"Of course! Absolutely!"
This was a huge order!
Shen Miao carefully inquired further from the wealthy servant and learned that he was the household steward of the Xie family, who resided near the West Bell and Drum Tower of the Grand Xiangguo Temple. The steamed buns were to be used for the late patriarch’s first death anniversary ceremony.
Since the ceremony would last three consecutive days, they needed 150 buns daily to feed the monks chanting scriptures.
As the occasion demanded strict vegetarian observance, the buns couldn’t be made with animal fat—only soybean or rapeseed oil would do. Even eggs had to be omitted... Shen Miao pondered for a while. Without eggs, the texture might lose some softness, and the buns wouldn’t brown as nicely. Eggs in bread added moisture, volume, and that golden hue, but there were plenty of eggless, oil-free, and sugar-free bread recipes—just add more water and yeast, and the dough could still turn out soft. However, that required constant vigilance by the oven, adjusting the heat meticulously to prevent the bread from drying out. Otherwise, it’d harden enough to be used as a weapon.
For Shen Miao, this wasn’t a major issue.
"When does your master need them?" she asked first about the timing. Ceremonies usually ran from dawn till dusk, sometimes even extending to midnight for auspicious hours. If the timing was inconvenient—too early or too late—she worried about delays, lest it disrupt the family’s important affairs.
Upon learning that the monks’ break time was set for you shi (5–7 PM), Shen Miao thought for a moment and proposed, "How about this? I’ll bake a trial batch this afternoon—no animal fat or eggs—and deliver it for your master to taste. If it meets his approval, perhaps I could bring the dough to your estate and bake it there, using your oven. That’d save time on transportation. If that’s not feasible, I’ll have to deliver them ready-made, though I fear they might cool on the way."
The wealthy servant hadn’t expected such thoroughness from this pancake vendor. Delighted, he replied, "A sound suggestion, Mistress Shen. Go ahead and prepare the trial batch first. I’ll settle the payment for this round—no shortchanging you. Later, once my master returns, I’ll have him taste it and send word once we’ve reached a decision."
This was exactly what Shen Miao wanted. For large orders like this, every detail had to be confirmed upfront to avoid rework. Right now, she was scraping by and couldn’t afford any losses from do-overs.
She agreed cheerfully, accepted thirty coins from the Xie family servant for the trial batch, and set a time to deliver the red bean buns. Then she packed her bowls and dishes into a basket, tied up the remaining odds and ends—tables, stools, and stove—and carried them home on a shoulder pole.
The plump vendor woman marveled at Shen Miao’s load. "Mistress Shen, you’ve got such strength!"
Shen Miao shrugged it off with a laugh. "It’s a blessing!"
In her past life, she’d been so busy with her career that she’d remained unmarried into her thirties. Along the way, she’d met all sorts of people. For self-defense, she’d even taken up sanda (Chinese kickboxing) for two years. Once, when her best friend’s ex cheated, Shen Miao had slapped the scoundrel so hard he spun in place.
At the market, some local ruffians had initially eyed her beauty and lack of male companionship, thinking to harass her. But after seeing her hauling goods like a pack mule, they quietly dropped the idea.
Today, her scallion pancakes and red bean buns had sold out, so her load was actually lighter than when she’d arrived—no big deal.
Back home, Shen Miao set down her things and quickly whipped up a meal with the remaining ingredients. She steamed a pot of mixed-grain rice (black rice and millet) and prepared three dishes: stir-fried winter melon, hand-shredded eggplant salad, and stuffed chicken drumsticks with mushrooms and tofu. She also fried a few sunny-side-up eggs, setting aside a generous portion in a three-tiered lunchbox to keep warm on the stove. She and Sister Xiang ate first.
After the meal, she grabbed the lunchbox, took Sister Xiang by the hand, and headed out.
First, she’d check on Ji Brother at the bookstore, where he was copying texts, and deliver his lunch. Second, she needed to buy soybean oil—most of her current stock was lard or chicken fat, but the afternoon’s vegetarian red bean buns required plant-based oil.
On the way, she ran into Gu Tusu, who was pushing a heavily loaded cart of firewood. Spotting her, his eyes lit up. He wiped his sweat with a neck towel and called out, "Eldest Sister!"
Shen Miao paused. Gu Tusu hurried over with his cart. "Heading out? I’ve got extra firewood today—let me bring some to your place. Save you the trouble of buying."
