The custom-made clay pot, specially ordered before the shop's opening, had been sitting idle for a long time. Today, it was finally put to use.
Shen Miao had started preparing the braising broth the night before. Before bed, she added the meat to marinate, but this morning she hadn’t had the chance to check how it turned out.
As dawn broke, Shen Miao rose early to open the shop. A few familiar regulars were already waiting outside. When she slid open the wooden door panels, they greeted her cheerfully and made their way inside to pick their usual tables. The instant noodle craze had finally died down. Though they remained the shop’s bestseller, the frenzy of those early days had faded. Shen Miao wasn’t disappointed—it meant she could return to her usual steady pace of business.
After stacking the door panels against the wall, she glanced down the street. The marketplace was already bustling, alive with noise and activity.
She wheeled her food cart to the entrance and stacked small steamers on top. Inside the cart, a red clay stove burned hot with charcoal, and soon the aroma of steamed buns wafted through the air, the fragrant steam escaping the bamboo lids and drifting down the street.
No longer needing to fry instant noodles in oil under lamplight, Shen Miao had resumed selling her signature breakfast item—"Little Steamed Buns." Sister Xiang, too, had returned to her "morning shift" after a long break. She loved "working," and now that the weather was warmer, she didn’t need to be called—she got up on her own, dressed, washed her face, and even brushed her teeth with a tiny toothbrush dipped in tooth powder. Shen Miao had specially bought her a child-sized toothbrush from a camel merchant—made with softer horsehair bristles. Though far more expensive than regular brushes, it was much gentler on Sister Xiang’s gums.
Once ready, the little girl clutched the oversized egg pancake Shen Miao had made just for her and eagerly climbed onto a high stool to start calling out to customers.
Shen Ji, having finished his own egg pancake, came over to help his sister with calculations and wrapping orders in oiled paper. Now that Youyu handled the chores of fetching water and chopping firewood, he had settled into a calmer routine, no longer rushing through menial tasks. Especially since the Imperial Academy had posted the exam results—last night, he had given himself a day off, not reading a single page before going to bed early. This morning, he felt refreshed, so much so that even Sister Xiang remarked, "Big Brother’s grin stretches to his ears!"
Shen Ji playfully denied it, but inside, his joy surged like waves, impossible to contain.
There was no helping it—yesterday’s sudden good news had left him overwhelmed, a mix of emotions he had to suppress to avoid appearing too proud in public. Now, after a day had passed, the initial excitement had settled, leaving only pure happiness.
Back in the shop, Shen Miao noticed Third Bai and Dr. Yao among the early customers. She smiled. "The usual?"
Third Bai nodded. "And two bowls of fried sauce noodles."
Dr. Yao, however, hesitated before changing his order. "Today, I’ll have the lamb noodles."
He had tried every noodle dish on the menu, with steamed noodles being his favorite. He’d eaten them for several days straight, but yesterday, after receiving his salary, he decided to try something new. Every noodle in Shen Miao’s shop was excellent—the lamb noodles were bound to be delicious too. The only downside was the limited variety; even if he ordered everything on the menu, he’d exhaust the options in a few days.
"And as usual, prepare an extra portion to take away later," Dr. Yao added, handing over his own bowl. Nowadays, whenever he went out for noodles, he always brought an extra bowl so he could take some back for Ruyi.
Shen Miao accepted it with a smile. Other customers ordered lamb soup with steamed buns or dough drop soup. She called out to Shen Ji to bring in two steamers of buns while she hurried to the kitchen. "Coming right up, everyone! Please wait just a moment."
The lamb soup and dough drop soup were already prepared. Shen Miao ladled them out first before starting on the fried sauce noodles and lamb noodles.
Since the broth and sauce were ready, these dishes came together quickly, and soon all orders were served.
More customers trickled in for soup, including Madam Ning, the matchmaker, who never missed her regular lamb soup fix. She praised Shen Miao’s lamb soup endlessly, each day with a fresh compliment—her silver tongue nearly made Shen Miao float with pride. Once, when Niu Dachui’s Hengshan mutton shop ran out of stock and Shen Miao substituted salt-pond lamb for the broth, Madam Ning immediately noticed the difference—proof of her refined palate.
The kitchen soon filled with steam, thick as clouds.
After the breakfast rush, Aunt Nian arrived right on time with Youyu for work. The two of them had set out before dawn, walking all the way from the outer city—a journey of nearly three hours. Shen Miao had once suggested giving Youyu a few extra coins daily so they could take the earliest cart and spare themselves the exhaustion, but Aunt Nian refused. "I make her walk on purpose."
