The Xie Family's arrogant servant had barely exchanged two words at the Shen Family's doorstep before Eldest Sister Shen invited him inside and promptly slammed the courtyard gate shut with a loud "bang," startling the onlookers who had been craning their necks to eavesdrop.
Shen Miao had explained many times before that it was only due to Eldest Madam Xie's favor that she was invited to the Xie Family to bake her sweet bean buns, and that she had nothing to do with the so-called Zheng Neizhi. But no one believed her.
The Xie Family was of such high status, with servants at their beck and call, their noble palates accustomed to the finest delicacies—how could they possibly take a liking to the crude street food from the bridge market? Yet for three days straight, rain or shine, they had sent carriages to fetch her.
Now, hearing Zheng Neizhi's words, it seemed the Xie Family's nobles truly adored Eldest Sister Shen's craftsmanship, going so far as to seek her out repeatedly. So her claims were actually true!
Was her skill really that exceptional? Though they were neighbors living close by, none had ever visited Shen Miao's stall at the bridge market to show support. After all, her sweet bean buns and griddle cakes weren’t exactly cheap—rumor had it one could cost eight coppers! That was nearly enough to buy a peck of coarse flour!
Back when the Shen Family’s noodle shop was still open, they would occasionally patronize it—partly because Shen Miao’s father was quite skilled, and partly because his noodles were hearty, filling, and affordable. But… even then, his cooking hadn’t been so remarkable as to make nobles linger in admiration!
Then, when the servant vaguely dropped Ninth Brother Xie’s name, the neighbors grew even more uneasy—could it be one of the Xie Family’s young masters?
Eldest Sister Shen was nothing more than a pretty face who knew how to cook, and her reputation was far from spotless. What virtue or talent did she possess to deserve such attention? Surely Zheng Neizhi’s words were just polite flattery!
A few neighbors with daughters of their own couldn’t help but feel a twinge of envy.
Some of the more nosy onlookers, unwilling to return home even after the gate closed, brought out their rice bowls and sat by their doors, eating while keeping an eye out—though they couldn’t hear a thing, they were determined to see when the visitor would leave.
Shen Miao paid no mind to their stares. Sensitive by nature, she had always been adept at reading unspoken words and deciphering emotions in people’s eyes. Having run a restaurant in her past life, she had encountered all sorts of characters—human nature was simply like this.
Now living in the same alley, most of her neighbors were also small business owners, and they saw each other daily. When the Shen Family had fallen on hard times, their pity had been genuine. But seeing her earn money so quickly and land such a prestigious client had soured their moods.
They didn’t see her waking before dawn to knead dough, nor the weight of supporting her family alone on her shoulders. They only assumed it was her looks that kept the Xie Family and bridge market customers returning. It seemed sweat and effort would always lose out to prejudice and jealousy. As the saying went: "You don’t want your friend to suffer, but you don’t want them driving a luxury car either." I genuinely wish you well—just not better than me.
And besides, she wasn’t even their "friend" to begin with.
She kept her composure.
After all, the version of you in others’ eyes isn’t even a fraction of who you truly are. In her past life, Shen Miao had been raised surrounded by her family’s love, never doubting her own worth. If someone didn’t like her, that was their problem! She also believed in fate—people met when destined and parted when the bond ran its course. There was no need to force anything.
But those were trivial matters. The most pressing issue now was…
Shen Miao smiled as she pushed the cup of tea Ji Brother had brought toward Zheng Neizhi, then offered him some cookies. "Zheng Neizhi, please try these—they’re a new pastry I baked, made with lard, sugar, and eggs."
Zheng Neizhi thanked her politely, picked up a golden-brown cookie, and glanced around.
The courtyard was neatly swept, with a kiln in the corner still emitting wisps of smoke. On the other side was a makeshift chicken coop built from broken tiles and bricks, where three chicks scurried about hunting for insects.
The small courtyard was at least tidy, if a bit bare. But beyond that, the southern corridor and three rooms had been burned down to mere skeletons. Only a slightly worn kitchen remained standing. Further ahead was another charred doorway, likely leading to what had once been the shopfront. Apart from the outer walls, every remaining structure bore the blackened scars of fire.
From the outside, the Shen Family’s walls and doors looked freshly repaired, with potted flowers by the entrance. No one could have imagined the devastation inside.
The sight of such desolation briefly stunned Zheng Neizhi, but he quickly composed himself. He lowered his head to take a bite of the cookie, hoping to mask his pity—only to be utterly astonished by its crisp, buttery deliciousness, nearly biting his tongue in surprise.
"This… this is truly delightful! What did you call it again? A… cricket cookie? Why that name?" Zheng Neizhi nodded enthusiastically, both puzzled and impressed. "So fragrant and crisp! How did you make these?"
