Feng Fuce making chicken soup?
Zhi'er could hardly imagine it.
She instructed a Servant to lead the way: "Take me to the kitchen for a look."
Upon reaching outside the kitchen, she hadn't even entered when she heard the kitchen Servant shouting inside—
"Marquis, catch it quickly, this chicken might fly away!"
Zhi'er stood at the door, peering inside.
Feng Fuce was wearing a neat black robe, with his sleeves rolled up to the elbows, revealing his slender arms.
His hands were dripping with water as four kitchen women were busy chasing a nimble and lively rooster.
A feather even landed on Feng Fuce's head.
"Cluck-cluck—" the rooster darted around.
The Servant beside Zhi'er whispered, "The Marquis has been busy all morning, almost an hour."
"There were several chickens before, but the Marquis either crushed them with too much force or accidentally threw them into the well."
