Shen Miao carefully lifted her skirt and walked to the edge of the pond, surveying her surroundings. The abandoned pond before her was roughly an acre in size, surrounded by reeds that had mostly withered and broken by this season. As the wind blew, the reed flowers trembled and scattered, drifting onto the rocky banks and muddy patches. Shen Miao had only stood there for a short while, yet her clothes were already dotted with them.
The shallow water near the pond’s edge was littered with debris, and a few dead fish floated belly-up amidst tangled algae and duckweed, giving the place a lifeless air.
Shen Miao did want to buy a few acres of land.
She didn’t dare dream of land in the suburbs of Bianjing, so she set her sights on the surrounding villages and towns.
This was also one of the reasons why, when Third Bai came to invite her, she agreed without hesitation—even though she knew roasting a whole lamb at the Bai family wouldn’t earn her much.
"Old Yanzhou Roast Duck" had been on the market for several months now, igniting Bianjing’s passion for roasted duck. But Shen Miao could only roast twenty ducks a day—partly because she only had one oven at the moment. She had already ordered a second one, but it hadn’t been delivered yet. However, the oven wasn’t the main issue—the real problem was the lack of ducks!
The supply of "small white ducks" from the duck farms around Bianjing was insufficient. Aunt Li had been running around so much lately that her legs had grown thin, barely managing to gather twenty ducks a day that met the requirements. She had complained several times, asking if they could just use the local green-headed ducks instead.
In and around Bianjing, there were far more people raising pigs and sheep than chickens and ducks. Moreover, most local ducks at this time were either green-headed ducks or mottled ducks, descended from wild ducks. These two breeds were strong fliers, slow-growing, with tougher, drier meat that wasn’t as tender when roasted as the small white ducks.
When Shen Miao first experimented with roasting Peking duck, she had tried using the mottled ducks from Aunt Li’s farm. The result was dry, chewy meat that stuck in the teeth—nothing like the roast duck she remembered. In the end, those ducks were either eaten by her family or given to neighbors for tasting—not a single one was sold.
Later, Shen Miao described the small white ducks to Aunt Li and asked her to search the outer city’s larger duck farms until they finally found some.
Though the small white ducks would later earn the grand name "Peking duck," part of their ancestry actually traced back to the Jinling lake ducks. The Zhu family, historically the most avid fans of roast duck, had brought these ducks from Nanjing to Beijing when they relocated the capital, effectively transplanting southern ducks to the north.
Legend had it that Emperor Zhu Di of the Ming Dynasty brought these white ducks to Beijing’s Nanyuan for breeding, where they were later crossbred with the Baihe River ducks to become the true Peking duck.
It was amusing to imagine the Yongle Emperor, who led an army of eight hundred from the north to the south in a grand campaign, hauling hundreds of quacking live ducks in his baggage train while relocating the capital to guard the nation’s borders.
Thanks to the thriving water transport in the Song Dynasty, these small white ducks were still called Jinling lake ducks. Only a few years ago had southern merchants painstakingly transported them to Bianjing. At first, they were sold as pets because of their beauty, and now only a handful of specialized duck farmers raised them—scarce in number and five coppers more expensive per pound than the mottled ducks.
Why was Shen Miao so fixated on these small white ducks? Just look at how even emperors insisted on bringing them along when moving—they had to have some advantage.
Raised on rice husks and worms in Jinling, the small white ducks were plump, tender, and flavorful. They grew quickly, were large in size, had plump muscles, and boasted pristine white feathers. Beautiful yet hardy, they adapted well to both the warm southern climate and the dry northern cold.
From inside out, they completely outclassed the dull, green-headed, scrawny, and tough wild mottled ducks!
Unlike roasted fish, where ingredients were abundant and grass carp was cheap, the supply of white ducks in Bianjing was too limited. Hearing customers complain about not being able to buy roast duck for days on end, and seeing that even preorders couldn’t keep up, Shen Miao gradually began considering raising ducks herself.
