What kind of person is Xie Qi?
In Feng Qiniang’s eyes, he is courteous and proper, yet distant and unapproachable. His gentle demeanor and refined manners only make him feel even more out of reach.
Since Xie Qi passed the imperial examinations and entered the Biyong Academy, where he was assigned to study under Dr. Feng, Feng Qiniang had known him. Yet, after all these years, Xie Qi treated her the same as ever—with a politeness as if they had only just met three days ago.
Hearing that Xie Qi excelled in calligraphy and painting, Feng Qiniang diligently practiced writing and studied art. When she learned he played the flute beautifully, she begged her mother to hire a tutor to teach her the xiao, hoping one day to harmonize with his flute. Later, when her father praised Xie Qi’s poetry for its clarity, elegance, and spiritual depth, she devoted herself to composing verses, even sneaking her works into her brother’s poetry collection for Xie Qi’s critique.
Yet, over the years, Xie Qi never truly acknowledged her admiration. He refused the embroidered pouches and handkerchiefs she made, even returning handmade brushes. When she waited outside the study hall for her brother, her gaze lingering on him, classmates would tease, but he would sternly silence them. Even during festive visits to her father, Xie Qi never spoke to her alone, offering only a formal greeting: "Your disciple Xie Qi wishes the master’s household everlasting happiness and peace."
Exchanging a few words was hard enough—let alone receiving a poem or painting from Xie Qi himself! Feng Qiniang had secretly collected many of his poems, but they were all snatched from her brother’s study—written to him in letters, inscribed with titles like "Reflections on Revisiting Chenzhou’s Moonview Tower, for Eldest Brother Feng" or "Staying at a Huangshan Monastery, for Eldest Brother Feng."
But now, the handwriting she treasured was boldly displayed in a humble eatery. How could she not be devastated?
Covering her face, Feng Qiniang turned and ran.
Shiyiniang, torn between her friend and the food, hesitated before stomping her foot and chasing after her: "Qiniang! Qiniang! Wait for me!"
Their servants followed in a flurry.
Shen Miao, having just washed her hands, stepped out from the kitchen to find the shop empty—only a lone leaf swirling in the air. She blinked in confusion. "Was I hallucinating?"
Where had all the customers gone?
Baffled, she scratched her head and returned to the kitchen.
Luckily, new customers soon arrived—this time no illusion, as she recognized the old man strolling in with his hands behind his back: Dr. Yao. He had visited on the opening night for a bowl of instant noodles. His presence sent the Imperial College students, who had been eating heartily, scrambling like mice spotting a cat. They stood and bowed in unison, addressing him as "Dr. Yao."
Seeing them greasy-faced, Dr. Yao seemed furious. "The dormitory gates are locked! How did you all get out?"
The students, terrified, dropped their coins and scattered.
Since then, Dr. Yao had become a regular.
These days, he was one of the few customers who ventured beyond the instant noodles, determined to try every dish on Shen Miao’s menu.
Today, he entered with his hands clasped behind his back, scanning the menu with a serious gaze before settling on "steamed soup noodles." Clearing his throat, he ordered, "Madam Shen, one bowl of steamed soup noodles, please."
Shen Miao popped her head out from the kitchen. "Right away, Dr. Yao! Please take a seat."
Nodding, Dr. Yao lifted his robe and chose a table by the window, sitting ramrod straight.
As he waited, he mused.
Of Shen Miao’s menu, only the lamb soup noodles and lamb soup remained untried—too pricey for his purse. The "steamed soup noodles" would complete his culinary tour.
This tiny eatery offered noodle dishes unlike any other. Initially, he’d only tried them because of the instant noodles, but curiosity had driven him to sample the rest.
At his age, too much fried food upset his stomach and left him parched. He craved lighter, digestible fare.
To his surprise, each dish—Youzhou fried sauce noodles, muddled noodles, dough drop soup, dandan noodles—had delighted him. Now, he was determined to taste them all.
In his younger days as chancellor, he’d had cooks and servants. After his demotion, he’d dismissed them and started cooking for himself and his granddaughter, Yao Ruyi.
