Shen Miao turned the embroidered pouch over in disbelief, even shaking it upside down—only a single silver coin fell out.
Seriously? In all the plays she'd seen, when an emperor bestowed rewards, it was always trays upon trays of gold and silver ingots, counted in the hundreds or thousands.
How come it didn’t work for her?
By the time the carriage rattled its way back to Shen’s Noodle Shop, Shen Miao had already come to terms with it: the wealthiest dynasty had somehow produced the stingiest emperor. Energy conservation at its finest. Besides, the amount matched what she’d originally agreed upon—the extra reward was just a bonus. Thinking of it that way, it didn’t seem so unfair.
It was late when she returned. Tao was sliding the door panels shut, yawning as she recounted the day’s sales and what ingredients needed restocking tomorrow. Soon after, everyone washed up and went straight to bed.
Even the ever-energetic Shen Miao felt exhausted. She slept soundly, dreamless, wrapped in deep darkness.
The next day, Shen Miao and Tao worked tirelessly to finish Ji Brother’s winter gear—a padded coat, undergarments, thick quilt—and packed them along with spicy pickled cabbage, instant noodles, roasted duck, and more into a cart. Tang Er pushed it all the way to deliver Ji Brother to school.
Tao resumed plucking duck feathers. A new date-red clay stove arrived, and Fu Xing carefully wiped off the kiln dust inside and out with a freshly bought cloth. After preheating it, he rolled up his sleeves, ready to bake two batches at once.
Sister Xiang, now sporting a brand-new rabbit-eared hat with cotton lining, a crimson floral-patterned padded jacket, and a pleated lantern-style skirt with delicate petal-like folds, was practically floating with joy. Even her shoes were new—thick-soled, cotton-lined, with two fluffy pom-poms on the toes that bounced with every step. She couldn’t resist showing off to Liu Douhua in the alley.
Sure enough, within moments, Liu Douhua’s envious wails echoed from next door. Sister Xiang giggled and scampered back, then changed into her old clothes.
Tao, sorting feathers, noticed and asked, “Why’d you take it off?”
Sister Xiang squirmed. “I want to save it for New Year’s.” She was afraid of dirtying or tearing it.
Tao laughed. “Don’t save it! You’re growing fast. By New Year’s, it’ll be too small. I’ll make you an even prettier lion-dance hat then.”
Shen Miao hadn’t realized how skilled Tao was with needlework until now. As she gathered discarded feather shafts, Tao reminisced about her days in the entertainment quarters of Daming Prefecture, sewing and altering costumes for performers day and night.
“I started doing needlework by lamplight when I was just a child. The madam’s abacus clicked loud and clear—she wouldn’t raise me for free.”
Shen Miao’s heart ached for her.
Thankfully, Tao had moved on. Her only wish now was to earn enough to buy her mother’s freedom and live comfortably.
Convinced, Sister Xiang happily changed back into her new outfit. This time, she sat primly on the wooden platform, helping Tao stuff cotton into garments, occasionally smoothing her skirt to keep it pristine.
Since their finances improved, Shen Miao had mostly bought clothes for Ji Brother and Sister Xiang from tailors, rarely sewing herself—let alone tackling intricate embroidery like this.
She’d overlooked how much Sister Xiang cared for beauty, how dearly she treasured this set of clothes.
Sister Xiang was still admiring herself when the dog, Zhui Feng, suddenly licked one of her shoe pom-poms. Furious, she dragged him to a post and vigorously brushed his shedding fur until he yelped and shook his head.
Chen Chuan’s new winter outfit, made by Tao, was a plain blue cotton robe with carp embroidered at the cuffs and collar. The hem was edged with colorful wave patterns, and his hat and shoes sported little fish fins. Whether it was his fair complexion or the blue fabric’s flattering effect, his large eyes seemed brighter, his lips redder, his usually expressionless face now oddly endearing.
Seeing him in it, Shen Miao couldn’t resist pinching his plump cheeks. Day by day, she hadn’t noticed, but the once-skeletal boy had filled out—no more wobbling like a twig, now sturdy with baby fat.
