Wei Yao appeared to be around forty years old, dressed in a round-collared robe adorned with intricate floral patterns, leading a brown donkey with a white belly. He arrived in a hurry, barely catching his breath before addressing Shen Miao with those words.
Not only was Shen Miao taken aback, but even the nearby street vendors turned their heads in surprise.
The plump woman, surnamed Mei and known as Mei Sanniang, stood close to Shen Miao. Upon hearing this, she raised her eyebrows in astonishment.
Wei Yao had been running a pastry shop at Jinliang Bridge for many years, and his meat-filled wedding cakes were quite famous. Families celebrating weddings in the area would always order several loads of his cakes. However, in recent years, pastry shops had sprung up like mushrooms after rain, introducing many new styles. Still, Wei’s shop was an established, skilled, and reputable business, which was why Mei Sanniang recognized him.
When she got married, her family had also ordered wedding cakes from Wei’s shop!
Who would have thought such a prestigious establishment would come to the bridge market to recruit this pastry-making Shen Miao?
She had only set up her stall for a few days—how could she have caught Shopkeeper Wei’s eye?
Yet Mei Sanniang had to admit—Shen Miao’s skills were truly impressive.
Every day Shen Miao came to set up her stall, she would gift Mei Sanniang a baked bun or a flatbread, both of which were delicious. The only downside was that after indulging for two or three days, Mei Sanniang had gained another two pounds.
Of course, since Shen Miao shared her fragrant pastries, Mei Sanniang reciprocated with tea, and the two quickly became acquainted.
From others, Mei Sanniang had also learned about Shen Miao’s background—how she had lost both parents, been cast out by her husband’s family, and was now raising two younger siblings alone. This tragic tale stirred Mei Sanniang’s sympathy, and she no longer felt envious even when Shen Miao sold out every day and her business thrived.
Now, seeing Shen Miao stumble upon such good fortune, Mei Sanniang eagerly chimed in, “Shen Miao, this is a wonderful opportunity! Once you start working at Wei’s pastry shop, you won’t have to endure wind and rain out here anymore.”
Mei Sanniang genuinely believed this. Being a pastry chef in a shop meant stable income—no worrying about fluctuating customers, a fixed monthly wage, and even extra provisions during festivals… In fact, she ought to help Shen Miao negotiate for a higher salary later!
To her surprise, Shen Miao remained unmoved and even turned down the golden opportunity, politely refusing, “Thank you for your kindness, Shopkeeper Wei. But my family used to run a shop as well, and I wish to revive our legacy. For now, I have no intention of working for another business, so I must decline.”
Wei Yao was puzzled. Before coming, he had already investigated Shen Miao’s background and knew her circumstances. He hadn’t expected her to play hard to get. Frowning, he pressed, “Are you worried about the pay? I invited you because I value your skills—your gender doesn’t matter. I’ve already decided: the master chefs in my shop earn five strings of cash a month, plus two coins for every box of pastries they sell. You’ll receive the same as the two senior chefs. How does that sound?”
Mei Sanniang’s eyes sparkled—this was an incredibly generous offer! Five strings of cash a month, plus commissions!
Shopkeeper Wei was truly open-handed! She didn’t dare speak up but kept winking and gesturing at Shen Miao to accept.
Yet Shen Miao still shook her head. Instead, she tentatively asked, “Shopkeeper Wei, did you try my baked buns before coming to this decision? If it’s the recipe you’re after, I’d be willing to sell it to you. Afterward, I won’t sell them at the bridge market anymore, leaving the business entirely to you. How about that?”
Wei Yao pondered for a long moment but didn’t answer directly. Instead, he shrewdly countered, “Why take the roundabout way, Shen Miao? Selling a recipe might fetch you a few dozen strings of cash, but that’s just a one-time profit. Wouldn’t it be better to work in my shop, steadily saving money until you’re financially secure for years to come?”
Shen Miao thought to herself—this man was truly a shrewd businessman, skilled at painting rosy pictures and dodging her proposal.
But his response had revealed his intentions. She shook her head again and bowed slightly in gratitude. “I must decline. Thank you for your offer.”
Wei Yao, having personally extended the invitation with generous terms and repeated persuasion, found Shen Miao’s continued refusal rather haughty. The murmurs of the surrounding vendors didn’t help. Annoyed, he flicked his sleeve and left. “Since you’re putting on such airs, I won’t press further. I only hope you won’t regret this someday. Farewell!”
Mei Sanniang was beside herself, clutching her chest in frustration.