She sighed. "The cart stops and detours to pick up passengers. If she misses it, she won’t remember the way and could get lost—or worse, snatched by traffickers. Shen Miao, I know you mean well, but… this is our fate." She wiped her eyes with a handkerchief. "I was an old woman when I had her. Who knows how much longer I can guide her? While I’m still here, I walk her through this route over and over, so one day, even if I’m gone, she’ll know the way and won’t be lost."
Shen Miao’s heart ached. "Don’t say such things! Youyu needs her mother—you must take care of yourself."
Aunt Nian wiped her tears and smiled faintly. "I’m just preparing for the worst. I want to save up for a little room for Youyu—even a tiny one in the southern slums. Then she can live on her own, not depend on her brother and his wife. If I can see that day, I’ll close my eyes in peace."
"Don’t jinx it! Spit it out, quick!"
Aunt Nian chuckled, nudging Youyu inside before bidding farewell to head to her own job. As she turned to leave, Shen Miao quickly packed two egg pancakes and a jar of jujube soup for her. "We made too much today—take these so they don’t go to waste."
Aunt Nian hesitated, trying to refuse, but Shen Miao overpowered her protests, stuffing the food into her arms. With tearful gratitude, she accepted.
Shen Miao sighed as she watched Aunt Nian tuck the pancakes into her robe without eating them, hurrying away.
Once, Aunt Nian hadn’t come to fetch Youyu all night. Shen Miao let the girl sleep over with Sister Xiang. Later, from Youyu’s halting, unclear explanation, she learned that Aunt Nian had taken another job—mending costumes and washing clothes for performers and courtesans in the alleys behind Pearl Curtain Lane.
That night, she hadn’t come because she had fainted from hunger, collapsing in the backstreets where all sorts of unsavory characters roamed. Passersby ignored her, and a thief even stole the coins she’d earned that day. She lay there all night until the next morning, when a brothel madam spotted her and, thinking her dead, cursed the bad luck before calling guards to haul her onto a cart, ready to dump her in the mass graves outside the city.
When she was thrown onto the cart, her head hit the wooden plank hard, jolting her awake.
Once conscious, she didn’t bother tending to her injury. Instead, she staggered her way to Shen’s shop. Seeing Youyu with rosy cheeks pouring water into a vat, she finally let out a sigh of relief.
Seizing the opportunity, Shen Miao gently questioned her. Aunt Nian, somewhat embarrassed, confessed that she earned about seventy or eighty coins a day by mending and washing clothes for others. For those meager earnings, she skipped lunch entirely—starting her day with half a dry, choking pancake at home and ending it with a bowl of coarse rice porridge in the evening. When hunger struck in between, she only drank cold water to stave it off, scraping by day after day like this. Half of what she earned went to her family, while the other half was secretly saved for Youyu—her "house fund."
"Madam Shen, you mustn’t tell anyone. My husband, son, and daughter-in-law don’t know about this," Aunt Nian said nervously, her voice trembling. "They think I only earn thirty or forty coins a day in the inner city, that’s the lie I’ve told them."
Shen Miao assured her she wouldn’t breathe a word but said nothing more.
From then on, whenever she prepared breakfast for her household, she made extra—not just for Youyu but also for Aunt Nian, enough for two meals. That way, Aunt Nian could eat half in the morning and save the rest for noon. Dishes like egg pancakes, though less tasty when cold, remained soft and filling, rich in nutrients and oil. The sweet date soup helped raise blood sugar, replenish energy, and prevent another dizzy spell like the one before.
Youyu, grinning foolishly, walked in with a patched-up cloth sling bag. As soon as she entered, she clumsily rolled up her sleeves, ready to work. She had already familiarized herself with the layout of Shen’s home and developed her own routine: first, wash the dishes—since customers could appear unexpectedly, clean bowls were a priority. Once the dishes were done, she chopped firewood, stacking the pieces neatly. Then, she shouldered a carrying pole and made four or five trips to fetch water from the well. By then, the morning was nearly over. At noon, when business slowed, she could curl up with Lei Ting on the back porch for a nap.
In the afternoon, she accompanied Sister Xiang as they wreaked havoc on the neighbors, playing "bandit kings" in the alley until their backs were drenched in sweat. Later, she made two more trips for water before the night market opened. That was when the real bustle began, and she stood firm as a boulder by the stove, tirelessly feeding the fire—or washing dishes in between.
Feed the fire, wash dishes. Feed the fire, wash dishes.
When night fell and the shop emptied, her mother would come to take her home.
