"Creak... creak..."
Chen Chuan pushed his wheelchair forward, a small basket of eggs resting on his lap, and slowly came to a stop in front of the clay stove on the front porch.
It was still early in the morning. A plump sparrow, its neck tucked in, dozed under the eaves. Behind him, pale light streamed through the window—the cool, bluish-white glow of dawn gradually filling the courtyard, not yet warmed by the sun.
Beside the clay stove sat a coarse earthenware bowl and a pair of chopsticks. He cracked the four eggs he had gathered that day one by one, pouring them into the bowl, and stirred until the yolks and whites blended evenly. Then, wheeling himself back, he added a small ladle of warm water, pouring it slowly into the egg mixture before stirring again. A pinch of fine green salt and a dab of lard followed, and finally, he covered the bowl with a clean cloth from the steamer.
He lit the stove, waiting for the water in the pot to boil before carefully placing the bowl inside to steam.
Sister Shen had taught him that after about half a quarter of an hour, the tender steamed egg custard would be ready. Then, sprinkled with scallions and drizzled with a spoonful of soy sauce, it would be silky smooth, melting on the tongue like fine jade.
Wheeling back into the kitchen, he fetched some large steamed buns and placed them in the steamer to warm as well.
After several trips back and forth, he had prepared breakfast for the whole household. Only then did he wheel himself to the wash area. Along the eastern windowsill, four bamboo cups stood in a row, each inscribed with a name and holding a wooden-handled toothbrush. A small jar of tooth powder sat in the corner.
His cup bore the character "Chuan," Sister Xiang’s read "Xiang," and naturally, the other two were "Ji" and "Miao." Chen Chuan had already learned dozens of characters, the first among them being "Shen" and the names of his family members.
Looking at these names alone, one might think he truly belonged to this family—each name contained the element of water. His, Sister Xiang’s, and Ji Brother’s names were even derived from great rivers.
Chen Chuan gargled as he brushed his teeth, diligently trying to mimic Sister Shen’s instruction to brush vertically with a gentle tremble. Yet, for some reason, he hadn’t quite mastered the technique. His movements resembled those of an elderly woman shuffling along, trembling with every step.
By the time he finished washing his face, Sister Xiang emerged, her hair loose and a yawn stretching her mouth. Soon after, Sister Shen and Ji Brother also rose, the three siblings lining up sleepily, their hair tousled from sleep, eyelids drooping as they brushed their teeth in unison.
Ever since Sister Shen returned from her visit to the Xie family, she seemed to have shed a great weight from her mind. These days, she slept soundly, not waking until mid-morning. Sister Xiang, unless she was selling steamed buns, was never an early riser, and Ji Brother, rarely home, relished the chance to sleep in—it was said that at the academy, he had to rise at dawn for morning readings.
There, they studied for half a shichen before breakfast.
So for the past few days, Chen Chuan had taken it upon himself to prepare the family’s morning meal. Having traveled from south to north with the traffickers, he was accustomed to waking early and didn’t find the task burdensome.
After Shen Miao finished tying Sister Xiang’s hair and fixing her own into a bun, she lifted the steamer’s lid and peeled back the cloth covering the egg custard. The custard had set into a delicate pale yellow, its surface smooth and unblemished—a perfect success.
Surprised and pleased, she turned to Chen Chuan and praised him warmly, "Little Chuan, you’re quite capable! Who knows, you might have a talent for cooking. Just one verbal lesson from me, and you’ve steamed it so well!"
She wasn’t exaggerating. Though steamed egg custard seemed simple, achieving perfection required care. Many ended up with rubbery, porous custards, while others had unevenly mixed whites and yolks, resulting in unappetizing patches.
Chen Chuan’s lips curled slightly at the praise, a shy smile tugging at his mouth.
Shen Miao portioned out the custard, giving everyone a generous serving. She paired it with crunchy bamboo shoot pickles and large steamed buns, then washed a few small wild peaches to round out the meal.
In the sweltering summer heat, the Shen household kept their meals simple.
