Xiangyun Island lay beneath the evening clouds, level and calm,
Before the Fishbone Temple, tides rose with the song of the sea.
My heart only cherishes the prince crab,
Yet my dear prefers the beauty razor clam.
Mei Qing and a few others were on the upper floor of the tavern, discussing their next move, when suddenly a distant melody floated up from below.
The song rang like a stream of crystal, clear and refreshingly pure. Turning quickly, they spotted a small boat that had silently moored at the dock beneath the tavern. A tall girl, wearing a coarse blue-patterned dress, stood holding a long pole. Singing a fisherman’s tune, she gently pushed off from the shore stones, guiding the boat to a smooth stop.
“Hey, isn’t that Sweetie? Why aren’t you at home preparing to be a bride, and instead come to town looking for your groom?” A young man teased with a grin, as a group of men nearby, who had been watching a street magician, turned to look.
“Go ask your grandma!” The girl shot back sharply, her voice crisp and bright. The crowd burst into laughter, leaving the young man blushing furiously.
Sweetie giggled, her big eyes flashing mischievously as she glared at him. Then, with a smug little hum, she stepped off the boat. She reached into the hull and pulled out two large bamboo baskets, each holding a soaked grass-wrapped bundle, clearly heavy. With practiced ease, she hoisted one in each hand, leapt onto a large stone by the shore, and called out cheerfully, “Uncle Pang, I’ve brought the crabs!”
Mei Qing, watching from above, noted the girl’s sun-darkened skin and her tall, athletic figure. Her large eyes sparkled with life, and though plainly dressed, she exuded a natural charm, unpretentious and fresh. Standing there, lively and radiant, she brought a gentle smile to Mei Qing’s face.
The girl seemed to sense his gaze and glanced at him a few times. When she saw his smile remained unchanged, she gave him a sharp, almost warning look.
Just then, a slightly aged voice called out, “Is that Sweetie? Why didn’t your father come?”
An elderly, stout man emerged from the side door of the tavern, smiling as he said, “You rascal girl, with your wedding day coming up, why aren’t you staying home? Where’s your dad?”
“My dad’s backache flared up again, so I came instead. Uncle Pang, Dad said these are all male crabs, specially picked for you. They’re still fat and fresh.”
“Good, good,” Uncle Pang nodded repeatedly. “Your dad knows his crabs. Ah, what a blessing for him to have a daughter like you. But once you marry Ah Shan, your dad will be left missing you terribly.”
“Ah Shan wouldn’t dare. If he ever mistreats my dad, I’ll whack him into Low Tide Bay with my pole!” Sweetie laughed brightly, unashamed.
“Waiter! Waiter!” The fat man Huang, his small eyes gleaming, shouted. “What did that girl mean by ‘male crabs’?”
The waiter smiled. “Sir, you may not know—crabs come in male and female. The females have round bellies, the males have pointed ones. Around here, we call the pointed-bellied males ‘fork-bellies,’ and ‘fork’ refers to the male crab.”
“Oh?” Huang blinked. “But aren’t people supposed to eat the yellow-fleshed ones? Are these ‘forks’ better?”
“It depends on the season. In early autumn, the round-bellied females are full of roe and taste best. But now, after autumn, the females are empty, so the males are the better choice—fatty and fragrant.” As he spoke, the waiter placed several large dishes on the table. “Sir, these are top-quality male crabs—full of white meat, you’ll see once you taste them.”
Mei Qing smiled. “Waiter, that girl’s song was quite impressive. Is it a local folk tune?”
The waiter shook his head. “No, actually, Sweetie is from the harbor. There’s a Mr. Shi there who writes these songs. The ‘prince crab’ in the song refers to these autumn male crabs, and the ‘beauty razor clam’ is the ‘two-legged clam’ from our local waters. These clams have two white ‘legs,’ tender and chewy, hence the name.”
Intrigued, Mei Qing reached for a clam with his chopsticks. The clam, a long-shelled bivalve with two slender appendages resembling legs, was likely the origin of its name. The tavern prepared it simply—boiled in the shell, served in a bowl with broth and dipping sauces. One only needed to pluck the meat, rinse it in the broth, and dip it in the sauce.
