Gu Tusu did heavy labor every day and never bothered with fancy clothes. Today he wore an open, sleeveless shirt, his sun-bronzed arms exposed—thick and sturdy. The shirt didn’t even have buttons, and if not for the long towel draped around his neck to wipe sweat, his equally muscular chest and abdomen would have been fully on display.
Shen Miao didn’t find it unusual. Plenty of men in the alley dressed like this—Liu Dalang the tofu maker, Wang Sanlang the fruit seller, Zeng Qilang the charcoal vendor—anyone who did strenuous work wore similar attire. Only during festivals would they bother with proper clothing.
The ancients were far more open than she had imagined. She only realized this after transmigrating here.
In what people assumed was a conservative era like the Song Dynasty, men often went bare-chested, and women wore short-sleeved robes in the scorching summer. The deep-V neckline popular since the Tang Dynasty still thrived, and in recent years, Bianjing had even embraced the trend of wearing sheer outer robes over undergarments—a kind of "innerwear as outerwear." Sometimes, walking down the street and seeing the variety of outfits, Shen Miao wondered who the real prudes were in history.
Hearing Gu Tusu’s voice, she casually glanced over and pointed outside, asking him to move something to the shaded corridor. "Thank you, Second Brother Gu."
Then she turned back to focus on cooking noodles.
Gu Tusu pushed the wine barrel where she indicated and, on his way back, peered through the counter’s window at the lame scholar standing inside the shop.
The scholar wore long, wide sleeves, his hair tied back with a plain silk ribbon, the ends draped over his shoulders like willow branches. He was even more handsome than Rong Dalang, appearing no older than seventeen or eighteen—clear-eyed and refined. Standing there silently, he exuded a gentle elegance, like moonlight reflecting off snow-laden eaves. Gu Tusu couldn’t quite describe him, only feeling a restless irritation bubbling inside.
Especially when the scholar noticed him, paused briefly, then smiled and nodded—as if amiably greeting a stranger.
Another scholar. Why another scholar? That inexplicable irritation surged straight to his forehead. But then he remembered the matchmaker his mother had invited that morning, and his anger deflated like a punctured balloon.
In the end, he said nothing, turning away with only a low mutter to Shen Miao’s back: "It’s done. I’ll go now."
"Ah, thanks, Second Brother Gu." Shen Miao, busy with the noodles, flashed him a quick smile before tending to the pot. Ever since their frank conversation, no matter how Gu Tusu felt, she treated him with an easy, unburdened familiarity.
Gu Tusu left, grumbling inwardly that scholars must be his personal curse.
While others feared the wrath of the stars, he was plagued by scholars.
Dragging his empty cart home, he found the courtyard quiet and cool, save for a plump sparrow perched on the wall, tilting its head left and right as if it owned the place.
Gu Tusu stared at the little bird, annoyed. It had been there since his argument with Aunt Gu that morning and still hadn’t left. Irritated, he waved his hand sharply. "Had enough of my troubles? Scram!"
The sparrow finally fluttered away.
After shooing off his avian audience, he cautiously peeked through the kitchen window—still empty. Aunt Gu hadn’t even left him porridge. Knowing his mother was still upset, he shuffled to her door and knocked. "Ma, you there? I’m sorry for how I spoke this morning."
Aunt Gu yanked the door open, her voice icy. "Tell me the truth—are you refusing to marry because you’re still hung up on Shen Miao?"
Gu Tusu fell silent, recalling Shen Miao’s words. He shook his head. "No, Ma."
"Then why won’t you marry?"
"Can we even afford a bride price?" He shrugged. "I heard you and Dad talking. If we have to borrow from Xingguo Temple, we might as well save up instead of paying extra interest. I’ve waited this long—what’s another year or two?"
Aunt Gu eyed him skeptically.
"Really," Gu Tusu exhaled, a self-deprecating smile tugging at his lips. "Ma, I get it now. Whether three years ago or now, Shen Miao’s eyes were never on me. The men she likes… aren’t like me."
He figured Shen Miao must prefer scholars—those delicate, refined types. Not much he could do about that. His father was dark-skinned, and so was he. Aunt Gu had once joked that if you tossed the two of them into a coal pit, you wouldn’t be able to tell them apart from the coal.
Big, rough, and illiterate—he wasn’t changing that.
