Delicacies

The carriage rolled onward, passing towering walls and through the gates... finally arriving at the heart of this colossal beast.

Carrying his small leather suitcase, Tang Feiliu had no chance to rest before being led into a bedroom within the castle. The room was unexpectedly simple in its furnishings. On the enormous bed, wrapped in furs, lay a man with parched lips and a flushed complexion. He had jet-black short hair, deeply chiseled features, a large, high nose, and a pronounced curve in the center of his chin. Though visibly ill and haggard, his ruggedly masculine appearance and likely formidable personality were still evident.

Tang Feiliu approached, touched his forehead, then examined his tongue coating and lips. Instantly alarmed—this should have been merely a wind-cold flu. Yet the servant had mentioned on the way that Edward had coughed for six or seven days before developing a fever... Calculating the timeline, even though he'd rushed here as fast as possible, the duke had already been feverish for nearly two days. He must lower the fever immediately. Otherwise, even if he survived, he could become an idiot. Who knew what trouble that might bring upon him.

After his examination, Tang Feiliu swiftly issued a series of orders: "His Grace has a cold, hence the fever. Quickly fetch some cold water and soft towels..." Feeling this response was still too slow, he gritted his teeth and addressed the duke's personal valet beside him: "Do you have any wine?"

The valet, Ivan, looked utterly bewildered. Tang Feiliu cut him off: "No time for explanations. Just fetch several barrels of white wine... No, wait—I'll go myself..."

The Duke of Edward had been feverish for far too long. He had to bring Edward's temperature down quickly before treating the inflammation and fever.

To cool him down quickly, there was a time-tested folk remedy: rubbing alcohol all over the body to aid heat dissipation... But damn it, in his memories, the Lotte Empire had white wine and red wine, yet these rustic folk still hadn't mastered distilled spirits. In China during this era, baijiu already reached 40-50 proof, while these burly men were still drinking wine barely over 10 proof.

Whether ten-degree wine would work was anyone's guess. Fortunately, Tang Feiliu had recently read a farming novel where a time-traveling predecessor had documented distillation methods for making high-proof spirits to build wealth. He figured purifying the alcohol should be manageable in time.

Tang Feiliu raced out the door, heading straight for the kitchen. He directed servants to drill a hole in a large wooden barrel, inserted a hollowed-out bamboo tube through it, secured the iron lid tightly, and connected the hastily assembled bamboo conduit. They filled the barrel with white wine and set it over a fire to boil, with a large iron basin attached to the end of the bamboo tube.

Excellent. Next was maintaining a steady temperature—certainly not precise, but... As the distilled spirit flowed through the bamboo tube, cooled by the water in the barrel, it condensed and pooled. When a basinful had collected, Tang Feiliu tried to lift it. Yet his sixteen-year-old frame, though now fairer-skinned and fuller-cheeked than before, remained frail. He couldn't budge it. Fortunately, the duke's personal valet, Ivan, immediately took it from him and hurried back to Edward's room with Tang Feiliu.

"Keep steaming them. One basin might not be enough," Tang Feiliu ordered as he began undressing Edward. Ivans stared in shock, about to protest, but Tang Feiliu—already flushed crimson with urgency—snapped, "Step aside! I'm saving your master's life!"

Ivanov paced anxiously but dared not truly intervene. At that moment, the butler, Dave, acted decisively. "Ivanov, step outside for now."

And so Tang Feiliu stripped Edward completely, taking a towel to repeatedly wipe his body down. She kept moistening his lips to prevent heat exhaustion. After several shifts with the butler, as the sky began to lighten, Edward's high fever finally started to subside.

Tang Feiliu dared not relax. With a look of grim determination, he finally opened his small leather case. Inside lay a pitifully small amount of almonds, licorice, and dried tangerine peel. Heaven knew how much this meager collection had cost him—enough to delay his plans for buying another small house to set up a clinic! These were spices brought back from overseas by merchants. Though they knew nothing of their uses, that didn't stop them from selling these "mysterious Eastern spices" at astronomical prices.

He had purchased them while treating that nobleman, receiving a substantial payment in return. The sum—enough for an ordinary person to live on for twenty years—had been exchanged for these few items.

It wasn't that Tang Feiliu was extravagant; he intended to buy them as life-saving medicines for himself. Traditional Chinese medicine required specific preparation methods, and Tang Feiliu had no idea what these herbs looked like before processing. He simply had no choice.

Unexpectedly, though his body was weaker than most, Tang Feiliu took such good care of himself that he never had occasion to use these precious herbs. The few times he caught a cold, he resolved it early on with hot water and ginger tea, never bringing himself to use these treasures. Now, however, he had to part with them all at once, selling them cheaply to this duke.