Unfortunately, within a month of his culinary experiments, both he and Yao Ruyi had lost nearly ten pounds.
The two of them were already quite thin, and if things continued this way, the grandfather and granddaughter might very well starve themselves to death.
That day, staring at the pot lid that had been blown onto the roof beam, the iron pot with its bottom burned through, and the kettle with its spout broken, Dr. Yao and Yao Ruyi stood frozen amid the billowing black smoke, utterly at a loss.
Just as he was trying to figure out a way to save themselves, the Shen Family Noodle Shop happened to open.
Being older, he didn’t sleep much, so in recent days, he had been coming early to queue for the instant noodles. Now, their home was stocked with plenty, stored in a cool, dry place. This ensured that Yao Ruyi, who had been hiding indoors, unwilling to face people after the broken engagement, had at least two meals a day.
Now, even when he was away teaching at the Imperial Academy, Ruyi could boil some water herself and enjoy a warm, delicious bowl of noodles.
Dr. Yao felt relieved, resting his chin on his hand as he gazed out the window at the bustling streets teeming with people. He thought to himself that since he didn’t have any lectures in the afternoon, he could return home early. If the Shen Family’s "steamed noodles" tasted good, he’d buy an extra portion to bring back for Ruyi to try.
Steamed noodles—could noodles even be steamed? He wondered what they tasted like. How did this young mistress Shen come up with so many inventive ways to prepare noodles?
Steamed noodles were actually delicious and easy to make.
Shen Miao had already prepared the noodles in advance. Now, she simply placed them directly into a steamer over boiling water, steaming them over high heat for a short while. While the noodles steamed, she took a slab of pork belly hanging nearby and swiftly sliced it thin. Then she chopped the green beans and shredded some ginger. Heating oil in a wok, she stir-fried the ginger until fragrant, then added the green beans and pork belly. Once the beans were tender and the pork had changed color, she added soy sauce, salt, and a bit of water, covering the wok to let it simmer briefly.
Here was the key point: the simmering time shouldn’t be too long. The broth shouldn’t reduce completely—keeping some of the liquid was the secret to making the steamed noodles delicious.
By then, the noodles in the steamer were about done. She took them out and mixed them thoroughly with the meat and vegetables in the wok, ensuring every strand was evenly coated in the savory broth. Then she steamed them again briefly before serving.
Outside, Dr. Yao had already caught the enticing aroma wafting from the kitchen, craning his neck to peer inside.
He wasn’t the only one. Youyu, who had finished washing the bowls and hauling two vats of water, had been sent by Shen Miao to rest in the corridor. She sat there blankly watching the chickens strutting around the courtyard.
Behind her was the small door connecting the kitchen to the backyard, left wide open. The rich scent of the steamed noodles drifted out unhindered.
She sniffed, then sniffed again, unable to resist turning her head to look. But a lingering sense of timidity and unease in this unfamiliar place kept her from wandering off.
Her mother had already returned to the outer city, leaving her here to work. Her mother had said she’d come back to fetch her before the shop closed, and that she must listen to Shen Miao—do as she was told, without causing trouble or running off.
Earlier, Shen Miao had said to her, "Youyu, go rest in the backyard. If you’re bored, take a scoop of that bran in the corner, mix it with water, and feed the chickens. I’ll call you when there’s more work."
So Youyu had stayed there, clumsily feeding the chickens—spilling bran everywhere when adding water, though luckily the three chickens clucked over and pecked it all up in no time.
After that, she obediently returned to her spot, watching the chickens and the dogs. She saw the chickens take turns perching on the yellow dog’s head, only to be barked at and sent fluttering down.
But once the dog quieted, they flew right back up.
Shen Miao still hadn’t called for her, so she didn’t dare move. She could only rub her stomach, trying to ignore its loud growling, and keep watching the chickens and dogs in the yard.
Now, the yellow-furred dog had chased the chickens away again, running in circles around the yard before suddenly spinning in place, trying to catch its own tail.
