The narrow alley was bathed in moonlight. Cen Zhi, having eaten his fill, had shrimp oil smeared all over his beard. Gazing at the frost-like silver glow spread over the cobblestone path, his heart swelled with contentment.
Shen Miao, seeing that he had finished, went back inside to fetch a warm towel for him to wipe his face. Cen Zhi cleaned himself thoroughly, returned the towel, and even straightened his clothes before bowing deeply to Shen Miao. "Many thanks, Madam Shen. To have such a bowl of spicy shrimp before my long journey is truly a blessing."
Years had passed since he left his hometown, and though he seldom dwelled on homesickness, this late-night meal—rich, fragrant, and fiery—had stirred up all the longing he had buried. His wife back in Shu was an expert at cooking shrimp. She would trim the whiskers, remove the veins, then fry them in peppercorn oil before tossing them with minced ginger and garlic over high heat. The shells turned crimson, crispy enough to chew, and so flavorful that one couldn’t bear to spit them out.
Though Shen Miao’s shrimp were quite different from his wife’s, they still made him miss her dearly.
Constantly on the road, Cen Zhi often missed even the New Year at home. One year, braving a blizzard through the treacherous Shu roads, he arrived to find his wife and child waiting under the village’s great tree, rubbing their hands and blowing into them for warmth. Later, he learned that as the year drew to a close, his wife would carry their little one to the village entrance whenever she had a spare moment, hoping for his return, sometimes making the trip multiple times a day.
While he endured the hardships of travel, his wife bore the burden of managing their home—tending the fields, raising their child—never knowing if she faced mistreatment. How could that not be exhausting? And their child—had they grown taller?
Once he saved enough money, he vowed to himself, he would return to Shu for good, reunite his family, and never roam again.
Leading his ever-spitting camel away, its back laden with heavy goods, the man and beast’s elongated shadows gradually faded into the night. Soon, only the quiet moonlight remained in Shen Miao’s sight.
She watched until the merchant disappeared into the darkness before turning back and closing the door, sealing away the warm yellow light that had spilled onto the ground.
In that short time, Sister Xiang had already dunked two crayfish into water and tossed them to Zhui Feng, who buried his snout in the courtyard pond, gulping water after the spice overwhelmed him. The sudden intrusion of a dog’s head into the frogs’ domain provoked an uprising—one leaped onto Zhui Feng’s head, croaking indignantly.
Lei Ting, far more sensible, sniffed the crayfish Sister Xiang offered and wisely refrained from eating it.
Was there really such a gap in canine intelligence? When they bought Zhui Feng, his round head and clever expression had seemed so promising. Now, not a trace of that remained.
Baffled, Shen Miao returned inside to pour herself a large bowl of ale before joining the feast. Like her, Sister Xiang had a high tolerance for spice and was happily devouring the crayfish, her hands busy peeling a mountain of shells. She’d even set aside a small bowl of shrimp meat for Shen Miao, who laughed when she saw it.
Chen Chuan’s face was flushed from the heat, and he’d already finished a large cup of peach iced tea, but he persisted, determined to conquer the spice. He and Sister Xiang seemed to have an unspoken agreement—each peeled a different delicacy, sparing Shen Miao the effort after her brief absence.
But half the joy of eating crayfish was peeling them yourself!
She redistributed half the meat back to them, insisting they enjoy their own portions, then picked up a crayfish. She bit into the head first, savoring the rich, spicy aroma and the creamy roe inside, its texture rivaling fish eggs. Then she squeezed the sides of the body, separating shell from meat, and pulled out the plump, springy pink flesh. One bite confirmed it—no trace of mud, just pure sweetness.
Clean-tending crayfish were even better than regular shrimp!
Their thinner shells meant more meat, making each bite more satisfying.
A sip of ice-cold ale washed it all down, drawing a long, contented sigh.
This was true comfort. Shen Miao eyed the crayfish thoughtfully. She’d have to ask her fish supplier—they had their own ponds. Maybe they raised crayfish or other shellfish? If she could secure a steady supply, summer nights like this would be pure bliss.
What was a summer night market without snails and crayfish?
The next day, as agreed, Shen Miao first exchanged copper coins for silver and gold at the money house, then hurried to the government office to finalize the paperwork, paying the property tax, Yao Luoge’s commission, and Old Man Yang’s rent. With bated breath, she watched the clerk slam the seal onto the deed—and just like that, the neighboring shop was hers.
