The bowl of "braised noodles" meticulously recreated by Shen Miao had tempted more than just Hai Ge'er.
Today, the official overseeing the children's examination was Dr. Yao, a man in his sixties with a broad face, deep wrinkles, and a pair of naturally upturned, stern eyes that made him appear even more unapproachable. He had once been the Chancellor of the Imperial Academy but was demoted after publicly assaulting a high-ranking official—an incident that led to his impeachment by the censors. However, the emperor had shown leniency, considering the circumstances: the official in question had been engaged to Dr. Yao’s granddaughter earlier that year, only to be discovered in Lianzi Alley.
While the Song dynasty’s elite openly indulged in courtesans without reproach, Lianzi Alley was different—it was not women who entertained there, but young male companions.
Upon learning of this, Dr. Yao had publicly annulled the engagement and then proceeded to thrash the man, knocking out two of his front teeth.
The emperor urged reconciliation, but Dr. Yao, stubborn and unyielding, refused to associate with such a family. The assaulted official’s clan, equally unwilling to settle privately, dragged the matter into the open. Miss Yao wept daily, too ashamed to leave the house, while the other family spread slander and twisted the narrative. Since the public assault was undeniable, punishment was inevitable. In the end, the isolated and powerless Dr. Yao was stripped of his position and reputation, demoted from Chancellor to a mere ninth-rank lecturer.
Dr. Yao’s children had died young, leaving him only his granddaughter. Though disgraced, he accepted his fate, continuing to teach at the Imperial Academy on a meager salary. His family, not originally from Bianjing, still owed debts to Xingguo Temple for the three houses he had purchased near the academy during his tenure as Chancellor. The sudden downfall had left the Yao household without meat for days.
To prevent cheating, all lecturers from Piyong Academy had been given leave, and Dr. Yao had been summoned from the Imperial Academy to oversee the examination. His duties were light—patrolling was handled by the garrison soldiers, while he only needed to manage emergencies in the "Bing" examination hall: directing misplaced candidates, removing those who fainted, or expelling cheaters and barring them from future exams.
The morning passed without incident. Dr. Yao slouched in his armchair, flipping through books and grading papers until drowsiness overtook him. Just as he was about to doze off, a rich, savory aroma jolted him awake.
He straightened his robes, smoothed his white beard, and stood with feigned nonchalance, asking a nearby soldier, "What is that delightful smell?"
The soldier, who had earlier delivered hot water to Shen Ji, had witnessed the boy transform dried noodles into a steaming bowl of soup—thick with eggs, meat, and vegetables. Salivating at the memory, he clasped his hands and replied, "Honorable Dr. Yao, the scent comes from Candidate Shen Ji in Seat Bing-Wu-81. It’s food prepared by his family."
"Brought from home?" Dr. Yao sniffed. "Isn’t this the smell of noodle soup?"
"Exactly so," the soldier confirmed, gesturing animatedly. "He poured hot water over dried noodles, and they softened into springy, chewy strands—perfectly al dente! The boy slurped them up with such relish, not a single noodle was mushy!"
Intrigued, Dr. Yao pretended to inspect the examination hall, stopping at Seat Bing-Wu-81. Shen Ji was nearly finished, twirling the last curly noodles into his mouth. Glossy brown broth splashed his lips; he wiped them with a cloth, then lifted the bowl to drain every drop of soup.
Finally, he let out a contented sigh.
So full… so delicious… Shen Ji dabbed his sweaty forehead, packed away his bowl, and reveled in satisfaction. Of all the dishes his elder sister made, this instant noodle soup was his favorite!
As he savored the memory, a shadow fell over him.
Looking up, he saw a white-bearded old scholar in a dark blue official robe, hands clasped behind his back, studying him intently.
Shen Ji scrambled to bow deeply. "This student greets the honorable teacher."
Assuming he had broken some rule, he mentally reviewed his actions since morning, sweating nervously—yet he couldn’t pinpoint any offense.
Then the stern voice above asked:
"Young scholar, where did you buy these instant noodles that cook with boiling water?"
Shen Ji blinked, then answered hesitantly, "They… aren’t sold. My elder sister made them."
Dr. Yao’s bushy eyebrows furrowed, his expression tinged with disappointment.