"Second Brother Gu, no need. I can manage on my own now. I can’t keep taking things from you for free—your family needs firewood for brewing. It’s hard work hauling it from the outskirts." She shook her head, refusing politely. She didn’t want to keep imposing. Gu Tusu’s labor—chopping wood and pushing the cart back into the city—was backbreaking. The first time she’d accepted, she’d been destitute; now, it’d be sheer exploitation.
When Gu Tusu tried to insist, Shen Miao raised the wooden lunchbox. "Ji Brother’s still copying books at Manager Liu’s. I’d best get going. You should rest after all that work, Second Brother Gu."
With that, she had Sister Xiang wave goodbye, and the two continued on their way.
Gu Tusu could only stare blankly at Shen Miao’s retreating figure. Tall but not frail, she moved with the ease of someone long accustomed to kitchen labor. Once, he’d risen early to fetch water and spotted her through the half-open gate of the Shen family’s backyard.
She’d rolled up her sleeves, revealing slender but sinewy forearms as she lifted a full bucket to pour into the water vat. The muscles and veins stood out under the strain.
The Song dynasty favored delicate, willowy women—the kind Shen Miao used to be. Timid, easily brought to tears, afraid of the dark and bugs, her voice soft as a whisper. Now? She could cleave pork bones with a single chop. Without a cart for her stall, she refused to ask for his help, carrying everything herself with brisk efficiency.
She raised her siblings without complaint, even laughing under the stars with Sister Xiang on their first night sleeping in the charred ruins of their home—no weeping, no despair. She’d truly changed.
The girl who’d once called him "Second Brother Gu" in that gentle voice seemed to have vanished entirely during those three years.
For some reason, Gu Tusu felt his spirits deflate. Shoulders slumping, he pushed his cart a few steps before glancing back—but Shen Miao and her sister had already melted into the market crowd. She never once looked back, walking steadily ahead.
After a long moment, he turned away silently and steered his cart into the alley.
Shen Miao paid no mind to the encounter with Gu Tusu—nor did she care what others thought.
She was still calculating how much she could earn from this order! The price she negotiated with the Xie family’s servant was today’s selling rate—eight coppers per loaf of bread, but she could omit the eggs! That saved nearly one copper per loaf in costs!
If she could bake the bread at their doorstep, she’d even save on charcoal expenses.
Today, she had made fifty-five red bean loaves. Two were taken by Ji Brother, one was eaten by Sister Xiang, she herself had one, and another was given as usual to the plump matron, who reciprocated by offering Sister Xiang a bowl of jujube soup.
The remaining fifty loaves sold out entirely, almost all purchased whole. When she returned home for lunch and counted with Sister Xiang, she found she’d earned four hundred coppers just from the red bean loaves today. After deducting costs, the gross profit was around three hundred coppers. Combined with the earnings from hand-pulled pancakes, her daily profit neared eight hundred coppers!
If she could secure the Xie family’s order for four hundred and fifty loaves, she’d make three strings of cash in one go!
Three strings! That was three strings of cash!
The mere thought made Shen Miao’s steps light with joy.
Meanwhile, near the guardhouse at the southern city gate, inside the Lanxin Bookstore, Ji Brother was hunched over, writing furiously.
The bookstore’s owner, Shopkeeper Zhou, was a gaunt, stern-looking man in his sixties. His wife had passed away long ago, and he never remarried, instead raising his son and daughter alone.
His son had enlisted in the military and settled in Yanzhou, while his daughter married into a family in Luoyang. Neither lived as comfortably as he did. After staying with his son for two years and his daughter for another two, he eventually returned alone to tend this modest bookstore until his old age.
He named the shop after his late wife’s maiden name, as if she were still by his side.
With no grandchildren around, though he never said it aloud, he harbored a soft spot for children like Shen Ji who frequented his shop to read. As long as they treated the books with care—no dog-earing pages or spilling ink—he allowed them to stay and copy texts after paying a small fee.
Most children who could afford schooling came from well-off families. Being young and unaccustomed to hardship, they often lacked persistence, quitting after a couple of days. But Shen Ji was different. For the past two years, he’d visited regularly to copy books. His handwriting was neat and firm for his age, so whenever new storybooks were in high demand and printing couldn’t keep up, Shopkeeper Zhou would hire him to make a few copies for extra coins.