Old Man Yang handed over the keys with a sigh, shouldered his payment, and hurried away.
Yao Luoge clasped his hands with a smile. "Congratulations, Madam Shen, on acquiring such a fine property. Should you need another house in the future, do come find me again. Well then, I shall take my leave now."
Once everyone had dispersed, Shen Miao hugged the land and property deeds, so overjoyed that she nearly floated on her way home. Along the way, she sought out Old Man Yang and Artisan He, asking them to bring workers to tear down walls and remove tiles. Why wait for another day? Today was the perfect occasion!
Returning home, Shen Miao carefully hid the deeds before unlocking the neighboring house. Its layout was similar to hers, though slightly smaller. Thick dust hung in the air from years of neglect, and with every step, footprints marked the floor. The moment she crossed the threshold, cobwebs draped over her head.
Old Man Yang came along to inspect the place. After looking around, they agreed: the roof tiles needed complete replacement, as most had rotted away; the walls required fresh plaster due to patches of mold; and several doors had to be swapped out—their hinges were so decayed that they creaked ominously, one nearly collapsing when pushed.
The rest of the house was manageable. Shen Miao could clean the grime herself, and a thorough scrubbing would take care of the dust. Standing amidst knee-high weeds, she gazed upward.
Moss clung to the walls, mildew spread in blotches, and wild grass ran rampant—everywhere she looked, desolation greeted her.
For a fleeting moment, Shen Miao felt as though she had returned to that day when she arrived in Bianjing from Jinling, stepping over broken tiles to find her younger siblings huddled in a corner of the kitchen, without even a bed to call their own.
The difference was, this courtyard held nothing at all—except for a solitary old osmanthus tree. Its gnarled branches, weathered by time, stood proudly under the sun, lush with green leaves. Unfazed by human presence, it thrived independently, as if it neither needed nor cared for anyone’s care.
Shen Miao rose on her tiptoes, brushing her fingers against the glossy, serrated leaves, and broke into a delighted smile.
Who would have thought such a magnificent tree stood here? How wonderful! She had originally planned to plant two jujube trees, just like the protagonist in Lu Xun’s story, but now this was even better. In her mind’s eye, she could already see the scene come autumn—golden blossoms covering the branches, their sweet fragrance overpowering the chill of the season.
And then there were the autumn delicacies: osmanthus cakes, osmanthus sugar, osmanthus mochi, osmanthus wine-glutinous rice balls…
Just imagining these seasonal treats made her mouth water.
Without further delay, Shen Miao paid her respects to the local earth deity, selected an auspicious date, and ordered the workers to tear down every shared wall between the two houses, merging them into one.
The neighboring house also had three rooms, though slightly smaller and differently oriented. Shen Miao chose the largest and sunniest one for Chen Chuan—finally, he would have his own space.
The vegetable plots expanded from two to four. However, the long-neglected soil needed tilling and fertilizing before anything could be planted. Next year, Shen Miao planned to reserve one plot for sweet melons and another for winter gourds.
She had initially wanted to grow watermelons, but the "cold melons" of this era were thick-skinned, scant-fleshed, and riddled with fibrous veins. The pale, barely red flesh was disappointingly dry—far less juicy than a radish!
The first time she bought one, Shen Miao wondered if she had lost her knack for picking fruit.
After stubbornly trying several more times, she realized the truth: without the painstaking cultivation efforts of modern breeders like Grandma Wu Mingzhu, the watermelons of the Song Dynasty were simply born to taste terrible.
Here, even in the sweltering summer, she could no longer enjoy the dream melon of her memories—freshly pulled from the well, dripping with cool water, splitting with a crisp crack under the knife, revealing thin green rind and vibrant red flesh, exuding a refreshing chill.
This was a sorrow Shen Miao deeply lamented.
Fortunately, the sweet melons of this time were far more satisfying—thin-skinned, fragrant, and honey-sweet, resembling the modern "honeydew horn" variety. Their tender green hue was delightful, and according to Aunt Gu, they bore fruit multiple times a season. Her family grew them, and once summer arrived, they feasted on them daily until their bellies were stuffed.
When Shen Miao mentioned her melon-growing plans, Aunt Gu brought over four or five ripe ones and gifted her a packet of seeds.
Shen Miao placed the melons in a basket and sent Sister Xiang to lower them into the well for chilling. As for the seeds, they would have to wait until next year—"Plant melons and beans around Qingming," but the season had already passed. Still, while she was a skilled cook, her gardening talents were middling at best. The hope of reaping what she sowed was sweet, but whether these seeds would sprout remained to be seen.
