The twilight had deepened, leaving only a faint trace of dusk on the horizon. In the Shen family’s courtyard, two large basins of "pot pot chicken" had been blanched and now soaked in a chilled broth brimming with sesame seeds and a glossy, reddish-brown oil.
Bamboo skewers protruded from the edges of the earthenware basins, each laden with a dazzling array of over a dozen meats and vegetables. The chicken and thinly sliced pork belly were tender, their fibers distinct, now dyed a gleaming spicy hue from the crimson broth. Other meats—duck feet, pig ears, and gizzards—had been either blanched or braised, each carrying its own unique flavor. Among the vegetables, wood ear mushrooms curled delicately, lotus root slices gleamed pink, and pea shoots shone emerald-fresh. There were also crisp bamboo shoots, sticky yam, sweet napa cabbage, along with aged tofu, dried tofu sheets, tofu skin, rice cakes, and fried dough sticks… Upon closer inspection, the variety in the basin seemed endless.
The courtyard had grown, and the small square table had been relocated to the front shop, repurposed as a duck-carving station. For meals in the backyard, Shen Miao had replaced it with a larger table during renovations—one that could seat ten. Now, with the children included, everyone could gather without elbows bumping or chopsticks clashing.
Both basins of pot pot chicken were made with fresh chicken broth, simmered until the meat was tender but not falling apart. The chicken was then shredded or diced and threaded onto skewers.
Next came the chili oil. Without ground chili peppers, Shen Miao had to make do by grinding the Song Dynasty’s commonly used "zhu yu" (prickly ash) paste into powder, then blending it with sesame seeds, Sichuan peppercorns, star anise, cinnamon, and other spices before pouring hot oil over the mix. The resulting chili oil wasn’t as vibrantly red or as spicy as later versions, but its aroma was rich and enticing.
This chili oil was then mixed into the chicken broth, enhanced with soy sauce, aged vinegar for depth, a touch of sugar for umami, and finally garlic paste and sesame oil. Once stirred well, the skewered ingredients were submerged to soak. After fifteen minutes, the meats and vegetables had absorbed the broth, now glistening with spicy oil, ready to be devoured.
For Xie Qi, this was his first time eating like this.
The Shen household didn’t have the massive oil lamps that could hold over ten pounds of oil—just ordinary bamboo lanterns, casting a warm, mellow glow. One of the two dogs lay on the porch gnawing a bone, occasionally wagging its tail, while the other had squeezed into the chicken coop to sleep, snoring thunderously. The chickens, displaced, huddled outside—the hens nestled in the vegetable patch, the rooster perched atop the coop, one leg tucked in, standing majestically as it slept.
Above, the stars hung low.
The three servants the Shen family had bought initially tried to take their bowls elsewhere, but Shen Miao stopped them one by one, pressing them onto stools. "If you leave, what’s the point of this big table?"
After settling them, she glanced at Xie Qi. Before she could speak, he shook his head with an understanding smile. "I don’t mind."
Shen Miao grinned. She’d known this from the start—from the first time she met Yan Shu, from the rainy day when Ninth Brother sent a carriage for her, from the moment he lent books to Ji Brother. Xie Qi genuinely disregarded class distinctions—a rarity in this world.
So they all sat together, chatting and eating freely. When the spice grew too intense, they filtered the coarse, murky wheat beer through cloth twice, then poured it into a massive single-handled earthenware mug, drinking it down with the froth for maximum refreshment.
Even the mug was a novelty to Xie Qi, who examined it with interest. Wide-bodied and straight-sided, it was heavy when full but perfect for gulping on a sultry summer night.
The Shen home had more curiosities. A small pond in the courtyard hosted some sweet flag and water lilies, along with a few tiny bitterlings Sister Xiang had caught in the river—small but picturesque. Beside it stood a wooden signpost topped with a tiny bamboo umbrella. One side read, "Froggy has gone traveling," and the other, "Froggy has returned."
Before dinner, Xie Qi had crouched by the pond, searching in vain for the frog.
The pot pot chicken was delicious, surprisingly to Xie Qi’s taste. Though it looked oily, the broth beneath was cool and refreshing, rich with chicken essence but never cloying. The lotus root, coated in sauce and sesame, crunched like ice breaking underfoot with each bite.
The gizzards were another revelation. Xie Qi hadn’t known what they were until Shen Miao explained they were chicken stomachs, braised and thinly sliced—chewy, infused with spice, and unexpectedly addictive, broadening his culinary horizons.
