Watching as Ji Brother successfully entered, his small figure swallowed by the towering gate of the Imperial Academy amidst the crowd, soon disappearing no matter how much one stretched or craned their neck, Shen Miao finally let out a sigh of relief. She quickly shouldered her basket and glanced around, eager to find a good spot to set up her stall.
Though the "Piyong Academy branch campus" of the Imperial Academy was located in the outskirts, the surroundings were far from desolate.
The post road was wide, its yellow earth packed tightly, and unless a galloping horse sped past, dust rarely swirled. On either side of the road, pear trees were planted in abundance, now lush and blooming in clusters of flowers. Along the academy’s walls, winding corridors and pavilions were interspersed, dotted with tall pines, cypresses, and artificial rock formations. A gentle breeze carried an air of refined elegance.
But today, due to the children’s examinations, the front of Piyong Academy was crowded with carriages and carts of all kinds—oxen, horses, and donkeys—many with servants holding the reins as they waited. Some had come on foot, others like the Li family pushing earth carts, and vendors like Shen Miao carrying their wares on shoulder poles were countless. In short, the place was bustling with noise and activity, far from its usual scholarly tranquility.
Patrolling soldiers, hands resting on their swords, moved through the crowd, their presence further dispelling any lingering serenity.
After scanning the area, Shen Miao finally found a good spot not far from the academy, near the post road. It was under a tall crabapple tree, its dense foliage providing shade from the sun. Facing the busy road, the pavilion and corridor behind her were packed with parents and relatives of the young examinees, all taking shelter there.
She set down her basket, pulled out two small stools, and arranged the oil-paper-wrapped European-style buns in a wicker basket. Turning the basket upside down, it became a makeshift table.
She and Sister Xiang sat on the stools under the tree, calling out their wares intermittently.
"Freshly baked buns! Purple-robed, golden-belted buns! Delicious and auspicious! Soft and fragrant buns—"
She called out, and Sister Xiang echoed in her crisp, childish voice. The young girl’s voice, paired with Shen Miao’s refined appearance and Sister Xiang’s adorable twin buns, drew quite a few onlookers.
Seizing the moment, Shen Miao unwrapped one bun, chopped it into pieces with her kitchen knife, and called again, "Try before you buy! Free samples—no loss if you don’t buy, but a shame to miss out! Once this chance is gone, it’s gone for good!"
People quickly gathered, unwilling to pass up a free taste. Seeing the charming, golden-purple buns in the wicker basket, many were tempted after sampling. Though the price was a bit steep, the appeal was undeniable.
A woman with her hair done in a married style, holding her son’s hand as he prepared for the exam, hesitated as she glanced at the young vendor.
"Eating these will surely sharpen your wit and help you become a great official someday!" Shen Miao smiled, her eyes curving like crescents, as charming as the buns in her hands. Her voice was clear and bright, effortlessly weaving auspicious words. "For good luck—may the young master pass with flying colors! Eat well, test well! Shall I wrap one up for you?"
The words were too enticing. The woman finally gave in, pulling coins from her small cloth pouch. "Pack two for me!"
She and her son then stood by the stall, sharing one bun. With the first bite, their eyes widened in surprise—this was no ordinary bun! Initially, the texture seemed rough and rustic, but with a few more chews, the rich aroma of wheat and a subtle sweetness emerged. The fragrance of mulberries paired with roasted peanuts lingered on the palate, leaving a memorable aftertaste. The bun’s surface, dotted with toasted wheat bran, even carried a hint of autumnal chestnut creaminess.
The mother quickly decided to save the rest. She stuffed the remaining "auspicious bun" into her son’s exam basket and hurried him inside.
Of course, some cautious parents had brought their own food, warning their children not to eat from outside vendors. But most who tasted couldn’t resist buying—not just for the good luck, but for the unique flavor that kept them coming back.
When Uncle Shen’s donkey cart pulled up in front of Shen Miao’s stall, she was busy wrapping buns for customers. Looking up, she saw the haughty Aunt Ding and Uncle Shen, along with Hai Ge'er, who had noticeably plumped up in just a few days.
Hai Ge'er, drowsy-eyed and puffy-faced, looked as if he’d just been dragged out of bed. His round body was stuffed into a festive crimson silk robe embroidered with cranes soaring into the clouds, resembling an over-fermented steamed bun.
Living in the outer city, they were much closer to Piyong Academy than Shen Miao, yet they arrived late. Rushing to get Hai Ge'er inside, they ignored Shen Miao at first. Only after seeing him off did they return. Aunt Ding glanced disdainfully at the half-empty basket of buns and reluctantly said, "Give us two."