Mei Qing tried it. The texture was tender, the flavor fresh and delicious. Meanwhile, the impatient Huang had already devoured over a dozen, exclaiming, “Great! So good!”
The waiter chuckled. “Sir, though tasty, don’t eat too many. Too much may upset your stomach. Here’s some warm white spirit to help.” He brought out several porcelain jugs of heated liquor, pouring a round for everyone.
Mei Qing raised a cup and drank it down. A fiery warmth spread through his chest, the aroma rich and strong. He took a crab, as the waiter had shown, removed the lid and the soft sac, revealing rich white flesh. He took a small bite with the crab claw—it melted in his mouth, truly living up to its reputation.
Huang, feasting with gusto, shouted, “Hey waiter, where’s our catfish? We’re waiting for the tail you promised!”
“Patience, sir! As the saying goes, ‘a thousand boils for tofu, ten thousand for fish.’ Slow cooking is what makes it good. Just a bit longer!” The waiter bowed and smiled as he rushed back and forth.
A small fishing boat like a drifting leaf,
Rowed with a song of peace and ease.
At dusk, nets cast in bustling light,
Purple crabs and silver fish in tide’s embrace.
As people watched, Sweetie, as quietly as she had arrived, delivered the crabs, sang her song, and drifted away in her boat.
“Huh?” A surprised voice suddenly echoed upstairs. Mei Qing and the others turned to see an old Taoist priest who had somehow appeared on the floor.
The priest was short and stout, dressed in a ragged robe, his hair disheveled, a few sparse whiskers on his chin, and a red, wine-stained nose. He squinted at Sweetie outside, a flash of sharpness in his eyes before returning to a drowsy haze, as if he had just woken from a drunken sleep.
“How strange…” The old priest stroked his sparse beard, then dragged his feet to an empty table, leaning a tattered banner against it. Mei Qing and the others saw the banner, scrawled with crooked characters: “Zhang Tie Kou” — and below it: “One Pair.”
The priest sat down and rapped the table. “Waiter! Waiter! Come over here!”
The waiter hurried up, smiling. “Sir, what can I get you?”
“Why all the questions? Just bring out whatever good stuff you’ve got—aren’t the tables around here all occupied? Give this Taoist here the same order. Don’t be fooled by my ragged clothes; compared to those demonic cultists decked out in finery, I’ve got far more credit!” The old Taoist glanced sideways at the sky and spoke with a brash, unbothered tone.
The tavern wasn’t crowded—aside from Mei Qing’s table, only a few others were occupied. Though the priest didn’t name names, Mei Qing clearly sensed his hostility toward them.
Mei Qing studied the priest closely, detecting no trace of spiritual energy. Judging from his manner, he seemed like a wandering fortune teller. Why he bore such animosity was unclear. But since their mission was urgent, Mei Qing chose to ignore it and continued eating.
The waiter, sensing the priest’s provocations, simply smiled and said, “Coming right up!” He poured the priest a cup of tea and hurried off.
Huang, a seasoned official, and Hou Shen, a veteran swordsman, both sensed the priest’s hostility. But since Mei Qing led the group, they refrained from acting. Huang kept his usual grin, eating heartily. Hou Shen, however, looked grim, silently drinking and staring out the window.
“Sir, your catfish is ready!” Just as the mood grew tense, the waiter’s cheerful voice rang from the stairs as he rushed up with two large plates.
He placed them on Mei Qing’s and the other tables. “This is our local whiskered catfish. Look at its size—hard to find such plump ones even in Yongping Prefecture!”
Mei Qing and the others nodded in approval. The catfish were over a meter long, with thick whiskers and fatty bodies. The chef had cooked them to perfection—richly colored, aromatic, and mouthwatering.
Huang couldn’t wait. He grabbed a tail, took a big bite, and mumbled, “Mmm, great!”
The others laughed at his eagerness. Just as they were about to dig in, the priest’s voice rang out from behind:
“Catfish! In the name of the Three Pure Ones, who dares eat catfish!”
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