With the walls being hammered apart, dust filled the air, making it impossible to run the shop. So, the food cart was brought back into service.
Take a break? Impossible for someone like Shen Miao, who grew restless after half a day of idleness.
Red bean toast and steamed buns made a comeback, with Sister Xiang manning the cart as the salesgirl and Chen Chuan handling payments. With the two children managing business at home, Shen Miao slung a bag over her shoulder and headed to the labor market.
With the shop doubling in size, customer capacity would instantly follow. She needed kitchen assistants, handymen, and servers.
The kitchen helper would need to work by her side, assisting with chopping vegetables, mincing meat, and even preparing simple dough-based dishes. There were no secrets in a shared kitchen, and as Aunt Gu had rightly pointed out, hiring temporary laborers wouldn’t work under such circumstances—she had no choice but to purchase servants.
This was a reality shaped by the times. When in Rome, one must do as the Romans do, and she naturally had to adapt.
Often, the aversion to something stemmed from unfamiliarity. Shen Miao walked two rounds through the slave market, observing silently without engaging with the brokers or responding to their solicitations. Only after gaining a clear understanding did she approach the largest brokerage firm to make inquiries.
In the current era of the Great Song Dynasty, the regulations surrounding human trafficking differed significantly from those of other regimes.
The government prohibited the hoarding of slaves and large-scale purchases, even imposing limits on the number of people one could buy at a time. There were two types of purchases: term-limited and lifelong servitude, each with vastly different prices. Both required contractual agreements, and the brokers had to ensure the servants’ origins were voluntary and legal—no human trafficking was permitted.
Moreover, regardless of the arrangement, masters were forbidden from privately abusing or torturing their servants. If a household was found guilty of intentionally killing a servant who had served for over five years, the punishment was exile to a distant land. For those who killed servants with less than five years of service, the penalty was execution by hanging, as if they had murdered a commoner: "Those who unlawfully kill laborers or maids shall pay with their lives." Additionally, under special circumstances, servants could even terminate their contracts early and "return home."
Thus, when Shen Miao entered the brokerage to purchase servants, the broker was enthusiastic yet strictly professional. The establishment was well-appointed, and upon hearing her requirements—"No preference for gender, but all must be able-bodied adults: one skilled in culinary arts, one quick and diligent with their hands, and one articulate with a sharp memory"—the broker promptly agreed. He offered her tea, asked her to wait, and began flipping through his ledger, explaining, "These days, there’s been an influx of refugees from Qinzhou. Please wait here while I search carefully to find you a few honest and capable candidates with kitchen experience."
After some time, the broker located suitable individuals and led her to the back. The courtyard was vast, filled with servants bound together by ropes. Most were gaunt and dressed in rags. As if worried about offending Shen Miao’s sensibilities, the broker hastily clarified, "These are all refugees, freshly brought in from Caizhou and not yet groomed. Tying them up is unavoidable—some troublemakers play both sides. Their families take the money, and then they flee, selling themselves four or five times to cheat honest brokers like us who follow the rules. If we didn’t restrain them, we’d be left with nothing but the wind to feed on, wouldn’t we?"
Shen Miao expressed her understanding.
The broker smiled. "I won’t trouble you with these rough ones. Judging by your demeanor, I assume you’d prefer those who’ve served masters before—those who know the rules and can start working immediately, am I right?"
Shen Miao nodded but added, "They must also have clean backgrounds. I won’t take anyone with troublesome families who’d come around causing trouble. And absolutely no one who was resold due to theft, gambling, or mistreating women in their previous households—no morally corrupt individuals."
The broker thumped his chest in assurance. "Rest assured, madam, I wouldn’t dare tarnish my reputation."
He then led her to an inner room where the servants, aged fifteen to thirty, were kept. They appeared far more presentable—no sallow complexions or emaciated frames. Though their clothes were coarse and some bore patches, most were tidy, though a few stood barefoot.
Each had a straw tag tucked into their collars, marking them for sale.
"You! And you! Step forward!"
The broker pointed to a man in his thirties and a tall youth in his twenties, bringing them before Shen Miao. He made them bare their teeth for inspection, checked their hair, and examined their hands and nails before smiling.