She had already started having Aunt Li collect small white duck eggs—buying as many as possible—and letting Aunt Li’s broody hens hatch them. Over a dozen ducklings had already hatched, but this wasn’t a sustainable solution. Raising them in her courtyard wouldn’t yield many ducks.
After cooking for the Feng family several times, Shen Miao had saved up quite a bit of gold. Stashing it in the cellar was unsafe and earned no interest—better to invest it in buying land, raising ducks, and starting her own duck farm.
For a restaurant to grow, it needed a stable source of meat. In her past life, Shen Miao had leased a small hill and set up a free-range black pig farm. The pork not only supplied her restaurants but was also made into cured meats and sausages sold via livestream. She even introduced a "reserve-a-pig" program, where customers could pick piglets, have them branded with their names, and receive the fully grown, slaughtered pigs the following year—a wildly successful business.
A stable meat supply ensured consistent quality in dishes, maintaining long-term customer loyalty and a growing reputation.
She had heard that Fanlou, the famous restaurant, owned its own sheep, cattle, and pig farms spanning dozens of acres, housing thousands of animals.
Shen Miao didn’t dare compare herself to Fanlou, nor did she have that kind of financial power. But setting up a small-scale duck farm for her roast duck business was entirely feasible.
The wind rustled her clothes, pulling her out of her duck farm reverie. Glancing at Xie Qi, whose expression turned cautious at the mention of the Guo family, she couldn’t suppress her curiosity. Stepping down the gentle slope, listening to the brittle grass snapping underfoot, she lowered her voice and asked the Bai family’s wife:
"If the Guo family’s hidden land has already been confiscated by the government, how can they still cause trouble and stop you from renting it? How dare they harass those leasing government land—aren’t they afraid of official repercussions?"
The Bai family’s wife also spoke softly, explaining:
"The Guo family is not to be trifled with. They live in Chenliu Town—their mansion takes up an entire street there. When the government ordered land surveys, all four thousand acres they had hidden were registered, forcing them to pay much higher taxes. So they abandoned some of the poorer fields, mountain plots, and ponds nearby, handing them over as government land. Rumor has it they even earned some goodwill from the authorities for it.
"But after giving up so much land, it’s like cutting flesh from their own body. They might not say it outright, but how could they not hold a grudge?
"There was an outsider who recently moved to our village. He ignored local warnings, didn’t believe the rumors, and leased this pond and fields from the government, thinking he could get rich raising fish and planting rice. What he didn’t know was that the Guo family still owned a large stretch of land upstream! When the rice was about to head, the Guo family cut off the water supply. The man went to the Guo estate to demand an explanation, only to be beaten black and blue by their tenants. He reported it to the authorities, but by the time officials arrived, the Guo family had been tipped off and restored the water flow, denying everything. Once the officials left, they did it again—even secretly poisoning the pond with rat poison, killing a huge number of fish. The family had no proof and couldn’t keep fighting. After a year, exhausted, with dead fish and withered crops, the man was deep in debt. Last year, he hanged himself from a beam."
Shen Miao’s eyes widened. "It led to a death?"
"Exactly. If it weren’t for our Bai family’s dozen or so branches living together here, forming a strong force, and if we didn’t unite to guard the upper reaches of the irrigation canal every summer when water was scarce, taking turns day and night, and if we hadn’t opened shops in Bianjing, gaining some influence, the Guo family wouldn’t have dared to bully us. Otherwise, they’d probably try to drive us out too. They’re likely scheming to reclaim the land once it’s left barren long enough."
Xie Qi’s face flushed with shame. Though his surname was Xie, he felt utterly disgraced.
Shen Miao immediately abandoned the idea of renting or buying the land.
She, too, was an "outsider" and couldn’t compete with the underhanded Guo family. It was better to look elsewhere. She asked the Bai family’s wife to keep an eye out for her—specifically, land connected to a pond, as ducks were waterfowl and needed ample water.
The Bai family’s wife nodded. "I’ll have my husband keep an eye out for you, Madam Shen."
After wandering around a bit more, they realized most of the wasteland in Bai Village had once belonged to the Guo family. Disappointed, Shen Miao prepared to head back. Xie Qi accompanied her as they walked through what should have been fertile fields, now barren, his heart heavy as if weighed down by a stone.
