"One clear, two white, three red, four green, five yellow." That is, the broth must be clear, the radish white, the chili oil red, the cilantro and garlic sprouts green, and the noodles bright yellow.
It was quite a sophisticated dish, but Bai Ye was a simple man; he didn't care about the details as long as it tasted good. After all, the purpose of food was to fill one’s stomach, not to have some strange, profound meaning attached to it like those pretentious poets and scholars.
Back in school, he had despised those literary writers. Their essays were always so masterfully crafted, filling entire pages with flowery prose. When we got those test papers back, we would just stare at them with dazed, blank expressions. Even though I recognized every single character, once they were strung together, it was utterly incomprehensible. With every exam, Bai Ye’s Chinese score hovered right around the ninety mark.
Chapter 241