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Chapter 50
Chapter 50. Fishing Day
The two of them left the mansion and walked east.
The sky was only just beginning to brighten, and the mist on the streets had not yet fully dispersed. The stone-paved road was damp, making squelching sounds beneath their feet, and somewhere in the distance, a dog was barking.
Shulia walked ahead, turned through two alleys, and entered a street Fick had never taken before.
On both sides were timber-framed houses. The windows protruding from the second floors made the already narrow alley seem even tighter. When he looked up, the eaves on either side were nearly touching, leaving only a long, thin strip of sky.
W̆е́b̂ ñо̇v̀ е ĺ Èǹ u m̌а̃
The alley was filled with the sweetness of malt and a faint sour smell of fermentation.
“Here.” Shulia stopped in front of a door.
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The wooden storefront had been painted dark green, though the paint had peeled off in several places. There was no signboard above the door, only the image of a cup carved into the lintel, with hot steam rising from its rim.
Shulia led Fick inside by the hand. The interior was larger than it appeared from outside. Long tables and chairs lined the walls, and shelves were filled with ceramic jars of all sizes. Several paintings hung on the walls, but whatever they had once depicted was no longer visible. They had been blackened by smoke.
Two people sat at a table by the window. When they heard movement, they raised their heads and glanced over, then quickly lowered them again.
Fick noticed that their legs were trembling beneath the table.
Е̊n̊ u m̃ а
Shulia chose a seat farther inside, with her back to the wall and her face toward the door. Fick sat opposite her.
“This is a place I often visit,” Shulia said. “In all of Saint-Denis, only this shop serves a decent breakfast.”
As soon as she finished speaking, the curtain at the back was lifted, and an old woman came out. She was in her sixties, with a filthy apron tied around her waist. When she saw Shulia, there was no expression on her face. She walked over, took two clean cups from the pocket of her apron, and set them on the table.
“The usual?”
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“Mm.”
Fick looked at the two ceramic cups. The rough-glazed rims had two small chips in them. The liquid in the cups was dark red and thick, like fruit wine that had been left too long.
Е̌ ñ ů mа́
“This is...”
“Home-brewed grape wine.” Shulia picked it up and took a sip. “During wartime in the past, nobles used to eat like this. They dipped bread in red wine for breakfast. Later, it fell out of fashion, but this shop kept the tradition.”
The old woman came out again. This time, she was carrying a wooden tray with a piece of white cloth over it. Something beneath the cloth bulged slightly.
She set the tray on the table and lifted the cloth.
The inside of the bread was snow-white, while the crust had been baked golden brown. Several cracks had split open across its surface, revealing the soft crumb within. Steam rose from it, mixed with the rich, cooked fragrance of wheat.
The old woman then took a small ceramic jar from her apron and set it heavily on the table.
Dilarang mengopy novel dari Enuma.id.
“Butter.”
After saying that, she turned and left without giving them another glance. Shulia reached out, tore off a piece of bread, and handed it to Fick.
“Come taste it, you little glutton.”
Fick took it and bit into it. It was extremely soft. His teeth sank into it, and a wave of wheat fragrance rose at once.
Shulia took a bite of bread dipped in red wine and slowly chewed.
“After the empire was founded, the royal family began making heavy use of all kinds of craftsmen and improved many of the Orc Dynasty’s outdated production methods.” She pointed at the small ceramic jar on the table with her bread. “Butter was also a luxury at that time. A cow had to be milked for a long time just to make one small piece.”
Ё n u m̈ а̀ . і́d̊
Fick picked up the ceramic jar. Inside was a pale-yellow, soft paste with a layer of moisture on top.
“What about now?”
Dilarang mengopy novel dari Enuma.id.
“It is much cheaper now,” Shulia said, using her bread to scoop up a little butter and spread it evenly. “As long as you have money, you can eat it. But there are not many people who know how to eat it properly.”