By the sixth month, peaches in the orchards outside Bianjing had ripened, and vendors carrying baskets of the fruit became a common sight on the streets. Shen Miao discussed with Mei Sanniang the idea of capitalizing on the season by selling "peach iced tea":
Wash the peaches, remove their skins and pits, then dice them. Simmer the pieces in a pot with enough water to cover them and a small amount of rock sugar until the fruit softened and the sugar dissolved, thickening into a fragrant peach syrup.
In another earthen pot, steep coarse tea leaves in boiling water, then strain the brew to remove the leaves. Mix the peach syrup into the tea, stirring well.
Seal the mixture in a clay jar and lower it into the well to chill. The result was a refreshing peach iced tea—fruity, sweet, and thirst-quenching, with bits of peach flesh to savor. On a scorching day, a sip was like swallowing a mouthful of ice, utterly invigorating.
Mei Sanniang followed her advice, and business boomed. Grateful, she not only supplied the "peach blossom iced drink" to Shen’s shop at half price but also sent over baskets of fresh peaches as thanks. Thus, the household’s vitamin intake lately consisted entirely of the greenish-red wild peaches.
Since peaches spoiled quickly, Shen Miao preserved a batch in salted water with plums and licorice root, creating a tangy, sweet-and-sour snack. The chilled pickled peaches were crisp and refreshing.
Sister Xiang treated them as treats, grabbing one to munch on her way in and another on her way out. Sprawled on a mat under the eaves, she swung her plump little feet, crunching away as the summer breeze swept through.
Yet even with such enthusiastic consumption, a half-basket remained in the kitchen. Today, Shen Miao planned to turn them into candied peach slices to prevent waste. The process was straightforward: slice the peaches evenly, glaze them with caramelized sugar syrup, and dry them in the oven.
She had just finished filling several jars when Gu Dalang arrived, a net slung over his shoulder and his twin children in tow. He asked if the Shen siblings wanted to join him in catching crayfish at the shallows outside the city.
"Yesterday’s rain will have drawn them out to feed—easier to catch now than at night," Gu Dalang declared confidently. "Today’s haul will be plentiful!"
Bianjing was crisscrossed by the Bian River and its many tributaries. Along the silted shallows of its bends, sunlight reached the riverbed, nurturing lush aquatic plants that attracted shrimp. Some of the outer-city shallows were even man-made, dug specifically for shrimp farming.
Common varieties included small river shrimp, green shrimp, and crayfish-like creatures called "làgǔ." These làgǔ were dark green or reddish, with large heads, small bodies, and prominent pincers. The first time Shen Miao saw a few that Sister Xiang had caught, she had wondered if crayfish had somehow traveled through time with her. Later, she learned that làgǔ were native to the region, a perfectly ordinary local species.
Ji Brother regretfully couldn’t go—his short break was already over, and he had to return to the academy soon. Sister Xiang, her mouth still stuffed with a steamed bun, eagerly raised her hand, insisting she absolutely wanted to go. Chen Chuan remained silent, glancing at Shen Miao, who naturally encouraged him. "Go and have fun," she said gently. "Even if you just sit by the water, it’s better than staying cooped up at home."
Besides, Shen Miao had an appointment later with a broker to discuss leasing the neighboring shop and wouldn’t be home anyway.
So she quickly entrusted the two children to Gu Dalang, smiling as she watched him carry Bao on his shoulders and hold Di in his arms while Sister Xiang excitedly nudged Chen Chuan along. Together, they dashed into the blazing summer sunlight.
A few days earlier, Shen Miao had taken Chen Chuan to the old physician for a follow-up on his injury. The physician pressed lightly on his leg, which had long since stopped swelling and hurting, then had him perform some simple stretches before nodding approvingly—it had mostly healed.
No more medicine was needed. Though the splint couldn’t be removed yet, he could now wash and even let it get wet without issue.
He still couldn’t put weight on it, so he remained in the wheelchair.
Catching shrimp with his leg was out of the question, but getting some fresh air would do him good. The boy was quiet and withdrawn, rarely stepping outside, retreating like a snail into the safety of Shen Miao’s small courtyard.