The imperial court had implemented the "Land Survey Law" to measure and register land. Every household, whether official or commoner, had to report their land’s area, location, and origin, guaranteed by the local headmen, and then verified by clerks sent by the county magistrate. All records were compiled into the "Land Register." After the magistrate confirmed the reports, the court would dispatch capable and honest officials from other regions to recheck. Once the Land Register was finalized, any discrepancies—even with deeds or contracts—would result in confiscation by the state.
Powerful families naturally resisted surrendering their hidden land. Some bribed officials, while others falsified records upon hearing the news, but most met with harsh consequences—exile, demotion, or even secret executions. For a time, the air was thick with blood and turmoil.
The Xie and Feng families, having endured the previous emperor’s palace coup, had suffered greatly. Their descendants had learned their lesson and obediently surrendered some hidden land, paid extra taxes, and even had an uncle stationed at the border write a plea for leniency. In the end, they emerged unscathed.
The Guo family, however, had reacted fiercely, even sending letters to berate Xie Qi’s father for his "spinelessness," calling him a coward with "knees full of soft bones," groveling like a slave. And what happened? Soon after, Empress Guo was deposed and expelled from the palace, and the Guo family patriarch was stripped of his military governorship. Only then did they quiet down.
But who would’ve thought that, despite their outward compliance, they were still scheming in the shadows?
This was the first time Xie Qi had heard of the Guo family’s underhanded deeds. He thought, The outsiders must have suffered greatly. Why didn’t they appeal to the capital? Perhaps they hadn’t heard of the emperor’s infamous "pig hunt." If they’d dared to submit a complaint to the Censorate or the Kaifeng Prefecture, escalating the matter to the emperor, given the current climate, the Guo family would’ve been the ones to suffer.
The emperor was just looking for an excuse to confiscate their property.
Shen Miao, having failed to buy land, was in low spirits on the way back to Bianjing. Xie Qi sat in the oxcart, swaying with the vehicle, stealing glances at her. Seeing her brows furrowed in thought, he wrestled with his own conscience.
Noble families intermarried extensively. His third aunt’s sister’s cousin’s daughter had married into the Guo family.
Xie Qi struggled between betraying his own class and relatives and staying true to his principles. He couldn’t lie to himself—this wasn’t just about helping Madam Shen. He had studied, understood morality, and witnessed the injustices of the world. He knew right from wrong, yet he hesitated to act.
He despised himself for his cowardice.
Meanwhile, the children were carefree. Sister Xiang and Yan Shu played a clapping game in the cart, laughing when they missed, disturbing Chen Chuan’s recitation. Ji Brother, annoyed by the noise, moved to sit beside Third Bai.
Back in the inner city, the oxcart stopped in front of Shen’s Noodle Shop. Tao hurried out with a smile. "Madam, you’re back!" she announced proudly. "We sold all twenty ducks today! And thirteen bowls of mutton soup!"
Shen Miao’s frown melted into a smile. After thanking Third Bai, she praised Tao. "Good job, Tao! At this rate, you’ll earn double wages next month!"
"Thank you, Madam! Don’t worry about the shop—I’ll take care of it whenever you’re away!" Tao’s cheeks flushed with joy. She had no worries, only the determination to earn enough to buy her mother’s freedom.
Xie Qi stared at Shen Miao and Tao’s smiles, deeply moved. He’d heard Tao’s story from Shen Miao before.
His uncle had once taught him to be like an unyielding pine, "standing firm against the wind, unbroken by snow." Recalling these words, Xie Qi felt a mix of resolve and sorrow. If noble families are already crumbling, why prolong the agony? Better to cut the rot now and let them rise anew.
Moreover, Xie Qi wondered—did the emperor truly not know of the aristocracy’s schemes? Or was he biding his time, gathering evidence for a final reckoning? The sudden expansion of the imperial exams this year sent a chill down his spine.