She took a bite of the bread with butter. “First, drink two mouthfuls of wine to give your mouth some flavor. Then eat the white bread and savor the fragrance of the wheat. After that, spread butter on it and taste the richness of the milk.” She chewed and narrowed her eyes. “Finally, use the remaining bread to wipe the plate clean.”
By the time they finished eating and took a carriage to the Holy River docks, the sun had just climbed to the height of the rooftops.
The figures on the opposite bank had shrunk into tiny silhouettes. The reeds grew taller than people, rustling loudly whenever the wind blew through them. Occasionally, birds skimmed across the water, their wings striking the surface and splashing up droplets.
Wе̄ b ñ о̇v е l̀ E n_u m̆ӓ
Fick and Shulia walked along the riverbank, searching for a suitable spot. After a dozen or so steps, they saw seven or eight people scattered along the riverbank, all fishing.
Some wore coarse cloth jackets, some wore straw hats, and two were sitting on folding stools, looking as though they had some money.
But the moment they saw Shulia, they all stood up.
Those who were putting away their rods put away their rods, and those who were reeling in their lines reeled in their lines. Their movements were extremely nimble. One old man did not even take his fish basket properly. He bent over, hugged it in his arms, and ran, spilling water from the basket all over his trouser leg.
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Another, younger man hurriedly burrowed into the reed bed in a panic, dragging his fishing rod along the ground. The hook caught on the roots of the grass and nearly tripped him.
In less than half a cup of tea’s time, the riverbank was empty. Only a few fishing floats remained bobbing on the water.
Ӗ n um а̌ . іd̈
Fick turned his head and looked at Shulia.
“You will get used to it,” Shulia said without much expression, though the corner of her mouth twitched. She found a flat stone and sat down.
Fick sat beside her and untied the fishing rod from his waist. He screwed the two sections of bamboo rod together, tied on the hook, and hung a small piece of bait from it. This was bait Fick had personally made the night before: black bread dipped in a little lard and kneaded into a ball.
He cast the line into the river. The float rose and sank on the water, drifting downstream with the current.
Shulia glanced at it. “The hook is wrong.”
Fick turned his head. “How so?”
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Shulia pointed at the water. “That hook bends too sharply. The angle for piercing the fish is not good. A proper fishhook should be like a crane’s neck, with a gentle curve. Only then will it easily hook the fish when it bites.”
She reached into her clothes, took out a small leather pouch, and tossed it to Fick.
Fick opened it and saw seven or eight fishhooks lying inside. They were copper, all of different sizes. Each one had roughly the same curve, a smooth arc from shank to point, like a waterbird bending its neck.
“I originally thought you were only fishing for fun.”
“Your girlfriend is first-rate in every aspect except popularity.”
Fick changed to one of the hooks and cast into the river again. The float rose back to the surface, much steadier this time.
Е̊ n̊ u̇ m̊ а
Shulia plucked two foxtail grasses from beside her. She held one in her own mouth and tucked the other beside Fick’s ear.
There was a rustling in the reeds in the distance.
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The fishermen who had run away were crouching behind the reeds, poking out half their heads to look this way. An uncle wearing a sun hat widened his eyes. “Am I dreaming? That female tyrant who releases the fish from other people’s traps whenever she fails to catch anything is actually dating someone? That kid must have been fooled by her appearance.”
The others deeply agreed.
Shulia had clearly sensed that someone was talking about her behind her back. Her expression turned cold, and she made a throat-slitting gesture toward the reeds. The fishermen were so frightened that they forgot even their fishing gear and fled into the distance in a flash.
Only then did Shulia turn back proudly, only to see Fick’s mouth twitching, his expression half-controlled and half-ready to collapse.
Е̂ ńū m̌ӑ . іd
“Those old men were scolded by me once last year,” Shulia explained. “They set fine-line cages in the river and caught all the small fry imported from foreign countries.”
“I told them to take the cages away, but they refused, so I cut all the cage lines.”
“All right, all right. I know my Miss Shulia has been misunderstood again.”
“You are brushing me off. Hmph!”
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