After all, paying this boy was far cheaper than hiring those self-important scholars.
From behind the tall counter, Shopkeeper Zhou tapped his abacus, occasionally glancing at Shen Ji or scanning the shop for potential book thieves.
Eventually, his gaze settled back on the boy, and he smacked his thin lips thoughtfully.
Earlier, Shen Ji had brought him honey-glazed red bean buns, and even hours later, their sweetness lingered on his tongue, leaving him craving more.
A widower who’d raised children through hardship, Shopkeeper Zhou was notoriously frugal. He rarely dined out and cooked his meals with little regard for flavor, so long as they filled his stomach.
That morning, bleary-eyed and unwashed, he’d barely removed the shop’s wooden shutters when he found the boy waiting on the threshold with a woven basket. Startled by the sudden movement, Shen Ji nearly toppled over.
“Oh? Ji Brother! Long time no see. You’re here early.” Shopkeeper Zhou rubbed his eyes and let him in, noting how tidy the boy looked—dressed in a new blue robe with flowing water patterns, his hair neatly tied, unlike his usual disheveled self.
Yawning, he added, “Where’s your sister? Didn’t bring her today? Not afraid your aunt will beat her?”
“Shopkeeper Zhou, I’m here to copy books.” Shen Ji handed over the basket and unpacked his writing tools. At the question, he coughed, unable to hide his joy. “My elder sister came back and took us home. Sister Xiang won’t be beaten anymore.”
This was news. Shopkeeper Zhou stacked the shutters in a corner and turned back, puzzled. “Your sister? The one who married into wealth in Jinling and left you behind? She actually returned?”
“Yes.” Shen Ji nodded, already reaching for a copy of The Expanded Wisdom of the Ages. He laid out his paper, settled at a desk, and began moistening his brush. “Shopkeeper Zhou, my sister never truly abandoned us.”
The first year after she left, he and Sister Xiang often spoke of her. But over time, their longing twisted into resentment amid the endless waiting.
Now that she was back, all that bitterness had vanished.
“Her in-laws were vile, and she suffered greatly. But now that she’s home, everything’s better.” Shen Ji lifted his fair, delicate face with a contented smile, pointing to the basket. “She made those for you. My sister can cook anything, and it’s always delicious. Try them while they’re warm.”
“I’ve lived decades, boy. What delicacies haven’t I tasted? You’re just a child—what could you possibly—” Shopkeeper Zhou scoffed, convinced the sister couldn’t be sincere. If she’d sent the boy to copy books for money, what kind of “treat” could she offer?
Over the years, whenever Shen Ji was beaten, he’d flee to the bookstore with his sister. Shopkeeper Zhou knew the family’s wretched affairs too well. The boy had lost his parents, and his uncle and aunt were heartless. As for the sister, she’d only returned once—for the funeral—then handed the family shop to her uncle and vanished.
Though married daughters were like spilled water, three years of silence was rare.
Frowning, he lifted the cloth covering the basket. A rich, sweet aroma of baked wheat wafted out. Before he realized it, his mouth watered, and his hand reached out. The bun was so soft it yielded under his fingers.
“I carried it close, so it should still be warm,” Shen Ji said, already grinding ink without looking up.
And warm it was—soft, too.
Shopkeeper Zhou took a bite, then devoured half in two more mouthfuls. Stunned, he muttered, “Your sister made this? How old is she?”
He hadn’t been exaggerating earlier—in his youth, he and his wife had been traveling merchants, not bookstore owners. Back then, they had roamed far and wide—was there anything they hadn’t tasted? But after his wife passed away from illness, he no longer wanted to wander. All he cared about was fulfilling her dying wish: to raise their two children well with the savings they’d scraped together.
A few days before his daughter’s wedding, he thought about how rarely he’d see her afterward, so he took her and his son to Fanlou, ordering a table full of fine dishes… Among them were sweet bean buns shaped like longevity peaches, adorable and delicious, said to be made by a master baker with decades of experience.
He had thought he’d savor that memory for the rest of his life, but today, he tasted something even better. Then he heard Shen Ji casually mention, “My elder sister is twenty-one this year, twenty-two by lunar reckoning.”
Only in her early twenties, yet with such incredible skill!
Shopkeeper Zhou had seen much in his life. Though old, his palate was still sharp. After a few more bites, he polished off half a loaf. For the next hour or so, he lounged in his chair, brewing a pot of cheap tea leaves over the stove, sipping now and then until his belly was round and he was belching contentedly.