The other dog, a big black one, was enormous—yet much calmer. It lay lazily by the corridor, not far from her, yawning with half-lidded eyes as it watched the yellow dog yap foolishly.
Just then, the steamed noodles were ready. Shen Miao lifted the steamer lid and plated the dish, releasing an even richer aroma.
Youyu gulped loudly, her hands unconsciously twisting together.
So fragrant…
Dr. Yao looked down at the heaping plate before him—tangled strands of golden-brown noodles, glossy with sauce and studded with glistening slices of pork and chopped green beans, garnished with scattered scallions. It was as pleasing to the eye as it was to the nose.
This aroma was entirely different from noodles boiled in plain water.
Even before reaching the table, the smell alone was enough to make one’s mouth water.
Unable to wait any longer, he picked up his chopsticks and took a bite. The noodles were smooth and springy, almost dancing between his teeth. Each strand had absorbed the richness of the meat broth and the freshness of the vegetables, the flavor deepening with every chew.
"Mmm, delicious." Dr. Yao also narrowed his eyes in enjoyment, first savoring the rich aroma of rendered fat, then the crisp and tender texture of the green beans—all blending together into the lingering fragrance of the noodles.
"Slurp, slurp..."
Dr. Yao buried his head in the bowl, devouring the dish with gusto. In no time, the entire plate of steamed noodles was gone, and his aged limbs were bathed in deep satisfaction. He couldn't help but sigh to himself, "Marvelous, absolutely marvelous!"
With that, he immediately asked Shen Miao to prepare another serving to take home for his granddaughter.
Once the second portion was ready, Dr. Yao paid an extra five coins and borrowed a large earthenware bowl from Shen Miao to pack the noodles.
Shen Miao saw him out, only to welcome Third Bai, who was utterly addicted to her fried noodles, along with a few other regular customers she’d gotten to know while running her stall. She was kept busy for a good half-hour.
When she finally had a moment to breathe, she turned and noticed Youyu still sitting under the eaves, lost in thought, not having moved an inch. The girl seemed to have sat so long her bottom had gone numb—she had both hands tucked underneath her, occasionally scratching absentmindedly.
Curious about what had captured her attention, Shen Miao walked over to check, only to find Youyu sniffing the air intently, her mouth watering. When she finally noticed Shen Miao approaching, she whined with a mix of hunger and indignation, "Hungry! So hungry!"
Shen Miao chuckled. "Ah, I forgot about you. My apologies. Come on, get up. Go inside and wash the bowls the customers used earlier. I’ll start making dinner now. From now on, we’ll eat around this time—a bit early, but once the evening rush starts, we won’t have a chance. You’ll get used to it."
Youyu understood the words "wash the bowls" and, despite her hunger, scrambled up and hurried inside to get to work.
Shen Miao glanced at the sky. Before Ji Brother and Sister Xiang had left, she’d reminded them to return by mid-afternoon. By the time dinner was ready, they should be back.
So she washed her hands and began preparing the meal.
While making the steamed noodles earlier, she had also rinsed rice and steamed a large pot of it. Now that it was ready, she scooped it into bowls to cool—tonight’s plan was fried rice.
People often say leftover rice from the day before makes the best fried rice, but Shen Miao didn’t necessarily agree.
The usual argument for using day-old rice is that, after sitting overnight, the grains lose some moisture. Freshly cooked rice tends to be stickier and softer, while leftover rice dries out slightly, making it easier to separate during frying.
Another reason is that as the rice loses moisture, its texture changes. It becomes more elastic, almost as if lightly "air-dried," allowing it to withstand vigorous stirring without breaking apart.
But using leftover rice also has a downside: the drier grains require more oil and seasoning to absorb flavor, which can make the dish greasier and less refreshing.
So, Shen Miao preferred using freshly steamed rice for her fried rice.
As long as she adjusted the water slightly—using less than usual—she could achieve perfectly dry, fluffy rice without waiting overnight.
That way, she could make it whenever she wanted, no delay.