"It’s a ‘qūqí’ cookie. See the winding patterns on top? Don’t they resemble a twisting path through secluded woods? Or a perilous mountain trail?" Shen Miao smiled, her mind racing to justify the Western name with a poetic Chinese twist. Seizing the moment, she steered the conversation toward business. "They’re quite simple to make, with many variations yielding different flavors. Such pastries are rare—since you’re here to buy recipes, why not take this one as well?"
The buttery aroma of the cookies came from butter, which was made from milk. But milk was expensive, so Shen Miao had substituted lard instead. She creamed the lard with sugar by hand until dissolved, added eggs, whisked until emulsified, then folded in sifted flour. After piping the dough through an oiled paper cone, she baked them into delicate shapes.
The process was straightforward—the only challenge was the lack of a whisk. By the time she finished stirring, her arms felt ready to fall off. These were originally meant as snacks for Ji Brother, who studied hard and deserved treats. But now, not a single cookie had gone to him—Shen Miao had served them all to this potential benefactor.
The Xie Family, unlike her, could surely afford milk. If they bought this recipe, they could churn butter from cream, then add milk to elevate the cookies to another level—flaky, rich, and brimming with dairy sweetness. And that was just the beginning. With additions like raisins, nuts, or matcha, plus fancy molds for shaping, the possibilities were endless.
Compact and portable, these cookies would look exquisite arranged in lacquered gift boxes inlaid with mother-of-pearl—transforming them into luxurious presents exchanged among nobles.
Beaming, Shen Miao elaborated in detail, pitching the idea with all her might.
If Shen Miao were to sell cookies and egg yolk pastries at the bridge market, she could certainly make money, but not much. Both required large amounts of eggs, oil, and sugar, as well as finely sifted flour to achieve the right texture and flavor—ingredients that were too costly for her. Even if she made them, she’d have to charge a high price. But selling high-end pastries at a small stall wasn’t ideal, and even if she opened a shop later, these two items wouldn’t be the most profitable.
Today was different. She had made them just for her family, in small quantities, so she didn’t mind the cost.
But selling the recipes outright was another matter entirely.
Zheng Neizhi’s eyes lit up when he heard. Why would Eldest Madam Xie want to buy the recipe for egg yolk pastries? First, because Ninth Brother Xie and the elderly madam enjoyed them—having the recipe meant they could make them whenever they wanted. Second, several of the Xie family’s third branch’s young ladies were already fifteen or sixteen. Even if they were to stay at home a few more years, it was time to start matchmaking. After the Buddhist ceremony, Eldest Madam Xie had immediately begun preparing for the late spring banquet in May. The most important thing was to showcase the Xie family’s young ladies in front of the noble families’ matriarchs, ensuring they could secure good marriages with families of equal standing.
Of course, Eldest Madam Xie also wanted to find a new match for Ninth Brother Xie. Though his previous engagement had been broken off, it wasn’t because of any fault of his. Marriage matters couldn’t be rushed—matchmaking could take a year or two. So, Eldest Madam Xie planned to discreetly look for suitable families, keeping an eye out in daily life. Ninth Brother Xie’s fate was different from the other Xie sons; they couldn’t afford to be careless.
Given this, the banquet needed a few novel delicacies—things the noble guests had never tasted before but would find delicious.
Listening to this, the cookies seemed even more suitable for the banquet than the egg yolk pastries. How could young ladies elegantly nibble on egg yolk pastries at a banquet? They’d end up with crumbs all over their mouths and clothes—far too unrefined! But the cookies were small, delicate, and adorable. As Shen Miao had said, they came in many flavors. Arranged neatly in exquisite boxes, they would surely captivate the young ladies.
“How much are these two recipes, Shen Miao?” Zheng Neizhi asked seriously, his earlier pity for her now gone. A young woman with so many clever ideas, solid skills, and practical shrewdness would never fall into hardship!
Shen Miao hadn’t considered selling recipes before, so she wasn’t sure of the market price. But with this opportunity before her, she couldn’t let it slip away—if they changed their minds, she’d never get another chance!
Couldn’t Chef Fang from the Xie family recreate the egg yolk pastries? Of course he could. There wasn’t much technical difficulty involved. If the Xie family bought them from her a few more times, Chef Fang would eventually perfect the recipe through trial and error. The Xie family must have an urgent need for novel, delicious pastries, which was why they were willing to buy the recipe to save time and effort.