Shen Ji had copied several pages by the time he heard Shopkeeper Zhou’s belch and realized he hadn’t eaten yet. But when he straightened up and looked, the two large loaves he’d brought were reduced to nothing but crumbs. His voice trembled with indignation:
“Shopkeeper Zhou! I haven’t even eaten yet…”
The old man, still patting his full stomach, suddenly met Shen Ji’s resentful gaze. He froze, then chuckled sheepishly. “Ah, I got carried away… Well, I’ve got some coarse rice porridge simmering in the back. I’ll fetch you a bowl! No need to glare like that. Fine, from today onward, you can copy books here without paying. Deal?”
Shen Ji reluctantly agreed—but when Shopkeeper Zhou brought out the porridge, he was stunned. There was even soot floating in it! A murky, watery mess that looked like slop for pigs.
Shen Ji stared at it for a long time but couldn’t bring himself to take a bite.
It suddenly struck him just how well he’d been eating these past few days.
After all, his elder sister could make even millet porridge golden and thick, so rich that a layer of creamy rice oil formed after cooling. Even plain, a single sip was bursting with flavor, the velvety texture clinging to his tongue—pure comfort.
Thinking of her porridge, Shen Ji quietly pushed the bowl of slop farther away.
Luckily, he’d gotten into the habit of rising early to help his sister with chores—tending the fire, slicing cucumbers, washing spring greens. And every time she fried meat cutlets or flatbread, she’d slip him a bite. So he wasn’t starving.
Faced with this bowl of slop… he decided to skip it.
He focused on copying books instead.
At Teacher Liu’s school, he’d just finished memorizing the Thousand Character Classic when the class moved on to Enlightenment Stories and Wise Sayings for Children. But he’d been expelled for fighting before he could start.
So now, he planned to copy those two books first, reading them thoroughly. If he struggled, he’d return to the bookstore to seek help—some down-and-out scholars loitered here, reading for free. Shen Ji figured he could ask them for guidance.
Older boys at the school had studied these texts, so he thought following their lead was the right path.
He barely moved all morning except for a quick trip to relieve himself. His diligence even made Shopkeeper Zhou uneasy. The old man stretched his creaky limbs and boomed, “It’s noon already! Shouldn’t you head home? I’m not feeding you lunch!”
He was about to retreat to the back to cook, but the boy was still planted there.
Shen Ji lifted his eyes mournfully. “Shopkeeper Zhou, if you hadn’t devoured my roasted bun this morning, I’d be eating my lunch right now.”
The sensible boy had assumed Shen Miao gave him the bun to split between breakfast and lunch.
His sister worked tirelessly from dawn to dusk, never complaining—but he noticed. So he’d learned to be frugal. It never crossed his mind that she’d meant it just for breakfast.
Shopkeeper Zhou flushed with embarrassment. “Fine, come to the back with me. If you’re too picky for porridge, I’ll boil you some noodles…” Before he could finish, the door curtain was swept aside by a slender hand.
“Sister Xiang… is this the place?” A gentle-faced woman peeked in, scanning the room until her eyes landed on the boy copying books in the corner. Smiling, she stepped inside, the midday sun pouring in behind her, wrapping her in warm gold. She waved. “Ji Brother!”
Shen Ji jolted up in surprise, scrambling to his feet. “Elder Sister! What are you doing here?”
His voice brimmed with joy.
Shopkeeper Zhou, old as he was, was momentarily dazzled by the woman’s beauty. But he quickly realized—this must be the eldest sister who’d abandoned Shen Ji and Sister Xiang at their uncle’s house.
Huh. She didn’t seem the heartless type.
“I brought you lunch. How’s your day? Not too hard?” Shen Miao lifted a two-tiered wooden lunchbox, then bent to gently wipe ink smudges from Shen Ji’s cheek with a handkerchief. Turning to Shopkeeper Zhou, she said, “You must be Shopkeeper Zhou. Ji Brother speaks of you often. Thank you for looking after him all these years.”
She dipped into a deep curtsy.
What bookstore would hire a child to copy books? A child’s handwriting, no matter how neat, couldn’t match an adult’s. It was clear—Shopkeeper Zhou had taken pity on the boy, giving him a way to earn his keep.