His mother finally relaxed, patting his shoulder. "Good. Put it out of your mind. Fine, we’ll save up more. You stay steady, marry a girl who actually sees you, and life will be better."
"Alright, Ma." Gu Tusu forced a smile, picked up his axe, and went back to work.
With her mind at ease, Aunt Gu listened to the rhythmic chopping in the yard and happily grabbed a large soup pot. To celebrate her son’s newfound clarity, she decided to splurge on a big batch of Shen Miao’s lamb noodles—a treat the family hadn’t enjoyed in weeks.
Truth be told, Shen Miao’s cooking surpassed even her father’s skills. The Gu and Shen homes were so close that ever since Shen Miao opened her shop, the tantalizing aromas drifting over had tormented Aunt Gu—especially the lamb stew, which haunted her dreams like a phantom feast.
Lamb wasn’t cheap, and she couldn’t make broth that good herself. Better to buy it ready-made.
The Shen family’s back gate wasn’t locked. In these narrow alleys, neighbors often left doors unlatched when home, and women moved freely between houses without formal greetings.
Though the Shens had two guard dogs, theft wasn’t a concern.
Aunt Gu stepped in, first petting the big black dog’s head, then the little yellow one’s, before calling softly, "Miao?"
No one answered her call. Filled with suspicion, she carried the basin along the corridor to the small door connecting the front shop to the back hall.
At this hour, the shop was nearly empty, save for a scholarly-looking master and servant enjoying steaming bowls of noodle soup.
Shen Miao was seated in the kitchen, but her upper body leaned against the counter as she watched the pair eat with a soft smile. "Yan Shu, slow down," she chided gently. "Blow on it a bit more before taking a bite. This mixed noodle soup cools slowly—you’ll burn your mouth if you’re not careful."
The scholar looked up with a chuckle. "He went hungry as a child. Even though he doesn’t remember much now, he still eats like a starved wolf. No matter how much I try to correct him, it never sticks. Last time, after eating those cricket cakes you taught Chef Fang to make, he devoured two whole boxes. Ended up with such terrible indigestion that he writhed in pain all night, wailing at my bedside with his hair all disheveled. Gave me such a fright that I had to rummage through the house at midnight to find him digestive powder."
Shen Miao found it both pitiable and amusing. Propping her chin on her hand, she pointed at Yan Shu, who was too busy eating to speak.
"You, you!"
Tiny dust motes drifted lazily in the sunbeams, and the warm, fragrant air of the shop wrapped around them. The three chatted idly across the half-drawn curtain, bathed in sunlight—jumping from one topic to another, yet enveloped in a serene, unhurried comfort.
From a distance, Aunt Gu observed the scene. For some inexplicable reason, she turned and walked silently back the way she came. When she passed the two "dog gates" in the backyard again, she paused, meeting the puzzled gazes of the dogs who seemed to question her sudden return. She asked herself inwardly: Why didn’t I go in? I came to buy lamb noodles, didn’t I? Why am I leaving?
Perhaps it was because she couldn’t bear to disturb them.
That’s what she thought.
But why couldn’t she bear to disturb them? She couldn’t quite explain it.
"I’ll come back later," Aunt Gu murmured to the empty basin in her hands before finally walking away.
Xie Qi finished the rich, comforting bowl of mixed noodle soup and, like Yan Shu, leaned back slightly with a contented sigh. This seemingly haphazard yet inexplicably delicious dish was unlike anything he’d ever tasted before. What made it even more remarkable was how Shen Miao had taken the extra step of heating oil in a wok, frying scallions, ginger, and garlic until golden, then drizzling vinegar over it. As the sizzling white smoke rose, she poured the scalding oil over the noodles, deepening their flavor even further.
When the bowl was first set before him, it had looked rather ordinary. He’d merely nodded, thinking the name "Mixed Noodle Soup" fitting—a jumble of ingredients tossed together. But with the first bite, the freshness of the vegetables, the savoriness of the meat, and the chewiness of the noodles unfolded in layers.
Some noodle dishes started well but grew bland and tiresome the more one ate. This one was different—the further he went, the more exceptional it became. It had a soft, porridge-like texture, yet was far more interesting than plain congee.
"Though its name suggests chaos, there’s a hidden sophistication to it. I doubt I’ll ever forget this bowl," Xie Qi remarked, placing his chopsticks neatly across the empty bowl with a warm smile. "I’ve imposed on you again today, Shen Miao. But for a dish like this, I’m afraid I’ll have to trouble you often in the future."