Shen Miao looked up, bypassing Aunt Ding to address Uncle Shen with a smile. "Uncle, that’ll be twenty-four coins."
Aunt Ding scowled. "You’d charge your own family?"
"Even brothers settle accounts clearly. It’s hard for your niece to earn a meager living—shouldn’t you be helping rather than taking advantage? Uncle, you know how it is. Before my parents passed, they entrusted the three of us to you. I know we shouldn’t burden you, but after our house burned down, I’ve spent all my dowry savings on repairs. We’re barely scraping by now. Don’t you think—"
"Enough, enough!" Aunt Ding, noticing the curious onlookers, hastily cut her off. She counted out twenty-four coins and slapped them onto the stall. "Take it!"
Shen Miao, feigning regret, wrapped two buns and handed them over. Aunt Ding was sharp—she’d seen through the pity play before it even began. Otherwise, Uncle Shen, ever concerned with face, might have coughed up a string of coins in front of the crowd.
Aunt Ding snatched the warm buns and dragged Uncle Shen away, forcing a smile. "Let’s wait for Hai Ge'er over there. We wouldn’t want to disrupt our niece’s business."
Shen Miao waved cheerfully. "Take care."
But before long, Uncle Shen returned, staring at Shen Miao in astonishment. He wiped crumbs from his lips and asked, incredulously, "Niece, did you really make these buns?"
"Of course," Shen Miao replied matter-of-factly.
Uncle Shen’s eyes widened further. "Where did you learn this? In Jinling? Don’t think I don’t know—your father only wanted you to live comfortably. He never taught you the family trade!"
"Yes, in Jinling." Shen Miao smiled without a trace of guilt. "Why so surprised, Uncle? My father didn’t teach me, true. These buns—even he couldn’t make them. You won’t find another like them in all of Bianjing. I figured them out myself."
Uncle Shen reminisced about the taste of the flatbread and had to admit Shen Miao was right. Yet he still seemed dazed, eyeing Shen Miao up and down as he muttered, "Who would’ve thought... out of all our Shen family, you’d be the one with the most talent."
Back in the day, the Shen family patriarch had started with just a basket of flatbread, slowly building their fortune from there. But Uncle Shen had been too engrossed in scholarly pursuits to learn the family trade, so the craft was passed down to his younger brother, Second Shen.
Second Shen’s flatbread skills were decent, but he merely replicated what he was taught, never innovating. He couldn’t compare to the patriarch, who excelled at everything from flatbread to noodle soups, steamed buns, and pastries.
The greatest pity was that Second Shen never got the chance to pass on his skills before meeting an untimely death in the streets.
Shen Miao stood beneath the crabapple tree, its branches heavy with blossoms. With her slender frame and delicate features, she looked like a painting of grace—if one ignored the gleaming cleaver hanging at her waist.
Uncle Shen gazed at her, suddenly overcome with melancholy. Among all the Shen descendants, it was Shen Miao—a divorced woman—who had inherited the family’s craft and become the one most like their grandfather.
Truly, fate played cruel tricks.
Sighing, Uncle Shen bought six more flatbreads from his niece—three for himself and three for Aunt Ding. Both had hearty appetites, and these flatbreads were exceptional. The mulberry filling wasn’t common; at first, it tasted mild with a faint tang, but then the rich flavors unfolded. Most importantly, the baking was flawless, leaving Aunt Ding craving more even after finishing hers. Too embarrassed to return for seconds herself, she nudged Uncle Shen to buy extra.
"Remember," she nagged, "since we’re buying so many, make sure she gives us a discount. Don’t let her overcharge us. Honestly, how can Shen Miao be so greedy with her own family’s money?"
But standing before Shen Miao, Uncle Shen couldn’t bring himself to haggle. He dutifully counted out seventy-two coins from the purse at his waist. Shen Miao accepted the payment, tied the flatbreads with twine, and handed them over.
As Uncle Shen turned to leave, arms full, he hesitated after a few steps and turned back. His expression was complicated as he looked at Shen Miao. Remembering her mention of near-starvation, he gritted his teeth, untied a string of coins from his waist, and held it out with a cough. "This is from my private savings. Take it for now."
Shen Miao snatched the money without hesitation, as if afraid he’d change his mind.
"Thank you, Uncle! No wonder they say you’re the scholar of the family—so much wiser than Aunt Ding... tsk tsk, her generosity... just doesn’t measure up to yours." She grinned, side-eyeing the bulging pouch still hidden under his robe.