"See? Both are sturdy, with straight backs and good teeth. Look at their hands and feet—large and strong! Don’t let their current leanness fool you; that’s just from hunger. A few good meals, and they’ll fill out nicely. This older one here was a cook—his master got into trouble and was exiled to Lingnan, so the household was disbanded, landing him here. The younger one’s from the Yanshanfu region (southern edge of the northeast), where just across the river lies Liao territory. Every winter, Liao cavalry would raid their lands, so his family fled inland. His father fell ill and died on the journey, and his stepmother sold him to support his siblings. He’s skilled with a knife—used to butcher dogs and sheep for a living. Hey, lad, didn’t you say you could skin a sheep in a quarter of an hour?"
The tall young man nodded eagerly. "Yes."
The broker nudged the older man. "And you—you’re a cook, right? What can you do?"
The middle-aged man, priding himself on having served in an official's household, felt both indignant and confident when Shen Miao—a young woman of common origins—came to purchase him. "I've traveled far and wide," he boasted. "There's nothing I can't cook, from what flies in the sky to what swims in the water."
The broker, a short man, jumped up and smacked him with the servant registry. "You good-for-nothing! Your former master was just a petty ninth-rank official who barely earned twenty strings of cash a month. Stop bragging and tell the truth, or I'll beat you again!"
After the beating, the man immediately became meek. "Actually, I only know how to wrap wontons and stew chicken."
The broker then turned to Shen Miao expectantly. "What do you think of these two, Madam Shen? Servants skilled in cooking are rare. Just yesterday, others inquired about them. If you want them, you’d better sign the contract now—such good workers won’t be available tomorrow."
Shen Miao remained noncommittal, saying she wanted to see more. The broker then led her to inspect the female servants. There were a few cooks, but they were much older, in their forties or fifties. However, Shen Miao noticed a clever-looking girl with striking phoenix eyes and thin lips, who could rattle off dozens of dish names without stumbling.
Only fifteen, the girl was bold enough to make demands even in the broker’s house. "If you buy me, Madam, I’ll only sign for ten years. Once I’ve saved enough money, I’ll return home. If you agree to write this into the contract, then I’ll go with you."
After finishing her inspection, Shen Miao sat down to negotiate with the broker in detail.
At this point, the broker had no idea just how shrewd the sweet-faced young woman before him could be. One moment she cooed, "This is my first time here—surely you can give me a discount?" The next, she bargained, "I’m buying three at once—won’t you bundle them for a better price? Whisper it to me, and I swear I won’t tell a soul!" And when met with resistance, she feigned indifference: "No matter. If you won’t budge, I’ll just try elsewhere. No hard feelings—farewell!"
The broker hastily called her back. After much haggling and back-and-forth, Shen Miao finally secured all three. The girl, named Tao, was hired for ten years as a long-term worker. The broker took only five hundred coins as commission, after which Shen Miao would pay Tao three mace of silver monthly.
The middle-aged man was called Fu Xing, and the tall one Tang Er—each was bought outright for twelve taels. After completing the paperwork, Shen Miao arranged with the broker to fetch them in a few days once her home was ready.
With the shop and staff problems resolved, Shen Miao had taken a major step toward her dream. The woman who had once arrived in the capital alone now had a family, a larger shop, and her own "employees." Though the future remained uncertain, it was enough to kindle a torch of hope in her heart.
In high spirits, she bought a roasted duck from the street to celebrate.
The people of the Song Dynasty had yet to discover the delights of Peking duck. Their version was steamed first, brushed with oil, then roasted over charcoal—a far cry from the crisp, juicy perfection of the later dish. There were no thin pancakes, scallions, cucumber, or sweet bean sauce to accompany it either.
But Shen Miao craved Peking duck, so she bought one anyway, planning to make her own pancakes, slice scallions and cucumber, carve the duck, and deep-fry the carcass. Though it wouldn’t match the dripping, fragrant crispness of the original, it would have to do.
Wait—why not make Peking duck herself? Since Artisan He was already building walls for her, she could ask him to construct a special kiln for hanging ducks too. Otherwise, how unbearable it would be to crave that taste and not have it! Peking duck, once called "hanging-roast duck," required a large, rounded kiln with vents and adjustable heat at the base.
For the night market, grilled fish and crayfish could be the main attractions, while daytime offerings would focus on noodle soups with limited side dishes to avoid overshadowing the star. Besides braised meats, why not add roast duck?
