Chapter Twenty-One: The Gift (Part Two)

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At this moment, only Yang Yaozong and Yin Ruoxin were in the small hall. The table between them was laden with new-style dishes, each boasting both vibrant colors and enticing aromas.

Yin Ruoxin felt not only sweetness in her heart, but a fullness of happiness—happiness that Yang Yaozong had brought her. She wished time could freeze at this moment. From her earliest memories, only now had she truly tasted warmth, genuine happiness. Her beautiful eyes glistened with a mist that blurred her vision.

Yang Yaozong, seeing her so moved, laughed, “Has my cooking won you over? Don’t cry, don’t cry. Next time, I will make you dishes you’ve never tried before. I promise you’ll be so touched you’ll want to cry again. It seems my gift was a success.”

Yin Ruoxin nodded, wiping her tears with a handkerchief, and smiled, “You must keep your word. If there’s a chance, you have to cook for me again.”

Yang Yaozong widened his eyes, feigning surprise, “Miss Yin, do you really take me for a chef? Haha. But a gentleman’s word is as good as a thousand horses, and though I may not be a gentleman, a chef’s promise is worth eight! Come, try these dishes. This is my first time cooking for someone, so I truly don’t know how they taste.”

Yin Ruoxin glanced at him with mock annoyance, “Eight horses, really? You do seem to enjoy it.” Though she chided him for embracing the kitchen, she caught his words—this was his first time cooking for someone, making her the first to taste his food. Pride and satisfaction blossomed within her; even his wife, Nangong Qingyi, hadn’t tasted his cooking. A small sense of victory and comparison took root in her heart.

Yang Yaozong, skilled in cooking in his previous life, was indeed talented. Today, in this era, it was his first time in the kitchen, and while the seasonings were not all available, these simple dishes didn’t require much, so the flavor should be good. He served Yin Ruoxin a bowl of egg and tomato soup, “Taste it and tell me what you think.”

Yin Ruoxin saw the soup’s vivid colors, topped with green scallions, the broth a delicate red—very appealing. She took a spoonful and tasted it, “Hmm... The tomato flavor is rich, sweet and sour, and the egg adds a fragrant touch. I like it very much.”

Yang Yaozong nodded and began peeling a sweet potato, then a potato, splitting each in half—one half for Yin Ruoxin, one for himself. As he ate, he said, “Try the sweet potato and potato as well.” The gesture was intimate, but the longer Yin Ruoxin spent with Yang Yaozong, the more natural it felt. She was a bit shy, but her heart was sweet, finding even bold acts with him quite proper—just as things ought to be, nothing strange.

She tasted the sweet potato; her brows lifted, eyes shining, “This sweet potato is soft and sweet, fragrant and delicious. Really good.” She tried the potato, but seemed to prefer the sweet potato, smiling gently, “This potato is also soft and fragrant, but I think the sweet potato tastes better. Hmm... They each have their own charm.” Yang Yaozong nodded, admiring Yin Ruoxin. She enjoyed his gaze, unafraid of his admiration.

They continued tasting Yang Yaozong’s stir-fried dishes. Though Yin Ruoxin had already eaten lunch, she sampled each one, offering honest opinions. Yang Yaozong agreed with her assessments, eating heartily himself.

Yang Yaozong picked up a piece of egg and tomato, “Cooking is all about color, aroma, and taste. ‘Color’ comes first—not only must the food taste good, but it must look appealing, making people want to try it, to savor a meal.”

Yin Ruoxin bit her lips, thinking, then smiled, “I agree that appearance is important—people see a dish before they smell it, then taste it. But if a dish is only beautiful and not delicious, it loses its meaning. It cannot be called a delicacy.”

Yang Yaozong’s eyes shone with admiration, nodding, “Miss Yin speaks truly. I deeply agree.” Her unique insight impressed him. Though she was a courtesan, she was clever and perceptive, never pandering, always offering her own perspective. Their first meeting in this courtyard had left him with the impression that she, despite her circumstances, possessed a sincere and kind heart, still concerned for her hometown. He had found her both lovable and pitiable. Now, even in this small matter, her keen analysis made him admire her even more.

Still, Yang Yaozong felt a playful urge, “Have you heard a certain saying, Miss Yin?”

Yin Ruoxin blinked, curious, “Which saying?”

Yang Yaozong replied with a mysterious smile, “Beauty can be a feast for the eyes!”

Yin Ruoxin was stunned, then burst into laughter, her smile radiant, surpassing any flower in bloom. Her eyes, full of charm, glanced at Yang Yaozong, thinking, “He claims to be honest, but always stirs my heart unintentionally. Yet, he never crosses the line. Truly vexing!” Her cheeks flushed as she wondered, “Do I wish he would cross the line?” A flutter of confusion filled her heart.

Yang Yaozong, having glimpsed Yin Ruoxin’s enchanting beauty, dared not look too long. He blushed and lowered his head, pretending to eat his dishes with nonchalance.

Yin Ruoxin found his reaction both amusing and endearing.

After the meal, Ruyi cleared the table, brewed tea, and withdrew.

Yin Ruoxin gracefully rose, pouring tea for Yang Yaozong, “I am very happy today and deeply grateful for your gift. This is the best present I have ever received.” Her words were sincere, her demeanor heartfelt.

