The Hound, the Mountain, the Kingslayer, and Loras Tyrell were granted the privilege of dining with the King and Queen, along with Prince Joffrey and Prime Minister Eddard.
Sansa, the Prime Minister's daughter and Prince Joffrey's fiancée, was also present.
Sansa noticed that Joffrey was exceptionally handsome tonight, just as captivating as Loras, the Knight of Flowers. Joffrey wore a dark blue, tight-fitting blouse embroidered with two rows of golden lion heads, and a delicate crown of gold and sapphires adorned his forehead. His hair shone like pure gold.
Sansa's heart was pounding, fearing that Joffrey might hold a grudge against her for what happened at Ruby Beach. But clearly, Sansa's worries were unnecessary. Joffrey came to Sansa's side, a charming smile on his face, and kissed the back of her hand, looking as dashing as a prince in a ballad.
Joffrey said, "My dear lady, I saw a knight present you with a red rose." He looked at Loras, "Sir Loras has excellent taste; he knows who the real beauty is."
"Sir Loras has been too kind to me." Sansa didn't want Joffrey to see her affection for Loras; she wanted to remain polite and calm. "Sir Loras is a true knight. Your Highness, do you think he will win tomorrow?"
"Of course not." Joffrey glanced at the Knight of Flowers with his elegant smile, then at the Hound and the Kingslayer, his gaze sweeping over the majestic Mountain of Demons. "My dog will take care of Ser Loras, or my uncle Jaime will. In a few years, when I can enter the arena, I will take care of them all." He waved his hand, encompassing the four victors, the King, the Prime Minister, and the Queen.
"Seven layers of hell!" King Robert exclaimed. "Forgive this ignorant child!" The sommelier Lannister quickly poured the king a glass of red wine from the Isle of Green.
Prime Minister Ed had no choice but to feign innocence and say, "Your Highness is ambitious and has a martial spirit, much like our valiant King!"
Sansa thought to herself, "Joffrey doesn't resemble your king at all, Father. His handsome appearance, golden hair, and elegant features are nothing like the fat, obese king." But these words were too impolite for a lady to say in such a public setting.
Mo Shan seemed to be looking down at himself, and he took out an exquisite rectangular brocade box, attracting everyone's attention.
"What are you doing, Mountain!" Joffrey laughed, a smirk playing on his lips.
Mo Shan did not answer. He opened the brocade box and took out a pair of large chopsticks tied with red silk, matching his own. The chopsticks were made of raw purplish-red wood with fine, long 'ox-hair' patterns and obvious gold threads. They were made of rare sandalwood and had no paint or finishing. Everything was the natural color of the wood, which meant that the two chopsticks could not be exactly the same color.
Only handmade oiled chopsticks will have the exact same color.
Under different lighting conditions, these chopsticks will appear to have different shades of color, though this difference won't be noticeable at first glance.
The sandalwood comes from across the Narrow Sea.
Crossing the Demon Mountain, he could not forget his bloodline roots. The knowledge he had acquired, the more than ten years of education he had received, and the countless books on Chinese culture, history, and classical studies he had read all helped him to handle the thorny issues around him and his own crumbling situation with ease in this world.
Several small bowls and plates made of gold and jade were taken out of the brocade box and lined up around the Demon Mountain. Then came several exquisite little bags woven with gold and silver threads. The bags were very small, only the size of the Demon Mountain's thumb. As soon as these bags were taken out and the clasps were untied, a rich fragrance wafted out.
The King laughed heartily, the Queen frowned, Joffrey joked, the Hand of the King, Eddard, remained silent, Sansa looked astonished, the Hound seemed anxious, Loras Tyrell remained as elegant and charming as ever, and Jaime looked on with a playful surprise.
"The Mountain, what the hell are you doing? Mmm, smells good!" Robert laughed and cursed.
The Mountain glanced at the people at the table. He knew that none of these guys had ever seen such a set before. Their eyes were full of curiosity and confusion. In fact, it was a complete set of food condiment bowls and plates. The king's banquet dishes tonight were too lavish. It would be a disservice to their stomachs and tongues not to bring out exquisite condiment packets.