But she hoped he’d slowly venture out—to bask in the sun, to move around a little. It was good for his bones, after all.
With the younger ones off to play, Shen Miao tidied up, changed her clothes, slung a bag over her shoulder, and left with Ji Brother.
She accompanied him all the way to the long-distance carriage, tucking a string of coins into the inner pocket sewn into his underclothes. "If you run short on money or need anything," she reminded him, "send word, and I’ll bring it to you."
Shen Ji, his book bag strapped to his back, nodded and quietly urged her to walk slowly on her way back, to stay in the shade and avoid the sun.
As he watched his elder sister turn and leave the carriage station, he tightened the woven straps of his bag and hoisted it higher.
The bag was heavy—but not with books. Inside were two jars of freshly baked peach preserves, into which the stingy Sister Xiang had sneakily tucked two pieces of loquat candy. Just two.
His elder sister, however, doted on him. She had also packed ten portions of instant soup noodles, two sausages, a box of cricket-shaped cookies, ten salted duck eggs, half a sack of wheat flour, and a rolling pin.
The rolling pin was so long that one end stuck out of the bag.
Ever since hearing how terrible the academy’s food was, Shen Miao had prepared all sorts of long-lasting, ready-to-eat provisions for him. She’d even suggested he bring a wok, a stove, and a steamer so he could cook his own meals instead of relying on the academy’s kitchen.
Back in her university days, Shen Miao had done the same—hiding electric cookers in her dorm and constantly outwitting the dorm supervisor.
Shen Ji considered the idea carefully. Given his cooking skills, it might be risky. Maybe he’d start with something simpler, like kneading dough for steamed buns? Besides, the academy had stoves, so there was no need to bring one. Otherwise, arriving with a stove in one hand and a wok in the other would make him look like a refugee, drawing far too much attention.
Even without the stove and wok, his bag was still packed to the brim. When boarding the carriage, the weight nearly toppled him backward, but thankfully, a burly man behind him reacted quickly and steadied him.
As the carriage rattled out of the inner city, Shen Ji leaned against the window, watching his sister’s slender figure disappear beneath the lush shade of the trees.
There was no wind today. The towering trees stood still, their emerald leaves casting dappled shadows that draped over her like silver scales.
It wasn’t as if he was leaving home for some distant journey—just heading out of the city to study. Yet, watching his sister’s retreating figure, he found himself recalling verses about homesickness.
Ten more days of study. Shen Ji counted on his fingers. His next return home would coincide with the final day of the Lotus Festival. He sighed in relief—at least he’d make it back in time to celebrate with his sister.
With that thought, his heart settled.
Shen Miao soon arrived at the meeting place with the broker.
It was a small teahouse by the state bridge, where the broker had generously reserved a private room on the second floor overlooking the water. The broker, Yao Luoge, was a Uyghur man with a sharp, wiry frame, dressed in a round-collared, narrow-sleeved robe and a traditional Uyghur cap.
His light-colored eyes gleamed shrewdly as he welcomed Shen Miao inside, immediately calling for the tea server.
There weren’t many foreigners in Bianjing. With the western routes closed and relations with Tibet strained, the Song Dynasty now relied mainly on the Maritime Silk Road.
But the Uyghurs were among the few foreign groups who frequently traveled to the capital. Hailing from the Ili River Valley in the northern deserts, they were skilled merchants, often crossing the sands on camelback, bringing treasures, instruments, spices, and carpets to trade for gold and silver in Bianjing.
Yao Luoge, however, had settled in the capital after arriving, marrying a Han woman and establishing himself as a renowned real estate broker—a true rags-to-riches story.
Beside him sat the shop’s owner, an elderly man with a face full of sorrow. Rumor had it his unfilial son had squandered the family fortune in gambling dens before vanishing, leaving his father to sell their property to repay the debts.
Shen Miao had come intending to negotiate the price further, but faced with the old man’s misery, she found it hard to press.