Yang Yaozong sipped his tea, eyes smiling with a hint of mischief, “If I said today’s gifts weren’t limited to these vegetables and dishes, but that I have something else—something you greatly desire and will love—would you believe me?”

Yin Ruoxin’s eyes widened in surprise, “Another gift?” She wondered how he knew what she hoped for or liked. Her cheeks flushed, but curiosity and anticipation blossomed in her heart.

Seeing her shy surprise, a rare bashfulness, Yang Yaozong smiled, “Yes. Look, Miss Yin, these sweet potatoes and potatoes may seem ordinary, but have great uses. For example, sweet potatoes are sweet when raw, soft and fragrant when cooked, and very filling. They can serve as staple food. They are highly adaptable, drought-resistant, unafraid of locusts, and yield abundantly. A family of three or four, with just one acre, could have enough food for a year. Sweet potatoes can be planted at any time—even if the prime season is missed, they can still be grown. The stems and leaves can feed livestock.”

At this, Yang Yaozong paused, took a sip of tea, and gazed at Yin Ruoxin’s excited face.

Yin Ruoxin’s beautiful eyes fixed on his gentle, earnest expression, full of excitement, admiration, confusion, and affection. She guessed why Yang Yaozong explained the sweet potato’s growth and value in such detail. Her teeth bit her lip, her hand clenched into a fist, so moved her nails pressed into her palm. She stared at this ever-curious, ever-surprising man, her eyes misted as she trembled, “You mean sweet potatoes can be grown in my hometown? And they yield well, serving as staple food? Then... then my people would no longer suffer hunger and hardship.” Tears welled up as she looked to Yang Yaozong, seeking his confirmation.

Yang Yaozong saw her tears at the thought of sweet potatoes improving her people’s lives, and instinctively reached to wipe them, but reconsidered and withdrew, nodding firmly to reassure her. He continued, “The Wuling mountains, Xuefeng range, and Jiuyi hills of Xiangxi are poor in soil and resources. Traditionally, farming is minimal, and fertilizer is unknown, which restricts agriculture. Sweet potatoes are drought-resistant, pest-resistant, and yield high and stable crops. They can be grown on hills and mountains, perfectly suited to Xiangxi’s terrain. They adapt to climate, temperature, season, and soil—spring, summer, autumn varieties can be planted nine months of the year. In Xiangxi, for example, summer sweet potatoes are planted in May or June and harvested in October. Two crops a year—plant in February, harvest in June, then plant again and harvest in October. Their short growth cycle and strong roots mean after harvest, the roots and stalks can be left to enrich the soil, reducing erosion and making the land fertile. Tomatoes, peppers, and potatoes can also be grown in Xiangxi, but introducing so many new plants at once risks attracting attention and interference from those with ulterior motives. Filling stomachs comes first; tastes can wait. Potatoes can be planted but are better suited for cooler regions—northwest or northeast. We have few seeds now, but once I cultivate more, I’ll give you most, so you can have them brought to your homeland for widespread cultivation. I’ll also train people in planting, who will go with your envoys to help your people, teaching all the techniques for planting, harvesting, and seed preservation.”

The more Yin Ruoxin listened, the more moved she became, tears streaming down her cheeks. This mysterious man was gradually entering her heart. Originally, they were unrelated; though fate had brought them together, it always seemed she admired him alone. Yet he remembered her words from that day, and sought ways to help her people. No one had ever cared for her people like this. She dared not look into Yang Yaozong’s clear, spirited eyes, turning her gaze aside, wiping her tears, and trembling, “Why do you do this?” She knew he didn’t harbor romantic feelings for her, so she wanted to understand why he would go so far—was it friendship, or something deeper? Was it really so simple? She wondered.

Yang Yaozong saw her confusion and looked out toward the hall’s door, speaking slowly, “I remember my first visit, when you told me your people suffered discrimination and unfair treatment, lacking food and warm clothing. Then, I had no power to defend against what you had seen and lived. Even now, I cannot explain away the injustice toward minorities in Great Zhou. In today’s social system, with technology and civilization not yet advanced enough, differences in faith and custom highlight certain conflicts. You may not fully understand, but today I can say this: I want to help you, to do what little I can. I’m not great; I consider you a friend and wish to help my friend, nothing more. In my heart, there is no distinction of ethnicity—Miao or Han, all are people of Great Zhou. Nor do I see class divisions. Perhaps one day, as I hope, all peoples will live together harmoniously, belonging to one great family. Then, there will be no hierarchy, all will be equal, discrimination gone. Everyone will be prosperous, helping and advancing together.”

Yin Ruoxin, listening to his words, was increasingly astonished. His speech was slow but powerful. Some parts she didn’t grasp, but those she did were etched into her heart. She regarded Yang Yaozong intently; today he seemed both familiar and strange. She was puzzled, yet firmly believed his vision was right. “No classes, no hierarchy, equality, prosperity, mutual support... Will that day truly come?” She gazed into the distance, dreaming, softly murmuring as if to herself or to Yang Yaozong.

Yang Yaozong heard her gentle murmur, still looking ahead, nodded lightly, “It will. Someday, it will come.”

Both fell silent, gazing at the scenery beyond the small hall, as if seeing the beautiful nation Yang Yaozong had described.