"That’s all! Stop looking! Your uncle’s broke now!"
Only then did Shen Miao relent. No matter—if she could squeeze him for coins every now and then, it’d add up nicely.
Uncle Shen couldn’t resist lecturing, "You really shouldn’t keep funding Ji Brother’s studies if money’s tight. Teach him your flatbread skills instead—at least he’ll always have food. What’s the point of this? Even if he gets into Piyong Academy, the fees are exorbitant. How can a woman like you afford that, even baking day and night?"
Shen Miao lowered her head, wiping imaginary tears with her sleeve. "You’re right, Uncle. Times are hard... but I’m his elder sister. I already abandoned them for three years—how can I fail him now? I’d sell everything to keep him in school. So please visit often, Uncle. Blood runs thicker than water... and don’t forget to bring more coins for your poor niece and nephew."
"Do you know how much it costs to raise a scholar? At least ten strings of cash a year! Neither you nor I can afford that! Don’t pin your hopes on me—I’ve got my own household to feed! Besides, your aunt’s the one holding the purse strings. And what is she? A money-hoarding píxiū! Once coins enter her pockets, they’re gone forever! This bit I gave you today was hard-won! If you won’t listen, you’ll never escape this struggle." Shaking his head, Uncle Shen gathered his robes, clutched the flatbreads, and finally left.
Shen Miao lifted her head—no tears in sight. She stuck her tongue out at his retreating figure, jingled the coins cheerfully, tucked them into her clothes, and resumed hawking her wares.
By noon, her European-style bread had nearly sold out, leaving only a few pieces.
Finally, she sat down to rest, whispering to Sister Xiang, "Once Ji Brother’s done with exams, we’ll go to Butcher Wang’s stall and buy two big pork hocks. Tomorrow, I’ll roast them with fruitwood—so fragrant!"
Sister Xiang, perched on a small stool, was still nibbling on her giant personal loaf. She’d watched Shen Miao’s flawless performance earlier, memorizing every move. Blinking, she took another bite, then beamed up with a smile mirroring Shen Miao’s. "Okay! Whatever you say, Sis!"
She resumed eating, alternating between bread and sips from her bamboo canteen—a recent market find. The vendor had crafted it from aged dragon bamboo, sturdy and smooth inside. The lid fit snugly, leak-proof enough for travel. Originally strapless, Shen Miao had asked Old Man Yang to drill holes for a rope, making it portable.
That morning, she’d filled it with sweet-and-sour plum syrup—prepped the night before and simmered at dawn. Homemade plum syrup was simple: soak black plums, hawthorn, dried tangerine peel, and licorice root, then boil and simmer with rock sugar until the liquid darkened.
She’d made it mainly for Ji Brother.
The night before exams, he’d been so nervous he burned his mouth repeatedly while reciting texts over dinner.
A bowl of the syrup in the morning had soothed him—not just tasty, but also clearing the mind and easing thirst. The cool, smooth drink washed away his pre-exam jitters.
As the resonant chimes of Piyong Academy signaled the end of another exam session—five questions, each marked by a bell—the guards outside struck their staffs and shouted, "Silence! Silence!"
Inside the examination grounds, all the students were like their own children, so the waiting parents and relatives gradually quieted down. Some even spoke in hushed tones, afraid of disturbing the children behind the high walls.
At this time, fewer people came to buy bread. Shen Miao watched Sister Xiang leisurely eating and drinking, feeling content as she sat under a tree. She ate a European-style bun for lunch, then hugged her knees and quietly admired the blossoming crabapple and pear trees, their branches heavy with flowers. A gentle breeze carried their faint fragrance through the air.
What lovely weather. Ji Brother will surely do well.
In the examination hall, Shen Ji also set down his brush, stretching out the paper filled with writing before placing it aside to dry.
Though separated by thin rattan partitions, the examination cubicles were not soundproof. Shen Ji could even hear the scratching of brushes against paper as others answered their questions. By the time the sun reached its zenith, requests for hot water began to rise from all around.
It was said that in the past, the Piyong Academy only provided cold water during exams, which led to many examinees falling ill from drinking it. Some even became gravely sick, not only failing the exams but also ruining their health. This sparked public outcry, and eventually, the academy switched to hot water—though the examination fees also increased significantly.
Having focused intently on writing all morning, Shen Ji now felt his stomach growling. He took out his large earthenware bowl and took the opportunity to request a pot of hot water. The list of prohibited items in the examination hall was extensive, and food was strictly regulated—dishes like stir-fries and porridge were forbidden to prevent hidden notes.