Then there was the aged tofu, its skin slightly resilient while the honeycombed interior soaked up the broth, every crevice bursting with flavor—soft, juicy, savory, spicy, yet still retaining its beany essence.
Xie Qi ate with more satisfaction than he ever did at home.
Chef Fang had his specialties, and the Xie household never lacked fine dishes. But meals there were laden with rituals—tables set, screens arranged, etiquette observed. Each branch of the family had its own fussy traditions. Xie Qi’s immediate family was relatively simple—his mother loathed pretentious dining, shutting down his father’s attempts at drinking games with a curt "no talking at meals."
But his Third Uncle was another story—a man who insisted on brewing tea with dawn dew, writing only with hand-ground sandalwood ink, and dining amid "scenery that absorbs the essence of sun and moon." Preparing a meal for him could take hours.
Xie Qi had eaten rough before—on the road, with Yan Shu attending him, a simple biscuit and water sufficing until the next town. But this—starting from raw ingredients, skewering them himself, soaking them, then sharing a table with so many, no servants, everyone helping themselves—was entirely new.
The Shen family’s table was low, forcing Xie Qi to bend his long legs on the stool. He held a skewer of cucumber slices, watching Tang Er sling an arm around Fu Xing’s shoulders, raising his mug with a boisterous, "Brother Fu Xing, no need for words—this one’s for you!"
Fu Xing hastily clinked his own oversized mug, then sipped frantically to avoid spillage. Tang Er, meanwhile, downed his in one go, prompting Fu Xing to exclaim in his best Huating dialect, "Goodness, you drink like a demon!"
Nearby, Tao, having had a few cups herself, gazed red-eyed at the moon, sighing as if missing someone.
On the other side, Sister Xiang and Chen Chuan were competing over who had eaten more skewers, their counting devolving into chaos until they dragged Ji Brother in to arbitrate. After much confusion, he sighed, correcting Sister Xiang, "Three times five is fifteen, not eighteen… How have you not memorized the multiplication rhymes yet? Even the Gu family’s A-Bao knows them!"
Xie Qi smiled, his gaze slowly withdrawing before settling subtly at his side—though he dared not look openly, stealing glances from the corner of his eye instead. The lantern light cast Shen Miao’s face in a warm golden hue, illuminating her delicate skin with a faint glow. She cradled a wine cup in both hands, watching the others with quiet amusement as they laughed, bantered, or ate in silence. Her expression was serene, brimming with boundless tenderness. So beautiful.
Xie Qi thought his glances went unnoticed, but Shen Miao, sharp as ever, caught him. She turned to him, eyes crinkling into a smile, as if assuming his silence meant he felt left out. Tilting her large cup toward him, she clinked it against his: "Ninth Brother, cheers."
At that very moment, as if orchestrated by fate, fireworks burst into the night sky—a cascade of inverted starlight blooming overhead. In the flickering glow, Xie Qi finally turned fully to meet her gaze. Her face was illuminated by the brilliance, her eyes shimmering like stars tumbling straight into their depths.
He stared, transfixed, murmuring softly, "Cheers."
The fireworks faded as quickly as they came, plunging the courtyard back into dimness. Yet the thunderous pounding in Xie Qi’s chest refused to settle.
His throat dry, he struggled for words—until a round, chubby face peeked through the half-open gate of the Shen family’s backyard. The moment the owner of that head saw the feast underway, he wailed in despair, pointing an accusatory finger at Xie Qi: "Ninth Brother! Qiu Hao told me you were dining at Shen Miao’s place, and I knew it! You’re feasting alone! You didn’t bring me!"
The delicate, enchanting atmosphere shattered instantly under the assault of his dramatic howling.
Xie Qi turned away wordlessly, too exasperated to respond.
Sister Xiang, however, sprang up with delight, waving cheerfully: "Yan Shu!"
Shen Miao’s shoulders shook with laughter as she stood to pull him inside. "There’s plenty left—come join us."
She even gave up her own stool for Yan Shu, accepting a new one from Tang Er and settling beside him instead. Clearing her own bowl and chopsticks from the table, she replaced them with a fresh set Tao fetched from the kitchen. "Don’t stand on ceremony. We’ve no strict rules here—eat your fill."
