With just one bite, the crispy crust shattered perfectly between the teeth—fried to golden perfection. The flaky layers weren’t bland at all, carrying a savory richness that was oily yet not greasy. Before Xie Tiao could fully savor it, the fragrant fried chicken and crispy dough sticks inside, coated in a smooth, milky-white sauce, burst with sweetness and a hint of tartness, amplifying the meat’s aroma even more.
Then, the crisp spring vegetables followed, like a cool breeze on a sweltering day, adding a final layer of freshness to the rich meat and eggs. By the time Xie Tiao snapped out of his daze, he was already unconsciously licking his fingers.
He glanced at his servants, who were devouring their portions even faster than him, wolfing down the food like starved beasts, their mouths stuffed and sauce smeared on their lips as they licked them clean.
Xie Tiao suddenly regretted not saving three more buns for himself.
He considered sending someone to chase after the bun delivery boy but felt it’d be too embarrassing. When he turned to order two more, the young woman, Shen Miao, was already apologizing with a guilty look, “Ah… this is my first time, so I only made fifty portions as a test. I didn’t expect them to sell out so quickly. I’ll make more tomorrow.”
Shen Miao hadn’t anticipated such a quick sellout either.
Even her dozen or so meat skewers, priced at three coins for one or five for two, had sold out before the hand-pulled pancake stall even opened—except for the one she’d cut up for free samples.
The skewers, threaded on bamboo sticks and scored with decorative cuts, sizzled on the griddle with a drizzle of hot oil until golden and blooming. A swipe of sauce and a final fry until the skin crisped up released an irresistible aroma that wafted far and wide, drawing crowds from blocks away.
Cheaper than the hand-pulled pancakes, three coins bought a hefty skewer of “meat”—enough to tempt passersby to dig out their copper coins for a taste.
Some even subtly probed about how she’d prepared the pork without a hint of gaminess. But Shen Miao wasn’t about to share her trade secrets—she still planned to open a noodle shop someday!
She just smiled warmly and said, “Come back tomorrow! I’ll be here every day, so you won’t miss out.”
A few even asked exactly when she’d return, ready to wait in advance.
As the crowd dispersed, Shen Miao began packing up the empty bowls and plates, pouring the leftover frying oil back into a food container. She tied the bundles with rope, slung them over her arm, hoisted the large umbrella onto her shoulder, and stacked the stools and stoves on the table to carry in both hands.
It was heavy, but not unmanageable.
In her past life, Shen Miao had always been strong—running a restaurant meant hauling cartloads of groceries at dawn, which was far heavier. The original owner of this body, too, had shouldered all household chores in the Rong family, far from the pampered “Miss Shen” of her parents’ home. And during her journey from Jinling to Bianjing, there’d been times when she couldn’t hire porters, forcing her to carry all her luggage herself. After days of this, she’d grown accustomed to it.
Still, she thought, she ought to buy a carrying pole later.
The Fat Lady, who’d initially been sour at Shen Miao’s bustling business, had cheered up after many pancake buyers also purchased her tea. Shen Miao had even spared a moment to gift her a vegetarian bun. Now, the Fat Lady happily lent a hand, teasing, “Aren’t you waiting for someone to fetch you?”
Shen Miao chuckled and shook her head. “No need. I’m no delicate flower—this is nothing.”
Just as she bent to lift the load, two children—one older, one younger—came running from the bridge. Ji Brother rushed over and took the umbrella and bundles from her arm, even grabbing two stoves in one hand, while Sister Xiang carried the stools. In an instant, Shen Miao was left with just the table.
“Why’d you two come?” Shen Miao laughed brightly. “Ji Brother, that’s too much—give me one stove back.”
“I figured you’d be sold out by now,” Ji Brother said. He’d known exactly how many pancakes Shen Miao had prepared—with her skills, there was no way they wouldn’t sell. After cleaning the house and overseeing the masons’ repairs to the stove and kiln, he’d headed over.
“I can manage. Oh, and Master He said the kiln needs five to eight days to dry before we can use it.”