And since duck was served with pancakes, it still counted as "noodles." If the shop already had "Old Yanzhou Fried Sauce Noodles," how could it lack "Old Yanzhou Roast Duck Pancakes"? Come winter, she’d even introduce "Old Yanzhou Mutton Hotpot!"
It was a shame beef was so rare, and offal even scarcer—too expensive. Otherwise, she’d have added "Old Yanzhou Quick-Fried Tripe" to the menu, truly showcasing the best of Yanzhou cuisine (Shen Miao firmly excluded fermented bean juice from consideration).
In any case, Shen Miao cheerfully forgave herself for wanting to build a kiln just to satisfy a craving. She hurried home, eager to ask Artisan He to construct a big, round new oven—if he had the right fireproof bricks, that is.
Her life was flourishing, full of promise and good food. But for Rong Dalang’s family, temporarily settled at an inn in Chenqiao Town twenty miles outside the capital, things weren’t going as smoothly.
Chenqiao Town was the very place where Emperor Taizu of Song, Zhao Kuangyin, initiated the "Chenqiao Mutiny" and was "draped in the imperial yellow robe," marking the rise of his imperial destiny. Thus, the town flourished more than others, and many officials favored purchasing secondary residences here, hoping to bask in the lingering imperial aura of the old sovereign.
But none of this concerned Rong Dalang.
With a sullen expression, he clutched the essays and policy papers that had been thrown to the ground and trampled underfoot as he stepped out through the side gate of the largest estate in Zheng Family Village of Chenqiao Town. Leading the donkey tied by the gate, he walked silently along the narrow field paths toward the town, the mocking voice of Madam Zheng’s distant elder uncle still ringing in his ears:
"Your writing lacks any spark of talent—you can’t even properly reference classical texts, yet you dare hope to pass the provincial examination and become a juren? Frankly, I’m astonished you managed to earn the xiucai degree! Though I’ve long retired from officialdom, I still cannot abide men like you, scrambling for petty gains. Look at what you’ve written! Writing reflects the heart—and yours is filled with nothing but ambition for rank and wealth. You study not for the people, nor for principle—only for that damned official’s hat! How dare you call yourself a scholar? Out! Get out! Lest you sully my home!"
Instructor Zheng, though merely an eighth-rank education official in Mingzhou, had numerous clansmen serving in the capital. One distant uncle had even risen to the third rank before retiring due to illness and secluding himself in Chenqiao Town.
Yet his influence remained—many of his former students still held office. This autumn, the prefect overseeing Mingzhou’s provincial examination had once been his pupil. Rong Dalang had thus brought his wife, Madam Zheng, hoping to exploit this connection. If the old uncle would only send a letter of recommendation, why should he need to toil over books? Passing the provincial exam would grant him entry to the metropolitan exam—a single leap toward glory!
But that ailing old fool prattled on about ideals and righteousness, utterly detached from the struggles of common men! Rong Dalang’s face twisted with venom as he silently cursed the man to an early grave. How miserly, refusing to aid even his own kinsman’s husband!
Fuming, he kicked at trees and stones along the way, only smoothing his expression into gentle courtesy upon entering Chenqiao Town. Spotting a child selling wildflowers, he bought a basket of dewy blossoms, then detoured to a pastry shop for a box of Longjing tea rice cakes.
His newly wedded wife, Madam Zheng, was one who knew nothing of hardship—she disdained greasy pastries, favoring these delicate cakes made with powdered Longjing tea and glutinous rice, claiming they carried an air of refined elegance.
As if food could be noble! Rong Dalang scoffed inwardly but outwardly played the doting husband.
Returning to the inn, he first visited his mother in the adjacent room. Granny Rong grumbled bitterly, but he soothed her with soft words and fervent vows—once he passed the exams, she could impose any rule she wished on her daughter-in-law. For now, she must endure and not ruin his plans.
"Mother, Madam Zheng is nothing like that Shen woman. Back then, Shen Miao married above her station. Now, we’re the ones climbing. We must bear it a little longer," Rong Dalang murmured, clasping her shoulders. "Don’t show her your displeasure. Wait until I secure my rank—then she’ll still be your obedient daughter-in-law."
Having placated her, he hurried next door. Madam Zheng sat embroidering by the bed and set aside her hoop anxiously when he entered. "Well? Did you meet the elder uncle? Father warned he’s ill-tempered, and with no contact for years, who knows if he even remembers our family."