Three years of living under others’ roofs had sharpened Shen Ji’s perception. Quickly, he added, "Respected teacher, my family runs a noodle shop by Willow East Alley near Golden Beam Bridge—Shen’s Noodle Shop. My sister’s skills are passed down through generations. She makes not just noodles but also flatbreads, steamed buns, and pastries, unmatched in all Bianjing!"
Dr. Yao committed this to memory but feigned disapproval. "A scholar should focus solely on studies, not family business! A gentleman avoids idle talk; a scholar shuns profit-seeking. Sit down and concentrate on your exam!"
"Yes, sir." Shen Ji hastily obeyed.
Dr. Yao turned to leave, only to hear a plop. Across the aisle, a plump boy sat slack-jawed, staring at Shen Ji’s empty bowl, drool dripping onto his desk.
The sight was so pitiful that Dr. Yao could only shake his head in disdain. "The youth of Bianjing these days—their resolve crumbles at the scent of noodles! What hope does our empire have if this is their discipline?"
The aroma still lingered, teasing the senses. The soldier beside him nodded absently. "Indeed, Dr. Yao. Well said."
But inwardly, he noted: Shen’s Noodle Shop… Willow East Alley… I must visit after my shift.
As time passed and the lunch hour faded, the afternoon sun gradually slanted westward, and the number of customers dwindled even further. Even the vendors outside the examination hall had mostly packed up and left. But Shen Ji hadn’t emerged yet, so Shen Miao and Sister Xiang had to wait a little longer. Shen Miao stood up and counted the remaining European-style bread—about a dozen left. She wondered if they’d sell by the afternoon.
If they didn’t, it wouldn’t matter. The bread would keep for several days, and they could always eat it for breakfast at home. They could enjoy it whole or slice and toast it, then layer it with fried eggs, chicken, and greens to make a sandwich.
She could also give some to Aunt Gu’s family. Many in the alleyway gossiped about her, but Aunt Gu always defended her—though she never mentioned it to Shen Miao’s face. Shen Miao had overheard it a few times and had kept it in her heart.
Turning her head, she noticed Sister Xiang was drowsy from the sun. At this hour, she’d usually be curled up at home, snoring softly under the covers. Children needed more sleep than adults—it helped them grow. Shen Miao flipped over a large wicker basket, wiped it clean, and settled Sister Xiang inside. With her back supported, the little girl soon dozed off, her cheeks flushed pink from the sun, clutching a half-eaten flatbread marked with tiny teeth imprints.
Shen Miao shifted further into the shade of the tree, resting the basket of bread on her lap and tucking the money jar behind her waist. The warmth of the sun made her feel pleasantly lazy, and she closed her eyes for a nap.
Before long, however, a group of scholars emerged from the gates of Piyong Academy. They wore scholars’ headbands and long white robes embroidered with phoenixes at the chest, their wide sleeves fluttering in the breeze as they walked in twos and threes, chatting and laughing.
Many onlookers gazed at them with admiration—the phoenix embroidery marked them as top-ranking students from the academy’s elite "First Division." Last year, thirty percent of the successful imperial examinees had come from the Inner City’s National Academy, while another twenty percent hailed from Piyong Academy. Though these young men were still commoners now, within a few years, if they passed the exams, they’d be appointed as seventh-rank officials.
Moreover, these scholars were all strikingly handsome, and their confident strides naturally drew attention.
Vendors, quick-eyed, hurried forward with their wares, only to be shooed away by the scholars’ attendants. The group discussed plans to hike Yaoshan Temple in the outskirts to enjoy the sunset over the mountains.
Among them, the tallest and most striking—Xie Qi—seemed to notice something. His gaze drifted toward the crabapple tree by the roadside.
"Xie Jiu, what are you looking at?" Shang An followed his line of sight.
A breeze stirred the crabapple tree, sending a flurry of pale pink petals drifting down. Beneath it sat a young woman, hugging a wicker basket of bread to her lap as she dozed against the trunk. The fallen blossoms dusted her hair and shoulders like a sudden snowfall.
"What a lovely young lady," Meng San remarked appreciatively.
Xie Qi was already walking toward her. As he approached, he noticed the large basket where Sister Xiang slept, her little face flushed, still clutching her half-eaten flatbread.