Of the entire day, Youyu’s happiest moments were mealtimes—every dish fragrant, every bite satisfying. Aside from her mother, her favorite people now were Shen Miao, Sister Xiang, and Lei Ting. Shen Ji rarely spoke and sometimes even pinched Sister Xiang’s ears—scary! And that yellow puppy always trailed after the chickens, licking up their droppings—disgusting!
Shen Miao had no idea that Youyu’s simple mind had already absorbed every detail of the Shen household. Seeing her arrive, she grabbed a clean cloth from the kitchen and wiped away the fine layer of dust that had settled on Youyu’s face from her long walk.
Then, she urged her to eat first: "Have the egg pancake before washing the dishes. No rush."
Without waiting for a reply, she shooed Youyu to the porch to sit and eat. The early summer breeze was refreshing, seeping into one’s heart. Youyu swung her legs contentedly as she ate, only to catch an irresistible aroma wafting from the kitchen—rich, savory, impossible to ignore. She had noticed it earlier, but between having her face wiped and being ushered outside, her mind hadn’t fully processed it until now.
Curious, she scrambled up to investigate.
In a corner stood a large earthen pot filled to the brim with braised pork head, thick slabs of belly meat, trotters… Shen Miao had simmered them overnight over the gentlest flame. The glossy brown broth, infused with spices and seasonings, was so fragrant it permeated the entire shop even before the lid was lifted.
The morning market had just ended—an awkward lull—but the scent of the braised meat had already escaped into the streets, stopping passersby in their tracks. Drawn by the aroma, they hurried inside to ask:
"Madam, what’s this heavenly braised meat? What do you have? How much? It smells too good—cut me a piece to try while it’s hot!"
No sooner had Shen Miao set up a table by the counter and placed the pot on it than customers began lining up.
The term "ao rou" (braised meat) referred to slow-cooked meats, a common sight in the capital’s bustling food scene. Braised meats weren’t rare in the Song Dynasty—many shops in Bianjing thrived under the "ao rou" banner. Before starting her own venture, Shen Miao had sampled others’ offerings and studied the market.
The traditional method from a thousand years ago involved braising eggs in their shells alongside large cuts of lamb, venison, pork, chicken, duck, and even badger meat. The broth was heavily spiced with crushed Sichuan pepper, prickly ash, pickled ginger, and dogwood, creating a pungent, numbing heat that could make one’s eyes water.
Some shops even added mustard, reducing diners to tears—a "fiery" taste beloved by spice enthusiasts but avoided by those with milder palates.
Shen Miao’s approach, however, differed. Her recipe came from a master in Chaozhou, where she had formally apprenticed. Chaozhou-style braising emphasized deep, mellow flavors, with a secret blend of over a dozen spices like cinnamon, star anise, and fennel.
The process began with caramelizing sugar for color, followed by frying and stir-frying the spices—timing was crucial, as overcooking would turn them bitter.
Then, water, scallions, ginger, garlic, and the spice mix were boiled into a broth. Meats, parboiled according to their required cooking times, were added sequentially. The result was a rich, savory-sweet dish with barely a hint of spice—a stark contrast to the norm.
Since chicken was pricier than pork, she started with the more affordable option. Today’s batch was her first trial.
Using pork to test the broth was strategic—older broths were prized for their depth. Chaozhou chefs often began with pork belly to enrich the base.
If this unconventional, non-spicy version won over customers, her shop could expand beyond budget-friendly braised pork to include Chaozhou’s signature goose.
The whole marinated meat was hung up in the kitchen to dry. When it was time to eat, it was sliced thickly, drizzled with a ladle of marinade, and served with garlic or plum sauce for dipping. The skin was chewy yet tender, the meat succulent and rich, every fiber infused with the aroma of the braising spices. Slowly savoring a plate of this felt like living the life of the gods.
Unexpectedly, today’s marinated pig’s head meat was quite a hit. The moment it was brought out, curious customers came in to buy it.
Shen Miao priced the marinated pig’s head meat at thirty-five coins per pound, marinated eggs at three coins each, and the trotters slightly higher at forty-five coins per pound. These prices were comparable to the stewed meat sold elsewhere, just a few coins more but not unreasonable. Lured by the fragrance, customers bought a pound here, half a pound there, and before long, the entire pot of marinated meat was sold out, leaving only a few small pieces of skin-on pork belly. The fat had been braised to a soft, tofu-like texture, so Shen Miao scooped them out, planning to slice them for her own lunch to add to noodles.
With business slowing down, Shen Miao counted out half a string of coins and sent Shen Ji and Youyu to Butcher Zheng’s to buy more pork. She rolled up her sleeves, ready to prepare another pot for the evening rush. But just then, more customers arrived.