“Good heavens, Shen Miao! Why let such an opportunity slip? Do you not know who he is?” She stood on tiptoe and pointed toward the largest two-storey shopfront in the distance. “See that? That’s Wei’s pastry shop! Every year, countless people dream of working there!”
Shen Miao followed her plump finger and indeed saw an imposing two-storey building.
Truly impressive.
She chuckled and spread her hands. “I don’t think it’s such a great deal, Sanniang. If the heavens dropped a pie, why would it land so easily on our heads? There’s a saying I’ve always believed in: everything in this world comes at a price. Nothing is truly free.”
Mei Sanniang was stunned by her words and grew serious, stepping out from her stall to pull Shen Miao aside. “Then explain—why isn’t this a good deal? Five strings a month, plus commissions! If sales are good, you could earn over ten strings a month! Where else would you find such an opportunity?”
Shen Miao sighed and lowered her voice. “Think about it. He doesn’t want to buy my recipe but is willing to pay a high salary to hire me. That means he’s banking on me knowing more than just one pastry. Five strings a month to employ me as a chef means he can have me make ten or twenty different pastries—maybe even train apprentices. Once they or other chefs learn my recipes, what use would I be? If he fires me, what recourse do I have? Five strings a month seems like a lot, but compared to buying the recipe outright, it’s a bargain for him!”
Mei Sanniang was speechless, muttering, “But Shopkeeper Wei is known for his integrity. Surely he wouldn’t do that?”
“No matter how kind-hearted, he’s still a merchant.” Shen Miao had been a businesswoman in her past life and knew all the tricks of the trade. She wasn’t angry, just resigned as she continued packing her things. “Merchants chase profit. When money’s involved, even the most principled will pinch pennies. He’s just protecting his business—if he buys a recipe and it doesn’t sell well, or if others copy it, he’d lose big. Of course, I’m not saying this is definitely his plan. But I refuse to be at someone else’s mercy or gamble on it. I can’t afford to take that risk.”
She waved her hands at Mei Sanniang. “The most valuable thing I have is these hands. I have nothing else, so I must be cautious. If I accepted Shopkeeper Wei’s offer, I’d be killing the goose that lays the golden eggs for short-term gain.”
In her past life, Shen Miao’s family had all been in the Chinese culinary business. Only she had gone abroad after university to study Western pastries for two years—nearly earning her grandfather’s wrath. But after mastering the craft, whenever she returned and baked a batch, the old gourmand would happily savor them with his tea.
Where to make a living isn’t what matters most—what truly counts is having solid skills. Though it seems tough now, things will improve once the shop is up and running. Shen Miao was still confident.
"What you say makes a lot of sense…" Mei Sanniang hadn’t expected someone so young to be so clear-headed and perceptive, and she couldn’t help but look at her in a new light. Her gaze unconsciously drifted to Ji Brother, who had silently set down his book and stood behind his elder sister ever since Wei Yao arrived.
He didn’t interfere with his sister’s affairs, merely standing behind her with his spine straight and tense, like a fully drawn bow.
Meanwhile, Sister Xiang bustled about like a busy little hamster during Shen Miao’s conversation, helping her pack up various items.
These three siblings were all quite fascinating, especially Ji Brother.
Mei Sanniang thought of her own son, who was around Ji Brother’s age, and suddenly found herself utterly charmed. She leaned in to whisper to Shen Miao, "Madam Shen, how on earth did you raise your brother? He’s so well-behaved and sensible! And such a good temperament too—he knows to protect you. Unlike my boy, who’s practically unbearable in comparison! That rascal would climb onto the roof to tear off tiles if he could. I enrolled him in a private school, but he was sent home after just two days—apparently, aside from being the first to bolt when it was mealtime, he was practically possessed by drowsiness the rest of the time. He’d doze off after reading two pages in class, and when the teacher punished him to stand outside facing the wall, he’d fall asleep standing up!
His handwriting looks like chicken scratches—no one but him can decipher it! The teacher was so furious he nearly had a stroke. This morning, he returned both my son and the tuition, saying he couldn’t take it anymore. If this goes on, I might have a stroke myself!"
The way Mei Sanniang delivered this with such indignation nearly made Shen Miao laugh, but she knew that when parents disparaged their children in public, it wasn’t because they truly wanted others to mock them—they were just seeking comfort for their frustrations.
So she suppressed her amusement and patiently consoled her, "He’s still young. Playfulness is natural at his age—it just shows how loving and kind you are as a mother. Otherwise, how could he have such a lively spirit? Someone like my brother isn’t actually a good thing. Our parents passed away early, leaving us with no one to rely on. Children from poor families grow up fast—they have no choice but to stand on their own. If you ask me how I disciplined him, I don’t even know. He just became sensible on his own."