Xie Qi shot a frosty glance at Yan Shu, whose cheeks bore no trace of tears. The boy was already clutching a skewer Shen Miao handed him, grinning foolishly. "Shen Miao’s cooking is as amazing as ever—spicy and fragrant! So good! I’m coming back next time."
Shen Miao couldn’t help but see him as another version of Sister Xiang. Overflowing with sisterly affection, she pinched one of the little buns atop his head. "Eat as much as you like. You’re welcome anytime. Want some rice? Or cold noodles? I can have Fu Xing whip up a bowl—interested?"
"Yes, yes, yes! I’ll eat anything!"
After devouring two or three skewers and slurping down a bowl of cold noodles, Yan Shu finally noticed the resentful stare burning into him.
Turning, he found Xie Qi glaring. Confused, he pointed at the untouched skewers in Xie Qi’s bowl. "Ninth Brother, not eating those? Then..." If he wasn’t going to finish them, Yan Shu certainly wouldn’t mind.
His greasy, chubby fingers had barely twitched toward the bowl when Xie Qi snatched it away.
"Why are you here?" Xie Qi asked flatly.
"Lady Xi sent me. Said Shiyiniang bought too many fireworks last year for the Lotus Festival, and they’ve been sitting around. Lately, she and the other girls only care about dressing their doll figures—they’ve made a whole wardrobe of clothes, shoes, and hats for them! Never stepping outside to set off fireworks. Lady Xi said they’d go damp if left unused, so she told me to bring them for you, Shen Miao, and her siblings to enjoy." Yan Shu mumbled through a full mouth.
Xie Qi eyed him. "Where are the fireworks?"
"At the gate. Zhou Da’s watching them. There’s a mountain—Shiyiniang must’ve bought out the entire fireworks shop last year."
Xie Qi sighed, propping his chin on his hand as he mechanically nibbled a skewer. Bitterly, he mused: No wonder people say beautiful moments are fleeting. He understood now.
The warm, fragrant presence beside him had vanished, replaced by a chattering, munching rodent.
What misery.
By the third round of drinks, Fu Xing and Tang Er were slurring their words, babbling in incoherent dialects. Empty wine jars littered the ground, and the table was a wreck of bamboo skewers and empty plates.
Tao cleared the dishes, insisting on washing them alone despite Shen Miao’s offer to help—she even shooed her away.
Ji Brother swept the courtyard while Xie Qi stacked the jars by the wall. Then, he proposed heading to the riverside to set off the fireworks: "The alley’s too cramped. If a fire starts, it’d be disastrous."
Shen Miao glanced around. Sister Xiang’s eyes sparkled at the mention of fireworks, her hands already gripping Chen Chuan’s wheelchair, ready to rocket him out the gate.
Thankfully, the Shen household’s thresholds (except for the shopfront’s high one) were removable planks—taken down by day and replaced at night. Otherwise, with Sister Xiang’s speed, Chen Chuan might’ve been launched straight into the willow tree at the alley’s end.
Shen Miao quickly steadied the wheelchair before agreeing.
Sister Xiang cheered, abandoning the wheelchair to drag Yan Shu outside to pick fireworks.
The Xie family’s fireworks indeed filled the carriage. There were grand display pieces—bamboo and paper tubes packed with sulfur and gunpowder, spraying sparks when lit. Others were firecrackers tied to bamboo sticks, rocketing skyward with long fiery tails.
Some, called "lantern shooters," flew low before fizzling out midair. Sister Xiang’s favorite, "ground rats," were a hit among street kids—clay rolls stuffed with gunpowder that spun and sputtered comically on the ground, sending children into fits of giggles.
The crown jewel was an expensive "box flower," crafted with iron wires and layered gunpowder. Each tier ignited sequentially, culminating in a spinning chrysanthemum of flame.
By the time Shen Miao locked up, Sister Xiang was already leading Tao and Yan Shu by the hand, Ji Brother pushing Chen Chuan, all nearly at the alley’s end in their excitement. Only Xie Qi lingered, waiting quietly.
Smiling, Shen Miao pocketed the key and dashed to his side.
Less than fifteen minutes after they left, Ning Yi and his page arrived, panting—only to find the shop locked and dark. The blow was devastating. Slumping onto the threshold, Ning Yi burst into tears, scrubbing his face furiously. "Blame Father! Why’d he drag me home from the academy today? By the time we finished dinner and came for roast duck, the shop’s closed! I missed out again—"
The Ning family's bookboy was even more composed than Ning Yi himself. With an expressionless face, he shook out a handkerchief, sighed, and handed it to Ning Yi to wipe his tear-streaked face. Then he silently sat beside him, waiting for Ning Yi to finish crying before heading home.