Land surveys, expanded exams, stoking noble discontent, the looming threat of punishment… A flash of realization struck Xie Qi.
I think I understand the emperor’s plan!
If the Guo family had such dark secrets, what about the Xie family? The Feng family? Xie Qi pondered carefully. Even with strict family discipline, large clans inevitably had hidden corners where corruption festered. Rather than wait for the emperor’s axe to fall, it might be better to expose their own misdeeds, purge the rot, and start anew…
"Ninth Brother? Ninth Brother?"
Xie Qi snapped out of his thoughts to find Shen Miao waving a hand in front of his face.
"You were lost in thought. There’s still some duck broth left—how about slicing some pork tenderloin for hot pot noodles tonight?"
Xie Qi murmured absently, "Sure… sure…"
Shen Miao, pleased with his answer, headed to the backyard to prepare ingredients. Though she called it "hot pot noodles," what she really craved was "crossing-the-bridge" rice noodles—thinly sliced pork, scallions, bean sprouts, wood ear mushrooms, all cooked in piping-hot broth.
No suitable land for now? No matter. She’d keep looking or ask Yaoluoge for leads. There was always a way! After mulling it over, she’d made peace with it and was now fixated on the joy of slurping noodles.
But just as she turned eagerly, Xie Qi grabbed her arm.
Startled, she looked down at his grip, her heart pounding—until she heard his unusually solemn voice above her.
"Madam Shen, thank you."
Shen Miao blinked in confusion. "For what?"
Xie Qi had already let go and bowed deeply to her: "Madam Shen, I... I won't be having rice noodles today. There's an urgent matter I must attend to at Spring Manor, so I must take my leave..." Before Shen Miao could react, he had already called for Yan Shu, instructing him to quickly hire a horse.
Yan Shu trudged out with a sullen face, grumbling inwardly: If the young master doesn’t want to eat, he still does!
Before long, Yan Shu reluctantly returned with a coachman, leading a carriage, and cast a pitiful glance at Shen Miao.
Shen Miao shrugged helplessly, making Yan Shu look even more on the verge of tears.
Before boarding the carriage, Xie Qi turned back and said to Shen Miao, "Madam Shen, if you're thinking of buying land, don’t rush. Perhaps wait until next month..." He offered a somewhat bitter yet peculiar smile. "I suspect that in a few days, there will be plenty of good and cheap land up for sale."
Shen Miao was utterly baffled. What could that mean? How could land just appear out of thin air? And good, cheap land at that—even if the heavens rained down blessings, they wouldn’t fall so generously.
But Xie Qi offered no further explanation. With that, he hurriedly departed with Yan Shu, who kept looking back longingly.
The wind seemed to carry Yan Shu’s mournful cry: "Rice noodles..."
Poor Yan Shu. Shen Miao chuckled and shook her head. She’d have to make him another bowl when he returned. Just as she stepped inside, Fu Xing called out to her from the kitchen, asking what to do with the soup that was now ready. She quickly turned and headed in.
The kitchen was warm and cozy, filled with the rich aroma of milky-white duck broth. Fu Xing had added pork bones to the simmering pot, which was now bubbling vigorously.
She took a glance and nodded approvingly—the broth had reached perfect richness.
Tao had returned with the coarse rice noodles Shen Miao had specifically requested—freshly made, chewy fermented rice noodles. These noodles, made from fermented rice, strained, steamed, and pressed, were slender yet resilient, with a pronounced rice fragrance.
Meanwhile, Tang Er had thinly sliced pork tenderloin, liver, and fish fillets, paper-thin, while the vegetables were also prepped and ready.
Having help was truly a blessing. Shen Miao surveyed the orderly kitchen and felt utterly at ease.
She took a large soup bowl, first warming it with hot water until it was almost too hot to touch. Then she ladled in the thick, piping-hot broth. Following the order of meat first, then vegetables, she swiftly added the prepared ingredients, gently stirring with chopsticks until everything was cooked through. Finally, she added the rice noodles and seasonings.