Shen Miao wasn’t far off in her guess. After a moment of thought, she said earnestly, “Zheng Neizhi, you’ve been my benefactor. If you hadn’t coincidentally come to buy roasted buns that day, I wouldn’t have this opportunity. To repay your kindness—and to avoid putting you in a difficult position—I think forty strings of cash per recipe would be fair. The egg yolk pastry actually has two methods, but I won’t charge extra—I’ll include both! One is the version I made for the Xie family, with just red bean and salted egg yolk. The other is more refined, with pork floss, taro paste, salted egg yolk, and red bean—even more delicious! I’ll also teach how to make the pork floss and taro paste in detail. So, these forty strings actually cover four recipes! The cookies have even more variations, and I’ll teach them all. Rest assured, the Xie family will get their money’s worth.”
She wasn’t greedy. She didn’t inflate the price or treat this as a one-time deal. First, the Xie family and Ninth Brother Xie had helped her greatly, especially with Ji Brother’s imperial academy entrance exam—it had been a godsend. She ought to return the favor. Second, she wanted to build goodwill with the Xie family… in modern terms, she wanted to establish a long-term, stable partnership with this high-quality client.
Zheng Neizhi considered the offer.
Forty strings per recipe meant eighty strings total—not a small sum, but not too much for the Xie family either. He narrowed his eyes. Besides, Shen Miao wasn’t overcharging. If she had hidden the second method, they’d never have known. Her willingness to share everything showed sincerity.
Some of Fan Tower’s secret recipes were said to be worth a fortune and not for sale at any price.
“Shen Miao, could you pack these cookies for me to take back to the Xie family? Eldest Madam Xie will decide,” Zheng Neizhi said, not committing immediately. “She only sent me to inquire about the egg yolk pastry recipe. I can’t make decisions about the rest.”
“Of course, that’s only natural.” Shen Miao had expected this. Smiling, she packed the cookies neatly.
Besides the recipes, Zheng Neizhi also ordered fifty egg yolk pastries. Shen Miao priced them at ten coppers each and arranged a pickup time. She then cheerfully escorted Zheng Neizhi to the alley entrance, watching as he boarded his carriage before turning back with a spring in her step.
As she turned, she heard the sound of windows and doors hastily closing around the neighborhood.
How strange. When she first returned, the neighbors had seemed friendlier. Now, she could faintly sense hostility. Shen Miao rubbed her chin. Tomorrow was market day in the outer city—maybe she should buy a guard dog.
From Zheng Neizhi’s expression, she felt confident about the deal. With eighty strings of cash, she could finally renovate the house. The construction noise would alert the neighbors, and they’d soon realize she had come into money.
It wasn’t paranoia—just caution. The Shen family only had her and two children, making them easy targets for thieves. She’d already considered getting a dog, not just to guard against people.
With that in mind, Shen Miao hurried back to make the upgraded egg yolk pastries for the Xie family.
Today, she had more time, and the oven was dry. She planned to make pork floss and taro paste versions, proving to Eldest Madam Xie and Zheng Neizhi that her egg yolk pastries truly had diverse variations.
Making pork floss at home wasn’t hard. After instructing Ji Brother to watch Sister Xiang, she went out to buy a pound of pork tenderloin and several large taro roots. Back home, she cleaned the meat, meticulously removing all fat and sinew—any remaining would ruin the fluffiness—then cut it into chunks. She soaked the meat to remove any gaminess, blanched it, and simmered it with scallion-ginger water and rice wine for half an hour.
Next, she used a rolling pin to break the meat apart, making it easier to shred. She then hand-tore it into the finest strands possible, mixed them with salt, oil, sugar, soy sauce, and other seasonings, and stir-fried them until fragrant and dry. Finally, she ground the mixture in a stone mortar to achieve the right texture.
She even added some toasted sesame seeds for extra aroma.
The moment the pork floss was ready, its rich aroma filled the entire room with a sense of happiness. After tasting it herself, Shen Miao scooped small handfuls into bowls for Sister Xiang and Ji Brother to enjoy as snacks.
Sister Xiang, her mouth smeared with sesame seeds, smacked her lips, still craving more. She tiptoed stealthily toward Ji Brother, hiding behind his desk to sneak a bite from his portion.
Ji Brother pretended to be engrossed in his book, swaying his head with eyes closed, barely suppressing a laugh as he let his little sister steal his share.
Shen Miao had already sampled the pork floss herself—it was savory, crispy, and fluffy as cotton. She nodded in satisfaction, thinking she might try making chicken floss next time, as shredded chicken breast would yield an even crispier, chewier texture.
The pound of pork she had bought yielded a large clay jar of floss, more than enough for the egg yolk pastries she planned to make. The leftovers could be used for pork floss cakes or floss-filled buns—both sounded delightful.
She even planned the next morning’s breakfast: homemade pork floss cakes paired with peanut tofu soup from the Liu family’s shop down the alley. Perfect!
Next, she turned to making taro paste.
The people of the Song Dynasty adored taro—large ones were called "earth’s treasure," while small ones were nicknamed "earth chestnuts." In autumn and winter, families traditionally gathered around the stove, roasting taro to eat directly or brushing them with warm fermented rice wine before slow-roasting for a sweet, boozy flavor.