These words left Mei Sanniah silent for a moment. Staring at Shen Miao’s delicate, gentle face, she sighed softly for her—for the first time without a trace of envy, but with genuine sympathy.
And thinking of her own child, she suddenly felt much less agitated.
"These words of yours… I’ve never heard them before. But I find myself utterly convinced by them."
A customer arrived, and Mei Sanniang returned to her stall with a smile to prepare fragrant drinks. As she brewed the tea, she couldn’t help but turn her head to sigh at Shen Miao. "I’ve never thought this way before. Back when my father was still alive, I always felt I had someone to rely on. If my husband misbehaved, I’d pack my bags and run straight home to complain—let’s see how many whacks he’d take from my father! But after my father passed, I lost that courage whenever I quarreled with my husband…"
After musing for a while, Shen Miao finished packing her things. Ji Brother had been busy the whole time, helping carry items and even wiping the sugar dust off his little sister’s cheeks without a word, silently doing all the work.
Mei Sanniang finished preparing the tea and leaned on her stall, watching them with admiration. "Even among poor families where children grow up fast, someone like your brother is rare…"
Even as Shen Miao bid her farewell and headed home, Mei Sanniang’s envious gaze lingered behind them like a shadow.
Once home, Shen Miao rested briefly before putting the day’s events out of her mind, immediately diving into preparing the 150 red bean buns ordered by the Xie family.
The ingredients—red beans, coarse flour, sugar, and bean oil—had already been arranged with the grain shop and delivered the previous evening. Shen Miao had negotiated a long-term supply deal with Shopkeeper Niu of "Taifeng Grain & Rice," who agreed to provide her goods at 90% of the market price.
Grain prices in the Song Dynasty weren’t as stable as in later eras, but they had remained relatively steady in recent years.
Shen Miao was meticulous in her work. Worried that a sudden spike in grain prices could deal her a heavy blow, she had asked Shopkeeper Niu in detail: Where did Bianjing’s grain come from? How did prices typically fluctuate?
Shopkeeper Niu found it novel—he’d never encountered a buyer who dug so deep into such questions. But since he intended to do long-term business with Shen Miao, he explained everything carefully.
After listening, Shen Miao felt slightly reassured.
In simple terms, about 60% of Bianjing’s grain was transported from the south via the Bian River. Currently, grain prices in the Song Dynasty were much cheaper than in previous dynasties for two reasons: First, the Champa rice from Jiaozhi had been introduced to the Jiangnan region, allowing two to three harvests per year, greatly boosting rice production. Second, wheat in the Song Dynasty not only yielded two harvests annually but had also expanded from dry highlands to plains, spreading from areas like Jianghuai and Daming Prefecture to Huainan and Jiangnan.
As long as the south remained free of disasters, grain prices in Bianjing typically fluctuated by only a few coins every ten days. Only if floods, droughts, or locust plagues struck the south would prices surge within a month.
"Nowadays, wheat flour from the south is even cheaper than that from Daming Prefecture," Shopkeeper Niu said cheerfully. "Rest assured, our emperor is a sage ruler for the ages—not only frugal himself but also dispatching agricultural officials every year to oversee farming in every prefecture. River embankments are repaired annually too. As long as Heaven smiles upon us, neither of us will go hungry."
Indeed, this version of the Song Dynasty was fortunate—history had taken a turn during the reign of Emperor Taizu. Without the line of Emperor Taizong’s descendants and their legacy of disastrously inept rulers, the emperors from Zhao Kuangyin’s bloodline had turned out much better…
As she kneaded the dough, Shen Miao couldn’t help but grumble inwardly.
Preparing 150 buns was no small task. She worked the entire afternoon before finishing. The bamboo steamer she had bought earlier could barely fit 20 buns per layer, forcing her to stack them eight layers high.
After tying the bundles with hemp rope—four on each side—and hanging them from a carrying pole, Shen Miao took a deep breath under the awed gazes of Sister Xiang and Ji Brother. She hoisted the load onto her shoulder, adjusted to the weight, and strode out steadily.
That was the trick with a carrying pole—once balanced properly, the weight didn’t feel so bad.
Ji Brother held Sister Xiang’s hand and steadied the load for her as the three walked slowly. They drew plenty of attention from passersby, and even the murmurs from the roadside reached their ears.
"Heavens, this lady looks slender, but she’s got some strength!"
"Isn’t that the 'Pancake Beauty' from the morning market? Where’s she off to now?"
