In the sixth year of the Baoyuan era, as the summer breeze carried the scent of lotus and the first buds of water lilies peeked above the surface, Shen Miao finally found time to get married.
Shen’s Tavern had been in business for two years, and this year, with the expansion, Shen Miao added a wedding banquet hall that could accommodate fifty tables. She even renovated the back area, creating dressing rooms, a lounge, and a bridal chamber for makeup. The open space behind the tavern was paved with compacted earth and bricks, turning it into a parking area for horses.
Given that ancient buildings were primarily wooden structures, Shen Miao went as far as purchasing a complete set of firefighting equipment from Instructor Lin. A row of red-lacquered cabinets stood against the eastern wall, stocked with buckets, towels, and sandbags—effectively setting up miniature fire stations. Out of the hundred or so employees in the tavern, twenty carried copper whistles at their waists, tasked specifically with fire prevention and security.
"Strictly uphold safety standards, fortify the foundation of security." Shen Miao couldn’t help but recall the dread of annual fire and safety inspections from her past life in the restaurant and hotel industry—always either preparing for inspections or in the midst of them.
After expending tremendous effort—even roping in the local authorities—she finally got the new establishment in order. Then, on an utterly ordinary day, Shen Miao casually mentioned her marriage plans to Xie Qi over breakfast.
That morning, Shen Miao happened to be testing a new dim sum item for the tavern—shrimp dumplings.
As one of the "Four Kings of Dim Sum," shrimp dumplings hadn’t been introduced earlier because the river shrimp available in the Song Dynasty were too small. Each dumpling required multiple shrimp, driving up costs and posing freshness challenges.
But Yu Xun, whom Shen Miao had practically forced into becoming an aquaculture expert, spent two years crossbreeding native river shrimp to develop a larger variety—only slightly smaller than prawns.
Now, she could finally make shrimp dumplings.
The translucent dumpling wrappers were another challenge. Modern versions typically used wheat starch and cornstarch, but since cornstarch wasn’t available, Shen Miao experimented with glutinous rice flour, adjusting ratios until she achieved the perfect thin, chewy texture.
After countless trials, she succeeded in creating wrappers that were delicate, translucent, and delightfully springy.
Two years of preparation for one perfect shrimp dumpling.
Fortunately, the effort paid off.
Shen Miao lifted the bamboo steamer lid. The dumplings gleamed like crystal, their pleats neat and delicate, encasing plump pink shrimp. The filling used Yu Xun’s daily catch—chilled in well water for crispness—mixed with diced winter bamboo shoots and minced pork fat, then steamed to perfection.
Steaming required finesse too. To avoid soggy dumplings, she employed the Cantonese "three-stage steaming method": medium heat to set the wrapper, high heat to lock in freshness, and a final gentle heat to prevent collapse.
She served the dumplings to Xie Qi for tasting. Since Shen’s Tavern opened, Xie Qi—affectionately called "Ninth Brother"—had become her chief taste-tester, in-house designer, and calligraphy consultant.
Though he never showed it outwardly, Shen Miao had long noticed Xie Qi’s aristocratic discernment. His refined upbringing meant he’d never criticize outright—if something tasted good, he’d eat more; if not, he’d politely sample less, always finding something positive to remark on.
Once Shen Miao realized this, she frequently enlisted his palate. His picky tastes aligned perfectly with her upscale teahouse vision. A venue this size couldn’t cater to the masses—hence her marketing to the affluent, even leveraging official endorsements.
The strategy proved sound. Dishes Xie Qi praised invariably became bestsellers, with his favorites rising to signature status.
That morning, after preparing the shrimp dumplings, Shen Miao found Xie Qi had already taken Sister Xiang and Chen Chuan for their morning exercises, followed by walking the dogs and feeding the cats.
By the time he returned, steaming baskets of glistening dumplings awaited.
"Try these—careful, they’re hot." Shen Miao drizzled a splash of aromatic vinegar over the plate.
Xie Qi examined the dumplings. The wrappers were so thin they revealed the pink shrimp within, shaped like little money pouches—auspicious and appealing. He bit in, and hot broth burst onto his tongue. The tang of aged vinegar elevated the flavor, leaving him momentarily speechless.