Most examinees only brought dry flatbread, which the inspecting soldiers would crumble into pieces at the entrance.
But his elder sister’s ingenuity knew no bounds. She had prepared flattened fried noodles, thin enough to see through at a glance. Even if broken, they could still be eaten, and a quick pour of hot water would soften them into a fragrant meal—far better than dry flatbread.
When Shen Ji asked for hot water, Hai Ge'er, sitting diagonally across from him, glanced up.
What an ill-fated coincidence—Hai Ge'er’s examination number placed him close to Shen Ji, their cubicles even facing each other. When they first locked eyes, both were momentarily stunned. But once the exam began, Shen Ji never looked up again, leaving Hai Ge’er inexplicably tense.
Back in Tutor Liu’s private school, Hai Ge’er had been lazy and gossipy, but he possessed a certain cleverness in his studies. He often scored higher than Shen Ji, who sometimes neglected his studies to sneak out and copy books.
Hai Ge’er had always secretly compared himself to Ji Brother, harboring a sense of superiority.
Today, Hai Ge’er had requested hot water early. Aunt Ding had prepared him five of Bianjing’s famous Liu Family mutton cakes, but the inspecting soldiers had smashed them into a messy pile of shredded dough and meat. Though unappetizing in appearance, the flavor remained.
In fact, the mutton fat had soaked into the broken pieces, making them even more delicious.
He took bites between writing, filling the area with the scent of mutton. Over time, the meat cooled and turned gamey, irritating those nearby. Some even stuffed their noses with scrap paper and started eating their own lunches early.
Only Shen Ji seemed unaffected, writing diligently until noon before finally requesting water.
By then, Hai Ge’er had already eaten his fill. He had hoped to see Shen Ji gnawing on dry flatbread in pitiful fashion, but instead, Shen Ji bent down and pulled out a large earthenware bowl from his book basket. When he lifted the lid—
Hai Ge’er couldn’t see clearly from his seat, but his curiosity was instantly piqued. He held his brush without writing a single word, staring unblinkingly.
If not for the exam, he might have stood up for a better look.
Just then, the soldiers brought Shen Ji his pot of hot water. He poured it into the bowl.
The boiling water instantly dissolved the braised meat sauce at the bottom, releasing steam that carried the pungent aroma of scallions and cilantro. The fried noodles absorbed the water, softening and blending into the rich sauce.
Hai Ge’er inhaled deeply, closing his eyes in bliss—until the scent abruptly vanished. He snapped his eyes open to see Shen Ji had covered the bowl again.
Disappointed, he barely had time to react before Shen Ji lifted the lid once more. This time, after steeping, the fragrance was even stronger.
Hai Ge’er gaped as Shen Ji effortlessly transformed the contents into a steaming bowl of fragrant noodle soup, then began eating with chopsticks as if nothing were amiss.
In moments, the cold, gamey mutton smell was overpowered by something rich, savory, and intoxicating—an indescribable blend of meat, broth, spices, and vegetables, all merging seamlessly yet aggressively invading the senses.
So fragrant! How could it smell so good? Hai Ge’er’s neck involuntarily stretched forward.
Soon, others paused their writing, sniffing the air for the source of the tantalizing aroma. If not for the exam’s restrictions, some might have followed the scent directly.
While others wondered where the smell came from, Hai Ge’er, sitting diagonally across, was nearly moved to tears by longing.
He glanced down at his own oil-stained, congealed mutton scraps and suddenly lost all appetite.
Meanwhile, inside Piyong Academy’s crimson-marked "First-Class" lecture hall, Ning Yi enjoyed a deep, satisfying nap while the old professor droned on, lost in his own lecture. He slept soundly until noon, when his classmate Shang An elbowed him awake from a dream full of delicacies.
"Ning, class is over. Let’s go."
Bleary-eyed, he looked up to find the professor gone and most students already packing up. Only Shang An and Xie Qi remained, having just finished solving a policy essay question. Shang An stretched after waking him.
Piyong Academy admitted only those who passed the child scholar exams. Students were then ranked into five tiers—First, Second, Third, Fourth, and Fifth Class—based on monthly assessments. First-Class students were highly respected, as nearly all future provincial graduates, imperial scholars, and palace graduates emerged from their ranks.
Though Ning Yi often skipped classes or dozed off—showing more enthusiasm for Nanxun Gate’s meat pies than his studies—he, Xie Qi, and Shang An remained First-Class students, barely clinging to the bottom of the list after each exam. Now under the same professor and sharing living quarters, the three had grown exceptionally close.