As a child, Shen Miao had loved tiny taro, their flesh silky and tender, stewed in earthen pots with pickled vegetables into a thick, fragrant soup. Back then, taro dishes were mostly savory. It wasn’t until later in life that taro paste became popular in sweets like milk tea and desserts.
Ideally, taro paste required milk and purple sweet potato, but Shen Miao couldn’t afford milk. If she added it, she’d have to charge Zheng Neizhi twenty or thirty coins per pastry just to break even.
And purple sweet potatoes? Impossible to find in the Song Dynasty.
But omitting the purple sweet potato wasn’t a big deal—it was mainly for color and cost-cutting. The real challenge was achieving a sweet, creamy texture without milk. Shen Miao pondered for a moment before smiling.
She melted rock sugar into syrup, ground glutinous rice into flour, then steamed and mashed the taro before mixing in both ingredients. The result was a thick, smooth paste resembling yogurt. A quick steam later, and the texture turned soft, stretchy, and slightly chewy. Though it lacked the richness of milk, the mouthfeel was satisfying.
Next came the standard egg yolk pastry assembly. She had prepared plenty of red bean paste the night before for her stall, so it was ready to use. Sitting on a stool with all the ingredients laid out, she rolled up her sleeves and began wrapping the pastries, listening to Sister Xiang’s imitation of chirping chicks in the courtyard.
The lively symphony of child and chicken continued as Sister Xiang seemed determined to master "chicken language" for proper communication.
Soon, sixty pastries were done—fifty boxed for the Xie family and ten kept for themselves.
Early the next morning, Shen Miao sent Ji Brother off to Lanxin Bookstore with a few pork floss and taro egg yolk pastries for Shopkeeper Zhou. The old man had always been kind to Ji Brother, and since he lived alone, Shen Miao made a point to look after him when possible.
With Ji Brother at his studies, Shen Miao packed up after the morning market and, with Sister Xiang in tow, took the earliest cart to the outer city’s grand fair. She planned to stock up on daily necessities and, most importantly, buy a dog.
Song Dynasty markets weren’t just divided into morning and evening sessions—there were also "town markets," "grass markets," and temple fairs. The grandest were hosted by famous monasteries like the Great Xiangguo Temple, where monks dabbled in loans, incense, talismans, fortune-telling, and even sold homemade candied fruits, cakes, and a specialty fabric called "temple silk." Though devoted to spiritual pursuits, these monks and priests had no qualms haggling over a few hundred coins—a testament to the Song Dynasty’s mercantile spirit.
Today’s destination was the "grass market," a bustling fair stretching along the post road outside the city gates, teeming with vendors and shoppers.
By the time Shen Miao arrived, the place was already packed. Stalls lined both sides of the road, and the crowd jostled shoulder-to-shoulder—peddlers with baskets, farmers hauling produce, and families bargaining loudly.
She circled twice, picking up fresh rice, flour, meat, and vegetables, then stopped at a fabric stall to buy two sets of summer clothes and shoes for herself, Sister Xiang, and Ji Brother. Spring was fading, and warmer days called for lighter attire.
Other essentials followed—oil paper, bamboo baskets, soapberries, vegetable seeds—along with brushes, paper, and inksticks for Ji Brother.
After earning four strings of cash from three days of baking red bean bread at the Xie household and daily stall profits of over eight hundred coins, Shen Miao had saved up more than eight strings. Though she still haggled and budgeted carefully, she now shopped with far more ease.
Goods here were cheaper than in Bianjing’s inner city, and soon her baskets were full. Finally, she reached the livestock section, weaving past neighing horses, bleating sheep, and a flustered chicken vendor chasing an escaped bird.
Just as she crouched to inspect a litter of puppies, a voice called from behind: "Eldest Sister Shen?"
She turned to see plump Uncle Shen, draped in silk robes and fanning himself with a folding fan despite the mild weather—posing as a scholar. Beside him stood equally plump Aunt Ding and Hai Ge'er, whose cheeks were shiny with grease from a meat pie.
Aunt Ding eyed her with little warmth, while Hai Ge'er stared in surprise.
Since Eldest Sister Shen’s marriage, he hadn’t seen her. From Aunt Ding’s complaints, he’d imagined her worn and haggard from mistreatment.
Yet three years later, though dressed more plainly, she looked livelier than ever.
Her large, round eyes, upturned at the corners, gleamed like translucent amber in the spring sunlight.
Shen Miao hadn’t expected to run into Uncle Shen and his family by chance. She stood up and led Sister Xiang to greet them properly.
"Uncle Shen, you’ve come to the market too? What did you call your niece for?"