“No need for such courtesy!” Shopkeeper Zhou waved his hands. “The boy’s quiet. He doesn’t disturb business.”
Shen Miao didn’t linger on formalities. Noticing the cold stove in the back, she guessed the old man hadn’t eaten either. Luckily, she’d come prepared. With a smile, she opened the lunchbox. “I made extra today, thinking how much trouble this child must be causing you. If you don’t mind, why not join him for lunch?”
Shopkeeper Zhou, remembering the roasted bun from the morning and now catching the aroma from the lunchbox, agreed at once.
Shen Miao laid out the meal on the back room’s square table, unpacking each dish. She’d brought bowls and chopsticks, first serving Shopkeeper Zhou a heaping portion of mixed-grain rice before filling a bowl for Shen Ji. “Take your time, both of you. Sister Xiang and I have already eaten at home.”
“Ah, Madam Shen, you’re too kind…”
The aroma of the meal was so enticing that Shopkeeper Zhou was momentarily speechless, hastily picking up a bite with his chopsticks. His first taste was the chicken thigh stuffed with mushrooms and tofu—the meat tender and juicy, the tofu and mushrooms soaked in rich broth. One bite was all it took to make it impossible to stop.
Since his wife passed away decades ago, Shopkeeper Zhou hadn’t eaten food so delicious that he couldn’t bear to put his chopsticks down. After finishing, he even sat quietly on the stool for a while longer, staring at the remnants of his usual coarse rice porridge in the pot. Much like Ji Brother, a thought crossed his mind: Had I been eating slop all this time?
Ji Brother also devoured two full bowls of rice for lunch. With Shopkeeper Zhou snatching dishes so quickly, he feared there’d be nothing left if he didn’t eat fast. So he wolfed down his food, the old man and the young boy turning the meal into a battlefield, nearly leaving a trail of smoke in their wake.
While they ate, Shen Miao went to a nearby oil shop to buy a few pounds of soybean oil. When she returned carrying a bamboo bucket, Ji Brother was already stuffed, his forehead glistening with sweat. He gulped down a cup of tea and sprawled on the chair, panting. Sister Xiang, who had been watching their ferocious eating from the edge of the table, was stunned. Only when Shen Miao returned did she snap out of it, muttering, "So scary."
"What’s that, Sister Xiang? Ji Brother, we’ll head back first. Remember to come home after copying for another hour or so," Shen Miao said, taking Sister Xiang with her and reminding Ji Brother to return before dark. Then she carried the oil home.
On the way, she passed the fabric shop where she’d bought cloth before and picked up a few more bolts. She planned to make new outfits for herself, Sister Xiang, and Ji Brother. The children only had the clothes they’d arrived in and the two sets Shen Miao had sewn for them afterward. With just two outfits to alternate, if rainy days made drying impossible, they’d be left with nothing to wear.
Back home, Sister Xiang was once again collecting broken tiles in the yard. Weeds had sprouted, attracting more insects and butterflies. She crouched on the ground, even catching a grasshopper to feed the little chicks, amusing herself endlessly.
Shen Miao touched the earthen kiln not far from the kitchen door—it was about halfway dry. Fortunately, the past few days had been sunny, speeding up the drying process. If it rained, she’d have to wrap it in oilcloth, delaying things further.
As she stood, she glanced at Sister Xiang to see what she was up to.
The girl had befriended the three little chicks. In her palm lay a half-dead grasshopper, which she fed exclusively to the white rooster with blatant favoritism. The other two naturally wanted a share, but the white chick was clever—it snatched the bug and darted away, the other two flapping their wings in hot pursuit.
The three chicks clucked and chased each other around the yard, with Sister Xiang running after them, scolding like a little mother hen: "Stop fighting! You’ll pluck each other bald! Ugh… I’ll catch more later! There’s plenty!"
Shen Miao couldn’t help but laugh.
Seeing the girl entertained, she went into the kitchen with peace of mind. Checking the sky, she estimated the time—if she started now, she could bake a batch of vegetarian red bean buns and deliver them to West Bell and Drum Alley near the Great Xiangguo Temple.
The address left by the Xie family’s servant wasn’t far.
Rolling up her sleeves and soaking the beans, Shen Miao began kneading dough. Outside the window, Sister Xiang rounded up the chicks, lined them up, and—hands behind her back—mimicked Ji Brother’s lecturing tone, pacing sternly as she scolded the three fluff-covered troublemakers.