He couldn’t help but smile.
His companions followed, eyeing the setup curiously. "You know this bread-selling lady?" one asked.
"Yes, Shen Miao is a friend of mine."
Had Ning Yi been there, he would’ve eagerly chimed in, "Me too, me too!" To food lovers like him, anyone who crafted delicious treats was a kindred spirit.
Shen Miao wasn’t in deep sleep. The figures blocking the harsh sunlight and casting shade over her stirred her awake. Blinking groggily, she heard Xie Qi’s words.
"The Xie family is so refined—how do you have a friend selling bread on the street? Did you forget to pay after eating her wares?" His companions chuckled, nudging each other.
"A humble abode may be poor, but virtue makes it bright. The same goes for friendship," Xie Qi replied mildly, silencing them with a single line. "But Shen Miao’s bread is indeed delicious. I’ve had it before."
Rubbing her eyes, Shen Miao sat up, petals cascading from her shoulders.
When she opened her eyes, Xie Qi stood before her in his academy robes, crisp and elegant.
Seeing her awake, he smiled instinctively.
"Greetings, Shen Miao. I thought you might come today for the children’s exams," he said, his dark eyes steady and attentive, like a quiet, deep spring. "And here you are."
Earlier, the moment he stepped out, he’d unconsciously scanned the area for her.
Shen Miao smiled back. "I’m here to see Shen Ji off for his exam and decided to wait for him." She glanced at the surprised scholars behind Xie Qi—his ease in speaking to her clearly caught them off guard. "Are you heading out for leisure, Jiu Ge? Where’s Yan Shu? Ah, right—he’s at home."
"Yes, we’re going to Yaoshan Temple to watch the sunset over the mountains," Xie Qi replied patiently. "Yan Shu can’t read, so he never accompanies me to the academy. He’s probably causing trouble at home." He gestured to the fourteen-year-old attendant behind him. "This is Qiu Hao. I believe you’ve met him before."
Shen Miao remembered—she’d seen the quiet, well-mannered boy at the Xie residence once. The attendant, carrying Xie Qi’s book chest, bowed politely, and she returned the gesture.
"Sounds delightful. The mountain path is tough—would you like some provisions? I made these today." Shen Miao, ever the entrepreneur, lifted her basket with a playful grin. "This bread’s called 'Purple Robe and Golden Belt.' Eat it, and you’ll surely become a high-ranking official someday."
"What a mercenary lady," one of Xie Qi’s companions scoffed.
Shang An elbowed him. "Enough. Must you always speak out of turn?"
Xie Qi ignored them, instead examining the bread. Golden with a hint of purple, plump and studded with crushed peanuts, it lived up to its name. "The name suits it well. Did you use mulberries for the color? It’s beautifully done."
He glanced at the sky. "The children’s exams should end soon." Then he pointed at the bread. "I’ll take all of them. You’ll have a long journey back to the inner city—this way, you can leave earlier."
Shen Miao hesitated, suddenly embarrassed. "I didn’t mean to imply—"
"I know," Xie Qi said. After a pause, he added, "We have many people. We’d need this much anyway."
Shen Miao handed over the basket, charging him ten coins per loaf instead of twelve.
"Don’t worry. The children’s exams aren’t difficult. If Shen Ji studied well, he’ll do fine," Xie Qi reassured her as he took the basket. After a few more pleasantries, he prepared to leave.
Warmed by his kindness, Shen Miao said, "Thank you for the auspicious words, Jiu Ge."
They exchanged bows in farewell—but just as Xie Qi straightened, his gaze lingered on her once more.
Shen Miao didn’t understand his intention, thinking he still had something to say. But then she noticed a faint hesitation flicker in his clear eyes, and the next moment, he reached out and gently brushed the scattered petals from her shoulder.
As the petals fell, he said, "Miss Shen, until we meet again."
Shen Miao was momentarily stunned before hurriedly replying, "Until we meet again."
Afterward, she stood watching as Xie Qi walked away with his companions, their figures gradually disappearing at the end of the post road. Only when they were nearly out of sight did she lightly press a hand to her inexplicably warm chest.
Before she could even process the sudden flutter in her heart, the academy bell rang once more.