Today was the final day of the Lotus Festival, and the night had grown late. The streets were no longer as crowded as before.
The breeze was cool as Shen Miao and Xie Qi stood side by side on Jinliang Bridge, leaning against the railing as they gazed into the distance. Above them, fireworks sparkled like stars. Below the embankment, children played with handheld sparklers—Sister Xiang chased Yan Shu with a crackling, spark-spitting wand, making him shriek in mock terror.
Ji Brother and Chen Chuan took turns lighting "pearl tubes"—large bamboo cylinders filled with nine small fireworks that shot out colorful sparks one after another. Just when you thought they were done, they’d crackle back to life, lasting surprisingly long.
Zhou Da was in charge of the more dangerous display fireworks. Standing far away, he’d crouch down, light the fuse with incense, cover his ears, and sprint off. Sometimes he’d bolt before the fuse even caught, and a couple of times, after running halfway, he’d realize nothing had happened and turn back—only for the firework to suddenly erupt in a shower of sparks just as he approached, sending him leaping away in panic. His antics made Shen Miao and the surrounding spectators burst into laughter.
Xie Qi, however, wasn’t watching the fireworks. Under the cover of the crowd and the night, his gaze lingered on Shen Miao.
He watched as her eyes curved into crescents, her little canine teeth peeking through her smile, and he couldn’t help but lower his head and smile too.
No firework could compare to her.
Just then, Yan Shu came clambering up the bridge, urging Shen Miao and Xie Qi to come down and release lotus lanterns. After all, the Lotus Festival wouldn’t feel complete without sending a wish afloat. Shen Miao had bought several paper lanterns earlier—simple things, just a bit of oil and a wick inside, lit and set adrift on the river. They were cheap, and if not for Yan Shu’s reminder, she would’ve forgotten all about them in her fascination with the fireworks.
The fireworks of this era weren’t as dazzling as those of later times, but the joy and hope they carried were the same. Since arriving here, this was the first time Shen Miao had been able to quietly enjoy such a spectacle. Though the surroundings were noisy, her heart was at peace. She thought to herself, This is nice—living earnestly, yet still finding poetry in moments like these.
"Come on, let’s go release lanterns!" she said eagerly, lifting her skirts as she descended the bridge.
Xie Qi followed behind her. He’d long given up hope on lanterns—lotus or otherwise—so when Shen Miao handed him a lit one, he hesitated, shaking his head with a wry smile. "No, it’ll burn up the moment I touch it."
Shen Miao didn’t believe it. She made him cup his hands and carefully placed the lotus lantern in his palms, waiting deliberately before pointing triumphantly at the intact light. "See? Perfectly fine!"
Xie Qi stared at it in disbelief, turning it this way and that as if it were some rare artifact.
It really hadn’t burned.
This was the first lantern that hadn’t turned to ashes in his hands.
He cradled it delicately, almost afraid to let it go.
Noticing his hesitation, Shen Miao reached out and steadied his wrist. "Just crouch down, keep your hand steady, and let it float away."
The midsummer heat was oppressive, and Xie Qi was dressed lightly—a sheer inner robe of checkered gauze beneath an even thinner outer layer of cicada-wing silk, both translucent enough to hint at the skin beneath. Even through his sleeve, he could feel the pressure of Shen Miao’s fingers.
The ember he’d buried deep in his heart during his injury flared back to life, searing through him until his entire body stiffened.
Shen Miao watched, baffled, as Xie Qi crouched down like a man half-paralyzed, rigidly lowering the lantern into the water.
She ruined the moment by patting his arm. "Quick, quick! Make a wish before it drifts away!"
The force of her pat nearly knocked Xie Qi over. Thankfully, years of martial training kicked in—he tensed his core and steadied himself within moments.
Once stable, he blinked up at her in astonishment. Since when did Shen Miao have such strength? It was almost… impressive. Who knew she had the makings of a martial artist?
Shen Miao, oblivious, released her own lantern, clasped her hands, and murmured a long, earnest wish: for her family’s health and longevity (dogs, chickens, and qilin included), for prosperity in her shop, for Aunt Gu’s household to find happiness, for peace in the land, free from turmoil… and at the last moment, she added one more: May Ninth Brother’s luck turn for the better.