The wrapper had perfect chew, the pork filling velvety smooth. Each dumpling contained at least three plump shrimp—fresh, springy, and sweet, layered with the crunch of bamboo shoots. Every bite delivered escalating textures.
"There’s another version with dried scallop for extra umami," Shen Miao mentioned, having prepared two fillings.
Xie Qi sampled the scallop variant. Though richer, he felt the original was sufficient. They tested how the dumplings tasted at room temperature, discussing adjustments. Personally, he disliked the scallop’s aftertaste when cooled, finding it slightly fishy.
Shen Miao valued his native Song Dynasty perspective. They settled on the pork-bamboo shoot-shrimp filling—more cost-effective and quicker to prepare.
She ate one herself. Shrimp dumplings had been a favorite in her past life, a dim sum staple. After two years of recreation, the first bite made every effort worthwhile.
She and Xie Qi each ate six dumplings before sharing the rest with Fu Xing, Tang Er, and Tao, all of whom praised them enthusiastically.
Currently, Fu Xing and Tao specialized in roasted duck at the original noodle shop, with another hire skilled in precision slicing, while Tang Er managed Shen’s Tavern kitchen.
After instructing Tang Er to gather the dim sum specialists for a shrimp dumpling workshop that evening, Shen Miao checked her schedule. The afternoon involved tea testing with Mei Sanniang, who supplied most of the tavern’s tea blends—some adapted from Shen Miao’s knowledge of future teahouses.
With summer approaching, Shen Miao wanted to add chrysanthemum tea and luo han guo black tea to the menu.
The Song Dynasty had no black tea, but where Shen Miao willed, Shen Miao obtained—though not without cost. Mei Sanniang, once plump as a steamed pork bun, lost fifteen pounds fermenting the elusive leaves, emerging with a willowy grace (if one ignored the exhaustion etched on her face).
Seeing Mei Sanniang’s newly defined waistline, Shen Miao guiltily massaged her shoulders. "Take your time. If it doesn’t work out, we can abandon it."
Mei Sanniang shot her a glare. "You’re the one who insisted on black tea! After all this effort, I’m seeing it through!"
Today marked the twelfth tasting.
Yet against all odds, Mei Sanniang succeeded. Her teahouse skyrocketed to fame in Bianjing City. Last year, she acquired a larger shop exclusively selling the black tea Shen Miao had deemed "not quite perfect"—which, ironically, became wildly popular. The aromatic brew, producing ruby-red liquor when steeped, had become a Song Dynasty sensation.
Though Shen Miao's eccentric demands often drove her to exasperation, she found herself thoroughly enjoying it all.
Some time ago, Shen Miao had mentioned that the tea from Tongmu Pass in Fujian was the finest for making black tea. So, right after the New Year celebrations, she promptly kicked her husband onto a cargo ship, sending him first to Mingzhou by water, then onward to Quanzhou by sea, before finally making his way overland to the tea mountains. The journey was long and perilous, and her husband clung to the ship's edge, weeping like a child. Deeply moved, she waved cheerfully and said, "My dear, hurry back soon. But if you can’t find the tea, no need to rush home."
This only made him sob even louder.
Her little notebook reminded her that she had arranged to meet Mei Sanniang at noon, after which she still needed to inspect the duck farm and her shops.
Closing the notebook, she casually strolled over to the old osmanthus tree. Beneath it stood a table reserved for Xie Qi’s painting. During the sweltering summer months, he preferred working under the tree’s dense shade, where the courtyard’s cross-breeze brought cool comfort.
He was wholly absorbed in capturing the glossy sheen of a Wenchang chicken when a waft of osmanthus-scented soap drifted to his neck—Shen Miao’s silver bracelet had already settled coolly on his shoulder.
She stood behind him, craning her neck to watch him paint. After a while, she spoke as casually as ever: "Ninth Brother."
"Hmm?" His brush never paused, and he didn’t even look up.
Shen Miao rested her chin on his shoulder, her fingers lightly brushing over the ink stains on his collar. "How about we get married?"