This time, as the resonant chime echoed, a crowd began pouring out from the grand gates. Her attention was immediately diverted as she lifted Sister Xiang from the large basket on her back and hoisted her onto her shoulders. "Sister Xiang, can you see if Shen Ji has come out yet?"
Sister Xiang, still groggy, had been in the middle of a dream where she was sternly lecturing Thunder, the little dog, and three chicks in an assembly when she was abruptly awakened. Rubbing her bleary eyes, she clung to her elder sister’s head and squinted hard into the distance. After straining her vision, she finally spotted Shen Ji, who looked like a tiny boat tossed in a turbulent sea amid the jostling crowd.
Immediately, she began waving her arms wildly, trying to make herself as conspicuous as a banner.
"Big Brother! Big Brother! We’re over here!"
Hearing the call, Shen Ji turned and saw his younger sister perched on Shen Miao’s shoulders, her face still bearing the imprint of sleep—a neat pattern of woven basket marks.
His heart instantly settled, and he hurried toward them.
Meanwhile, Xie Qi, now farther away, was surrounded by his friends. Meng San draped an arm over his shoulders with a mischievous grin and pressed, "Something’s off—really off! Ninth Brother, how come you’re so familiar with that pancake girl? What’s really going on? Out with it!"
Another companion nodded emphatically, chiming in, "Xie Jiu, ah Xie Jiu, Feng Qiniang, the daughter of Academy Scholar Feng, is renowned for her literary talent. Her poems circulate endlessly among noble ladies, and she waits for you outside the lecture hall every day, asking you to review her latest compositions. Yet you barely spare her a word, always claiming you’re already betrothed. So why treat this pancake seller so differently?"
"Exactly! Bo Zhi makes a fair point. Wait—wait! That pancake seller clearly wears her hair in a married woman’s style, but she’s out here making a living alone with children. Could she be a widow? Ah-ha! Xie Jiu! Don’t tell me you’ve got a thing for widows too? So… so you like widows?!" Meng San stroked his chin, piecing together his theory before gasping dramatically.
Shang An, who had stayed out of the teasing until now, was taking a sip from his leather water flask when he choked on the words, coughing violently as he doubled over in laughter.
"What do you mean, 'too'? Sounds less like me and more like you." Xie Qi remained unruffled, casually pulling a golden-belt pancake from his basket and stuffing it into Meng San’s chattering mouth. "Sister Xiang isn’t Miss Shen’s child—she’s her younger sister. But why am I even explaining this to you? Just eat the pancake, and you’ll understand why I’m acquainted with her."
Meng San, caught off guard, found his mouth too full to speak, let alone spit out the pancake. As he struggled, the others burst into laughter at his predicament.
"Hey? This is actually really good. Her skills are impressive!" Meng San finally managed to chew and swallow, looking at Xie Qi in surprise. "Don’t tell me you befriended her just because her pancakes are delicious?"
"'Befriended'? That’s the wrong way to put it." Xie Qi frowned disapprovingly. "Under heaven, all people are equal. Why should status dictate how we treat one another? The privileged need not be arrogant, nor the humble need grovel. So-called nobility and baseness are merely differences in ancestral wealth—what does that have to do with the person themselves? Scholars, pancake sellers, farmers, artisans, merchants—they’re just different trades. Does a peddler or a street vendor lack ambition or talent? You all admire Feng Qiniang’s poetry, but to me, it’s just frivolous, filled with the idle complaints of someone who’s never known hardship. Born into privilege, doted on by her parents, she has the luxury of fabricating sorrow. That’s not wrong—it’s immense fortune. But so what? To me, Miss Shen may not write poetry, but she’s far more genuine and endearing."
Shang An and Meng San fell into thoughtful silence.
Xie Qi lifted his gaze. The setting sun, half-hidden behind clouds, cast its last struggling rays across the sky. His steps slowed as he paused to watch for a long moment.
His friends, meanwhile, had moved on to teasing Meng San about which widow he fancied, their laughter ringing in the air as they walked ahead, oblivious to Xie Qi’s lingering gaze.
Only Xie Qi remained, staring at the fading twilight, a quiet warmth softening his eyes as if struck by some realization.
—My fate is mine to shape, not heaven’s.
—I believe that one day, I’ll carve out a good life with my own hands.
