Chapter 350: Three Ponds Knife-Shaved Noodles

Over the past two years, the villagers of Wangjia Village had followed Wang Er wandering north and south. Under Wang Er’s discipline, they hadn’t engaged in murder, arson, rape, or plunder. But they had seen plenty.

Wherever the bandit army went, it left only chaos—destruction without construction.

They knocked down village fences, burned local gentry fortresses to the ground, and toppled county walls, destroying all defenses to ease their next raiding expedition.

So now, hearing about this construction project, the hundred-odd men were momentarily stunned.

White Cat shouted, “What’s the daze for? Big Brother Wang Er means for us to reform from now on, become decent people again. Everyone works! Since when do good folks sit idle?”

The group snapped out of it, murmuring a half-hearted assent before beginning work.

Lacking logging tools, they left tree-felling to Zhang Yuanwai’s men. They took on odd jobs—lifting timber, carrying rocks—managing to lend a hand nonetheless.

Seeing them toil, Bai Yuan felt a flicker of relief. The Wangjia Village folk stayed with Wang Er, learning some rules. Much better than other ‘returning bandits’.

He recalled Fan Shanyue’s former rebels—it’d taken ages just to restore their sanity.

After working awhile,

a Wangjia Villager carrying a log suddenly staggered, nearly collapsing. He strained to set down the heavy wood, touched his stomach, looking sheepish. “Brother Cat, I’m hungry. No strength left.”

“Me too.”

“Can barely stand…”

Life on the run meant sparse meals for Wangjia Villagers.

Though they plundered wealthy oppressors and even seized grain from several county treasuries, it never lasted.

Wang Jiayin’s army had fifty thousand mouths. Raiding one rich manor couldn’t feed them all for two days. Only stealing the county treasury allowed them to eat a few days more.

But county grain wasn’t conjured—it came from taxed peasants. Those peasants had already been stripped bare by the bandits. Who was left to pay taxes?

So, the county treasury could be raided only once; returning yielded nothing.

They couldn’t linger. Forced to keep moving.

Only when plundering Yansui yielded nothing—”not even a whisker”—did they flow south along the Yellow River.

Observing their pitiful state, Bai Yuan shook his head inwardly. He checked the sky, gauged the time. “Don’t worry. Food’s coming soon.”

And sure enough, as he spoke it arrived.

Heyang County Magistrate Feng Jun led a group personally: over a thousand men, mostly laborers hired from the county town. Feng Jun had adopted Gaojia Village’s method—paying three jin of flour daily for work instead of relief. He’d gathered these porters to build a cement fortress at Qiachuan Port.

With such pay, response was overwhelming. A thousand men assembled instantly. High-quality flour and cement then arrived, transported from Gaojia Village. Feng Jun personally escorted the crew, pushing carts of grain and materials to the port.

Bai Yuan and Feng Jun huddled, whispering updates on the situation.

Feng Jun waved an arm. “Eat first. Work after filling bellies.”

The cooking teams sprang into action!

Setting clay stoves, fetching water from the Yellow River. The water was brownish, but no matter—in these times, having water was blessing enough. Boil it, it’s clean.

Flour came from the grain carts, kneaded into dough. Then knives flashed!

This was Heyang County’s specialty: Three Ponds Knife-Shaved Noodles. Skilled hands wielded flat blades, shaving dough into long, consistently thin strands—a high-caliber craft.

Only natives of Three Ponds Village could manage this. Now, their cooks stood facing rows of cauldrons. Each gripped dough in one hand; with a flick of the knife, shaved noodles leapt directly into the pot. A splendid sight.

The Wangjia Villagers gaped. “This is the great disaster? You’ve enough flour—even the mood—for knife-shaved noodles?”

A Three Ponds cook grinned, turning. “Not long ago, we starved too. We’re only like this thanks to Chengcheng County’s Gaojia Village.”

“Exactly!” another cook glanced over. “I hadn’t practiced this skill for three years! Then Gaojia Village came, transporting piles of flour. These last few days? I’ve shaved noodles daily! Forgotten craft, brought back to life!”

He chatted while shaving—yet each strand remained even, perfect. Pure muscle memory; the skill truly was bone-deep.

Shock rippled through Wangjia Village folk. Suddenly, they remembered: over two years ago, the night before rebellion, Wang Er led them to Gaojia Village for Water Theft. After scooping one bucket, they turned—and there stood a small mountain of flour.

Had Gaojia Village lacked nothing since that moment?

If we hadn’t left—if we’d stayed in Gaojia Village—perhaps happiness came sooner? No wonder Big Brother Wang Er had us stay, quit following Wang Jiayin. He saw… the right path.

Ah, may Big Brother Wang Er return safely.

Just then, the first bowl of noodles was ready. Feng Jun gave a look; the cook passed it to Bai Yuan. But Bai Yuan chuckled, handing it straight to White Cat. White Cat plucked just one noodle strand, slipped it into his mouth… then passed the bowl to another Wangjia Villager…

One strand per person.

Each chewed deeply…

The noodle tasted fragrant, delicious. A hundred emotions, myriad feelings, all carried in that bite.

“Time to eat!”

“Everyone! Eat!”

Bowl after bowl of Three Ponds knife-shaved noodles emerged. Bowls passed from hand to hand among the Wangjia villagers till all hundred had their share. Only then did porters from Heyang County start receiving theirs.

At the port construction site, over a thousand men now held steaming bowls, greedily slurping the noodles. Each face glowed with contentment, happiness.

“Finish up! More work after eating!”

“All of you! Work harder!”

“Yeah! Work harder! If we don’t build that fortress here—if bandits cross ashore—our belly warmth? Gone again.”