"You’re always welcome, Ninth Brother. A shop’s doors are open for business—how could it be an imposition?" Though she knew not every customer would love her cooking, what chef didn’t delight in praise? Flushed with pleasure, she added without thinking, "I’d be happier if you really did visit often."
Xie Qi froze, then red crept up to the tips of his ears. "Really? Then... I’ll come often?"
Unaware of any awkwardness, Shen Miao lifted the curtain with a laugh and stepped out to collect their bowls. "Of course."
Outside, the slanting sunlight flickered across Yan Shu’s eyes, pulling him from the lingering taste of noodles. Only then did he realize how late it had gotten. Wiping his mouth, he turned to Xie Qi. "Ninth Brother, we’ve given our congratulations and eaten. Shouldn’t we head back now? You still need to change the dressing on your leg!"
But when he looked over, Xie Qi was sitting there dazed, absently rubbing his ear while his gaze followed Shen Miao’s retreating figure.
"Ninth Brother? Ninth Brother?" Yan Shu called, puzzled. "We should go."
Xie Qi startled as if waking from a dream, hastily grabbing his crutch. "Ah—yes, of course. Shen Miao, we’ll take our leave now. Yan Shu, pay the bill—"
Shen Miao set the bowls in the sink, wiped her hands on her apron, and hurried out to see them off. "You should rest that leg properly."
As she spoke, she noticed with slight confusion that Xie Qi’s ears and cheeks seemed unusually flushed. Was the soup too hot for him?
Then again, it was rather warm today.
"Oh! Ninth Brother, Shiyiniang asked us to bring back some snacks!" Yan Shu piped up, supporting Xie Qi’s arm while his eyes gleamed with mischief. "Why not buy some pastries from Shen Miao? That way, we won’t have to detour to the bakery." And I’ll get to eat some too!
Shen Miao’s pastries had utterly bewitched his stomach—he couldn’t bear the thought of eating anyone else’s now.
He wasn’t alone. By now, the entire Xie household knew of Shen Miao’s reputation. Take Shiyiniang, for instance. After tasting Shen Miao’s baked buns, the girl—who had once grandly vowed to emulate the ascetic monks of the Great Xiangguo Temple by fasting after noon, swearing off sweets and fragrant drinks—had broken her pledge spectacularly.
One day it was egg yolk pastries, the next cricket cakes.
Her earlier declarations were long forgotten.
In fact, Shiyiniang now consumed more of Shen Miao’s treats than even Yan Shu did.
Which was why, despite Xie Qi’s injured leg, she had eagerly sent her nursemaid to remind him to bring back something delicious—anything novel and tasty would do.
Xie Qi recalled his sister’s hopeful eyes. Returning empty-handed would earn him days of grumbling. "I nearly forgot. Shen Miao, do you have any baked buns or other pastries left?"
"I did make some, but the baked buns sold out this morning," Shen Miao replied after a pause. "And there’s no time to prepare more now."
Xie Qi had expected as much. With Shen Miao’s skill, even when she had just a street stall, her goods never lasted. Now with a proper shop, demand was even higher. He nodded regretfully. "Then we won’t trouble you further."
Just as she was about to leave, two children, barely taller than the table, suddenly appeared at the door hand in hand. They looked about four years old, both sporting identical spiky pigtails. One wore a sapphire-blue shirt, the other a crimson-red one, with little silver locks tinkling around their necks. Stumbling over the high threshold with their short legs, they called out to Shen Miao in tiny, milky voices, "Sister Shen!"
Shen Miao recognized them—they were the twins from the Gu family, who lived behind the waterhouse and ran an oil mill. The children were still young and hadn’t been given formal names yet. The chubbier one was called Bao (the elder sister), while the slightly frailer boy was called Di (the younger brother). These two were practically local celebrities in their alley—everyone knew them. Their birth had caused quite a stir decades ago, as they were the first pair of healthy twins, and a boy-girl pair at that, born in Willow East Alley in years. Ever since, whenever there was a wedding in the neighborhood, the happy couple would borrow this golden pair to carry lanterns or roll on the bridal bed for good luck.
Back when Shen Miao married Rong Dalang, these two had just learned to walk. Their parents had held their hands as they wobbled along, carrying flower lanterns for her.