By the time she finished, her lantern was already far downstream. She scratched her head, wondering if the heavens had even heard her.
Xie Qi smiled faintly, watching as his lotus lantern wobbled precariously on the water—only to bump into Shen Miao’s and right itself, joining the river’s constellation of flickering lights.
Spotting more lanterns in the cloth bag, he couldn’t resist taking another, lighting it, and setting it afloat. To his shock, it stayed intact too. Then a third. And a fourth.
He could release lanterns now. Xie Qi stared at his hands, utterly bewildered.
Up ahead, Sister Xiang had splashed into the river while releasing hers, soaking her skirts and shoes. Ji Brother was dragging her back, but Shen Miao, seeing the damage wasn’t too bad, left them to it. When she returned, she found Xie Qi—like a child experiencing New Year’s for the first time—already on his seventh or eighth lantern.
She’d heard Yan Shu mention Ninth Brother’s streak of bad luck before, but witnessing it firsthand was another matter. Amused yet sympathetic, she crouched beside him again. "What did you wish for, Ninth Brother?"
Xie Qi turned to her, eyes alight. His gaze was the clearest Shen Miao had ever seen—not because his eyes were particularly striking, but because of their pure, unclouded warmth, like sunlight on clear water.
"Can’t say, or it won’t come true," he replied, suddenly shy. Among his wishes for family, there’d been one for her too.
He didn’t dare ask the heavens to grant his hidden feelings. Tonight, as he released the lotus lantern and watched its tiny flame tremble on the water, the first thought that surfaced was simple:
"May Shen Miao…
"Find joy in abundance, peace everlasting, and a life free of sorrow."
That would be enough.
Through the rippling reflections, Xie Qi watched as Shen Miao bent to gather the spent firework sticks littering the embankment, stuffing them into the now-empty cloth bag.
He promptly stood up to help her pick up the scattered items. At first, he assumed she was being frugal, intending to gather the bamboo sticks and paper scraps to use as kindling. But to his surprise, Shen Miao whispered to him as he assisted, "The Bian River is still so beautiful—we shouldn’t let these things pollute the water. Besides, these bamboo sticks are sharp, and if left hidden in the grass, they might pierce the feet of those who come to wash clothes or catch fish by the river tomorrow."
She smiled. "It’s not too late to tidy up before heading back."
Xie Qi stared at her, momentarily speechless.
It was hard to describe the feeling in his heart—the restless thrumming, like a cicada clinging to a tree.
Day by day, it grew stronger.
After the Lotus Festival passed and his days off ended, Xie Qi found himself struggling to recall the monotonous routine of the academy. Whenever he closed his eyes, fragments of that midsummer night still flickered in his mind—the scattered fireflies dancing across the starry sky, Shen Miao steadying his hand as he released the lantern, her gentle smile...
It seemed that with the end of the Lotus Festival, the summer of the third year of Baoyuan had quietly slipped away.
By the time he suddenly realized how swiftly time had flown, autumn had already arrived.
This year’s autumn was particularly bleak. After just two rains, the leaves of the parasol trees fell, and the air turned cold.
On the morning of the third day of the tenth month, despite the chilly autumn wind, Xie Qi wore only a thin, dark-colored, close-fitting martial arts outfit, his long hair tied high atop his head, a cloth belt cinched around his waist, and wrist guards wrapped snugly. He stood as straight and poised as a pine tree clinging to a cliff. Beside him, Yan Shu yawned so hard his eyes watered as they waited outside Shen’s Noodle Shop for Ji Brother.
Ji Brother had taken Xie Qi’s advice and attempted the county-level imperial examination in August, only to fail. But the experience had taught him the true rigors of the exams—the hardest part wasn’t the questions, but enduring three straight days confined to a cramped examination cell, where even sleeping was a struggle, and trips to the latrine were monitored by stern-faced guards holding their noses.
Even with instant noodles to eat, the ordeal was unbearable.
After leaving the examination hall, Ji Brother fell mildly ill, coughing for over half a month before recovering. Concerned, Shen Miao immediately sought out a martial arts school to toughen him up—how else would he endure future exams?
Coincidentally, Xie Qi happened to be at Shen’s Noodle Shop for a serving of "Old Yanzhou Mutton Hot Pot" when he overheard Shen Miao’s plan. He volunteered to be Ji Brother’s martial arts instructor. Every day, he led Ji Brother on a run around the inner city walls, practiced stance training, and then guided him through a set of "Master Lü’s Peaceful Exercise"—a health-preserving martial arts routine created by a Taoist priest long ago, renowned for its body-strengthening effects.