The day's lessons had concluded, and students were leaving the lecture hall in small groups. The kitchen at Zhuoyin Hall had already prepared the evening meal. Shang An packed up his book box and turned to see Ning Yi still drowsy, barely able to keep his eyes open, while Xie Qi remained engrossed in the political essay assignment, his nose buried in the scroll.
"Xie Jiu, let's go," Shang An stretched and slung his book box over his shoulder. "The food at Zhuoyin Hall already tastes like pig slop—once it gets cold, it’ll be downright inedible. After lunch, aside from Ning Yi wanting to check out that new badger meat shop by the North Gate, didn’t we agree to meet Meng San and the others to hike up the hill for sunset? If we don’t hurry, we’ll miss it."
Just the thought of Zhuoyin Hall’s bland, unappetizing meals made Shang An’s stomach twinge with discomfort. Still, skipping it entirely would leave him starving and sleepless by nightfall.
"Coming," Xie Qi finally closed his book.
Shang An couldn’t help but feel a pang of sympathy watching Xie Qi’s relentless dedication to studying. Xie Qi had passed the child scholar exam presided over by the Kaifeng prefect himself at just eight or nine years old, earning the qualification to take the imperial examinations early. Not only was he the top student in the Piyong Academy’s junior division, but he had also been hailed as a prodigy who once stirred excitement across Bianjing. Even now, he remained at the top of his class—yet, despite his brilliance, he had never managed to pass the academy exams to earn the rank of scholar.
Shang An mentally tallied the misfortunes: every time Xie Qi faced an exam, big or small, something bizarre would happen. He still remembered the time the examination cell Xie Qi was assigned to collapsed mid-test… Truly, Shang An shook his head in dismay, unsure how else to pity him.
Meanwhile, Ning Yi, who had been struggling to keep his eyelids propped open, suddenly perked up at the mention of food. He sidled up to Xie Qi and whispered, "Xie Jiu, tell me—do you still have any of those egg yolk pastries?"
Ning Yi had never expected that the egg yolk pastries he’d stumbled upon at Lanxin Bookstore—the ones he’d trekked all the way to Willow East Lane only to be denied—had already had their recipe bought out by the Xie family! After being politely refused by the pastry vendor, he’d trudged back to the academy in despair, feeling utterly defeated. But the moment he pushed open the wooden door of his dormitory, the familiar aroma of egg yolk pastries had hit him.
Inside, Xie Qi and Shang An were seated around a table where a large lacquered food box, inlaid with mother-of-pearl depicting a hundred fruits, lay open. Inside, arranged neatly, were plump, golden egg yolk pastries!
"Ning Da, you’re back! Xie Jiu’s family sent over some incredible pastries. Weren’t you the one who swore to travel the world and taste every delicacy under heaven? These are unlike anything you’ve ever had—even you, Bianjing’s self-proclaimed gourmet, must’ve never tried them! Come, have a taste!"
At the time, Ning Yi had been so stunned by the sight of the entire box of pastries that Shang An’s voice had seemed to drift right past him. In the end, he’d devoured five in one go, finally soothing the emotional rollercoaster of longing, loss, and unexpected fortune.
"The rest were given to the professors, so there’s none left," Xie Qi chuckled, shaking his head. "But don’t worry—I’ll have Qiu Hao fetch more from home. Our cook has mastered the recipe now, having learned directly from Madam Shen. His version is just as good."
Ning Yi nodded eagerly. "Deal! Absolutely a deal!"
The three of them chatted and laughed as they gathered their things, each accompanied by their attendant page boys. After a hasty lunch, they accepted their classmates’ invitation and prepared to hike into the nearby hills.
Only Ning Yi didn’t join them, slipping out the back gate in high spirits for his solo culinary adventure.
The Song people were nothing if not poetic. In this era of flourishing commerce and culture, young scholars loved to while away their days amidst mountains and rivers. Xie Qi and his friends were no exception—they meandered through bamboo groves, admiring distant emerald peaks, stones beneath blossoms, and pavilions by the water, tapping bamboo stalks as they strolled, singing and composing verses for amusement.
But as they stepped past the academy gates, Xie Qi noticed the bustling crowd along the post road and suddenly remembered—today was the annual entrance exam for the academy’s junior division. His thoughts drifted to the young Shen boy coming to take the test.
And then—
His gaze traveled further.
A tree heavy with blossoms, like crimson clouds settled upon its branches, swayed gently in the midday sun.
And beneath it—
A beauty stood waiting.