But the chicks scattered instantly, leaving the would-be disciplinarian standing alone.
Smoke curled once more from the Shen household’s chimney, white steam rising and dissipating into the air.
As luck would have it, Uncle Shen and Aunt Ding were heading into the inner city with their son Hai Ge'er in their donkey cart to collect rent. They owned a small shop not far from Shen Miao’s home, north of Golden Beam Bridge, diagonally across from the Wei family’s pastry shop. It was leased to an out-of-town cloth merchant selling fashionable southern fabrics.
Uncle Shen, perched on the cart’s shaft, personally pulled the cart for his wife. His considerable bulk made the vehicle tilt slightly. The family of three, all plump and well-fed, weighed so heavily on the old donkey that its eyes nearly bulged from exhaustion.
Aunt Ding, stern-faced, admonished Uncle Shen: "We’re only here to collect rent today—no visiting those three burdens Second Shen left behind. Don’t think I didn’t hear about you slipping Shen Miao two strings of coins the other day!"
Caught red-handed, Uncle Shen chuckled awkwardly. "They’re Second Shen’s children. It’s already shameful we didn’t take them in. The neighbors’ gossip is unbearable. Giving them a little money keeps the tongues from wagging."
Aunt Ding, still resentful over the lost coins, snorted. "Now that Shen Miao’s back, she should be taking care of Ji Brother and Sister Xiang! The eldest sister is like a mother—even the magistrate would agree."
But since the money was already given, she let it go, forbidding Uncle Shen from further involvement. That Shen Miao had clearly honed her silver tongue during her three years in Jinling, sweet-talking Uncle Shen into compliance! Aunt Ding feared he’d empty their coffers if he saw them again.
While an uncle couldn’t outright abandon his nephew and niece, supporting them indefinitely was impossible. Their family wasn’t living off imperial stipends—money didn’t grow on trees! Aunt Ding had married off three daughters, each with a dowry of a hundred strings of coins, nearly bankrupting them. She still needed savings for Hai Ge'er’s future bride. Dowries were costly, but weddings weren’t cheap either… A shrewd woman, she refused to waste resources on someone else’s children.
Hai Ge'er sat on the other side of the cart shaft, greasy fingers clutching a large chicken leg, his face smeared with oil. At the mention of Ji Brother, his recently healed cheek seemed to throb again.
His eyes, nearly lost in his plump face, narrowed further with resentment. In his heart, he’d done nothing wrong. Ji Brother had chopped wood and fetched water at Uncle Shen’s house, treated like a servant by Aunt Ding, yet never spoke of his wronged parents or sister. When Second Shen and his wife were trampled to death in the street by a high-ranking official in crimson robes, it had shocked the capital. But in the end, two lives vanished without justice, leaving only sighs in their wake.
Even his classmates whispered among themselves. Some wondered why the case of his parents’ deaths was swept under the rug, while others asked, "Didn’t he have an older sister? I heard she married a scholar with a bright future. Why didn’t she take them south? Instead of relying on his own flesh and blood, he’s leeching off your family…"
Hai Ge'er had heard Aunt Ding complain several times, so he boldly declared, "What else could it be? Ji Brother always has that dead-fish face of his, and he’s not sweet-talking either—who’d want to raise him? His own sister must’ve despised him too, that’s why she dumped him at our place and ran off! Jinling’s a bustling place, rich with the bounty of Jiangnan—once she got there, she probably forgot all about him!"
His classmates burst into laughter. "Dead-fish face—crude but fitting!"
"If I were his sister, I wouldn’t want to drag two burdens to my husband’s family either. Who knows what gossip that’d stir!"
Hai Ge'er smirked and added, "My mom said his sister’s always been a spineless pushover since she was little, the kind who’d burst into tears at the slightest harsh word. Utterly useless! Instead of standing up for herself, she’d hide like a coward, crying and deluding herself. A hopeless mess, the kind people look down on the most! My mom even warned my four sisters never to act like her..."
Before he could finish, Ji Brother, who happened to be passing by, swung a fist at him.
The first punch sent stars flashing before Hai Ge'er’s eyes—he didn’t even have time to yelp before another one landed.
Ji Brother pinned him down, gripping his collar with icy fury in his eyes, snarling, "Dare insult my parents or sister again, and I’ll beat you to death!"