Then again, was she any better off? She owed the Xie family a considerable sum herself. After leasing the shop, she’d still need to renovate it, wiping out her savings. If she didn’t bargain, every penny she’d earned since coming to Bianjing would vanish into this venture.
Gritting her teeth, she resolved to negotiate as planned.
Yao Luoge, of course, sided with the old man—the higher the price, the bigger his commission. The two of them took turns lamenting the shop owner’s plight: how he’d nearly thrown himself into the river, how his wife had taken ill from anger, how his daughter-in-law and grandchildren were left with no means of support.
Shen Miao listened silently until they finished their performance. Then she smiled faintly. "If we’re comparing misfortunes, I might be worse off. My parents are gone, my husband divorced me, and I have three siblings to feed. Doesn’t that make my situation harder? Life is difficult for everyone, wouldn’t you agree? I sympathize with the shop owner’s troubles, but sympathy aside, the price must be fair."
While securing investment from the Xie family, Shen Miao had already researched the shop. The front was small, the backyard even narrower. It had been vacant for years, the roof tiles rotting, the interior filthy from neglect.
Ever since the soap merchant went bankrupt and vacated the shop, the place had remained unrented. Rumor had it that the elderly landlord was greedy, raising the rent significantly every year and demanding extra compensation for even the slightest damage to the walls or flooring. Over time, his reputation worsened, and whispers spread that the shop was cursed—anyone who leased it would inevitably fail.
Shen Miao laid bare all the shop’s flaws, leaving Yao Luoge no choice but to glance helplessly at the old man. Initially, the two of them had planned to hike the price, assuming Shen Miao, a young woman managing things alone and new to Bianjing, wouldn’t know the market well. To their surprise, she had done her homework and wasn’t about to be fooled.
"Moreover, I’ll be frank—please don’t take offense. I’ve looked into your shop. It’s been listed with the brokers for nearly a year without a single inquiry. Honestly, if it weren’t right next to my own shop, I wouldn’t even consider it. The only reason I’m here bargaining is for the convenience of merging the two spaces. If you insist on raising the price beyond what I can afford, I’ll simply lease a larger shop elsewhere. There’s no need to cling stubbornly to this one, don’t you agree?"
Her words unsettled the old man. Shen Miao was right—he was desperate to sell. His posturing was merely an attempt to squeeze out a little more money for his retirement back in his hometown.
But since she wasn’t easily deceived, he had no choice but to relent.
What followed was a fierce battle of wits, with Shen Miao negotiating ruthlessly. It wasn’t that she was heartless, but the shop was akin to buying a dilapidated old house in the capital’s second ring road for fifteen million—every bit of savings counted. Unlike adopting Chen Chuan, which only meant an extra mouth to feed, this was the difference between a hundred strings of cash and two hundred.
If she had to be selfish, so be it. Besides, it wasn’t her fault the old man’s prodigal son had gambled away the family fortune.
The noble could care for the world, but she was poor—she had to look after herself first.
After an exhausting hour and a half of back-and-forth, both sides argued fiercely for their own interests, their throats parched from talking, even after three rounds of tea. In the end, Shen Miao slashed the price from 1,500 strings of cash to 1,250 and insisted on completing the official paperwork within days.
Fortunately, the old man was in even more of a hurry than she was. He eagerly agreed to expedite the transfer at the government office so he could get his money sooner.
Shen Miao borrowed 1,000 strings from the Xie family and added 500 of her own savings, leaving her with roughly 250 to spare. Hmm… not bad. The number had a nice ring to it.
But there were still expenses—taxes for the deed stamping, Yao Luoge’s commission, and then the renovations: knocking down walls, repairing the roof, laying bricks, and buying furniture. The costs would add up.
She’d be lucky to have 200 strings left by the end.
Once the deal was settled, Yao Luoge had Shen Miao and the old man sign the "main contract," four copies in total. It detailed the shop’s location, size, structure, the reason for selling, the price, and when the previous owner would vacate. Shen Miao scrutinized every line, while Yao Luoge read it aloud to the old man. Both parties then brought in two lawyers as witnesses—Shen Miao naturally chose Lawyer Deng, someone she trusted to prevent any tricks.
