The green rapeseed lay across the snowy-white soup noodles, a translucent slice of cured meat faintly visible beneath the greens. Most remarkable of all, there was actually vinegar added to the soup noodles, its tangy aroma wafting up enticingly.

Without a doubt, the son was once again treating his food as a plaything...

This was unacceptable. Grace Walker shot her son a stern look—this habit of playing with food could not be indulged. She believed Ethan Brooks ought to go hungry for a meal today.

Seeing that his mother had no intention of serving him another bowl of rice, Ethan Brooks climbed into the washbasin, pried open the fox’s mouth to check, and, after confirming that the creature’s breath didn’t stink, pointed to his own mouth.

The fox, extremely impatient, climbed out of the washbasin and slipped out through the door hole, only to return a moment later with a large chunk of cheese in its mouth...

Ethan Brooks would never eat the side the fox had bitten. He hugged the cheese, slowly licking and sucking on it. Naturally, this eating speed was not very fast, but he was already quite patient. He was still young, with a huge amount of energy to burn. If he didn’t eat some high-calorie food, he’d end up a stunted three-foot-tall like Wu Dalang, and that would be tragic.

With a new idea in mind, Grace Walker began experimenting with her new product again. It seemed she hadn’t eaten her fill with that last bowl of rice. In the past, she would have been ashamed of her appetite, but ever since she’d been with Andy, the more she ate, the happier Andy became...

Men always have big appetites, and a single bowl of rice is never enough. In winter, there weren’t so many fresh greens for everyone—only salted vegetables. As for whether to add slices of meat or not?

Outside, snow was falling thick and fast. A sliver of orange-yellow lamplight from the small house shone onto the white snow, tinting it with a touch of rouge.

On the city wall, the guards stood under the shelter, still vigilant as they scanned the surroundings. Now that the emperor had returned to the palace, they could not afford the slightest negligence.

Emily Young’s cloak was covered in snowflakes. As the Imperial City Inspector, he dared not slack off even in such a night. This was already his third round of patrols.

Snow blanketed the city of Tokyo, but did not settle on the city walls. Thus, in a world of white, a black iron line appeared, outlining the imperial city and making it look even more imposing.

The lights of the The Brooks Family were like a jewel on this iron line, shining brilliantly. Every time he saw the little house of the The Brooks Family, a nameless anger would rise in Emily Young’s heart.

He had always put the safety of the royal family first, yet now, among his colleagues, he had gained a reputation for being harsh and bloodthirsty, which left him deeply frustrated.

Well, at the top, this was the emperor’s prerogative—a single word could send a man soaring to the heavens, or plunge him into the abyss for eternity.

A black figure staggered toward the city wall. Upon seeing it, Emily Young did not hesitate to seize the Eight-Ox Crossbow from the guard and pull the trigger.

With a “thunk,” the thick crossbow bolt was fired, pinning the black figure to the ground without a sound.

The snow kept falling, and before long, the black figure had become a white sculpture.

Chapter Ten: The Snail Child

In the spring of the first year of Jingyou, Grace Walker began selling soup noodles in Bianjing. Soup noodles with extra broth cost ten wen per skewer-bowl, while the dry version cost thirty wen per bowl.

Though the price was a bit high, the portions were generous and the food rich in oil. Most memorable of all, each bowl of soup noodles came with a slice of fatty meat that sizzled with juice when bitten into—once tasted, it was hard to forget.

No one knew how their meat was cooked. Not only did it melt in the mouth, but it also lacked the usual porky odor. Something cheap had been made to taste like a delicacy. Though it hadn’t yet taken Tokyo by storm, the laborers at Shuixi Gate would, after finishing work, always order a large bowl of dry soup noodles, eat their fill, and only then head home.

Emily Young never came to eat at Andy’s soup noodle shop.

How could a shack made of bamboo strips be called a shop?

Even the food fed to the dogs at the The Young Family was better than that bowl of soup noodles.

“Our soup noodle topping is a family secret!” Grace Walker would say.

No matter who came asking for the recipe, that was always her answer.

Yet Emily Young was still dragged into Andy’s soup noodle shop by his brothers from the worksite.

Ever since he had accidentally shot the drunkard Andrew Lewis to death on that snowy night, he had been convicted of murder by the Kaifeng Prefecture. Because he was acting in the line of duty, he was spared execution, but his position as Imperial City Inspector vanished without a trace.

Not wanting to be exiled to the prison city of Cangzhou, nor to have a golden brand tattooed on his face, he decisively chose to serve nearby at Shuixi Gate.

He had cursed the damned Andrew Lewis countless times in his dreams—why couldn’t that guy have taken just one more step toward the city wall?

Within ten paces, killing someone would have been considered meritorious; beyond ten paces, it was considered reckless manslaughter. And the spot where Andrew Lewis was pinned by the crossbow bolt was exactly eleven paces from the imperial city!

“Mrs. Brooks, our Emily is here! Hurry up and bring six bowls of soup noodles for the gentlemen—make them dry, and pile on the toppings!”

The cook at Shuixi Gate, Charles Brooks, shouted to the busy Mrs. Brooks, then found an empty table and settled Emily Young down.