To make perfect "Crossing the Bridge" rice noodles, three things were essential: a well-simmered broth, thinly sliced meat, and quick, deft handling to ensure tender meat and crisp vegetables, all harmonizing with the smooth, slippery noodles for a steaming, flavorful bowl.
On an autumn day, each person could enjoy their own little clay pot, savoring the warmth. A sprinkle of fried soybeans, a dash of spicy ginger and pepper oil, and with chopsticks in hand, one could blow on a steaming mouthful before slurping it down—spicy, fragrant, and utterly satisfying.
By the end, one might even break a sweat.
Shen Miao carried the steaming bowls to the table, where Sister Xiang was already bouncing impatiently in her seat, chopsticks clutched tightly before she’d even settled properly. Ji Brother followed close behind—ever since he’d started attending the academy, he’d become much more enthusiastic about meals at home.
Chen Chuan, too, stared unblinkingly at the clay pot.
Tang Er, who had never tasted such rice noodles before, swallowed hard at the rising aroma and eagerly picked up a chopstickful. With a loud slurp, his eyes lit up. The noodles were silky smooth, coated in the savory broth, leaving a lingering richness in his mouth.
Delicious!
Cheeks bulging, Tang Er mumbled through a mouthful, lips glistening with broth: "This is too good! I could eat three big bowls!"
He truly felt lucky to have been sold to Madam Shen. Not only did he get to eat meat often, but every meal was a delight.
Madam Shen made everything look effortless, as if it were simple. Watching her sometimes, Tang Er would think, It doesn’t seem that hard—I could do it too. But whenever he picked up a knife or lit the stove himself, the results were nothing like hers.
Every dish she made left him in awe, while his own creations tasted like dishwater.
For a while, the courtyard was filled with the sound of slurping noodles. Sister Xiang, struggling with an especially long strand, stood up in her determination to eat it in one go without biting it off.
Shen Miao worried she might choke, but the girl had impressive lung capacity—she managed it in one breath.
By the time Shen Miao and the others had finished eating, customers had begun trickling into the shop. Many asked if there was any roasted duck left, and Tao had to repeatedly explain it was sold out, instead promoting the grilled fish. She’d come up with her own pitch, smiling brightly: "Sir, in autumn, nothing nourishes and warms the belly like fish, aside from beef and lamb. This grilled fish, eaten hot, will not disappoint."
And indeed, she sold quite a few extra portions.
But today was unusual. Many of the customers were scholars or students who had come specifically for the roasted duck. Hearing it was sold out, they looked crestfallen, muttering something literary before trudging away dejectedly. Later, Tao slipped in mysteriously and told Shen Miao, "Madam, I heard a student wrote an Ode to Shen’s Roasted Duck. They say it’s brilliantly written and has spread widely among scholars. Many came today just to taste the duck described in the ode—something about 'indulging the palate to attest to its glory.'"
Tao gazed at Shen Miao admiringly. "You’re truly amazing, Madam, to come up with such a clever idea! Now people say that visiting the capital without tasting Shen’s roasted duck is a wasted trip. Our shop’s reputation has spread far and wide!"
Then she sighed dramatically, as if watching coins slip through her fingers. "But we only roast four or five batches a day, with just four or five ducks per batch—they sell out in no time. I must go ask Fu Xing if he’s mastered the rotating spit yet! Even one extra duck would help!"
Shen Miao stood dumbfounded, watching the steady stream of customers asking for roasted duck, even more confused than before.
She hadn’t commissioned any ode! And since when had her shop become "Shen’s Duck Shop"? She ran a proper noodle house!
The name was terrible—sounded downright scandalous, ripe for misunderstandings.
"The duck’s skin gleams gold and crimson, glistening with oil. When sliced, it sizzles..." In Funing Palace, under the glow of grand lanterns, Zhao Boyun was also reading the Ode to Roasted Duck, his dark, square face breaking into a smile. "Take a thin pancake, lay it on the palm, then add scallion shreds... Ha! This writer has skill—succinct yet vivid, as if one could see the duck being eaten right before their eyes."
He shook the paper in his hand and asked Liang Qian, who stood slightly bowed beside him, "Whose work is this?"