Shen Miao bent down to talk to them. "What brings you two here? Where are your parents?"
They had brought a large earthenware bowl with them. Di lifted it up and said, "Sister Xiang told us you have soup noodles that can be eaten just by pouring hot water over them. Mama sent us to buy a bowl to see if it’s really that amazing."
Bao then pulled out a handful of shiny coins and chirped, "Sister Shen, we brought money!"
So even Sister Xiang had been advertising to her little friends? Shen Miao couldn’t help but laugh. She took the bowl and coins. "Alright, wait just a moment." Turning to Xie Qi, she added, "Brother Nine, hold on. Let me pack their noodles first, then Yan Shu and I will help you out. The threshold here is high to keep rats out—I don’t want you tripping with your leg like this."
Xie Qi instinctively wanted to refuse, saying it wasn’t necessary, but for some reason, his heart felt strangely ticklish and soft at that moment. His feet seemed glued in place, unwilling to move.
Shen Miao placed a pre-fried noodle cake into the bowl, added a chunk of prepared broth, and sprinkled in some chopped vegetables and a marinated egg. In no time, she lifted the door curtain and returned, bending down to hand it to the children. "Here you go. When you get home, pour boiling water over it, then cover it with a plate or another big bowl. Do you know how to count? Slowly count to two hundred. Once the noodles have soaked up the water and loosened, give it a stir, and it’s ready to eat."
Bao listened carefully, then nodded and curtsied. "Thank you, Sister Shen. We’ll be going now."
Di imitated his sister’s curtsy, only for Bao to correct him, "That’s for girls! You’re supposed to clasp your hands—you forgot again!"
Di stuck out his tongue, then properly clasped his hands in a bow before chasing after his sister.
"Slow down! Don’t run—you’ll spill it!" Shen Miao watched as they raced across the threshold and dashed back into the alley, holding her breath for the poor instant noodles in the bowl. Thankfully, they were dry noodles.
Xie Qi was still dazed by Shen Miao’s offer to help him later, but Yan Shu’s eyes sparkled as he stared at the noodles in the children’s bowl. He had caught a whiff of the aroma earlier—it smelled incredible! Leaning in eagerly, he blinked and asked, "Lady Shen, what kind of soup noodles are those? How did you make them so fast?"
Shen Miao explained, "It’s my shop’s specialty—deep-fried instant noodles. Just pour boiling water over them, and they’re ready to eat. Super convenient. Have you and Brother Nine not tried them yet? Want some?"
Yan Shu was thoroughly tempted. He glanced at Xie Qi, who stood there like a wooden post, lost in thought. Growing impatient, Yan Shu tugged at Xie Qi’s sleeve. "Brother Nine! Brother Nine! Let’s buy some instant noodles too! We can even bring some back for Shiyiniang—I bet she hasn’t tried them either! And when you stay up late studying, I can just boil water and make you a bowl. No more waking up Chef Fang in the middle of the night—last time, he was so groggy he nearly burned his eyebrows off while making midnight snacks!"
Xie Qi snapped out of his daze and nodded quickly. "Yes, yes, let’s get some. We haven’t settled the bill yet anyway."
Truthfully, he hadn’t heard a word Yan Shu said—he was just worried his absentmindedness might be too obvious to Lady Shen.
Yan Shu, as the keeper of his master’s purse when they went out, grandly stretched out both hands, counting on his chubby fingers. "One bowl for Brother Nine, one for me—none for Qiuhao! One each for Shiyiniang and her maid Juli, one for the Lady and Mama Xi, one for Third Brother… Wait, is Third Brother even home today? Ah, never mind, let’s include him and Mo Chi too. And for the Master and the Grand Lady… Lady Shen, we’ll take fourteen bowls!"
Fourteen? Shen Miao blinked in surprise before slapping her thigh and hurrying to the kitchen. "Hold on, let me check how many noodle cakes are left. I think I only fried seventy this morning."
Opening the cupboard, she counted—thankfully, there were just enough. Fifteen remained.
She hadn’t expected instant noodles to sell so fast! At this rate, they’d run out before evening. She’d have to fry another batch later. The oil she’d used earlier was still settling in the pot, but she couldn’t reuse it now. Once Xie Qi left, she’d store it away and start fresh with a new batch.
Shen Miao usually repurposed frying oil. Once-used oil wasn’t spoiled—it was still clear, with only a bit of sediment at the bottom. She’d discard the murky, residue-laden portion and keep the rest.