Hai Ge'er, in pain and terror, wailed, "Don’t you hate your sister too? I heard it myself—when Sister Xiang cried asking for her, you snapped and said never to mention her again! If you hate her, why hit me? Was anything I said wrong?"
The only reply was Ji Brother’s ragged, furious breaths—and another punch.
Classmates tried to intervene, but Ji Brother struck them too.
Chaos erupted until Teacher Liu arrived, his beard bristling with rage. After hearing the reason, he expelled Ji Brother for throwing the first punch.
Later, when Hai Ge'er’s mother saw his bruised and swollen face, she wouldn’t let it slide. She grabbed a broom, berated Ji Brother, and beat him, then chased both him and the sobbing Sister Xiang out into the rain.
Ji Brother, blood trickling from his split lip, didn’t look back or beg. Instead, he tightly held Sister Xiang’s hand and walked step by step into the downpour until they vanished from sight.
After that, Hai Ge'er never saw them again.
On the day he heard Ji Brother’s sister had returned and brought him to their doorstep, Hai Ge'er was out playing wildly. His two punches hadn’t been serious—just superficial bruises that faded in days, not enough to keep him indoors. But by the time he got back, Ji Brother, Sister Xiang, and that sister of theirs were already gone.
Back when Second Shen and his wife were still around, Hai Ge'er had seen Eldest Sister Shen during holidays. She was the prettiest of all the Shen girls, delicate as a flower bud, but she always kept her head down, shyly twisting her handkerchief when speaking.
Aunt Ding despised her, never sparing a kind word, calling her petty and timid. Yet that day, when Eldest Sister Shen came with Ji Brother and Sister Xiang, even Aunt Ding—after a long, heated argument with Uncle Shen—finally cooled down and muttered, "Your Second Brother’s eldest girl has finally grown up. Starting to act like a proper sister."
Hai Ge'er didn’t get what his mother meant. Frankly, he didn’t want to be around Ji Brother anymore—that guy hit way too hard!
And… just a few idle words, and he’d lashed out? His father said even as young scholars, they ought to retaliate with words, not fists. How uncouth!
Shaking his head, he took a big bite of chicken drumstick, then remembered something and turned to Aunt Ding. "Mom, Xiao Dou next door said there’s a new ‘Pancake Beauty’ at Golden Beam Bridge—her pancakes are amazing! His family tried them once. Can we go check it out later?"
Uncle Shen’s eyes lit up. "Oh? Pancake Beauty?" Must be a real looker!
Aunt Ding’s face darkened. She smacked both of them. "We’re here on business! One only thinks with his stomach, and the other—" She glared at Uncle Shen, her smile razor-thin. "What’s this about a Pancake Beauty? Want to take a look too?"
"No, no! Nothing worth seeing!" Uncle Shen’s back prickled with sweat as he hastily backtracked. "Better to collect the rent and buy you some nice fabric. That shopkeeper said he’d stock new cloud gauze soon!"
Hai Ge'er covered his face, not daring to breathe a word.
Only then did Aunt Ding’s expression soften.
The three of them rode their cart to Golden Beam Bridge. Crossing it, Hai Ge'er and Uncle Shen stole glances but saw no sign of the Pancake Beauty. Midway, near a drinks stall, they overheard a man with a donkey ask the plump vendor, "Where’s the pancake seller?"
"Sold out! Gone home!"
"But it’s barely past noon! Why’s she closed already?"
"Of course! She’s a beauty with skills to match—gentlemen flock to her stall. By mid-morning, she’s sold out! Come at dawn tomorrow if you want any!" The vendor chuckled, cracking melon seeds.
The man, embarrassed, hurried off with his donkey.
Hai Ge'er’s heart sank. Sold out already? Why didn’t she make more?
"Wasn’t that Manager Wei from Wei’s Pastry Shop?" Aunt Ding recognized the man. "If even he’s buying her pancakes, she must be good!"
Aunt Ding’s cooking could burn through pots, so the family’s plumpness came from eating out. Hearing of a new delicacy, she made a mental note.
"Too bad we’re late. Could’ve tried some." Uncle Shen flicked the reins, and they ambled across the bridge.
Not long after they left, Shen Miao shouldered a large basket of freshly baked red bean bread in Willow East Lane, took Sister Xiang’s hand, and headed toward the Great Xiangguo Temple.
