Chapter 2: The County Magistrate Inspects Hexia Town — Auspicious Purple Clouds Seek the Root of the Star

Previously, we spoke of how the magistrate observed several boatmen coming ashore from the Grand Canal, some of whom entered a nearby snack shop to dine. Not far off stood Chen’s Noodle House, bustling with customers coming and going—its business was thriving.

These “Spring Noodles” derived their name from Shanyang County and were commonly known as Soy Sauce Noodles. The preparation was remarkably simple: also called “Clear Broth Noodles,” they were served in a light, savory soup, delicate and refreshing on the palate. In local tradition, the tenth lunar month is called “Little Spring,” hence the name “Spring Noodles.”

With its simple, unpretentious appeal, the dish has remained a favorite among travelers passing through the ancient city of Huai’an, cherished by guests from all directions to this day.

Once the people from the canal were sated, they strolled to the lively Garment Street to purchase reasonably priced clothing for their families…

“Have you noticed,” the magistrate said, his eyes alight, “that Hexia Ancient Town, relying on the Grand Canal and our great Ming’s grain transport, is brimming with opportunity? Food, clothing, shelter, and transport—everything is here.”

“Our lord governs the county with such skill,” the advisor flattered him at just the right moment.

But the magistrate was too preoccupied with more pressing matters—he was eager to track the direction in which the two Azure Dragons had flown. The town before him bustled with life, so much so that the main district of Shanyang County could hardly be compared.

“Look, my lord,” a subordinate suddenly pointed out as they ambled along. The magistrate looked up to find a grand residence before him, the gate adorned with the gilded characters: “Shen Residence.”

At a glance, the magistrate could tell this was a family of scholars. Noting the steady flow of visitors, he turned to his men with interest, “Come, let’s see what’s happening in the Shen household.”

A house servant, seeing the official entourage approaching, hurried inside to report, “Master Shen, the county magistrate is here.”

The Shen family hailed from Dahewei, Huai’an Prefecture in Southern Zhili (now Meijia Lane, Zhuxiang Street, Hexia, Huai’an District, Jiangsu), with ancestral roots in Kunshan, Suzhou Prefecture (now Kunshan, Suzhou, Jiangsu). For generations, they had served in the military, though Shen’s father, Shen Wei, had turned to commerce.

The Shen residence boasted elaborately carved beams and painted rafters, the reception hall neatly arranged. A landscape painting graced the main wall, imbued with deep meaning. Before a long walnut side table stood an Eight Immortals table of nanmu wood and two exquisitely carved chairs.

Master Shen, with kindly features, sat beneath a cool arbor reading, so immersed in his book that he occasionally picked up a brush to annotate passages. Hearing of the magistrate’s arrival, he rose promptly and came to the gate.

Seeing the magistrate at his door, Master Shen bowed deeply, “I did not know my lord would honor us with a visit. Forgive me for not welcoming you sooner.”

“Forgive me for intruding,” the magistrate replied with a courteous salute.

“Please, my lord, come in.”

Glancing into the left wing, the magistrate saw thick coils of rope and rain capes neatly stored. “So the Shen family’s business is tied to canal transport,” he remarked.

“We also trade a little in tea,” Master Shen explained, leading the way to the right wing.

“Very good, very good,” the magistrate nodded.

Heading west, they passed an ancient well and a bustling kitchen where smoke curled from the stove. Walking straight ahead, the magistrate reached the main hall.

He surveyed the tranquil surroundings—the Shen residence was a haven of peace. In the elegant garden, broad lotus leaves swayed as though bowing in welcome. Red carp glided serenely in the pond, their leisure enough to arouse envy.

Deeper in, at one corner of the courtyard, a martial practice ground held racks of swords, spears, and halberds, immediately catching the magistrate’s eye.

“So, Master Shen, you practice the martial arts?”

“Only as a means of keeping fit, my lord. Mere flowery fists and fancy footwork,” Master Shen quickly replied.

The magistrate took in the refined décor—the shelves on either side lined mostly with books, though there were also various antiques. What drew his attention was a book on the Eight Immortals table: “Expanded Maxims for the Wise,” a favorite among Ming scholars.

“Forgive me, my lord. I only leaf through it on occasion,” Master Shen said, embarrassed, as he set the book aside.

“How old is your son, Master Shen?” the magistrate inquired as they stepped under the arbor at the entrance, shaded and breezy.

“Please, my lord, enjoy some tea. My young son is still at private school,” Master Shen replied, waiting on the magistrate and not daring to sit.

“Indeed. Of all ranks, only scholarship stands above the rest,” the magistrate mused as he strolled toward the gate, nodding sagely.

“In books, one finds houses of gold and beauties like jade. The Shen family will always heed your teachings, my lord—ignoring the world’s distractions and dedicating ourselves to the classics,” Master Shen vowed as he saw them off.

The magistrate and his party headed east, arriving at the lively, bustling Garment Street, which ran east to west. Here, the north and south thoroughfares converged, drawing townsfolk of every station—rich merchants and poor commoners alike—to linger and shop.

Suddenly, the magistrate looked east. From that direction, he saw a cloud of purple energy descend not far away; he hurried toward it, intent on finding its source.

“My lord, slow down!” his advisor called, struggling to keep pace.

In Wu’s Mansion in Hammer Lane, the household was in an uproar, for Madam Wu was in labor. Master Wu paced anxiously in the front hall. His wife had suffered greatly these past ten months, and the midwife had been inside for hours with no sign of a child. His wife’s anguished cries sent chills down his spine.

For the child, it was a race to be born; for the mother, a race with death. Master Wu knew that childbirth was a woman’s greatest trial.

As he listened to his wife’s pitiful cries, sweat dripped in great beads from Master Wu’s brow. Clasping his hands, he prayed to the heavens, “Heaven above, spare my wife her suffering—child, hurry into this world.”

“Madam, push! The head is out—harder, harder!” The midwife, drenched in sweat, urged her on.

On the bed, the woman’s face was pale, her hair disheveled. She summoned her last ounce of strength, and amidst her frantic screams, the midwife cried out. Then, with a series of sharp infant wails, the young master of the Wu family was born.

“Master Wu, congratulations! It’s a boy!” came the shout.

Wu Rui’s worry dissolved into a beaming smile. “Set off the firecrackers!”

On the street, the magistrate was startled by the sudden crackle of firecrackers. The noise, which shook half of Shanyang City, interrupted his discourse. Curious, he asked, “Who’s celebrating? Go and find out.”

One of his men, eager, ran toward the sound. East of Garment Street lay Bamboo Lane, and between the two streets stood the mansion of the prominent Wu family.

“My lord, I’ve found out!” the servant soon reported.

“Well, whose celebration is it?” the advisor asked, always quick to please.

“It’s the Wu family in Hammer Lane—they’ve just had a son,” the servant replied.

“So that’s it,” the magistrate nodded.

He gazed at the Wu mansion, where his subordinate had indicated. Sure enough, the purple energy had come to rest there. The magistrate pondered silently—could it be that the Star of Literary Talent had descended to earth?

“Congratulations, Master Wu!” Within Wu’s mansion, lanterns were lit and servants gathered to offer their felicitations.

What happens next? Stay tuned for the following chapter.