As for what others think or feel, Mo Shan doesn't care.
Elephants don't need to consider the thoughts of ants, and eagles don't need to care about the songs of sparrows. In terms of thought, compared to the people of these pastoral and semi-agricultural civilizations, the Magic Mountain considered himself a giant.
Compared to China's thousands of years of culinary culture, traversing the Magic Mountain allows you to enjoy your true self, and immersion is effortless. If you want to eat with chopsticks, just pick them up and get started—it's simple.
This was the Mountain's personal act; he had no intention of sharing it with anyone, including the King and Queen.
Everyone at the table eats their own food, and as long as they feel good about themselves, that's all that matters.
These guys just can't control their curiosity and surprise and want to look at him, so let them look. Others have the freedom to watch, so respect that!
The bards sat not far from the king's long table, their music echoing along the Blackwater River. A juggler tossed burning sticks through the air. The simple-minded, flat-faced "Moon Boy," dressed in brightly colored clothes, danced on stilts, mocking every royal courtier present. When he sang a tune meant to amuse the archbishop, Sister Morton lost all restraint, laughing so hard she spilled her wine all over herself.
The Mountain ignored the king's curious questions and continued pouring his secret spices—his mother-in-law, Sybil, was the daughter of a spice merchant—many of his food spices and seasonings came from across the Narrow Sea—into the small jade cup and saucer in front of him. He then stirred them with sandalwood chopsticks. These jade bowls and gold dishes were all designed by the Mountain himself. With gold and jade not being an issue, the Mountain couldn't find a reason not to refine his life. And eating was a major part of life, something that couldn't be excluded from one's life. No matter how powerful a person thought they were, they still had to eat!
The dishes were served one after another: thick barley and venison soup, cold beet salad sprinkled with nut pieces, spinach and plum salad, and snails cooked in honey and garlic. There was also grilled trout, freshly caught from the river and sealed in clay.
The Mountain pried open the hard mud covering the trout, revealing tender white fillets. He used chopsticks to pick out the fillets, dipped them in his golden bowl and jade dish, and savored the experience. The trout fillets were at the perfect temperature. The different dipping sauces offered different flavors—fragrant, fresh, sweet, salty, spicy, sour, and bitter. The Mountain tried them one by one, finally determining that the salty and fragrant sauce was the best for the taste of the trout fillets.
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So he ate most of the grilled trout by himself. This was very rude, but the king and queen knew what kind of person the Mountain was. King Robert was generous and didn't care about trivial matters, and he hated aristocratic etiquette. As long as the Mountain was happy, they let him be.
Then came a variety of meats, many of which the Mountain couldn't name. He experimented with each one using his own dipping sauce dish to find the perfect combination to suit his taste. Loras Tyrell, Joffrey, Sansa, and the others forced themselves to resist thinking about what the Mountain's fragrant dipping sauces would taste like.
The Mountain has a volatile temper. Like the Lord Inspector Ilyn Payne, he never kneels before the King, so it's best not to mess with him.
After the meat dishes, there were sweet bread, pigeon pies, cinnamon-scented roasted apples, and lemon cake sprinkled with icing sugar.
Fine wine was poured incessantly, and the Hound, having drunk quite a bit, slurred, "Hey, waiter, stop pouring me wine! Are you trying to get me drunk? Tomorrow I'm going to kill my brother!" The Hound glared at the Mountain, a defiant look on his face. "You wouldn't be too scared to fight, would you, my brother! Look at your dishes, all gold and jade! You've made your fortune by extorting the Duke of Horst of the Riverlands, you savage, ignorant, cruel, despicable, shameful, and vile creature! I swear to the bread, honey, trout, yak meat, and roast suckling pig on this table, I will kill you tomorrow! My brother!"
The hound has drunk too much!
The Mountain slowly widened his eyes, put down his chopsticks and spoon, stared at the hound, and said coldly, "What now, dog! I want to see if your head is harder or my fist! I've given you three chances, there won't be a fourth!"