With Youyu now part of the household—and considering how much work the girl had done—Shen Miao had added two extra bamboo cups of rice while steaming. Their rice-measuring cup was a small bamboo tube, charred to prevent insects and mold. Normally, for the three siblings and their two dogs, three cups were just right.
While the rice cooled, Shen Miao prepped the ingredients.
Four eggs, a few stalks of scallions, a bit of pork belly, peas, and assorted vegetables. She cracked the eggs, separating the whites from the yolks by passing the yolk between the two shell halves. The whites went into one bowl, the yolks into another, beaten smooth.
For vegetables, she used whatever was on hand. Sometimes, cooking without strict recipes led to unexpectedly delicious combinations.
Everything—vegetables and meat—was diced.
In a separate pan, she heated oil, first scrambling the egg whites quickly until they firmed up, then setting them aside. She added more oil, and once hot, tossed in the cooled rice, reducing the heat to low to stir-fry it gently.
At first, the rice clumped together, but as she stirred, the surface moisture evaporated. Pressing the grains with the back of the spatula helped them separate.
Even without using leftover rice, each grain became distinct. In fact, the fresh rice, still holding a bit more moisture, gave the fried rice a brighter sheen today.
Once the rice was heated through, she poured in the beaten yolks, stirring rapidly until every grain was coated.
By then, Youyu had finished washing the bowls. She stacked them neatly upside-down in a wicker basket before sidling up to Shen Miao, eyes wide with fascination as she watched.
Shen Miao lifted the heavy iron wok, giving it a few strong tosses as flames from the stove leaped up in response. The rice inside had already turned a golden hue, shimmering like scattered pearls under the fierce firelight. The aroma of eggs and rice was now rich and inviting.
Youyu watched, utterly transfixed.
With practiced ease, Shen Miao began adding meat, peas, crumbled egg whites, and diced vegetables to the wok. As the ingredients mingled, the fragrance grew even more intoxicating. The sound of Youyu gulping loudly echoed in her ears—the girl had no concept of subtlety, her wide-eyed gaze fixed solely on the sizzling rice.
After seasoning with soy sauce, salt, and a final sprinkle of scallions, a few more tosses released the scallion’s aroma, completing the fried rice.
From the broth barrel, she ladled leftover pork bone soup into another pot, bringing it to a boil before adding greens and lean meat. A pinch of salt and a garnish of scallions later, a simple yet flavorful soup was ready to accompany the meal.
Exhausted from days of little rest, Shen Miao kept things simple, saving her energy for the evening rush. Tonight’s dinner would be just fried rice and soup.
As she plated the food, the backyard gate creaked open. Sister Xiang’s lively voice and bounding footsteps announced her arrival: "Elder Sister! We’re back! Grandpa Zhou closed the shop early today and took us to catch shrimp by the river! I caught a crawfish—its claws were THIS big! Come see!"
This was followed by Lei Ting the dog’s enthusiastic barks and Shen Ji’s steady footsteps.
From the kitchen, Shen Miao called back, "Alright, I’ll come look in a bit… Go wash up first. Dinner’s ready."
When the siblings entered after washing their hands, they nearly collided with Youyu, who had been shadowing Shen Miao. Both parties recoiled in shock: "Who are you?"
Youyu couldn’t speak her name, only responding with incoherent sounds.
Sister Xiang and Shen Ji exchanged a silent glance. Young as they were, they could tell this tall, sturdy girl was… different.
Shen Miao breezed past the three frozen figures, carrying a large bowl of fried rice. Without fuss, she gestured toward Youyu and said matter-of-factly, "This is Youyu. She’ll be helping us from now on. Treat her like a little sister—play nice, no bullying."
At the word "sister," Sister Xiang’s eyes lit up. "She’s my little sister? That means I’m the elder sister now!"
She marched up to Youyu, puffing out her tiny chest, and declared, "You have to call me ‘Elder Sister.’ Do that, and I’ll protect you."
Youyu pondered hard before producing a sound resembling "zhi-zhi"—somewhere between a squeak and a mouse’s chirp.
