Chapter Sixty-One: The Veteran of Anxi (Part Two)

The entire Song Yi family worked at the restaurant; they ate and slept there as well. Song Yi had no idea what Zhen Qian was planning—if there was something to be done, it would have sufficed to call his two sons, but he had summoned their wives too. Still, since the master had spoken, Song Yi dared not ask questions and simply followed Zhen Qian to a side room.

“Is there an ice chest here?”

Song Yi immediately shook his head. Such things weren’t found in ordinary households; only wealthy families with ice cellars would have them.

Zhen Qian continued, “Then bring two clean wooden and copper basins, some sugar, milk, and fresh fruit.”

Song Yi grew even more perplexed. He had merely mentioned wanting to buy some ice for the restaurant, but Zhen Qian seemed intent on preparing dishes. The two daughters-in-law were equally confused. The Tang Dynasty was open-minded—men and women mingled freely, women wandered the streets wearing veils, or even dressed as men, but there were still distinctions between the sexes. They could not fathom what Zhen Qian was up to.

“I’ll demonstrate once; watch closely,” Zhen Qian said, pulling out saltpeter and pouring it into a bucket of water. Making ice with saltpeter was simple—just a novel idea. He stirred the saltpeter in the water with a stick, dissolving it slowly. The clear water turned cloudy, then gray-white, and soon began to churn as if quicklime had been added. White vapor rose from the surface, capturing the family’s attention; they stared, transfixed. The boiling stopped, and the water began to solidify, forming the characteristic ripples of ice.

They gathered around Zhen Qian, not knowing what he intended, but the more they watched, the greater their astonishment. At last, when a block of ice, billowing cold vapor, appeared in the copper basin, they were struck speechless.

“This… this is a miracle!”

Seeing the ice, Song Yi’s knees gave way and he nearly knelt to kowtow before the basin.

Anticipating this reaction, Zhen Qian grabbed Song Yi and said, “This is not a miracle, nor magic—it’s a secret technique, and now I’m passing it to your family. Never teach it to outsiders, or there will be consequences!”

A little intimidation was necessary—if word got out, his scheme for profit would be ruined. But Song Yi’s family had no such intention; they were already frightened by this mysterious display, believing it some arcane art, and they hurriedly nodded their assent.

Wang Qun and a few others, who already knew the truth, kept silent, though they too were amazed.

Zhen Qian was surprised to find that the Tang Dynasty already had a primitive juicer—a lever mechanism fixed to a long bench, where fruit was placed in a groove connected to the spout, and the lever pressed juice from the fruit, much like the noodle presses common in later generations in Shaanxi.

He first made a basin of pure ice, then mixed milk, sugar, and fruit juice to create a basin of icy fruit drink. Using a scraper, he shaved bowls of ice slush and handed them to those present.

“Try it and see what you think.”

Song Yi’s family held bowls of cold slush, stunned beyond words. It was unbelievable—if they hadn’t witnessed it themselves, they would never believe water could freeze in summer. Yet it had happened right before their eyes.

Song Yi could hardly taste the cold slush; his mind was swirling, as if Buddhist chants echoed in his ears.

His two sons, Song Yu and Song Jiang, hugged a copper basin of ice and grinned foolishly, “Making ice in summer is incredible—now the restaurant’s business will boom!”

Zhen Qian slapped Song Yi’s shoulder, snapping him from his reverie. “You now know how to make ice with saltpeter. Besides adding milk, sugar, and fruit juice, you can mix in cooked red beans, green beans, and nuts for different flavors. Sell them as ice slush, or use bamboo tubes for takeaway. Send your daughters-in-law to my house to learn cake-making from Xiao Zhu and Xiao Mei. In the future, Drunken Immortal Pavilion will offer not only dishes but also all kinds of pastries and ice slush. Do you think this will boost summer sales?”

“It will… it definitely will!” Song Yi replied without hesitation. “With a steady supply of ice, the restaurant will flourish. With your ice slush and cakes, fame is inevitable!”

“Rest assured—using saltpeter, after the ice melts, leave the basin in the sun to evaporate the water, and you’ll recover the saltpeter for reuse. I’ve brought enough saltpeter for you to make ice all summer.”

