The morning light has not yet penetrated, but the blue cloth official sedan has passed by the entrance of the alley. The Hanlin Academy editor in the sedan was holding an oil-paper bag, and the crab-shell yellow sesame puff pastry was still hot to his hands. When they got off the sedan chair at the Forbidden City, three or five officials were gathering together, exchanging fried liver and door-nailed meatloaf brought from Dashilan. This was the early morning for officials in the capital.
The days when he was released to the prefecture were another story. Mao Shi went to court to ask questions, and after leaving the court, the master held up a food box: Jinling's salted duck dripping with rouge brine, Yangzhou's crab meat and lion's head slurping in a casserole. As night fell, the heat of the mutton pot floated in the back office hall. The staff talked and laughed around the copper pot, cooking Suiyuan lamb slices.
The most down-to-earth one is undoubtedly the Qipin County Magistrate. Before dawn, I would drink millet porridge with pickled cucumbers, and a side dish of vinegared cabbage and pancakes at noon, but I would have to listen to the third shift of yamen officers going back to the market to report which house had newly brewed plum wine, and which restaurant had introduced eight-treasure gourd duck. In this mezzanine where he was hosting the governor's banquet and smelling the incense on the stove below, he slowly tasted the true taste of being an official: running a country is like cooking fresh food. When the heat is up, the natural taste will linger.