Business was good today. Shen Miao washed her hands and came out with a smile. "What would you ladies like to eat?"
The two women who entered appeared to be in their forties, dressed plainly in fine cloth jackets, their hair simply tied in buns with only silver hairpins as adornment. But their delicate, fair complexions and refined demeanor suggested they came from wealthy families, merely dressed down for their outing.
"A bowl of plain noodle soup, please," one of them said after glancing at the menu on the wall, smiling faintly.
The other, taller and with an upright posture, had already turned to admire the calligraphy and paintings on the wall. She studied them quietly for a while, then noticed the illustrated guide for instant noodles nearby. After lingering over it, she suddenly let out a soft chuckle.
Shen Miao acknowledged the order and returned to the kitchen to hand-pull the noodles, missing the tall woman’s laughter.
She also didn’t hear the woman beckoning her companion. "Ah Xi, come look..."
Mama Xi had already taken in the shop’s tidy appearance—rare for such a humble establishment. Stepping on the spotlessly swept floor tiles, she hurried over to support the taller woman’s arm. "Madam?"
Lady Xi couldn’t hold back any longer and whispered to her maid of over twenty years, "If Old Master Fan Li knew his most prized disciple had channeled his artistic talent into this, he’d probably rise from his grave in outrage."
Mama Xi laughed. "You can’t blame Ninth Brother. Though skilled, he never cared much for painting. If Old Master Fan hadn’t stumbled upon his effortless strokes—capturing what others spent years mastering—and insisted on taking him as a disciple, Ninth Brother wouldn’t have bothered. I still remember how he’d whine to you as a child, saying, ‘Mother, I don’t want to go to the Fan family to learn painting. It’s so dull.’"
Lady Xi recalled it too and tapped the last frame of the "Instant Noodle Preparation Guide," where a playful woman held a bowl of noodles, grinning with crescent eyes and tiny fangs peeking out—rendered vividly.
She sighed. "Seems our disguises were unnecessary."
Mama Xi, sharp as ever, gazed fondly at Ninth Brother’s artwork. "Since Old Master Fan passed, it’s been ages since Ninth Brother picked up a brush. And those calligraphy pieces—well, they’re hardly subtle. But such is the ardor of youth: fiery, pure, unafraid to bare heart and mind. At his age, it’s only natural."
Lady Xi shot her a look. "Always taking his side!"
"Yet Madam isn’t angry," Mama Xi countered, covering a smile. "If anything, it’s you who indulges him. Why else would you have me dig out old clothes for this incognito visit?"
"A widow from the common folk—hardly a suitable match. By rights, I should be furious at his audacity. But... since Third Brother left, something in me has changed." Lady Xi’s gaze drifted to the sky outside, where sunlight, long absent, now spilled through the trees, scattering gold across the ground. The shimmering light swayed before her eyes as she murmured, "What use is status now? Noble families cling to pride, refusing to stoop, but when heaven demands you bow, even a broken neck must bend."
The decline—no, the fall—of the aristocracy was inevitable. What would become of the Xie family? Why cling to such pretenses? Even the Xi family, once mocked as "lowborn" for their military roots, only gained respect after her father became a regional commander.
This Shen Miao’s words had dragged Third Brother from the depths of despair—and struck a chord in Lady Xi too.
Life is but once.
Even if one strives for fame and power, it’s all at the emperor’s whim. When century-old families are butchered like livestock, what’s the point of pedigree? Follow your heart. Now, grand ideals, high office, family glory—all seemed like nonsense. The so-called "Five Surnames and Seven Clans," still preening as nobility, were just fattened lambs left by the late emperor for the current ruler to slaughter at will.
Besides, marrying a commoner might have its advantages. Seeing the Xie family in such decline, the emperor might spare them further ruin.
The curtain rustled as Shen Miao emerged with a steaming bowl on a wooden tray, pulling Lady Xi from her thoughts. She studied the woman discreetly.
Shen Miao had an oval face, warm peach-blossom eyes, and skin naturally fairer than most, now flushed pink from the kitchen’s heat. Her lips, untouched by rouge, were rosy.
She wore a simple turquoise jacket and matching trousers, an apron tied at her waist, yet none of it could hide her slender, graceful figure.
"Here you go. Since it’s your first visit, I took the liberty of adding a few slices of stewed meat—complimentary. Hope you enjoy." The bowl settled gently before them.