He’d even shot up in height, a far cry from the frail, half-dead child he’d been.
Aunt Gu happened to drop by to borrow the cat, Qilin, for pest control. Spotting Chen Chuan and Sister Xiang in their new clothes, she marveled at them, turning them around like mannequins.
“Look at you two! Like little New Year’s paintings!” she cooed, praising Shen Miao for raising such plump, rosy-cheeked children—even Xie Qi’s young attendant, who visited often, had gained weight under her care.
Come to think of it, Aunt Gu added, even Shen Miao’s dog and chickens were chubby.
Shen Miao smiled. It was true—she took pride in her thriving household.
Qilin, after hiding under the platform all night, had been lured out that morning with a bowl of homemade chicken cat food. Now purring in Shen Miao’s arms, it had forgotten its shyness. After a thorough grooming—wiping eye gunk, brushing fur—it melted into a cuddly loaf, refusing to leave her lap.
When Shen Miao stepped out to water the wildflowers by the gate, Qilin clambered onto her shoulders, its hefty rear nearly tilting her sideways.
Aunt Gu, passing by, immediately enlisted the cat for rodent patrol, insisting no mouse would survive the day.
Qilin hissed halfheartedly until bribed with chicken. Then, traitorously, it purred as Aunt Gu carried it off.
“That little turncoat,” Shen Miao muttered. Still, she warned, “Aunt Gu, this cat might be too fat to catch mice. If it fails, just buy traps.”
Aunt Gu scoffed. “Nonsense! Look at that majestic face, those long whiskers—this is a born mouser!”
Qilin, perhaps understanding, puffed up proudly, even lifting its chubby tail like a flag.
And so, with flattery and chicken, Qilin was deployed to the kitchen.
Shen Miao shook her head. That tail was practically a sea cucumber—how could anyone call it “just fluffy”? Earlier, when excited by chicken, Qilin had tried to dart out but got stuck because of its belly. Shen Miao had to yank it free like a stubborn radish.
Shen Miao felt even happier thinking about these little joys in life, momentarily forgetting the stingy official.
When there were no customers today, she would sneak back to the courtyard to laze around—though while lazing, she ended up washing all the summer clothes that needed to be changed for the season. This made Youyu nervously hover by the water vat, watching, until he finally couldn’t resist and grabbed a shoulder pole to fetch more water.
Shen Miao didn’t even have time to stop him.
Meanwhile, Sister Xiang, whose excitement over the fresh clothes hadn’t lasted half an hour, was already itching to play "Jumping Hundred Ropes"—a game similar to jump rope in later times, where bamboo poles were tied with ropes for group jumping. But Shen Miao had commandeered all the bamboo poles in the house as clotheslines, leaving none free.
So Sister Xiang tied the hemp rope to the two dogs instead and even invited Chen Chuan to join, but he shook his head and declined.
Chen Chuan had a strict daily routine of studying and practicing characters, rain or shine. Taking advantage of the lull in the shop, he leaned against a pillar and pulled out his well-worn copy of the Song Penal Code to recite.
Sister Xiang wrinkled her nose at Chen Chuan and played on her own.
The two dogs in the house knew better than to cross Sister Xiang. If they didn’t want to be caught for braiding or having rouge smeared on them, they had to obey and sit still.
Sister Xiang dashed in, hopping on one foot, then both, the long ears of her rabbit hat bobbing up and down with her movements. Soon, Liu Douhua noticed and joined in. The two girls laughed and chanted as they jumped: "The peace drum goes thump-thump, trip and the next one’s up..."
Shen Miao sat on the front porch steps, shelling chestnuts with a smile as she watched them play.
Earlier, the children had gone to the mountains to gather autumn harvest and brought back a pile of chestnuts. Today was the perfect day to make candied chestnuts.
How could autumn and winter pass without soft, fragrant candied chestnuts? With gloves on, she found the seams on the spiky shells, pried them open with scissors, washed them, then scored shallow crosses on the brown skins before roasting them in hot sand.