Tang Feiliu felt deeply aggrieved. Once these items were gone, they were gone. Merchants only returned from sea voyages every year or two—who knew if any would remain? If not, money wouldn't buy them, and he certainly didn't have any.

He could only hope the duke would wake up and reward him handsomely. Otherwise, he’d truly be losing both his wife and his army.

Tang Feiliu sighed. Though his mind was filled with lamentation, it didn't hinder his swift movements. Fortunately, the carriage that picked him up was very comfortable, and Tang Feiliu had dozed off several times out of boredom. Having pulled an all-nighter, he was still a seventeen-year-old youth with decent stamina. He carefully selected the ingredients, wrapped them in a handkerchief, and had his steward, Dave, find a makeshift container. He began slowly simmering the medicine.

While he worked, the simple distillation apparatus next door remained in use. The kitchen servants all wore cautious expressions, as if facing a formidable enemy. Tang Feiliu, weary, dismissed them to rest. Setting his things aside, he took the ingredients from his handkerchief and began to carefully simmer the herbs. He had someone fetch ginger to add and simmer with the mixture. Finally, he obtained a large bowl of dark, murky liquid.

After the high fever subsided, the duke still felt dizzy and hadn't fully recovered. He was roused from his haze by Tang Feiliu. Taking a sip of the warm medicine, his expression turned peculiar. Tang Feiliu initially feared he might spit it out, but the duke swallowed it in a few gulps before lying back down and closing his eyes again.

It seemed the Duke possessed either formidable willpower or had grown accustomed to consuming peculiar foods. Otherwise, how could he calmly finish such a potent brew? Tang Feiliu had sniffed it and found the scent alone unbearable.

After two doses, Tang Feiliu's supply ran dry. Having seen Tang Feiliu burning the midnight oil that morning, butler Dave dispatched men to York City to seek out the merchant who sailed the seas, intending to purchase his entire stockpile. Thus, the following morning, after sipping a bowl of thick, sugared ginger tea, the Duke of Edward's medicine arrived by express courier by noon.

Though the Duke's carriage was already far swifter than those of ordinary nobles, the rider's return was even faster. Yet upon arrival, the sturdy knight's face was pale, clearly showing the exertion of such a journey.

When butler Dave ascended the stairs to inform Dr. Tang that the medicine had arrived, he pushed open the door only to find Tang Feiliu, exhausted after a day and night of toil, already asleep, slumped beside the duke's bed.

On the bed, a man with jet-black hair and eyes, his features sharply defined, gazed at the sleeping figure. He too had clearly just awakened.

"Your Grace!" Dave, the stern but impeccably gentlemanly butler, exclaimed with surprise. Tears of joy welled in his aged eyes. Duke Edward nodded, his deep dark eyes filled with question as he regarded the fair-skinned, milk-white-complexioned blond youth slumped beside his bed. A faint frown of displeasure crossed his brow as he demanded, "Who is this? Why is he here?"

Old Dave knew his master had an intense territorial instinct and disliked strangers in his room. To date, only his personal valet, Evans, and Dave himself had ever been permitted to enter this chamber.

Butler Dave quickly explained, "It's the doctor, Dr. Lance Tang. Your Highness began running a fever the night before last. Viscount Louis, who visited last time, mentioned that there's a Dr. Tang in York City who saved his life when he had a severe fever."

"You mean this boy?" Edward looked at the blond youth. He appeared frail and small, sleeping on his stomach with a sliver of his waist exposed—pale and slender, as if one hand could break him.

Edward had never liked such delicate things. He frowned, listening to Old Dave explain everything the boy had done, then asked in a lowered voice, "He washed my entire body?"

"Yes, yes..." Old Dave's initial relief gave way to sensing his master's anger. Clearing his throat, he added, "My lord, your condition was critical. The temple priests said you were possessed by demons and unlikely to survive... But as soon as Doctor Tang arrived, he began treating you. He said your condition was a... cold... and that this was the proper treatment for such a cold."

"Enough of that. Those hypocritical guardians of virtue? They're nothing but a bunch of useless fools and filthy little men cloaked in holy robes." Edward snorted coldly without mercy. His gaze shifted back to Tang Feiliu, his voice softening slightly. "In that case, Old Dave, arrange a room. Let Doctor Tang rest first. I feel much better now."

As the two spoke in hushed tones, Tang Feiliu—who’d been sleeping with drool running down his chin—thought he was on a soft bed and tried to roll over. With a thud, he crashed onto the floor, letting out a wail of pain.

Opening his eyes, Tang Feiliu immediately saw the Duke—frowning, displeased, and looking downright menacing. The shock instantly woke him from his drowsiness. He scrambled to his feet, bowing and scraping with a forced smile. "Good morning, Your Grace. My name is Tang. You may call me Doctor Tang. Now that you're awake, how do you feel? Is your head still dizzy? Do you feel weak or sore anywhere? Do you have an appetite..."