Shen Miao naturally agreed without hesitation.
With a soft clack, the door’s latch was lifted inside, followed by the removal of two wooden panels. Shen Miao peeked out, greeting Xie Qi with a smile before pushing Ji Brother forward.
"Ninth Brother, come back for soup later. Today’s duck blood and rice noodle soup has diced duck intestines and liver simmered in it—it’s incredibly flavorful."
Yan Shu, who had been swaying drowsily, immediately straightened up. "This servant and Ninth Brother will definitely come!"
Watching the three of them jog away, Shen Miao opened the shop for the day. As the weather grew colder, more and more customers came for noodles. The grilled fish remained popular, while the roasted duck had become mostly a takeaway item—people preferred buying it to bring home and enjoy with their families around a warm fire.
This season marked the autumn harvest, the most critical event of the year. The emperor set an example by personally cutting wheat in the imperial fields, while officials and clerks worked tirelessly to encourage farming and collect taxes. Families with land returned to oversee the harvest, grain merchants traveled to the countryside to stockpile crops, and cotton traders scoured every prefecture for supplies. Even those without land were busy—harvesting beans and peanuts from their home gardens, gathering firewood daily, and preparing for winter.
Children, too, were put to work, carrying food and drink to the fields to help dry and gather the grain.
The Imperial College, Biyong Academy, and other private schools all closed for "autumn break."
In the Great Song Dynasty, schools—whether state-run or private—did not observe "summer and winter vacations" but rather "spring and autumn breaks." The spring planting break lasted only fifteen days, while the autumn harvest, crucial for ensuring the nation’s food supply, warranted fifty days off due to the backbreaking labor of cutting wheat, rice, and gathering cotton.
Even students like Meng San, whose families owned fertile land and lived comfortably, returned to the countryside during this time. The usually dignified scholars shed their pretenses, donned old clothes, and worked alongside their grandparents and hired laborers to bring in the harvest.
But for noble families like Xie Qi, Ning Yi, and Shang An, the break meant leisure.
This was why Xie Qi could visit the Shen household daily.
The Xie family owned vast farmlands, but with tenant farmers, field slaves, and distant relatives managing them, there was no need for Xie Qi to labor in the fields. Instead, he enjoyed the crisp autumn air, the beauty of red maples on the estate, and the lingering charm of withered lotus on the lake. Lady Xi had already taken Shiyiniang and the Dowager to the outskirts for a seasonal retreat.
Only Xie Qi remained, steadfastly using his commitment to teaching Ji Brother martial arts as an excuse to stay. "A man must keep his word," he declared.
Lady Xi had been strict with her children when they were young, but as they grew older, she loosened her grip. What was the point of endless restrictions? Once they had legs of their own, forbidding them wouldn’t stop them from climbing walls anyway.
Just look at Third Brother—his wall-scaling skills had become so refined he could leap three feet high, making ordinary walls no obstacle.
So she let Ninth Brother be, whether he worked as an accountant or a shop assistant at Shen’s Noodle Shop.
As long as he was happy.
Speaking of Third Brother, Lady Xi was reminded of the letter Xie Tiao had sent from Qinzhou, which brought her both joy and amusement.
The letter began in his usual irreverent tone: "To my dearest mother: It has been too long since my last letter, and I miss you dearly. I pray for your health and happiness. You won’t believe this, Mother, but without Ninth Brother by my side, my journey has been miraculously smooth—favorable winds on the river, smooth roads on land, not a single thief in hundreds of miles. I’ve arrived safely in Qinzhou. Truly strange, yet fortunate..."
Good news came in pairs. Not only had Xie Tiao reached Qinzhou unharmed, but the noodle workshop in Youzhou also sent word that construction was complete. The Xi family’s pastry chefs had successfully produced the first batch of noodles using Shen Miao’s recipe, which had already been delivered to the frontier troops guarding the Great Wall at Juyong Pass day and night.
After reading the letter, Lady Xi turned to gaze out the window with a soft sigh. "At least it arrived in time."
While the ginkgo and smoke trees in Bianjing had only just begun shedding their leaves, Juyong Pass had already seen its first snowfall of the year. The frontier was harsh and bitter—she could only hope that this winter, the soldiers stationed there might find some small comfort in the warmth of a good meal.