Sister Xiang, however, was thrilled. "From today on, I’m your elder sister! Don’t worry, nobody in this alley will dare mess with you while I’m around."
Never mind that she barely reached Youyu’s elbow.
Shen Ji tapped her head and deadpanned, "Stop bragging. Remember last time when you fought Liu Douhua? Not only did you lose the argument, but she also scratched your face. You even cried—mmph—!"
"Brother! Shut up!" Sister Xiang leaped to cover his mouth, nearly suffocating him in the process. Shen Ji pried her off with a sigh and went to set the table in the yard, muttering, "Fine, fine, I’ll stop."
Grumbling, Sister Xiang turned to Youyu and whispered, "That was a fluke. Don’t listen to him. I’m tough."
Youyu responded with a wide, vacant grin.
Shen Ji quietly arranged the table, fetched four stools, and laid out bowls and chopsticks.
Shen Miao set down the fried rice, served the soup, and clapped her hands. "Dinner’s served!"
The sun hadn’t yet set, its summer-evening glow fiercer than spring’s, flooding the yard with molten light. As she guided Youyu to sit, Shen Miao gazed at the barren courtyard and suddenly thought, Next market day, I should buy a young tree to plant here—a fruit tree, maybe. Persimmon, pomegranate, peach, or jujube would do. Shade and snacks in one.
Jujube? If she planted jujubes, she’d need two. After all, "Outside the wall stood two trees: one was a jujube, the other was also a jujube."
She snorted at her own joke.
Shen Ji shot her a puzzled look—what was so funny about an empty yard?
Shen Miao waved her hand with a smile, savoring a joy only she could understand.
Sister Xiang had been clamoring to sit next to Youyu, and once she finally nestled contentedly beside her, she even assured Shen Miao, "From now on, I’ll take care of Youyu. I’ll serve her food."
Shen Miao chuckled. "Then I’ll leave her to you."
Sister Xiang nodded with utmost seriousness.
But soon, Sister Xiang realized she had been mistaken—Youyu didn’t need her help at all.
When it came to eating, Youyu was like a whirlwind, clearing her bowl in no time. Then she’d clutch her empty bowl, gazing up at you with pitiful eyes. Shen Miao refilled it for her, only for Youyu to polish it off again and resume her pleading stare.
This time, even Shen Miao was stunned, hesitating slightly before scooping another serving.
By the end, Youyu had devoured four bowls of fried rice, two bowls of soup, and even gnawed on a pear.
The fried rice had originally been prepared with portions for Lei Ting and the yellow dog in mind, but Youyu alone finished it all. Left with no choice, Shen Miao had to return to the kitchen to chop up some greens and minced meat for the dogs, boiling a fresh pot of noodle soup as their meal.
Sister Xiang had been so absorbed in watching Youyu eat that she’d barely touched her own food. She glanced down at her small bowl, then back at Youyu, her eyes wide with disbelief at the girl’s bottomless appetite.
Youyu let out a satisfied burp, licking the last grain of rice from her bowl before finally setting down her chopsticks, her longing gaze fading.
As Shen Miao emerged from the kitchen after preparing the dogs’ meal, a thought struck her—Youyu’s mother had once mentioned that the bigger Youyu grew, the less her siblings and their spouses tolerated her. Could it be because she ate so much?
No wonder she was so tall.
From now on, she’d have to add two extra cups of rice when cooking.
After the family finished their evening meal and rested for a while, dusk settled in. The evening drum from the Great Xiangguo Temple resonated like rippling water, and soon, customers began trickling into the shop, filling it with lively chatter. Shen Miao was back to work.
But tonight, with an extra pair of hands, everything felt smoother. She focused on making noodles while Ji Brother carried them out and collected payments. Sister Xiang busied herself clearing dishes.
The moment Sister Xiang brought the bowls to the sink, Youyu would wash them without delay. Once done, she even helped Shen Miao by fetching firewood.
To Shen Miao’s astonishment, Youyu knew how to tend the fire!
In ancient times, managing a wood-fired stove was no simple task—it required skill. Knowing how much wood to add for a strong flame, a moderate one, or a gentle simmer, all while keeping a watchful eye and adjusting the bellows when needed.