When nervous, Tang Feiliu tended to ramble. He chattered on for a while before noticing Edward staring at him with a cold expression. Only when Tang Feiliu finally quieted down did the duke respond: "I feel weak and uncomfortable... I want to eat."

Weakness, hoarse voice—Tang Feiliu quickly assessed that Duke Edward’s cold hadn’t fully cleared, but at least his appetite was back, meaning he was out of the danger zone.

Tang Feiliu breathed a sigh of relief, intending to slip away quietly as a mouse, when he heard Old Dave ask energetically, "Your Grace, what would you like to eat?"

"A rack of lamb chops, a whole roasted swan, a loaf of white bread, a bowl of mushroom cream soup, a whole apple pie, and five honey-glazed peaches... That will do for now." The Duke of Edward's voice was hoarse as he spoke from his bed.

Tang Feiliu stared in disbelief... He'd nearly forgotten that nobles in this empire had zero concept of health consciousness. They knew only gluttony and excess, especially this Duke Edward. While wiping his body, Tang Feiliu had noticed the man was tall and robust from years of training, with massive, solid muscles and thick body hair across his chest and torso. Even his ruggedly masculine features couldn't stop Tang Feiliu from inwardly thinking he resembled a bear. This man had likely seen battle too, bearing several deep sword wounds stitched crookedly. That he'd survived such injuries spoke to his beast-like resilience.

But even if he was a beast, he couldn't possibly eat like this while still recovering! Tang Feiliu took a deep breath, determined not to let his two days and one night of hard work be ruined by a single lunch. Turning away to suppress his exasperation, he said earnestly, "No, no, no, Your Grace, you cannot eat your lunch like this."

Duke Edward frowned in displeasure. "Why?"

"Because you are still ill, Your Grace!" Tang Feiliu's exasperation was sky-high, but he still had to educate this grown-up child. "Until you recover, you must eat lightly. Otherwise, your body is already struggling to fight the illness, yet it must divert a significant portion of its energy to digest unnecessary food. That would be exhausting for it."

This basic explanation clearly failed to sway Edward, but Tang Feiliu was absolutely determined to prevent him from eating this meal. He immediately turned to butler Dave and instructed, "Mr. Dave, His Lordship Edward should have wheat and corn porridge now, perhaps with some softened white bread. As for meat, only boiled chicken breast or steamed fish is permitted—nothing else."

"Poached chicken breast and steamed fish... How are these prepared?" Edward remained silent, but old Dave asked with obvious confusion. Tang Feiliu paused, recalling the exotic "delicacies" of the Middle Ages. Excellent, he thought. Even a duke's kitchen likely lacked cooks skilled in preparing light fare.

Tang Feiliu could only head downstairs to the kitchen as before, instructing the cooks on how to prepare the chicken breast and steamed fish.

Duke Edward likely didn't enjoy that meal much, and Tang Feiliu was equally unhappy. After all, he was a soul lost in a foreign world. Even though he knew a hundred recipes by heart, he dared not casually prepare unfamiliar dishes outside his own kitchen.

Even if he dared, he wouldn't dare cause trouble on the duke's turf—a man whose very presence screamed "bad temper."

Normally, he could endure the aristocratic feasts for no more than half a month. But this time, the duke's illness was largely due to the resurgence of old injuries, making it particularly severe. The fever returned twice, though fortunately subsided quickly each time. By the time the duke fully recovered, the precious medicinal herbs were nearly depleted, and nearly two months had passed.

After curing the duke, Tang Feiliu could have happily collected his medical fees and departed. But he simply couldn't resist those heavenly dishes. During the duke's illness, he'd bravely guided the cook in preparing stir-fried dishes and special meals for himself, forging an exceptionally close bond with her. Then, while secretly feasting behind the duke's back, he was caught red-handed.

Now confined to coarse wheat and corn porridge, with only steamed eggs, steamed fish, and lightly pan-fried chicken breast (low-oil version) as his limit, the Duke stared at Tang Feiliu with a dark, brooding expression. His face was as black as night, and behind him, it seemed as though the wings of a furious demon were spreading.

Author's Note:

Note: Within the actual social structure of Europe, Tang Feiliu would never have access to the duke's kitchen nor be permitted to use the duke's wealth without authorization. Here, it is implicit that the duke's immense wealth means he feels no pang of regret over such things, and the steward's special consideration for the physician grants him this freedom. Elaborating on this point within the narrative would slow the pacing, hence this explanation.

Subsequent occurrences in the story follow this principle by default.