At the same time, rumors about the fox spirit were once again swirling everywhere, and some ill-intentioned people even reported the matter to the Kaifeng Prefecture.

Abraham Lincoln merely smiled and dismissed the complaint after reading it. A fox spirit? Nonsense. If he really mistook a somewhat intelligent fox for a fox spirit, he would become the laughingstock of the Song Dynasty’s scholarly circles.

One should not speak of strange powers or supernatural beings!

He was rather critical of the Tie family mother and son living at the foot of the imperial city. The emperor’s word is law, and anything said publicly could not be changed.

He also disdained to get into any petty squabbles with the emperor over such a trivial matter.

The affairs of the two empress dowagers had nearly torn apart the relationship between the emperor and his ministers, making the conflict between ruler and officials ever more acute.

Abraham Lincoln had always believed that it was a waste to have the emperor and his ministers devote their energy to matters that did nothing for the nation or the people’s livelihood.

He had seen the Tie family’s fox in the palace before. When the emperor was delayed in eating because he was reviewing memorials, this fox would impatiently wait outside the window, occasionally jumping up to check if the emperor was eating.

It was nothing more than a gluttonous fox. If, as the eunuchs said, it could get the emperor to eat an extra bowl of rice, then that was to its credit.

Good or bad, it was just a pet. At worst, it would eat a little more food. Compared to the harm caused to the Song Dynasty by those useless officials clinging to their posts, this was utterly insignificant.

Still, he couldn’t help but recall the eyes of that Tie family infant. No matter what, those were not the eyes a baby should have.

Ethan Brooks also saw Abraham Lincoln. This old official had always lived simply; while others rode carriages home after court, he alone rode in an ox cart.

Beneath the umbrella canopy, a civil official holding his court tablet, passing through the bustling city unmoved by the flattery of the masses, had become a scene unique to the capital. Ethan Brooks always thought that one day, this old official would not remain so calm.

A heavy snow began to fall.

The world was draped in silver; after all the filth was covered by snow, the capital became a fairy-tale world.

Ethan Brooks lay in front of the only small window at home, gazing out at the world—a world so beautiful.

Now Ethan Brooks could finally understand what it felt like for the Monkey King to be trapped under Five Elements Mountain for five hundred years: to have all the skills in the world, yet be unable to move, was a torment.

He was not much different from the Monkey King—one trapped by a mountain, the other by a frail infant body.

As Ethan Brooks gazed at the snowy world, lost in thought, a small bowl of noodles appeared before him.

His mother was preparing for the family’s future—she was planning to open a shop, a noodle soup shop. Otherwise, if the two of them just sat and ate away their savings, they would eventually go hungry.

Who knows what she was thinking, but she stubbornly believed that if Seventh Brother praised the noodle soup, then it must be good. She had even picked a name for the shop—Seventh Brother Noodle Soup Shop.

His attentive mother had discovered that her son was actually a picky eater. Any food the child ate more of was sure to be delicious. Over the past month, she had conducted many experiments, and this small bowl of noodles was another of her ideas.

No vegetables—bad review!

No toppings—bad review!

Too much sesame oil—bad review!

Big grains of salt not dissolved—bad review!

Ethan Brooks silently criticized his mother, but with a big smile, finished the noodles, then turned to play with the little fox.

“Not tasty at all…”

His mother was clearly disappointed, dejectedly continuing to experiment with her shop’s signature dish.

In fact, Ethan Brooks really wanted to tell his mother: since you’re catering to the common folk, don’t fuss over so many details. As long as you serve up a bowl of oily noodles, even if the soup isn’t great, if you give bigger portions than others, more oil than others, and enough pepper, a steaming, spicy bowl of hot noodles will make people forget their troubles.

Word of mouth will spread, and customers will flock to your door.

If you add a thin slice of fatty pork on top, for those laborers in the capital, it would be a feast. Then, the reputation of your honest shop would spread throughout the city, and you’d deserve a plaque for it.

It was painful—Ethan Brooks’s dinner was still his mother’s failed experiment: noodle soup. She placed the bowl on the battered table, set her son on a small stool, and went back to her work.

There were boiled greens on the table—a luxury in the Song Dynasty’s winter.

The Tie family had a fox that brought everything home, so the vegetables enjoyed by the royal family could also be served openly at their table.

In Ethan Brooks’s little wooden bowl was a slice of cured meat, thin as paper, specially prepared by his mother. He was only allowed to suck and lick it for the taste—he only had four teeth and couldn’t handle it yet.

When his mother finished tidying up the stove and returned to the table, she found a very beautiful bowl of noodle soup in front of her.