Even for someone of sound mind, mastering the art took years of practice. Shen Miao had assumed such a complex and reactive job would be beyond Youyu’s capabilities.
Yet, to her surprise, Youyu proved her wrong. When Shen Miao instructed, "Youyu, reduce to medium heat—pull out one large log," Youyu responded with an "Ah!" and deftly gripped the fire tongs, steadily removing the wood. She even knew to rearrange the remaining logs in the hearth, loosening the pile to prevent the fire from dying out.
During a lull in the shop, Shen Miao took a moment to observe quietly. She noticed Youyu proactively adjusting the bellows to maintain the flame. If the fire waned, she widened the air vent; if it flared too high, she eased it back, reducing the oxygen flow.
When ash piled up in the stove, Youyu silently crouched to clean it out. The ashes could be used to fertilize the vegetable patch, so Shen Miao had her shovel them into the garden.
After watching Youyu’s flawless fire-tending for a while, Shen Miao felt it was all worth it—even if Youyu ate four bowls of rice in one sitting! She’d truly stumbled upon a treasure.
The four of them worked tirelessly until the hour of Xu (7–9 PM). Lei Ting had already taken his post by the backyard gate to stand guard, while the yellow dog, forsaking its own bed, squeezed into the chicken coop with Rong Rong, the little white hen, and the speckled hen. The shop gradually quieted down.
Since the Song Dynasty had no curfew, a few city gates remained open for passage between the inner and outer districts. Youyu’s mother arrived just before Shen Miao closed up, having walked and jogged the whole way, too frugal to hire a cart. Beads of sweat dotted her forehead, and she was panting heavily.
Shen Miao led Youyu out and lavished praise on her: "Your Youyu is incredibly capable, Aunt Nian! Today, she didn’t break a single bowl. When I told her to rest, she went ahead and filled all four water vats to the brim, even swept and mopped the floors. And just earlier, when the slop collector came by, she single-handedly carried the bucket out and earned us three coppers!"
During the Song Dynasty, "day scavengers" roamed the streets of Bianjing, buying up slop at low prices to sell to pig farmers or peasants needing fertilizer—an impressively eco-friendly system.
This was the first time Aunt Nian had ever heard someone praise Youyu’s abilities. Tears welled in her eyes as she stammered, "Really? That’s wonderful, truly wonderful! As long as you’re satisfied, Madam Shen, that’s all that matters."
As she made her way here earlier, her heart had been in turmoil—worried that Youyu might cause trouble or that she might be scolded for not doing well. But now, she could finally set her mind at ease.
And it seemed Youyu could understand the praise directed at her. Her flat face flushed pink, and she began grinning foolishly at Shen Miao again, her wide eyes narrowing into crescents.
After seeing Youyu off and confirming the time she would start work the next day, Shen Miao turned back inside. She had just removed one of the door panels to close up when a young man, reeking of alcohol, staggered in, looking utterly dejected.
His green silk robe, embroidered with scrolling vines, was crumpled like pickled vegetables, and he was accompanied by a young attendant.
"Madam, two bowls of lamb noodles, please," the attendant said, helping him sit down before walking to the counter to order. "And a bowl of Erchen soup to sober him up."
"Right away. Please take a seat, I’ll bring it over." Shen Miao opened the drinks cabinet to fetch a jar for him, but she couldn’t help stealing another glance at the man.
He looked familiar.
But she couldn’t quite place him.
Maybe he had bought her scallion pancakes when she was still running her stall at the bridge market? Shen Miao shrugged and went back to kneading the dough. Coincidentally, there was just enough left—after these two bowls, she’d be sold out for the day.
Thanks to Youyu, she had sold more noodles than usual today, and the evening had gone smoothly—busy but not chaotic. She still felt energetic, not the least bit tired.
As she pulled the noodles, her mind wandered: Should she prepare some braised sauce after closing up? Maybe braise some pork head meat too, so she could introduce a new dish tomorrow—braised noodles? Or perhaps cold cucumber salad with sliced pork head?
