Noodles in those days were completely unadulterated; if it said potato, it was potato; if it said sweet potato, it was sweet potato.
Up here in the Northeast they called them sweet potatoes, while down south they were called something else entirely—regional differences meant names varied from place to place.
To say nothing of other things, even across the Three Northeast Provinces and eastern Inner Mongolia, terms weren't standardized; cross a single mountain, and you might find two different names for the same thing.
When Li Xiaodong heard they were having pork stewed with glass noodles, his eyes lit up.
He hurried to have the pig carried down. Old Zhangtou, supporting his aching lower back, started to stand up, but Ning Jie quickly stepped over to steady him. "Oh, go on and rest," Ning Jie said. "You don't need to lift a finger."
Old Zhangtou thumped his lower back with his fist. "Getting old. You have to admit defeat."
With a smile, Ning Jie said, "Who doesn't get old? If I could find the Tang Monk, I'd capture him and let you take a bite right out of his flesh."
Old Zhangtou curled his lip and snapped, "If you'd stop wearing me out, I'd live a couple of years longer."
Ning Jie didn't take the bait. Old Zhangtou lowered himself back down, his hand pressed against his waist.
Chapter 226