But shelling chestnuts wasn’t quick work, especially when customers kept coming in, forcing Shen Miao to step away to roll noodles.
By the time she finished shelling all the chestnuts, it was already afternoon.
Tang Er returned from the outer city. Knowing Shen Miao planned to prepare chestnuts today, he had even detoured to Scholar He’s house to fetch a bag of sand. But as soon as he pushed his cart through the back gate, he was greeted by a courtyard full of freshly washed clothes billowing in the autumn breeze. Three children darted between the hanging laundry, playing "Eagle Catches Chicks"—Chen Chuan led as the mother hen, with Sister Xiang clinging to him and Liu Douhua holding onto Sister Xiang, the three of them forming a chain.
As for the "eagle," it was Thunder, wagging his tail excitedly. Gale, finally freed from Sister Xiang’s rope-jumping game, bolted out the gate the moment he got the chance.
The courtyard was filled with the crisp, slightly bitter scent of soapberries and the sound of laughter rising and falling. Tang Er couldn’t help but smile. He hurriedly carried the sand into the kitchen, then eagerly joined the game, crouching at the end to play the "giant chicken" and laughing along with the children.
Even the customers eating noodles in the front heard the commotion and remarked to Shen Miao, "Your children are so lively, Madam Shen."
Indeed—even the twenty-year-old was acting like a kid again. Shen Miao wiped her hands on her apron with a chuckle. "They’re quite rowdy, but it’s good for children to be energetic."
"True, that’s how they grow up strong."
Just then, a few scholars discussing yesterday’s exam questions walked in. One of them suddenly exclaimed, "Huh?" as he noticed two new dishes freshly added to the menu on the wall—"Spicy Cabbage Stir-Fried Noodles" and "Spicy Cabbage and Tofu Stew." Originally here for roasted duck, they immediately sat down and ordered the new dishes instead.
The two scholars, Student Sheng and Gao He, were from the Imperial Academy and frequented Shen’s shop for good food, well aware of Shen Miao’s culinary skills.
Gao He rubbed his hands together eagerly. He’d had the roasted duck several times before, but this spicy cabbage stir-fried noodle was new!
Most pickled cabbage in Bianjing was sour—he’d never tasted a spicy version before.
As they waited, the two chatted.
Shen Miao turned to head into the kitchen, catching snippets of their conversation about the exams. On the first day, several candidates had fainted in their exam booths and were carried out. They all agreed this year’s questions were unusually difficult, leaving them so stumped they grew dizzy with anxiety.
Some, having handed in blank papers on the first day, gave up entirely and slunk away, knowing they stood no chance for the remaining days.
"I heard the questions were set by Dr. Yao. Notice how he disappeared last month? Probably locked away to draft the exam."
"Ah, Dr. Yao—that explains it. Last year, half our class at the Academy failed his annual test, branded with comments like ‘nonsensical’ or ‘completely off-topic.’ Most got the lowest grade, and I nearly got a thrashing from my father." Gao He sighed.
"This year’s candidates are truly unlucky to run into the dreaded Dr. Yao. Even though I’ve already passed the Academy exams, just hearing his name makes me shiver."
So the stern, square-faced scholar who often came for noodles was every Imperial Academy student’s nightmare?
The words made Shen Miao pause, reminding her of Ninth Brother. She couldn’t help but worry—was he doing alright in his exams?
With this concern lingering, Shen Miao chopped spicy cabbage, crushed garlic, sliced scallions, and cut pork belly into thin strips in the kitchen. Meanwhile, she boiled water in another pot, adding two portions of hand-pulled noodles and cooking them until 70-80% done before draining and rinsing them in cold water.
In a fresh wok, she melted a spoonful of lard, stir-fried the pork belly until golden and crispy, then added the chopped spicy cabbage. Once the cabbage released its fragrant, spicy oil, she tossed in the noodles, stir-frying vigorously until each strand was coated in the rich sauce. Finally, she added scallions, a pinch of salt, and plated the dish.