Lost in thought, she finished the noodles and carried them out, only to notice Ji Brother looking distracted as well, dragging his feet as he pushed aside the curtain and emerged.
"Elder Sister, Sister Xiang is already asleep."
But Shen Miao could tell something was off. She asked softly, "What’s wrong?"
Shen Ji hesitated for a moment before lowering his head and confessing,
"Lately, whenever I study, I feel like I’m stuck… My mind keeps wandering, and I can’t stay at my desk. Even today at the bookstore, I stared at the words but couldn’t absorb them. I don’t know what’s wrong with me—my heart just won’t settle." Shen Ji was filled with guilt. His sister worked so hard, yet he couldn’t even focus on his studies. It felt like a bucket of water sloshing around in his chest, never still.
How useless.
His voice grew even quieter. "In a few days, the results for Piyong Academy will be posted. Elder Sister… what if I don’t get in?"
Only then did Shen Miao realize that beneath Ji Brother’s composed and mature exterior, he had been carrying this anxiety all along. She felt a pang of remorse too—lately, she had been so preoccupied with keeping the shop running smoothly that she had neglected him. Otherwise, she would have noticed his low spirits much earlier.
Still, it was rare for Ji Brother to open up like this. That in itself was progress.
"Come, sit with me." Shen Miao led him to the table in the farthest corner of the shop.
With customers still eating, she couldn’t leave the shop unattended, so she decided to talk to him right there.
She ruffled his hair gently and said, "I’m sorry too. I completely forgot about the results coming out—you must have been losing sleep over this for days, haven’t you? You asked me what we’ll do if you don’t get in. Well, my answer is: Who cares? We’ll figure it out."
"It’s fine if you don’t make it. There’s more than one path in life. If you still want to study, we’ll find another tutor. If you don’t, that’s fine too. We’ll look for a trade you enjoy, and you can learn a skill to make a living."
She spoke patiently, but Ji Brother only grew more ashamed, his eyes reddening.
"I’m useless. I’ve let you down, Elder Sister."
"Ah, don’t say that." She thought for a moment. "Actually, when I was in Jinling, I heard about a man named Xu Xiake."
"Let me tell you his story. He was born in Jiangyin, into a wealthy merchant family with vast farmlands and countless shops. His ancestors were all scholars, and his great-grandfather even passed the imperial exams. But despite coming from such a scholarly family, his father only taught him the principles of reading and conduct, not the pursuit of fame and fortune. When Xu Xiake expressed his love for mountains and rivers and his desire to travel the world, his parents supported him wholeheartedly—even selling their property to fund his journeys."
"While his classmates, friends, and peers chased official titles and wealth, Xu Xiake, with his parents’ understanding and love, climbed Mount Huang alone in winter. In his travel notes, he wrote, ‘On the fourth day, I sat listening to the melting snow all day.’ He stayed atop the mountain peak, listening to the sound of thawing snow until dawn. Most families would have found his choices incomprehensible, wouldn’t they? But when I heard this, I was deeply moved."
Shen Miao gazed into Ji Brother’s bewildered eyes and said softly:
"Ji Brother, a person has only this one life, and only this one chance. We must not let our studies be shackled by the pursuit of fame and fortune, obsessing over a single outcome. More importantly, you must understand—what kind of person do you wish to become in this lifetime? What is the thing you love doing most? Your elder sister hopes that your life will be one of your own pursuits, lived joyfully. As for expectations like establishing a family or upholding the family name—those are not your responsibilities. Perhaps you think your elder sister has it hard, running this little shop alone. It warms my heart that you care for me so. But let me tell you this: I do it willingly. I love cooking, I love the bustle of this small shop, and yes—I simply love making money."
Shen Ji was first stunned, then astonished, but couldn’t help laughing at his elder sister’s shamelessly candid declaration: "I simply love making money."
Seeing that he had taken her words to heart, Shen Miao smiled as well.