The rustic earthenware bowl, wide as a bamboo hat, held a clear broth with delicate strands of hand-pulled noodles coiled within. Thinly sliced marinated pork lay neatly arranged atop the noodles, accompanied by vibrant green water spinach leaves. The aroma of the noodles rose with the steam, quickly filling the air.
Even before the first bite, the fragrance was intoxicating.
Subtle yet lingering, the scent didn’t overwhelm at first whiff but grew richer with each breath. A sip of the broth revealed its pure, refreshing depth, gliding smoothly down the throat. The noodles, though simple in appearance, were perfectly springy—a testament to the skill required to craft them so well.
Even Lady Xi, accustomed to lavish delicacies, found herself moved by this humble bowl of noodles. She ate slowly, savoring every bite until the bowl was empty. The warmth in her belly was as comforting as the taste. The marinated pork, in particular, was a delightful surprise—glossy and reddish-brown, yet not the least bit greasy. The layer of fat nestled within the lean meat had been braised to an amber tenderness, melting effortlessly on the tongue with the slightest pressure.
Lady Xi’s eyes brightened.
This marinated pork was extraordinary—unlike any she had ever tasted. It was neither too salty nor too bland, with a subtle sweetness that lingered. Truly a rare delicacy.
She had known of Shen Miao’s reputation for exquisite pastries, flatbreads, and steamed buns, but her noodles and marinated meats surpassed even those.
Remarkable, indeed.
Lady Xi had to admit that Shen Miao’s culinary skills were exceptional—mastering steaming, boiling, roasting, braising, and stir-frying, all while innovating with each technique.
And then there was the shop itself, arranged with such thoughtful detail: the half-window counter, the neatly laid floor tiles, the long table beneath the window, the potted pine by the door, and the illustrated menu on the wall…
Compared to this, even Chef Fang seemed fit only to assist her.
So when Shen Miao emerged to collect the dishes, Lady Xi, recalling Madam Feng’s recent request to borrow a chef, felt a spark of inspiration. She called out, "Shen Miao, a moment, please. There are two matters I’d like to discuss with you."
Glancing at the sky—nearly noon, with few customers around—she added considerately, "I hope this isn’t disrupting your business. If now isn’t convenient, we can arrange another time."
Shen Miao turned, puzzled, to the tall woman. "And you are…?"
The shorter woman beside Lady Xi stepped forward with a warm smile. "Our lady has long admired you, Shen Miao, both for your character and your cooking. Though this is her first time meeting you in person, she fondly remembers those four hundred and fifty honey-glazed red bean pastries you once made."
"Ah! Lady Xi of the Xie family! My apologies for not recognizing you earlier."
Shen Miao straightened with respect. The real money god had arrived!
Suppressing the gleam in her eyes—every time this lady showed up, she struck gold, more reliably than any deity—she asked, "What brings you here today, my lady?"
Amused by Shen Miao’s barely contained excitement, Lady Xi cleared her throat and got to the point. "Yesterday, I sent Ninth Brother to discuss the workshop matter with you, but the boy has no head for business. He returned babbling only about ‘firewalls’ and couldn’t explain a thing. So I’ve come to settle it myself. But that will take some time, so we’ll discuss it later. First, there’s another matter…"
She paused, gesturing to the empty bowl before her. "I came only for the noodle workshop, but after tasting your cooking, I have another favor to ask."
"Name it," Shen Miao said without hesitation.
"Dr. Feng of Piyong Academy is a close family friend. His mother, Grand Madam Feng, will celebrate her seventieth birthday soon. Given her frail health, they’ve decided against a grand celebration, opting instead for an intimate gathering of close friends. Unfortunately, their chef has fallen gravely ill and remains bedridden. The Fengs approached us to borrow Chef Fang temporarily."
Lady Xi explained carefully, "You’ve worked with Chef Fang before, so you know he’s rather set in his ways, only comfortable with the Xie family’s usual dishes. If the Fengs request anything new, he might embarrass himself. So… would you be free from the 18th to the 20th? I’d like you to assist in preparing the banquet. The Fengs have offered twenty taels of gold for the service, and if you agree, eight of those would be yours."
Shen Miao froze. "Eight taels… of gold?"
Gold? Actual gold?
Do wealthy families really spend gold on meals?
Her mind spun as she mentally converted taels to strings of copper coins, her fingers trembling slightly.
Lady Xi, misreading her silence, hesitated. "Is it too little? I admit this was rather impulsive. Given your skill, eight taels is hardly fair, especially with two days of lost business. How about… ten?"
Shen Miao’s gaze sharpened instantly. She nodded emphatically.
"Lady Xi, say no more. I’ll endure this hardship."