The breeze fluttered the edges of the paper beneath the paperweight, and Xie Qi’s brush screeched across the silk canvas. He lifted his head in stunned silence, the flush on his ears spreading down his neck. For a moment, he wondered if he’d misheard. "What?"
Shen Miao laughed and wrapped her arms around him from behind. "I’m sorry for making you wait so long. And thank you—for waiting, for understanding, for staying with me."
They had been engaged for two years, yet the wedding had been delayed. The Xie family had been considerate—neither Lady Xi nor Father Xie had ever pressured her—but the neighbors often asked when the ceremony would finally happen.
Aunt Gu sometimes scolded her, "How could you leave poor Ninth Brother without a proper status for so long? A fine scholar like him, trailing after you for two years without a formal commitment!"
Shen Miao grew increasingly flustered and guilty. Nonsense! They were engaged—wasn’t that a proper status? But Aunt Gu made her sound like a heartless villain!
Aunt Gu crossed her arms. "If he has a proper status, why haven’t you married him yet? What kind of commitment is this?" The accusation struck a nerve, and Shen Miao couldn’t help but reflect on her own negligence.
"Married? Really?" Xie Qi still clutched his brush, frozen in her embrace.
She kissed his burning ear and repeated firmly, "Yes. Let’s get married."
The next moment, he turned and pulled her into a tight hug.
His breath was uneven with joy, warm against her ear, but he couldn’t form a single word—only a soft, overwhelmed whimper escaped him, like that of an overjoyed puppy.
Shen Miao held him just as tightly. "I’m sorry," she murmured again.
Xie Qi nuzzled her neck, his voice rough with emotion. "Don’t say that. Every day with you is precious to me. Whether we were married or not, I’ve always known you were the one I’d spend my life with."
Ninth Brother must have longed to make her his wife in the eyes of propriety long ago. But he understood her pace and dreams, so he waited patiently, never once rushing her.
Like a loyal dog waiting by the door, he melted her heart.
And so, without grand ceremony, under the witness of two already-joined hearts and the summer sun, the decision was made. Preparations began immediately.
Letters were sent to Chenzhou to calculate auspicious dates, wedding essentials were procured, and invitations dispatched to relatives in Youzhou and Qinzhou. The journey was long, and General Xi and Xi Changjing’s family had to arrange military affairs in advance to return to the capital.
Shen Miao saw an opportunity to promote the wedding banquet hall of her Shen Family Winery. After discussing with the Xie family, they agreed on two ceremonies: her departure banquet at the winery, followed by a second celebration at the Xie residence in Chenzhou.
During the preparations, Lady Xi and Father Xie moved back to Spring Manor, where they spent half a year in bustling activity. The most elaborate task was the wedding attire. Lady Xi had seamstresses draft over a dozen designs before Shen Miao settled on a high-collared robe with embroidered phoenixes and auspicious flowers, paired with a fringed cape. The Xie family’s silk workshop spent months meticulously stitching the masterpiece.
The gems adorning the phoenix crown were specially brought back from Persia by Xie Qi’s third brother.
After months of fervent preparation, Shen Miao finally married just before the Lotus Festival the following year.
At dawn, as mist curled over the Bian River, a vermilion-wheeled carriage rolled slowly over the cobblestones. Twelve attendants in gold-trimmed robes carried silver incense balls, perfuming the entire street. Xie Qi rode his Rolls-Royce horse, draped in red silk, his hands damp with nerves. The tassels of his jade crown brushed against his crimson wedding robes—he was so tense he nearly forgot how to ride.
The Rolls-Royce horse pranced excitedly, freshly bathed by Zhou Da the day before, its hooves polished, mane and tail scented, and adorned with a red silk flower. Even the horse couldn’t resist showing off.
The wedding tent was set up at Shen Family Winery, now transformed into a floral paradise. A grand arch of flowers and gauze stood at the entrance, a red carpet leading inside, flanked by bouquets and lanterns that turned the hall into an ethereal dream.
Each table bore a delicate centerpiece. Tao and her mother inspected every detail, ensuring perfection. Tao cradled an armful of blossoms and whispered, "Mama, when I marry, I want it just as beautiful. These flowers are so lovely."
Her mother chided gently, "You’re too young to be talking of marriage."
