but I estimate at least one shichen (two hours). In the box behind me, there are four more alcohol stoves, not yet assembled—gifts specially prepared for Director Zhang and you. You can try them yourself once you take them back.”

“Thank you, Deputy Director!” Zhou Jianliang sprang to his feet, bowing deeply. “With this, at least the general can enjoy a few warm meals. On behalf of the men around the general, I salute you, Deputy Director!”

It was no wonder he was so moved. Zhang Renyuan was already sixty-seven this year, yet maintained strict discipline. While on campaign, he never traveled with anyone unrelated to the military. Most of the time, he ate the same rations as his men. Occasionally, a small feast was prepared, but never to the point of true satisfaction.

With Zhang Qian’s custom-made alcohol stove, cooking would be much simpler. As long as they found a sheltered spot, the guards could light the fire anytime. Even without a cook’s skill, the old general could have a hot bowl of porridge promptly.

“Captain Zhou, don’t be so formal. I’ve always admired the old general. You left in such a hurry, or I’d have had the craftsmen make more alcohol stoves.” Zhang Qian, while examining the stove, had designed it with wealthy households and senior military officers in Chang’an in mind, so he was ready for Zhou’s reaction. He took Zhou’s arm and smiled, adding, “This stove isn’t just for cooking or boiling water. Medics on the march use it to boil bandages and instruments, which helps prevent infections among the men!”

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Those last two sentences were purely a local custom excuse.

The high cost of the alcohol stove and the expensive production of alcohol itself meant such devices were out of reach for ordinary people. Medics in the army found it far more convenient to boil bandages and instruments over wood fires in iron pots than to carry large quantities of alcohol. (This was an astute reader’s comment, quoted directly.)

However, Zhou Jianliang, newly among the mid-level officers and still carrying the simplicity of a battlefield man, was unaware that officials in Chang’an liked to find grandiose reasons for everything. Hearing that the alcohol stove could also be used to sterilize bandages and instruments, he was even more moved and bowed deeply again, saluting Zhang Qian. “Enough, enough! I am unworthy, unworthy of your efforts, Deputy Director Zhang!”

“Tiring? Not at all!” Zhang Qian reached out again, pulling Zhou Jianliang’s arm with some force to bring him back to the table. “I admire men in the military. To do something for them is my honor. Come, Captain Zhou, you drink well—let us brothers share a cup!”

He turned and fetched two small cups, signaling Guo Nu to fill them. Each raised their cup, lightly touched them together, and drank in one go.

“Captain Zhou, Ren here will also toast you!” Ren Cong, already feeling the warmth of the wine, grabbed a small cup and joined the fun.

Zhou Jianliang disliked putting on airs and knew Ren was Zhang Qian’s junior brother, so he smiled and drank with him. Seeing this, Guo Nu was unwilling to be left out and stood up to join a full round.

Because chrysanthemum white wine was simply purified from yellow wine with some plant essential oils added, its taste was similar to the twenty-first century’s “small spirits,” far less refined than modern mid-range white liquors. Still, after a large cup and three smaller ones, Zhou Jianliang felt his whole body relaxed blissfully.

Just as he was about to heed Zhang Qian’s suggestion to eat more lamb with the wine, a sudden wave of heat surged from behind him, causing sweat to bead instantly on his forehead.

“Deputy Director, what is this thing?” Even the most careless would notice the ugly iron contraption behind him was the source of the heat. Stunned, he pointed to the stove with his chopsticks and asked.

“This thing? I call it a fire stove. It’s made to keep warm, a simple contraption anyone can build!” Though Zhang Qian wanted to promote it to the Tang military, he spoke casually. “It’s cheap. Inside is peat, and just ten jin of peat a day can keep a large room like this warm as spring.”

“Peat? Isn’t that poisonous?” Zhou Jianliang was stunned again. He jumped up and circled the stove, finding the ugly object far more pleasing to the eye than the copper hot pots.

“I see, that’s a chimney. Deputy Director Zhang is thoughtful—using the chimney to vent toxic gases out. Ah—”

Unable to resist, he touched the chimney with his fingers, immediately yelping in pain. He quickly withdrew his fingers and saw two yellowish burns on their tips, faintly giving off the scent of meat!