Of course, hiring Lawyer Deng cost money.
Thankfully, the contract was clean, requiring only their signatures. The old man, illiterate, had Yao Luoge and his lawyer sign for him before stamping his seal.
After agreeing on a time the next day to finalize the deed at the government office, Shen Miao gave a slight bow and took her leave.
Clutching the contract tightly, she stepped out of the teahouse into the cool evening breeze. Only then did she realize her back was damp with nervous sweat.
She had actually bought a property—in Bianjing, a thousand years in the past! Her little noodle shop could now become a "medium-sized noodle shop"!
It was unbelievable.
When she returned home, Youyu and Aunt Gu had already arrived. Aunt Gu had taken the initiative to prepare side dishes for the grilled fish, lining the counter with clay pots in anticipation of the night market crowd.
Shen Miao rolled up her sleeves and started frying fish. Just then, the backyard gate creaked open, and Sister Xiang burst in, covered in mud and shouting, "Elder Sister! We caught two buckets—two whole buckets!"
She was ecstatic, dragging in a brimming bucket of crayfish, still alive and occasionally leaping out. Sister Xiang scrambled after them, flustered but delighted.
Peeking out from behind her apron, Shen Miao saw the mess.
The girl had been so excited she’d forgotten Chen Chuan outside. He sat in his wheelchair, a large net strapped to it and a broad green lotus leaf perched on his head, struggling to wheel himself in.
Shen Miao looked from Sister Xiang to him. He wasn’t much better—his wheels were caked in mud, his face splattered, but his usually dull eyes sparkled with life.
Were these two unearthed relics?
"How did you manage to get Chen Chuan into this state?" Shen Miao asked, plucking the lotus leaf from his head. "Don’t tell me you went into the water too? A little water on your legs is fine, but muddy water is dangerous!"
Mud wasn’t clean, and prolonged exposure risked infection.
But when she touched his pants, they were dry, leaving her puzzled.
Chen Chuan remained calm. "Crayfish like to burrow in the mud. There was a small rocky inlet, and Sister Xiang was afraid they’d escape, so she parked me at the entrance to block it with my wheels. That way, none could get away."
Shen Miao gaped at Sister Xiang, who was now splashing water on her face. The girl stuck out her tongue guiltily. "Elder Sister, the water was shallow—only up to my calves! Chen Chuan was fine. It’d be boring if he just watched. And I even gave him a lotus leaf for shade!"
Her guilt faded as she puffed out her chest proudly.
Chen Chuan nodded in agreement, his eyes gleaming under the lantern light. "It was fine. The water was calm, and I even caught a few with the net."
Since his injury, carefree days like this had been rare. Back home, he used to wade into the river with his father, sometimes even tying himself to passing fishing boats to drift along with the current.
Today, the familiar scent of the river had inexplicably lifted his spirits.
Shen Miao sighed in amused exasperation, scolding Sister Xiang half-heartedly before sending her to clean up and take Chen Chuan to the Gu household, where Second Brother Gu could help him change and wash.
Sister Xiang hastily wiped her face, changed clothes, and wheeled Chen Chuan away at breakneck speed. He clung to the chair, laughing as if on a rollercoaster.
Once, she’d even secretly hitched his wheelchair to Lei Ting for a ride—thankfully, they hadn’t tipped over. That girl was fearless.
However, Chen Chuan seemed to thrive under such treatment. He felt much closer to Sister Xiang than to others, largely because ever since she brought him into her home, she had never treated him as an outsider or someone who needed special care. Her straightforward, unceremonious attitude actually put him at ease.
Shen Miao shook her head and hurried back to work. By the time evening approached and they were about to close, she gazed at the bucket of still-wriggling crayfish, picking up one or two to inspect. They were about the same size as the modern-day crayfish she remembered, and their appearance was nearly identical.
She swallowed hard. Today, perhaps due to some grand imperial assembly or another major event, the city guards had restricted the streets, resulting in far fewer customers coming to eat.
Since she was finishing early, why not treat herself to a late-night snack?