"I’m not! There’s no harm in saying it. I’ll be like Mistress Shen—I’ll marry a handsome man who adores me, not just anyone out of shyness!"
Her mother didn’t argue, only patted her head fondly. Of course, she wished for her daughter to find a loving match. If such a man existed, tradition mattered little.
Outside, firecrackers crackled—the groom had arrived. The two hurried to shut the main gate before the ceremonial music swelled. Sister Xiang and Ji Brother tossed an embroidered ball from the second floor, laughing. "Ninth Brother, you’ll need to compose a few more poems if you want your bride to come out!"
Poems urging the bride to dress were composed one after another, yet Xie Qi remained unshaken. Gu Tusu and Gu Dalang then raised cotton-stuffed sticks to strike him, but the nimble "Ninth Brother" dodged and weaved with such agility that he effortlessly broke through the second barrier. Left with no choice, Tao and Fu Xing resorted to barricading the door with tables. However, in a moment of distraction, the little traitor Yan Shu unlatched the wooden bolt of the window and, clinging to the carved lattice, shouted heroically, "Ninth Brother! Over here! Quick, jump in—"
Indeed, fortresses crumble from within. Sister Xiang came thundering down the stairs, pointing at Yan Shu and scolding, "You little turncoat! Close that window and tie Yan Shu up!"
But it was too late. Though Yan Shu was captured, Xie Qi had already darted to the window, vaulted over the sill, and landed inside. As he touched down, he deftly evaded Sister Xiang’s obstructing hand and bolted upstairs.
Ji Brother stood guard at the door, cotton stick in hand, but proved no match—Xie Qi swiftly overpowered him, leaving him sprawled on the floor in defeat.
Sister Xiang, catching up, sighed at the sight of her frail elder brother lying pathetically on the ground. "How can so many of us lose to just Ninth Brother?"
"You studied the Xi family’s staff techniques too, and you didn’t fare any better!" Ji Brother muttered into his arms, humiliated—even his cotton stick had been snatched away.
Sister Xiang rolled her eyes and stamped her foot in frustration. "I learned from Ninth Brother himself! He knows exactly how skilled I am! This is all your fault—now Eldest Sister’s being taken away!"
"Ah, what’s the use? Eldest Sister and Ninth Brother were meant to be. He’s been visiting our home for two or three years now. You all just had to make things difficult for him. Completely unnecessary!"
"You traitorous brother! See if I don’t tickle you senseless!"
And so, the siblings began squabbling again.
After overcoming countless obstacles, Xie Qi, breathless and with sweat-dampened hair clinging to his temples, finally stood before Shen Miao.
The bridal chamber was adorned with red silk and endless "double happiness" symbols. Shen Miao sat gracefully on the festively draped bed, her face hidden behind a round fan, revealing only her smiling eyes gazing at him.
Since Xie Qi had yet to receive an official post, she couldn’t wear the traditional green skirt. Thus, her wedding attire was entirely red, as was his—a crimson robe and a winged hat adorned with flowers (though the hat had gone askew during his window-climbing escapade).
Watching him fumble to straighten his disheveled attire, Shen Miao couldn’t help but chuckle.
Under the glow of the red candles, Ninth Brother had never looked more handsome.
The matron of ceremonies smiled warmly. "Now, groom, please persuade the bride to lower her fan."
Custom dictated that the groom must offer something precious in exchange for the bride’s fan—be it a gold hairpin, a jade pendant, or an impromptu poem. Only when the bride was satisfied would she lower the fan and follow him.
Shen Miao’s eyes sparkled with curiosity, wondering what gift Ninth Brother had prepared.
Finally catching his breath, though his cheeks still flushed from exertion, Xie Qi stepped forward. He bent down, took her free hand, and gently turned it palm-up.
Shen Miao and the two matrons watched in anticipation.
Into her palm, he placed ten warm copper coins—one by one, just as he had once taken them from her hand long ago.
"Ten coins."
Shen Miao froze, then burst into laughter so hard she dropped her fan.
The matrons gaped at the ten coins in her palm, aghast—how could the groom think to win the bride with mere pennies? This Xie family lad was far too stingy!