"When Xu Xiake traveled the land, he faced bandits, the deaths of companions, and his own illnesses—yet he never stopped. He never abandoned his ambitions. He measured the world with his own feet, and even when his legs failed him and he could walk no more, he did not despair, for his hands still moved. In the end, he left behind the invaluable Travel Diaries of Xu Xiake."
Shen Miao patted Ji Brother’s shoulder. "So what does it matter if you pass the exams or not? Don’t wallow in despair. If you’ve given your all and your conscience is clear, that is enough."
The warmth of her palm on his shoulder was light and comforting, like a breeze that effortlessly lifted the self-imposed weight he had been carrying.
He struggled to hold back the sting in his eyes.
He did not cry—but in the shop, someone else burst into loud sobs.
Shen Miao turned in surprise.
A young man in the shop was weeping so hard his hands trembled. He set down his chopsticks, clutching one wrist with the other, tears and snot streaming down his face as his whole body shook. It was as if years of pent-up frustration and defeat had been struck by Shen Miao’s words, and now, like a floodgate opened, it all poured out.
Then, between sobs and laughter, he staggered out of the shop.
"A person has only this one life… What is true joy? Only this one life… only this one… Ha… My half-lived years have been nothing but a joke…"
"My apologies, my apologies. Keep the change." His attendant, witnessing this, hastily threw down a handful of coins without counting, bowed deeply to Shen Miao, and rushed after him.
Shen Miao and Ji Brother exchanged glances, utterly baffled.
"How much did he drink to end up like that? Seems even young men in ancient times had their share of stress…" Shen Miao shook her head.
But with the man gone, it was time to close up.
"It’s late. Let’s rest."
The next morning, Shen Miao had already forgotten the strange customer from the night before. Yawning, she opened the shop to find a line of customers waiting for instant noodles—though noticeably fewer than before, so much so that she didn’t even need to hand out bamboo tokens.
But the first person in line was…
She rubbed her eyes, wondering if she was seeing things.
"Ninth Brother?"
Xie Qi stood in the morning breeze, smiling.
As she blinked sleepily at him, the memory of last night’s drunken, weeping customer suddenly resurfaced.
It dawned on her—now she knew why that man had looked so familiar.
There was a resemblance between him and Ninth Brother! Their brows and nose bore some similarity.
Once the instant noodles were sold and the shop quieted down, Shen Miao finally had time to attend to Xie Qi, who had bought three portions but lingered. Curious, she asked, "Ninth Brother, is there something you need?"
Xie Qi nodded, straightened his robes, and stood solemnly. "Lady Shen, after much deliberation with my mother these past few days, we’ve decided to ask—would you consider partnering with us to establish a workshop dedicated to producing these instant noodles? The Xie family would provide the funds and reliable laborers, while you would contribute the recipe and any future innovations in flavor or technique…"
Shen Miao’s eyes instantly lit up!
Instant noodles, born centuries ahead of their time through her hands—she had been waiting for this opportunity. Ever since those soldiers had come to eat, the idea of "starting a noodle factory" had taken root in her mind, and she had pondered it carefully. But lacking both capital and connections, she had set it aside. Now, hearing Xie Qi’s proposal, she nodded eagerly, her eyes practically glowing. "Yes!"
Her enthusiasm left Xie Qi stumbling over his next words: "Please, Lady Shen, consider this carefully—"
He blinked in surprise. "Lady Shen, this is no small matter. Our family’s intention isn’t to profit in the capital, but to establish this workshop in Youzhou. Don’t agree so hastily—let me explain in detail. You can decide after hearing everything."
Shen Miao studied him thoughtfully.
Xie Qi let out a helpless sigh and chuckled, "Though I am from the Xie family, I truly don’t wish for Shen Miao to suffer any losses."
"Don’t worry, Ninth Brother," Shen Miao replied with a sly glint in her eyes, holding up five fingers. "Let me be frank—I’ve already considered this matter. Why not hear my proposal first? You provide the capital, and I contribute my skills—that’s fair. However! I demand a thirty percent stake in the workshop. I won’t meddle in daily operations, but I expect annual dividends based on this share."