However, reused oil went rancid faster, so she avoided high-heat cooking with it. Instead, she used it for dumplings, buns, or brushing dough when making noodles or steamed bread. It also worked for cold dishes or stir-fry seasoning. Though frying noodles required a lot of oil, since she made plenty of dough-based foods, she could minimize waste.
Xie Qi hadn’t brought any bowls, of course. Thinking it over, Shen Miao cut large sheets of oiled paper, wrapping each noodle cake, broth cube, vegetable packet, and marinated egg separately. Finally, she packed all fourteen portions into a big wicker basket.
The basket wasn’t worth much, and Xie Qi and Yan Shu were practically her benefactors—no harm in gifting it. She was openly playing favorites here; most customers who took out orders only got a hemp rope to tie their packages.
Wait—instant noodles could be takeout!
How had she missed such a golden opportunity? Shen Miao’s eyes lit up. She hurried to Ji Brother’s room for his writing supplies, then returned with the basket, looking up at Xie Qi excitedly. "Brother Nine, could I trouble you to draw a step-by-step guide for preparing the instant noodles? I’d like to put it up in the shop so customers can follow along without me explaining it every time."
Such a simple favor was something Xie Qi naturally wouldn’t refuse. So, with Shen Miao dictating the steps—how to pour water, add the seasoning packet, cover the bowl, and so on—he took the brush, pondered for a moment, and began to draw.
In no time, a series of illustrations emerged.
Shen Miao noticed that Xie Qi was not only skilled in calligraphy but also remarkably adept at drawing. The first sketch depicted two hands unwrapping a dried noodle cake from its oiled paper packaging. The second showed hands placing the cake into a bowl. The third illustrated hands adding the sauce packet. The fourth captured a hand tilting a kettle to pour boiling water into the bowl, steam rising vividly. The fifth featured a flat lid being placed over the bowl. The sixth portrayed a young woman lifting the lid to enjoy the noodles.
As she examined the final drawing, Shen Miao suddenly realized the woman Xie Qi had sketched bore a faint resemblance to herself. A knowing smile curled her lips.
This was her noodle, and Xie Qi had drawn her eating it.
Once finished, she asked him to add brief captions beside each illustration—"1. Place the dried noodle cake," "2. Pour boiling water," and so on. Though most people couldn’t read, Shen Miao still preferred to include the text. Afterward, she pasted this "instant noodle guide" onto the empty wall with glue.
In an era where illiteracy was widespread, those who couldn’t read would instinctively follow the images, while the literate would feel a stronger connection to an establishment that included written instructions.
It reminded her of her past life, when she ran a private kitchen adorned with paintings by a single artist. Patrons who admired that artist’s work became regulars, often bringing friends along.
Yan Shu was overjoyed. Before the drawing began, he had eagerly taken the woven basket from Shen Miao’s arm. While she and Xie Qi worked side by side, he crouched nearby, inhaling the aroma of the fried noodles with a blissful expression.
This had to be delicious! Even uncooked, the fragrance was irresistible. Yan Shu even discovered some crumbs at the bottom of the basket. Pinching a few between his fingers, he popped them into his mouth—crispy, wheaty, perfectly salted.
They tasted wonderful even without soaking. Hugging the basket, he swayed happily.
By then, Shen Miao and Xie Qi had finished. Standing shoulder to shoulder, they admired the noodle-preparation diagrams on the wall. Xie Qi’s lips quirked unconsciously at the final image of the noodle-slurping girl, while Shen Miao mused that being tall certainly had its advantages—no stool needed to reach the spot.
His eyesight was sharp, too; the placement was perfectly straight.
"I’ve delayed you again, Ninth Brother. Many thanks!" Shen Miao tilted her head, flashing a grin that revealed tiny canine teeth. "My little shop is truly fortunate. Just two days apart, and it’s already graced with another masterpiece from you."
This was the first time someone had called themselves lucky because of him. Xie Qi couldn’t help but smile.
"Let’s go! Yan Shu, you take that side—steady now!"
"Ah, wait! We haven’t settled the payment yet," Xie Qi stammered.
"Two hundred and ten coins. Just give me two hundred." Shen Miao winked mischievously. "I’ll waive the extra ten as payment for your brushwork."