Xie Qi had never stopped to wonder why he felt drawn to Shen Miao. But now, after his friends’ relentless questioning, it suddenly became clear—like the ancient tale of Bo Ya, the musician, and Zhong Ziqi, the woodcutter. Despite their vastly different stations, they connected through music, their spirits resonating as kindred souls, leaving behind a timeless story of friendship.
Wasn’t this the same?
Perhaps dividing people into hierarchies had always been wrong.
His mind felt clearer than ever, his steps lighter as he caught up with his friends, who were still badgering Meng San about his supposed widow crush.
In the distance, the sunset bathed the crowds of students pouring out after the exams, while nearby, a cool breeze brushed against sleeves and carried the carefree laughter of young men.
That evening, Shen Miao closed the door and celebrated with Shen Ji and Sister Xiang by feasting on a pot of wild chestnut chicken soup. Shen Ji, still bashful, murmured, "We don’t even know if I passed yet..."
Wasn’t it presumptuous to celebrate right after the exam?
Tying up her sleeves as she stepped into the kitchen, Shen Miao laughed over her shoulder. "Who cares? You studied hard for over a month. Whether you passed or not, we’re celebrating your effort."
She missed the way Shen Ji’s face flushed, his eyes sparkling like the stars scattered across the night sky.
Sister Xiang circled her brother, giggling. "Big Brother, why’s your face so red? You’re happy Big Sister praised you, aren’t you? Just admit it!"
"I am not!" Shen Ji retorted, cheeks burning as he pinched her cheeks playfully.
"Ow! Meanie!"
Outside, the siblings were playfully roughhousing again, but Shen Miao paid them no mind. Their antics always had a sense of restraint, so there was no need to intervene.
She casually grabbed a clean cloth to protect her hands from the heat and lifted the lid of the pot. A wave of steamy warmth rushed over her face. The chicken broth, simmered gently over low heat all day, bubbled faintly, its golden surface shimmering with rich, glossy fat. The peeled chestnuts had softened to the point where they crumbled at the slightest touch of chopsticks.
The chickens at home weren’t plump enough yet, and Sister Xiang refused to let them be slaughtered—not that Shen Miao had any intention of doing so anyway. She preferred to keep them for eggs and breeding. So, the chicken she used had been bought the day before from a vendor at the market—a proper Zhengyang yellow-feathered bird, small but firm-fleshed. To save a single coin on butchering fees, Shen Miao had carried the chicken home by its feet, then fearlessly slit its throat, drained the blood, plucked the feathers, and gutted it herself.
The house was currently packed with freshly fired roof tiles in preparation for repairs, leaving barely any room to move. So, she had no choice but to boil water, haul out the chopping board and cleaver, and squat in the alley to slaughter the chicken—right under the watchful eyes of Gu Tusu, who happened to be returning from delivering wine.
With a swift stroke of the knife, she slit the chicken’s throat. But the bird gave one last desperate thrash, sending blood splattering everywhere. Once the blood was drained, Shen Miao dunked the chicken in hot water to pluck it.
She split the breastbone with a single cut, unfazed as she scooped out the innards. She even took the time to rinse the intestines, completely unbothered by the pungent smell. To her, these organs were already transformed into future delicacies: a quick stir-fry with pickled ginger, spicy and tangy, crisp and tender—utterly delicious.
The Song-style pickled ginger tasted almost like pickled chili peppers, wonderfully flavorful.
Just thinking about it made her mouth water. Shen Miao, utterly unfazed by the mess around her, even swallowed a little saliva.
After cleaning the giblets, she fished out the kidneys. When she looked up, hands still covered in chicken blood, she found Gu Tusu staring at her dumbfounded, his back pressed against the wall as he silently slipped into the house across the way.
She shrugged and went back to chopping the chicken with loud thuds. In less than fifteen minutes, everything was neatly prepared.
After sweeping away the bloodstains, she went inside to check herself in the mirror and realized—today had been a rare misstep. Her face and clothes were speckled with blood.
She washed up sheepishly. Admittedly, she must have looked a little terrifying.
But so what? Every chef had to start somewhere. This was basic skills! Anyone who’d spent years in a restaurant kitchen slaughtering chickens, ducks, fish, cows, sheep, pigs, rabbits, frogs, oysters, geese…
Their hearts would grow as cold as the blades in their hands.