"I’ve heard it was written by Ning Yi, a top student at the Imperial Academy’s Class A." Liang Qian had already investigated before presenting the ode to His Majesty. Anticipating further questions, he added, "His ancestors were of the Ning clan in Weizhou. During the late emperor’s reign, his grandfather, Ning Chun, served as the Prefect of Lianzhou."
"A descendant of a century-old distinguished family, no wonder his writing is so florid and effortlessly composed. Though he wastes his talents on these trivial food odes, the influence of his scholarly lineage is undeniable." Zhao Boyun's smile remained unchanged, though his tone cooled slightly as he set the food ode aside on the desk. After skimming through a few more memorials, he suddenly looked up at the night outside and asked, "Where have Young General Xi and General Yue reached by now?"
"This servant estimates that, given their pace, they should have passed Zhengzhou by now. With a few more days of hard riding, they’ll arrive soon," Liang Qian replied with a respectful bow. "Shall this servant send someone to inquire?"
"No need. Don’t rush them—they’re already braving the cold on this journey. Pushing them harder would only add to their hardship. Their safety on the road is paramount." Zhao Boyun stood and stretched, sighing quietly to himself. "Though these tedious matters don’t concern the two generals, I must explain everything clearly to them, as it involves their kin. Only then will they not grow distant from me in the future."
Noticing Zhao Boyun’s somber mood, Liang Qian ventured, "There’s still one roast duck left. Should this servant go heat it up?"
Zhao Boyun, easily cheered, immediately turned around and nodded eagerly. "Go, quickly!"
He had been salivating over Ning Yi’s "Ode to Roast Duck" earlier, though he’d just eaten some that very day. Too embarrassed to admit his craving, he was relieved that Liang Qian, ever perceptive, had guessed without needing to be told.
Liang Qian smiled, bowed, and hurried off to warm the duck.
Meanwhile, the political intrigues and hidden undercurrents of the capital seemed unable to touch the quiet Shen household.
After a meal of noodles, the weather grew colder by the day. Old Mr. Liang even paid a personal visit to Shen Miao to finalize the banquet menu, explaining that the host was entertaining two distinguished guests from afar. Apart from the requested spicy soup and roast duck, one guest particularly loved tofu and sour-stuffed dumplings, while the other had no dietary restrictions but adored red-braised pork with sesame cakes—so these dishes were a must.
Shen Miao noted it all down. None of these were difficult to prepare, and she asked Old Mr. Liang how many kitchen staff the host had, wondering if she should bring her own helpers. The old man replied, "There are plenty of kitchen hands, but if you have trusted assistants, feel free to bring them along."
Shen Miao nodded. That settled it—she’d bring Tang Er and Fu Xing, with whom she now worked seamlessly.
Old Mr. Liang then went over all the required ingredients, seasonings, and spices with her, jotting down three pages of notes in elegant handwriting. They agreed on a pickup time for the eighth day of the month. Since it was an evening banquet, he said they’d fetch her after noon.
Shen Miao naturally deferred to the Liang family’s arrangements—she had assumed all along that the banquet was for the Liangs!
Two days later, a frost settled quietly over Bianjing. When Shen Miao woke, the air was icy. Bundled in a padded coat, she stepped outside to find the garden cabbages dusted with frost, and the wild grass and ivy along the walls withered and pale. Hunching her shoulders, she exhaled a misty breath and crouched to examine the frost-laden leaves. Suddenly, she clapped her hands—how could she have forgotten? It was high time to make spicy pickled cabbage and fermented bean paste!
Unlike in later times, winter offered few fresh vegetables, so preserving and pickling was essential.
And now, with the frost sweetening the cabbages, today was perfect for harvesting some to pickle!
While the Shen household busied itself with cabbages, the frost-covered post road outside Bianjing echoed with the thunderous gallop of horses. The rhythmic pounding shook the fine yellow dust and pebbles on the road as two armored cavalry units raced past like shooting stars, vanishing into the morning mist in the blink of an eye. All that remained were hoofprints and shattered frost in their wake.