Amused, Xie Qi nodded solemnly. "Very well. From now on, if Lady Shen ever needs calligraphy, Xie Qi will charge only ten coins."
What a deal! Now she wouldn’t even have to pay for New Year’s couplets. Delighted, Shen Miao playfully seized his arm. "A promise is a promise. A gentleman’s word is unbreakable—no going back on it!"
It was early summer, and Xie Qi had switched to lighter robes. The warmth of Shen Miao’s palm against his sleeve seemed to pierce through fabric, skin, and bone, sending a tingling heat straight to his heart.
Aside from Lady Xi and Shiyiniang, he rarely interacted with women. First, because his betrothal had been arranged young; even though he’d barely met his cousin from the Cui family, he felt it improper to flirt with others. Second, between relentless studying and martial training—just to keep misfortune at bay—his days were already stretched thin. He had no time for romance, nor did he wish to drag others into his troubles.
Yet now, every principle and restraint he’d clung to crumbled effortlessly.
Yan Shu, being small, struggled to support Xie Qi’s tall frame, but Shen Miao only steadied him over the threshold before letting go. The Xie family’s russet carriage had been waiting outside the shop. Zhou Da, the familiar coachman, hurried forward to assist. "Careful now, Ninth Brother."
Limping, Xie Qi let Zhou Da help him into the carriage but couldn’t resist a glance back.
Shen Miao still stood at the door, waving cheerfully when their eyes met.
The bustling street made further words impossible. He nodded in farewell.
The curtain lifted, then fell. Yan Shu climbed in after him.
As the carriage rocked and hoofbeats faded, the ghost of her touch lingered on his arm—not particularly soft, but warm, like the faintest ember on a winter night.
He brushed his sleeve, then curled his fingers slowly. His palm was empty, yet he knew: that spark in his heart was now cradled gently in his grasp.
Dusk had settled over the Xie residence in West Bell-Drum Lane.
The courtyard was draped in twilight, its pavilions and corridors outlined against the dimming sky. Walled paths wound through serene bamboo groves, their shadows dancing elegantly on stone.
Yet into this refined tranquility came the unmistakable slurping of noodles, accompanied by a rich, spicy aroma that filled the air.
Tonight, Xie Qi’s family of five—along with their personal attendants—were feasting on the novel "instant fried noodles" bought from outside. The rhythmic sounds of consumption shattered the household’s usual quiet.
Shiyiniang, especially, was enraptured. After finishing, she murmured, "I’ve never tasted such divine noodles in my life. What a waste my years have been."
Father Xie, returning late from court and still in his official robes, had been lured by the scent. Now he listened intently as Zheng Neizhi explained the preparation, even rolling up his sleeves to try it himself.
Lady Xi, however, studied the convenient, portable meal in thoughtful silence.
Since the Song Dynasty reclaimed the Sixteen Prefectures of Yan and Yun from the Khitans, her Xi family had guarded Youzhou, Shunzhou, and Tanzhou—bordering Khitan territory. Last year, her aging father had been dispatched to Qinzhou (modern Gansu) to quell a rebellion by the Western Qiang.
The Great Song Dynasty was currently engaged in a strenuous struggle against the Liao and Jin, keeping the heartlands free from the ravages of war, allowing its people to live in peace and prosperity. However, in the border prefectures, skirmishes involving pillaging and slaughter frequently erupted among the three nations. The ongoing conflict between the Liao and Jin meant that the Song soldiers stationed at the frontiers could not afford even a moment’s laxity. They endured bitter cold, the sorrow of separation from their families, and stood guard day after day atop the unbroken chain of beacon towers. Qinzhou was no exception—the Western Qiang, seeking to monopolize the trade routes to the Western Regions, had ambushed and killed several Song envoys sent to establish commercial ties, and the unrest had yet to subside.
When Ninth Brother was born, Lady Xi firmly rejected the names Father Xie had proposed—such as "Li," "Zhu," or "Xiang"—alluding to propriety, blessings, or auspiciousness. Instead, she named him "Qi," after the Qilian Mountains in Qinzhou. Later, when it came time for his education, it was Lady Xi’s father—his maternal grandfather—who sent a letter suggesting his courtesy name: "Guanshan."
Xie Qi, Xie Guanshan.