"Don’t fret," Rong Dalang smiled tenderly. "Uncle Zheng was most gracious. He praised my essays, said my success is nearly certain—no recommendation letter needed! He even gave me pointers." Presenting the flowers and cakes, he added, "I picked these for you on the way. Do you like them? And here’s your favorite treat."
Madam Zheng gasped in delight, inhaling the floral scent before nestling against his chest. "To marry you is my greatest fortune." Though Rong Dalang’s family was poor, he studied diligently at Mingzhou’s prefectural school, and his handsome features had captivated her during chance encounters near the school grounds.
Her mother had died young, and her stepmother neglected her, teaching only her own daughter the ways of society. For reasons unknown, Instructor Zheng favored Rong Dalang, and at the first hint of a match, her stepmother had pushed her into the marriage.
Yet Madam Zheng held no resentment—she admired him deeply. She knew of his first wife, but Granny Rong had painted her as a coarse merchant’s daughter, barren and violent, smashing household items and defying her mother-in-law. Such unfilial barrenness, they said, left no choice but divorce.
Madam Zheng secretly disapproved of her mother-in-law’s coarse manners and crude, market-vendor language, but Granny Rong treated her well—never making her serve meals and often urging Rong Dalang to take better care of her. So Madam Zheng took these words to heart, even thinking that if Rong Dalang’s former wife had indeed been such a woman, it was no wonder he had divorced her.
"Now that we’ve met Uncle, should we head back?" Madam Zheng asked reluctantly. This was her first time traveling far from home, her first visit to Bianjing, and yet she hadn’t even stepped inside the city gates. What a pity.
Rong Dalang saw right through her. Besides, he hadn’t achieved his purpose yet and wasn’t ready to leave. Smiling, he said, "I’ve heard Bianjing’s Lotus Festival is just a few days away—a grand spectacle. Since you’ve come all this way, why don’t we stay a little longer? We’ll go into the city to see the lanterns before returning."
Madam Zheng was overjoyed and nestled against his chest. "You’re so good to me."
"You’re my wife. How could I treat you poorly?" Rong Dalang wrapped his arms around her, his voice tender. But where she couldn’t see, his eyes were icy, almost mocking.
Before they knew it, the Lotus Festival—Bianjing’s grandest summer celebration—had arrived.
The imperial court hosted a three-day banquet to mark the occasion, bestowing gifts upon officials and even presenting hand-painted lotus artworks to favored ministers. The streets buzzed with excitement, especially around Jinming Pond and the Bian River, where lanterns glittered and fireworks occasionally streaked across the sky.
The crowds surged endlessly, the revelry lasting well into the night.
Shen Miao’s newly renovated shop had finally reopened just in time for the festival. Its frontage had doubled, the interior now spacious and gleaming with fresh tiles and paint. Newly purchased glass lanterns illuminated the space as bright as day.
She set off firecrackers, and amid the crackling noise, a flood of customers poured in.
Madam Wang carried her lotus lantern, having already released river lanterns and sky lanterns with her husband, Wang Yong, watched acrobatics, and strolled until hunger struck. Eagerly, she dragged the incognito official to Shen’s shop for a late-night meal—she still had six fish left from her stash of twenty!
Tonight, she and her husband could each have one and eat to their hearts’ content.
But the moment she stepped inside, an extraordinary aroma cut through the medley of scents—roast duck!
Yet this was no ordinary roast duck. The fragrance carried the sweetness of fruitwood and the smoky char of charcoal, weaving tantalizingly through the air.
Pushing through the crowd, she spotted a row of gleaming, mahogany-hued ducks hanging from silver hooks on the wall. A young attendant in a tall blue cap wielded a slender knife, expertly slicing one down. With a crisp snap, the crispy skin parted, each slice uniform and glistening with just the right layer of fat. The knife glided along the meat’s grain, producing delicate, willow-leaf-shaped pieces—each with a perfect balance of skin and lean meat.
In no time, the duck was fully carved, arranged elegantly on a large platter.
Madam Wang couldn’t tear her eyes away.
Wang Yong, equally fascinated, noticed a newly painted illustration on the wall detailing how to enjoy this "Old Yanzhou Roast Duck"—wrapped in paper-thin lotus-leaf pancakes with scallions, cucumber, and sweet bean sauce.
The artwork was exquisite, capturing the duck’s tender meat, crisp skin, and succulent layers, making mouths water just by looking.
Madam Wang had made up her mind.
No fish tonight. She had to have that duck.