She poured out the crayfish and began scrubbing them. At the bottom of the bucket were plenty of river snails, perfect for stir-frying alongside.
Spicy crayfish and stir-fried river snails, paired with a jug of wheat beer bought from Aunt Gu—wouldn’t that be heavenly? The wheat beer of this era had a proper name: "li." Fermented and slightly cloudy, it had a faint bitterness, like flat beer. But chilled in well water, it became refreshingly cool, ideal for a summer night.
Shen Miao wasted no time. She grabbed a long-handled brush and started scrubbing the crayfish, while the river snails soaked in saltwater with a rusty iron spoon tossed in to help them purge sand faster.
Sister Xiang and Chen Chuan came to help scrub the crayfish too. With the days long and nights short, neither of them was eager to sleep early. Especially after their midday nap, the two children had more energy than an eagle. If not forced to go inside and turn off the lights, they could stay up half the night, lively as clockwork toys.
Scrubbing crayfish was no easy task. The creatures in the basin were feisty, their pincers snapping aggressively. Sister Xiang got pinched twice before she grew frustrated and started knocking their heads against the edge of the basin to stun them first—an effective, if crude, solution.
Chen Chuan, however, seemed naturally skilled at handling aquatic creatures. He deftly held the crayfish and scrubbed them swiftly, avoiding pinches with practiced ease.
Once the crayfish were cleaned, Shen Miao soaked them briefly in saltwater before rinsing them again.
Next, she prepared the leftover seasonings from making grilled fish: Sichuan peppercorns, ginger, garlic, star anise, and cinnamon. Heating oil in the wok, she first stir-fried the spices over high heat until their aromas exploded—pungent, numbing, and spicy. Then she added the crayfish and river snails.
She stir-fried until the crayfish turned red and the snails’ flesh shrank and darkened. A splash of cooking wine followed, along with soy sauce, salt, sugar, and a little water. She reduced the heat to medium, letting the flavors seep into the meat.
Once the sauce thickened, she sprinkled chopped scallions and cilantro before plating. The stir-fried crayfish gleamed a fiery red, while the river snails shone a rich, glossy brown. The intense aroma of spice and heat had Sister Xiang swallowing hard again.
Shen Miao filled two plates. The moment she set them on the table, Sister Xiang eagerly grabbed a crayfish—only to find it too hot to handle. She pinched it by its antennae, blowing on it furiously.
Before she could take a bite, however, someone knocked at the courtyard gate.
Who could it be at this late hour?
Shen Miao set down her chopsticks, went inside to fetch a kitchen knife, and tucked it into her belt. Without unbolting the gate, she called through the crack, "Who’s there?"
"Good evening, Mistress Shen. It’s Cen Zhi—I came to your shop a few days ago to join your membership and store fish." The man slid a familiar VIP card through the gap.
Shen Miao opened the gate just a crack and smiled apologetically. "We’re closed for the night. Please come back tomorrow."
But Cen Zhi pulled out a handful of coins, pleading while swallowing repeatedly. "Mistress Shen, whatever you’re cooking smells so incredibly spicy and fragrant—I could smell it through the wall! I’m from Shu—this is exactly my kind of food. Could you spare me a portion? I’m leaving the capital tomorrow, and I’d love to savor this deliciousness one last time before my journey."
Shen Miao’s eyes gleamed with an idea. She went inside and ladled him a bowl, letting him sit on the stone ledge by the back gate to eat.
Cen Zhi didn’t mind the informality. He sat down with the bowl and dug in.
As he cracked open a crayfish shell, the meat inside seemed to leap out eagerly. Sucking it into his mouth, he found it firm and springy. The numbing tingle of Sichuan peppercorns hit first, making his lips and tongue tremble slightly. Then came the fiery heat of ginger and chili paste, flaring up like flames in his mouth—a burning sensation that didn’t overshadow the crayfish’s natural sweetness. It was utterly addictive.
This was the taste!
His lips and face flushed red, but he nodded emphatically in delight.
Just like the flavors of his hometown in Shu!
Absolutely delicious!