The Xie family, though an ancient scholarly clan, had fallen into decline. The Xi family, though looked down upon by civil officials as mere military officers, held high-ranking positions and commanded significant border forces. The marriage between these two families was one of mutual benefit—one seeking to re-enter the ranks of the elite, the other hoping to regain lost prestige. However, after marrying into the Xie household, Lady Xi soon realized her husband was neither particularly capable nor clever, and his future prospects seemed dim.
Gradually, within the Xie household, Lady Xi’s influence overshadowed that of her husband. Even in matters like naming their son, Father Xie deferred to his wife’s opinion, nodding cheerfully in agreement.
Today was no different. Without waiting for Father Xie’s return, Lady Xi had already finished her evening meal.
The reason? The instant noodles Ninth Brother had brought home had left her heart unsettled for a long while.
To others, the noodles were either amusing or delicious, but for Lady Xi, they evoked thoughts of her father, brothers, uncles, and all the soldiers defending the borders. Born and raised in military camps, she knew the hardships of frontier life. Sometimes, it wasn’t a lack of food but the scarcity of time and means to prepare a proper meal. Many survived on dry flatbread for years, only to fall ill later—swollen tongues, night blindness, and cracked skin from malnutrition.
Xie Qi, initially delighted that Shen Miao’s cooking had pleased the entire family, suddenly noticed his mother’s silence. After a moment’s thought, he understood and gently asked, "Mother, are you thinking these instant noodles could be supplied to the border troops as military rations? Though they may not be suitable for active campaigns, soldiers standing guard day and night on beacon towers and city walls would surely benefit from a warm bowl. It would be a great boon for both the people and the state."
Lady Xi nodded. "That is precisely my thought. But this matter is too significant to rush. We must plan carefully and consider every angle. Our family has never taken advantage of the weak—if we propose these noodles as military provisions, we must first ask whether Shen Miao is willing. Beyond that, we must calculate the costs of production, how long they can be stored in dry weather, how long in wet weather—every detail must be tested thoroughly. Only then can your father draft a detailed memorial to present to the Emperor. And even then, whether His Majesty would be willing to allocate additional funds for frontier provisions remains uncertain."
Xie Qi nodded thoughtfully. Indeed, if these were to become military rations, how could Shen Miao alone manage to fry enough noodles? And if the court wished to purchase her recipe, would it be fair to her?
"So… let us not speak of this yet, lest good intentions lead to unintended harm."
No sooner had these words been spoken than Father Xie suddenly exclaimed, "No, no!"
Lady Xi turned in surprise, and Xie Qi assumed his father had some profound insight on the matter.
Instead, Father Xie was solemnly following instructions to prepare his own bowl of instant noodles. Meanwhile, Shiyiniang had somehow sidled up to him and was wheedling for an extra portion.
Father Xie pressed down on the exquisite Jun porcelain lid covering the noodles and sternly refused his daughter’s request. "Shiyiniang, your father toils daily at the government office, exhausted from his duties. Can you not let him enjoy this novel and amusing meal in peace?"
"Father, you’re the best! Just half a bowl, please?"
"No, no!" Father Xie shook his head again.
Lady Xi and Xie Qi: "…"
So that was the "no" he meant.
Meanwhile, oblivious to these unfolding events, Shen Miao’s shop was experiencing its busiest hour yet.
The night market had opened, coinciding with the evening meal rush, and customers streamed in without pause. Every table on both sides of the shop was packed.
Under the warm glow of lanterns, Shen Miao bustled about, attending to one guest after another. A square-faced, stern-looking elder in a long gown arrived, followed by a group of students from the Imperial Academy, then a contingent of soldiers who had heard of the shop’s reputation. Aunt Li’s family and Aunt Gu came in one after another, and even Shopkeeper Zhou, who lived far away, trailed behind Ji Brother, peeking in with a grin.
And aside from Aunt Gu, who resolutely chose lamb noodles, every single one of them had come specifically for the instant noodles!
After Xie Qi’s departure, Shen Miao had spent the entire afternoon frying noodles, but the freshly dried batch couldn’t keep up with demand—within half an hour, they were completely sold out.
The small shop was bathed in warm yellow light, packed to the brim with noisy chatter, the aroma of instant noodles spilling into the streets and luring even more people inside. Those who couldn’t find seats clamored to buy portions to take home.
Ji Brother and Sister Xiang stood on stools, one handing out noodles and the other wrapping them, like two tiny workers on an instant noodle assembly line.
Overnight, instant noodles had unexpectedly taken Bianjing by storm.
