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That man gave her a side-glance, dawdled down the stool and then slowly climbed down the table. ”We will end here today.”

The restless crowd let out a collective sigh of liberation.

”As usual, those who aren't married, get out.” That man ambled into the kitchen as he continued, ”Otherwise… I'll make you vomit it out.”

Meng Fuyao, who was sipping her tea, spurted it out. Zhangsun Wuji smiled as he gently patted her back. Meng Fuyao turned back with teary eyes and said, ”Why is this dude so grumpy…”

Even though this grumpy man looked tough on the exterior, his dishes were indeed unrivaled. Meng Fuyao sat in the cabin, smelling the seductive, ambrosial aroma as she sighed. ”How fragrant!”

”He just started the fire,” a customer beside her commented unnecessarily.

”It's done! It's done!” Meng Fuyao exclaimed excitedly with sparkling eyes after a moment.

”He just put in some condiments.” Another customer acted as a wet blanket.

After a while more, Meng Fuyao climbed onto the stool and looked around. The customers below shushed her uniformly. ”Calm down, he only just put the fish in the pot!”

Meng Fuyao, thoroughly and utterly tortured by the mouth-watering scent, was writhing restlessly in her seat, seriously considering the idea of deploying 3,000 here to help the chef cook. Suddenly, the curtain at the end of the cabin flung open, and a pleasant-looking girl brought out the dishes, serving to every customer. With a melodious voice, she announced, ”First dish, Mandarinfor visiting.

The chef yelled, ”Whoever picked it up, bite half of it and give it to the other party!”

Meng Fuyao exploded. In a fit of rage, she quit listening to the chef. ”What a miser, can't you afford two fishballs?”

”Fishballs?” The chef looked at her with contempt. He crossed his arms and looked up at the sky silently. Meng Fuyao glared at him and gritted her teeth. The lady at the next table smiled. ”Miss, you may not have known this, but this is no ordinary fishball. This fishball was made from the 'Fish of Seven Treasures' from the golden river. As it often traverses large distances, the meat is tangy and bouncy, perfect for making fishballs. However, as the golden river is too far away, only one in a million survive the journey. It is already a feat that they can serve one fishball per table. Even this one single fishball costs 100 tales.”

Meng Fuyao rubbed her nose in chagrin. ”Country bumpkin seethed the chef.”

Meng Bumpkin had no choice but to push the fishball across the table. She swallowed her saliva and told Zhangsun Wuji, ”You can have it.”

Despite her sacrifice, the chef refused to let it go, yelling, ”Share! Share! Are y'all posing as a couple?”

”So what if we are?” Meng Fuyao leaped up and rolled up her sleeves. ”What can you do to me?”

The chef didn't respond but pointed to a sign near the cabin door. Meng Fuyao then saw that it wrote: ”Those that impersonate couples, please strip and swim back to shore nude.”

”Ahh… Why did you not remind me?” Meng Fuyao poked Zhangsun Wuji. The boat was smack in the middle of the wide river. To swim back would be too pitiful.

”It's alright.” Zhangsun Wuji smiled. ”I feel that no matter what happens, I won't lose out.” He picked up the fishball and asked, ”Why do you have to entertain him? Just eat the fishball, and the problem resolves itself.” He bit off half of the fishball gently, and conveniently fed the other half to Meng Fuyao, who had opened her mouth to lecture him.

Meng Fuyao: ”…”

Zhangsun Wuji savored the food, nodded, and went back to sipping his tea. ”Hm, great taste,” he commented. Suddenly, he stretched his hand over and gently patted the back of her neck. With much commiseration, he asked, ”Did you choke?” He tried to help her breath again as he continued, ”Don't be too agitated.”

Teary-eyed Meng Fuyao: ”…”

When the second dish was served, Meng Fuyao crawled out from her internal struggle as her eyes focused on the dish—away from Zhangsun Wuji. The name of this dish: Peach Blossoms.

Indeed, the dish lived up to its name. In its clear broth, there were bits and pieces of light pink snail meat floating peacefully it in, like peach blossoms making their way down the stream. The aroma was strong yet not sickening, refreshing like the peach blossoms as the wind caresses the trees.

”From this dish onwards, your relationship as a married couple will be put to the test. This is the Golden River's famous peach snail; an extremely tough ingredient that demands high levels of skills from the chef. If done well, it will be fresh and succulent. But if not well prepared, it will be fishy and hard to swallow. The two extremes resemble the love life of a married couple—a loving marriage or one filled with hatred or complaints. This dish will tell me which couples you all belong to.”

Meng Fuyao was deep in thought trying to figure out the connection between the test and the snail meat, but it was quickly broken by the chef. ”To all the husbands here,” the chef asked, ”How many of your wife's ten fingerprints are spiraled? How many are loops?”

Meng Fuyao slammed down her palm on the table, her anger was fueled once more. What a detailed, tough question! Who would be that free to count the number of spirals on his wife's fingers? Putting the husband aside, even she herself didn't even have any inkling to the answer.

As expected, a good half of the people couldn't answer the question. Without an ounce of civility, the chef threatened them to hand over the fees for the meal. The wives were provided a small boat to sail back to the shore while the husbands were forced to strip and swim back to shore in this cold, freezing water of the early autumn.