"Not quite—she’s the 'Flatbread Beauty'!"
"Same difference—it’s her!"
"Look… she’s made so many. This lady’s got good fortune—must be some wealthy patron’s order!"
Shen Miao was speechless. "Pancake Beauty"? When had she ever been called that? And though someone had corrected it, "Flatbread Beauty" wasn’t much better!
She wound through streets and alleys, the gossipy chatter of onlookers fading only when she reached West Bell and Drum Lane. Arriving at the side gate of the Xie family’s western compound, she found the same gatekeeper from yesterday lounging there. The moment he spotted Shen Miao approaching with a carrying pole balanced on her shoulders, he sprang up from the threshold to assist.
“Madam Shen? Oh dear! Take it slow—here, let this servant carry it for you. Come, hand it over, and I’ll take you inside…”
Before Shen Miao could refuse, the pole was already hoisted onto Yan Qi’s shoulders. The other servants idling at the gate crowded around, teasing him. “Yan Qi, has the sun risen from the west today? Since when did a lazybones like you become so eager? Did a fairy maiden descend from the heavens?”
Yan Qi flushed red, steadying the pole with one hand while kicking out half-heartedly to shoo them away. “Scram, all of you! Stop blabbering nonsense—this is a task assigned by the madam… Madam Shen, follow me, and watch your step…”
Shen Miao merely smiled without a word. Women making a living outside the home inevitably encountered such loose tongues—the more attention paid, the worse they became. Best to ignore them altogether.
Silently, she dipped her head slightly and led Ji Brother and Sister Xiang over the Xie family’s high bluestone threshold.
Side gates of wealthy households were typically reserved for servants or transporting goods like grain, firewood, and water. Stepping inside, Shen Miao found herself in a modest courtyard where the east and west wings had been converted into stables. Servants bustled about, pushing carts laden with hay. Crossing the courtyard, they followed a winding corridor, passed through another gate, traversed a small garden, and finally entered the outer kitchen Yan Qi had mentioned.
The path was lined with busy servants—some weeding, others sweeping, a few scaling artificial hills to scrape off moss. Shen Miao’s feet ached from the walk, and her eyes were overwhelmed by the sheer number of people. The Xie family must employ hundreds of servants, she thought.
Ji Brother grew increasingly nervous as they walked. At first, he had craned his neck curiously, but now he stared rigidly ahead. Sister Xiang, however, was delighted. Passing through the little garden, where flowers and foliage flourished, she tugged Shen Miao’s hand and whispered excitedly, “Elder Sister, look! So many flowers over there!”
Yan Qi ushered them into the kitchen, a spacious room lined with four long stoves already steaming with activity as cooks worked in a frenzy.
“This is Madam Shen, sent by the lady to deliver vegetarian pastries,” Yan Qi explained to the head cook before setting down the pole. “Madam Shen, this is Head Cook Fang of the outer kitchen. If you need anything, just ask him.”
Shen Miao glanced at the man—a broad-shouldered, muscular figure who seemed stern, kneading dough with forceful thuds. He gave her only a curt nod.
She returned the gesture politely.
Yan Qi added, “I’ll leave you here. At 5:30, I’ll come back to escort you out.”
Shen Miao noted the time and thanked him again.
Only after Yan Qi left did Head Cook Fang glance up at Shen Miao, gesturing indifferently toward two unused stoves. “Use those. Don’t touch anything else. Firewood’s in the side room—fetch it yourself.”
With that, he resumed kneading, his thick arms pounding the dough with rhythmic thumps.
He didn’t seem pleased about her presence. Shen Miao was perceptive but unbothered. She was here for payment—bake and leave. Others’ moods or opinions mattered little to her.
She took Ji Brother to gather firewood. The kitchen had two side rooms—one for firewood, the other for storing grains and produce—so it wasn’t hard to find.
As she carried the firewood back, she glimpsed servants in neat attire at the path’s end, assembling bamboo poles and colorful canopies for a ritual ceremony. Rising on tiptoe, she caught faint murmurs of scripture recitation amid the bustling figures—quite the grand affair.
She settled Sister Xiang on a small unused stool by the kitchen door, a spot where Shen Miao could easily glance at her. The doorway offered a breeze—cool and free of smoke.
From the topmost steamer, she pulled out a bun nearly the size of Sister Xiang’s head. While making pastries earlier, Shen Miao had shaped a red bean paste bun into a longevity peach for her, but she’d accidentally added too much yeast, resulting in this comically oversized treat.