“If you’ve thought of everything, there’s no problem!” With over ten years of management experience, Song Yi needed little guidance; a leader who micromanages dampens initiative. So Zhen Qian simply gave a few pointers on precautions and sales strategies, leaving Song Yi to handle the rest.

Song Yi took note and raised a few questions. “The price of ice slush might be high. Is it suitable to sell in the restaurant? Not many people are dining here lately—should we find a way to promote it?”

“The price isn’t an issue—start with buy-one-get-one-free. You control the cost; I won’t interfere. As for sales…” Zhen Qian noted the restaurant’s location was a bit remote, but nothing could be done. After thinking, he suggested uncertainly, “Could we sell ice slush on the street, like peddlers?”

Wang Qun chimed in, “That’s a good idea. The bakery next door often sells with a cart around town.”

There were city managers in later times, but who knew if the Tang Dynasty had regulations. Zhen Qian cautiously asked, “Would the patrols object?”

Song Yi frowned, “If we sell ice slush on the street, not only the patrols, but idle men might be drawn in. Better to sell at the market—just pay a small tax and set up a stall openly. Besides, we’re just building the Drunken Immortal Pavilion’s brand, not running a long-term operation; our main business is still the restaurant, so there’ll be less trouble.”

Zhen Qian didn’t want to draw attention, but staying low-profile wasn’t working—Drunken Immortal Pavilion’s reputation was stagnant, so a bold move was needed.

“Let’s do that. If necessary, slip the patrols some money, and even make extra iced water to give free to porters and peddlers passing by. Buy a few older maidservants to help in the shop…”

“Good! I’ll go to the slave market right away,” Wang Qun said, turning to leave.

Song Yi told his daughters-in-law, “Cook some red and green beans, get fruit and nuts, make extra ice slush to give neighbors, and borrow the bakery’s cart for a few days.”

He then instructed his sons, “Repeat Zhen Qian’s ice-making steps a few times, prepare more buckets and basins—this room will be used for ice-making only, no one else allowed!”

Zhen Qian and Wang Qun did not interfere further with Song Yi’s arrangements; leaving the room, Wang Qun went to the slave market. Nearby, lively Ju Niang, unafraid of freezing her teeth, stood under the blazing sun, sweating yet clutching a large bowl of ice slush. She gulped it down, grimacing from the cold, and when she saw Zhen Qian coming out, she hastily hid the bowl behind her back and flashed him a cute smile.

“Careful not to freeze your teeth. Ask Wang Sheng—last time his toothache made him bang his head against the wall until he knocked himself out, to no avail. Are you planning to try that?”

Ju Niang glared at Zhen Qian, startled, “Didn’t you say eating too much sugar causes toothaches? Now you say ice does it too? I don’t believe a word you say!”

“Suit yourself,” Zhen Qian replied, not bothered whether Ju Niang believed him. Seeing Song Yi emerge from the room, he said, “Let’s have lunch here before leaving. Go make preparations.”

By midday, the restaurant was sweltering under the sun, like a steaming basket. Zhen Qian and his companions found a relatively cool corner and sat down. Song Yi brought basins of freshly made ice into the dining hall, placing them in well-ventilated spots.

Soon, bowls of fresh ice slush were served. Wang Peng ordered a pot of spirits, which he chilled on the ice, waiting for Wang Qun to return and join him.

Zhen Qian ordered a bowl of grape wine, added a few ice cubes, and swirled the bowl, making it ring like a bell. The cold, refreshing wine slipped down his throat, prompting him to praise, “Excellent wine!”

At some point, Song Yi appeared at the table, supporting a middle-aged man. Everyone at the table rose together.

“He’s awake!”

“Yes… just now,” Song Yi said, seating the man—Yan Ming, whom they had rescued in the mountains yesterday. “I just went to Yan’s room and found him awake. He insisted on thanking Zhen Qian face-to-face!”

“Yan Sergeant!”

The title struck Zhen Qian as odd, but he followed Song Yi’s lead. “Yan Sergeant…”

Yan Ming lifted a weak arm. “Don’t call me Sergeant anymore. I’ve left the army; I was just a squad leader. Now I’m an ordinary farmer—call me Brother Yan or Yan Erlang.”