“No, I’ll take one back.” Shen Miao firmly took one small stove. “Did you see Master He off properly? They worked hard—did you offer them water?”
“Don’t worry, Sis. I gave them water and even handed Master He his chisel!”
Shen Miao smiled. Ji Brother was clever and thoughtful.
The three chatted and laughed as they walked home together.
Only the Fat Lady was left bewildered in the wind: How could this young woman, barely sixteen, have two such big kids?
---
Xie Residence, West Bell-Drum Alley, Great Xiangguo Temple
Xie Qi sat by the south window, reading—or so it seemed. Yan Shu, watering the plantains below the window with a small bucket, looked up and realized his master was holding the book upside down, staring blankly at the pages.
Yan Shu sighed like an old man as he sprinkled water with a gourd ladle. The journey had been smooth enough after disembarking—despite losing money twice, taking three wrong turns, and overturning the carriage once—until they reached Chenzhou and the home of Xie Qi’s uncle-by-marriage, Registrar Cui.
Registrar Cui and his wife hosted a grand feast for Xie Qi, but midway through, they burst into tears, saying their daughter—Cousin Cui—was gravely ill and unlikely to recover. They urged Xie Qi to take the betrothal gifts back to Bianjing, promising to formally break the engagement later.
Given the circumstances, Xie Qi naturally wanted to see Cousin Cui.
Registrar Cui grimaced. “The child has a vile disease—she can’t be seen. She’s resting in a separate courtyard. It’s best you don’t meet.”
“It’s all her misfortune!” His aunt sobbed, nearly collapsing.
Though suspicious, Xie Qi couldn’t dismiss their genuine grief. He complied, repacking the betrothal gifts per the list and sending a letter home.
But that night, staying at the Cui residence, he tossed and turned, haunted by questions: From Aunt’s tone, Cousin Cui’s illness is unusual. Chenzhou is just days from Bianjing by horse—why didn’t they seek treatment there? And if they intended to break the engagement, why didn’t they inform the Xie family before the betrothal gifts were exchanged?
The Cui family were prominent in Chenzhou—they wouldn’t breach etiquette like this.
Restless, Xie Qi threw on his robe and dragged a half-asleep Yan Shu out to admire the moon.
Strolling along the Cui family’s pavilions and ponds, he gazed at the moonlit water, hoping to ease his stifled emotions. But lost in thought, he wandered too far, finding himself before towering, overgrown trees and a neglected building that seemed almost desolate.
Just as he turned to leave, flickering lantern lights and a muffled, pleading cry pierced the silence from beyond the wall:
“No! Please! Father, I was wrong! Don’t—ah! Mother! Save me! Help—!”
The voice cut off abruptly, as if silenced.
"Gag her!" The furious voice of Cui Sicao cut through the wind. "You shameless fool, daring to scream after disgracing our family name! Did you not consider the consequences when you committed such an indecent act?"
After a pause, his words grew even more venomous, spat through clenched teeth: "If not for your deceit—exploiting your parents' love, lying to them about wanting one last carefree outing before your betrothal, claiming you’d never again enjoy such freedom once married—how could your mother and I have been kept in the dark until now? And you even plotted to elope with that lowly servant? You care nothing for your parents' years of devotion, nothing for the Cui family’s honor, nothing for your father’s official reputation, nor the futures of your sisters. Why, then, should anyone spare your life? After all their careful guidance, who could have imagined they’d raised such an ungrateful wretch?"
Xie Qi and Yan Shu exchanged a glance. Using the thick branches of the flowering tree by the wall, they climbed onto the courtyard’s edge. The neighboring compound appeared to be the Cui family ancestral hall. The figures inside remained hidden, but in the dead of night, the flickering candlelight cast grotesque shadows against the latticed windows.
The candle’s glow loomed unnaturally large in the darkness, twisting into elongated, limb-like shapes—like a procession of distorted giants. In the oppressive blackness, those wavering shadows and the dim, solitary flame turned everything eerie and surreal, sending a chill down the spine.