They were about to insist he offer something proper—a jade ruyi scepter or pearls—when Shen Miao, still laughing, tossed aside her fan and let him pull her to her feet.
Seeing her compliance, the matrons could only sigh and present two halved gourds filled with wine. "Now that the fan is lowered, it’s time for the unity cup."
As they handed the couple the gourds, they recited the blessing: "Today you join in marriage, sharing this cup. May you and your beloved walk side by side, joyfully, until white crowns your heads."
Joyfully, until white crowns your heads.
The words washed over Xie Qi like a gentle breeze. Gazing at Shen Miao in her resplendent attire, at their joined hands, at her distant-mountain brows and autumn-water eyes, his throat tightened, and tears nearly spilled forth.
His bride. His Ah Miao.
Arm-in-arm, they drank the cool, smooth crabapple wine—a signature blend from the Shen family winery and the Gus. During the trial brew, he and Ah Miao had even crafted a jar themselves, burying it beneath the osmanthus tree.
They’d promised to dig it up in their twilight years, when their home was filled with children and grandchildren.
His heart pounded so fiercely his hands trembled around the gourd. Unable to contain the surging emotions, a single tear escaped, tracing a path down his chin to his neck.
Shen Miao set down her gourd. Seeing his reddened eyes and the glistening tear, her heart skipped. On impulse, she rose onto her toes and kissed away that stray drop.
The kiss left Xie Qi so dazed that after the wedding procession, he could barely mount his Rolls-Royce horse without Zhou Da’s assistance.
Shen Miao, carried on Shen Ji’s back, watched from behind as he clung to the horse’s neck, flushed and flustered, and giggled behind her hand.
Shen Ji, who’d earlier defended Xie Qi, now found no humor in the moment.
This time, he was older, wiser, and stronger—finally able to carry his sister to the bridal sedan.
Yet as he watched her settle into the scarlet phoenix carriage, he gripped the poles, eyes brimming. "Eldest Sister..."
Shen Miao lifted the curtain with her arm and met his gaze. "Don’t cry."
Shen Ji nodded fiercely, voice thick. "Eldest Sister, you’ll be happy now. If Ninth Brother ever upsets you... I may not beat him, but I’ll stand in front of you."
Sister Xiang and Chen Chuan rushed over, throwing themselves against the sedan and into her arms. "Don’t worry, Eldest Sister. If one can’t beat him, surely three can?"
Touched yet amused, Shen Miao lightly rapped their heads. "Must you three always think of fighting? I’ll be back in a few days—why the tears?"
The trio straightened, embarrassed—they’d forgotten. Eldest Sister wasn’t moving to Chenzhou.
Ninth Brother was the one moving to Bianjing City to live with his wife!
After soothing the younger ones, a black streak shot through the crowd—Lei Ting, sporting a giant red flower around his neck, with Qilin (tail adorned with ribbons) perched on his back. The two squeezed into the sedan, refusing to leave. The matron tried to shoo them out, only to be hissed at by Qilin. Laughing, Shen Miao gathered the pets. "Let them come."
At last, the procession departed just in time.
Two days later in Chenzhou, after endless rituals, the wedding finally neared its end as the evening drumbeat echoed through the eaves and the lotus-patterned candlesticks pooled with wax. Every bone in their bodies ached with exhaustion.
Shen Miao could finally remove her phoenix crown and let her raven-black hair cascade freely, waiting for Ninth Brother to finish toasting before entering. She waited until the sound of sudden rain pattering against the eaves echoed outside the window before Xie Qi finally stumbled in, reeking of alcohol.
The maids and matrons attending Shen Miao hurriedly tossed auspicious fruits like red dates and peanuts over the newlyweds before swiftly scattering from the room.
Seated at the edge of the bed, Shen Miao lifted her gaze to look at him.
His eyes were glistening from drink, his cheeks flushed crimson, though his steps weren’t entirely unsteady—he steadied himself against the doorframe and stood firm. Yet, as if overheated, he had loosened the collar of his red robes. The summer wedding attire, sheer as gauze, easily revealed a glimpse of his equally flushed collarbone.
Shen Miao sat with poised elegance, but her gaze drifted slowly—from the mole on his throat… down to that exposed sliver of collarbone.
