Chapter 2: Lamb Hotpot

The person on the other end of the line spoke a few words that left me without a trace of temper.

“It seems you’ve certainly done your homework to find me! Who exactly is your master? Speak plainly—what is it you want my help with?” I cut straight to the point, directing my question to the voice on the phone.

“My master knew you were a straightforward man, Lord Jiang! Here’s the thing: tonight at seven, my master will be waiting for you and Lord Wang at Huixin Pavilion for a hotpot dinner—lamb, of course. Let’s talk while we eat. Don’t be late!” With that, the caller hung up, not even waiting for my reply.

Clearly, they were sure I would accept the invitation—drawing a nose on a piece of paper, what a face! But just who was this so-called master of theirs? Should I go, or not? Judging from the current situation, it seemed Wang Fatty was in their hands, likely under their control. For someone with Wang Fatty’s skills to be subdued, the opposition’s strength was not to be underestimated.

On the surface, the caller was polite, but in truth, they were coming at me from two directions—soft and hard—ready for anything.

And what was so important that they went to such lengths to find me? In the call, they’d claimed to know everything about my family—was it true or just a bluff?

My family hails from Luoyang, Henan, generations scraping a living from the earth—our ancestors survived by tomb raiding and grave robbing.

It’s said there are three hundred and sixty trades, and every trade has its best. Yet, none are as disreputable or as shrouded in secrecy as tomb robbing. There’s an old saying: “Digging graves and opening tombs severs your path forever.”

So, by my generation, my grandfather swore a deadly oath: no more dragon seeking, no more grave robbing—he forbade me from ever touching that world again.

But as the saying goes, “A dog’s mouth yields no ivory, and a chicken coop breeds no phoenix.” Everyone has their own talents, some things are in your blood from birth. My veins ran with the blood of tomb raiders; that was something no one could change.

By the age of three, I was already playing with my grandfather’s bronze compass; at four, I was digging holes in the courtyard with a small spade—where I promptly unearthed my father’s secret stash of money. At five, I was showing off my bone-shrinking trick to my kindergarten classmates, earning pocket money. And that brings us to Wang Fatty.

The one who called me—Wang Fatty—was my childhood friend, a brother raised with me since we ran around bare-bottomed.

Wang Fatty was born into a family of martial artists; according to him, his ancestors served as generals in the Kangxi era of the Qing Dynasty, with several generations serving as Imperial Guards at the emperor’s side.

In kindergarten, my bone-shrinking performances made me the darling of the girls in every class. Wang Fatty, envious, gathered everyone and announced he’d perform his own family’s secret art—the Iron Crotch technique. He ended up being rushed to the hospital and nearly became a eunuch.

As I lay on my bed thinking it over, I finally decided to attend the dinner myself and see what their game was.

Huixin Pavilion was a century-old restaurant, famed for its hotpot—especially the lamb. Legend has it that during the days of Kublai Khan, grandson of Genghis Khan, the Mongol army, pressed for time while marching, had no leisure for proper meals. Kublai ordered his chefs to set up great pots, slicing lamb thin and boiling it quickly, so every soldier could scoop out meat and dip it into the local wild chive sauce—thus was the hotpot born.

Huixin Pavilion’s lamb hotpot was renowned for three reasons. First, the utensils—authentic and exquisite. The hotpot was the classic traditional purple copper, heated with fruitwood charcoal, glowing with a gentle red light. Second, the lamb—all sourced from the deepest reaches of the Horqin steppe, only using the “cucumber strip” back leg meat from lambs less than a year old, resulting in tender, flavorful slices without any gaminess or greasiness. Third, the secret broth and dipping sauce—recipes handed down for a hundred years and made with dozens of ingredients, their aroma drifting for miles, enough to make passersby drool.

Wang Fatty and I had grown up loving the hotpot at Huixin Pavilion—whoever invited us here clearly knew us well.

Before dusk, trays of neatly arranged, tender lamb slices had already been set out. The fruitwood charcoal glowed gently, the copper pots bubbling with milky broth and crimson spicy soup. Seated around the table, diners dipped lamb slices, toasted drinks, and found themselves enveloped in steam, as if floating on clouds.

As I reached the main hall, a burly man in a sharp black suit strode up to me, sizing me up with a cold gaze. “Lord Jiang, my master has been waiting for you upstairs,” he said, his voice icy.

Without a word, I glanced at him and followed his lead to the most secluded private room on the second floor. At the door stood two more men, identical in dress and build, motionless as statues.

Judging by their bearing and demeanor, these three were clearly not ordinary men—they felt more like trained soldiers. Once again, I wondered: just who was I dealing with?

Stepping inside, I saw Wang Fatty at once. He held a glass of beer in his left hand, chopsticks in his right, fishing a steaming slice of lamb from the pot, just about to eat it. Seeing him alive and well, I finally felt my nerves unwind.

Directly across from Wang Fatty, seated with her back to the door, was a young woman.

One glance at her and the phrase “slender and graceful” sprang to mind, followed swiftly by Li Bai’s line: “Like a lotus rising from clear water—naturally elegant, untouched by artifice.” I’d never imagined a woman’s presence could be so stunning.

“Hey, Lord Jiang, we called and called, and at last you appear—like the shepherd boy pointing to Apricot Blossom Village!” Wang Fatty leaped up with excitement, reciting nonsense verse.

The young woman stood as well, turning slowly to face me. Our eyes met, and for a moment, we simply gazed at one another.