No sense wasting it, though. She’d steamed it and brought it along.
Sister Xiang accepted it gleefully. The child had quite the appetite, but Shen Miao saw no harm in it—children needed nourishment to grow. Besides, after eating, Sister Xiang would dart around chasing chickens, leaving no chance for weight gain.
With food in hand, Sister Xiang sat quietly by the door, gnawing at the enormous bun. Each bite nearly buried her whole face, drawing several bemused glances from Head Cook Fang—likely the most amusing sight he’d seen all day.
Meanwhile, Ji Brother tended the fire by the stove. As the temperature rose, Shen Miao set to work.
In a quiet courtyard of the Xie residence, Xie Qi lay on a bamboo couch, stomach growling. Even his attendant, Yan Shu, was listless with hunger.
Today marked the death anniversary of Xie Qi’s grandfather. The family had erected rows of canopies in the outer courtyard, hosting 150 monks for three days of scripture recitation while preparing feasts for visiting relatives.
Xie Qi had risen before dawn, donned plain mourning robes, and accompanied his father, uncles, and cousins to pay respects at his grandfather’s grave outside the city. Afterward, they hurried back to the ancestral hall to offer incense before the tablets of their forebears. Then came the endless rounds of hosting distant relatives. Only at 3:45 p.m. did he finally steal a moment to rest.
The midday banquet had demanded wine toasts and poetic recitations under his father’s scrutiny—hardly a meal to fill one’s stomach.
“Ninth Young Master, let this servant go to the kitchen and fetch something to eat,” Yan Shu grumbled, unable to bear it any longer. “With so many guests, Third Aunt’s been helping the madam manage the ceremony, even commandeering servants from the young masters’ courtyards! Even Qiu Hao, who oversees the study, was dragged away! Outrageous! Now we return to not even a warm drink.”
Xie Qi wasn’t one to fuss. His mother never tolerated losses—she’d reclaim what was owed in other ways. As a junior, it wasn’t his place to interfere. He merely smiled. “It’s chaotic these days. Oversights happen. No matter. Mother’s likely at Grandmother’s courtyard now. I ought to pay my respects anyway. Let’s grab some snacks and head to the inner quarters.”
Yan Shu brightened. “Excellent! We’ll take the path by the outer kitchen—it’s the quickest route.”
Xie Qi nodded, threw on an outer robe, and rose. The two descended the steps and left the courtyard.
The wind carried the murmurs of scripture chanting, and the air was thick with swirling incense smoke, slightly pungent. Xie Qi raised his sleeve to cover his nose as he and Yan Shu hurried down the corridor, passing through a gate. The first thing that caught their eyes was an adorably dressed little girl, her hair tied into two round buns with red ribbons framing her cheeks. She sat by the kitchen door, clutching a giant longevity peach bun, munching away with single-minded focus.
Where did this child come from? I don’t recall seeing her before.
Just as Yan Shu was about to step forward curiously, a pair of plain embroidered shoes emerged from the kitchen, followed by a figure in a pale yellow jacket over a crimson skirt. The sleeves were rolled up high, secured with bands, revealing fair yet sturdy arms.
Lifting his gaze, Yan Shu recognized the face at once.
Delicate brows, a small upturned nose—the woman seemed to have been busy in the kitchen for a while, her cheeks flushed pink from the heat of the stove, like the tender branches of peach blossoms in spring. She spotted Yan Shu too and let out a surprised "Ah!"
"Lady Shen!"
Yan Shu hadn’t forgotten her at all. Overjoyed, he blurted out the name and even turned excitedly to his master behind him. "Ninth Brother, Ninth Brother, look! It’s Lady Shen, the one we met on the boat—the one who made such delicious hand-pulled noodles!"
Across the short gravel path, Xie Qi had already seen her without Yan Shu’s exclamations.
The woman stood on the moss-covered stone steps of the kitchen, her eyes like spring breeze-washed waters, gazing over at them from afar.
At first, he too was surprised, but then he remembered the steaming bowl of delicious noodles on the boat and the simple pastries his mother had sent over the evening before. Suddenly, it all made sense.
So the Lady Shen his mother spoke of was the same Lady Shen he had encountered before.
Feeling it was fate, he smiled faintly and clasped his hands in greeting. "Lady Shen, it’s been a while."
Shen Miao quickly bowed in return. At first, she hadn’t recognized him, but the moment Xie Qi spoke, his gentle, courteous voice brought back the memory of the shoe she’d stepped on, leaving a dusty imprint, and the young man’s handsome face twisted in pain.
So this Xie Ninth Brother was him after all!