The chicken had been slaughtered the night before, and the broth had been simmering since dawn. Shen Miao was used to the early market, rising before daybreak as usual. She stir-fried the chicken with ginger slices until fragrant, then added boiling water to stew it. The wild chestnuts had been bought along with the chicken—easy to store, these were last winter’s harvest, buried under straw and snow until spring, when farmers dug them up to sell.
Shen Miao had bought them just in time. The farmer carrying his load into the city had said this was his last batch—there’d be no more until next year.
Snow-stored chestnuts, partially dehydrated, were as hard as little stones. But once they met broth, they revived instantly, becoming even sweeter and softer than fresh ones. These wild chestnuts held up beautifully to long simmering, especially paired with chicken soup—a match made in heaven.
When Shen Miao lifted the lid, the rich aroma filled the room.
The moment the scent hit, Sister Xiang—who had been chasing Shen Ji around the yard, determined to pinch him back—and the confused little dog trailing behind her both dashed inside at the same time.
Sister Xiang clung to the stove, standing on tiptoe to peer into the pot.
The broth, simmered patiently over a low flame all day, gleamed like amber—clear yet rich, dotted with golden oil that shimmered faintly white under the firelight, utterly enticing.
The chestnuts had sunk to the bottom, split open from cooking, their golden flesh scooped out spoonful by spoonful by her elder sister.
Sister Xiang couldn’t wait. She started sipping the soup right by the stove, blowing on it over and over in her impatience. Meanwhile, Shen Miao ladled the rest into a large earthenware pot. The leftover bones, shredded meat, and broth were mixed with rice to make a hearty meal for the dogs, Thunder and Lightning, to be served warm later.
By the time the soup was cool enough to drink, Sister Xiang was already floating in bliss, her whole body warmed by the rich, sweet broth. The chicken had stewed until fall-apart tender, every fiber soaked in flavor. The chestnuts, golden and melt-in-the-mouth soft, were so delicious she couldn’t stop eating.
Shen Miao cleaned the pot, then stir-fried a plate of chicken giblets and another of braised chicken blood tofu.
Under the lamplight, the three Shen siblings sat together, savoring the sweet, fragrant chicken soup alongside the tangy, spicy giblets and silky-smooth blood tofu, with two bowls of mixed-grain rice to round it out. Soon, they were all rubbing their full bellies, exchanging satisfied smiles.
The little dog curled at their feet, gnawing contentedly on a chicken bone. Hearing their laughter, it wagged its tail.
Outside, the warm yellow glow of the lantern spilled through the paper window, painting the ground. The chicks had long since huddled together in their coop to sleep. At the courtyard gate, Thunder rested his big head on his paws as usual, lying quietly on the stone step. His bowl of chicken-and-rice had been licked clean, and the warm light seeping through the door illuminated his twitching, relaxed ears.
That night, the three Shens and their two dogs drifted off to sleep, their dreams filled with contented sighs.
A few days later, the last tile was laid on the Shen family’s newly built three-room tiled house. The last loose stone in the yard was tamped into the earth, and the first sprouts of edible greens peeked out from the two small vegetable plots they’d cultivated. Finally, each of the Shen siblings had their own room, and they spent an excited day moving out of the shop.
The shop itself was freshly plastered, its door panels replaced, and the two long-sealed windows were unshuttered at last, covered with new green gauze.
The Shen Family Noodle Shop, once reduced to ashes, had finally been reborn.
One early morning, as dawn’s light crept in, Aunt Li yawned while removing the wooden panels from her family’s porcelain repair shop. When she looked up, she noticed something new: on the repainted doorposts of the Shen Family Noodle Shop, not far from her own store, hung two peachwood plaques painted with the images of the ghost-subduing gods Shen Tu and Yu Lei.
She rubbed her eyes and leaned out for a better look. The old red-and-black signboard, once taken down, now hung proudly above the door once more, glowing humbly in the cool morning light.
Leaning against the doorframe, Aunt Li felt an unexpected swell of emotion in her chest.
Three years.
After the family’s ruin, after the fire that had consumed everything—the Shen Family Noodle Shop was finally reopening.