The stir-fried noodles with spicy cabbage were one of Shen Miao’s favorites. The cold rinse made the noodles delightfully chewy, while the cabbage’s tangy crunch and the smoky wok heat created a hearty, warming dish—perfect for cold days, leaving a cozy, fiery sensation with every bite.
Paired with spicy cabbage and tofu stew, it was even better!
The stew was quicker to make. Shen Miao prepped the ingredients alongside the noodles, starting both dishes at once.
She cut pork belly into chunks, blanched them in cold water, then skimmed off the foam. After mincing ginger and garlic, slicing scallions, and chopping the spicy cabbage (reserving its brine separately), she took half a block of firm tofu and one piece of soft tofu—cubing the former and crumbling the latter by hand.
The soft tofu, when crushed, melted unevenly into the rich broth, creating varying textures that made the stew extra satisfying.
Next, oil was poured into the wok. Once hot, scallions, ginger, and garlic were added to release their fragrance. The streaky pork was stir-fried first, followed by sections of spicy pickled cabbage and the juices squeezed from it, all cooked together with the pork until aromatic.
A ladle of the starchy water from boiling the noodles was added, brought to a vigorous boil, then the heat was adjusted—the bellows were tempered, and firewood was reduced—letting it simmer gently for over a quarter of an hour before adding cubes of aged tofu. Once the tofu was in, seasonings like coarse salt, sugar, and fermented soybean paste were added, ensuring the tofu absorbed all the flavors.
After another half-quarter of simmering, crumbled soft tofu was stirred in. When the broth thickened to the right consistency, it was finished with a sprinkle of scallion slivers and served.
Shen Miao carried out the noodles and soup, smiling as she invited the two scholars to enjoy their meal.
Gao He had already raised his chopsticks at the mere scent. When Shen Miao set the bowl down, his eyes followed her every move, barely blinking as she placed it before him.
The two dug in almost immediately, slurping up noodles and sipping broth between muffled exclamations of "Mmm!" and "Ah!"
Shen Miao returned to the kitchen with the tray, pausing on her way to glance out the window. The old osmanthus tree in the yard, once a tangle of unruly branches, had been pruned by Ji Brother into a neat, rounded canopy—now resembling a giant green apple lollipop.
Yan Shu hadn’t come by today either. She hoped Ji Brother was managing well on his own.
Meanwhile, Xie Qi, whom Shen Miao had just been thinking of, was tilting his head for the fifth time to inspect the roof of his examination booth—a makeshift shelter of bamboo poles and green canvas. Last year, one of those poles had snapped.
Luckily, he’d recognized the ominous creaking in time. His body moved faster than his mind, and he’d vaulted over the desk just as the structure collapsed behind him in a heap.
He’d narrowly escaped being buried alive.
Now, on the second day of the imperial exams, the booth still stood firm.
Satisfied, he dipped his brush and resumed writing. Half a page later, he paused again, this time studying his purple bamboo brush.
At least this hadn’t broken either.
Outside his booth, a group of soldiers trudged down the narrow aisle, carrying braziers and hot coals. Xie Qi silently pulled his exam papers away from the edge, watching as they distributed the warming pans to each candidate. When they reached his booth, they deftly slid one inside with tongs, placing it securely at his feet.
Only then did he exhale in relief.
Grateful, he returned to his work. After another hour or so, he finished drafting his responses and set the papers aside, planning to eat lunch before transcribing them neatly.
Ever since Shen Miao had invented instant noodle soup, exam candidates no longer brought dry flatbreads. The air was thick with the smell of various instant soups, carried by the wind to every corner of the examination grounds. The sound of slurping echoed incessantly.
Xie Qi prepared his own bowl—unlike the others, his noodles were handmade by Shen Miao, blended with yam flour and deep-fried for extra chewiness.
This special recipe was his alone. The noodles carried a subtle yam fragrance, were thicker and more resilient, staying firm even after soaking. They filled him up better too.
Shen Miao had even tucked in some freshly pickled spicy cabbage and slices of pork, enriching the broth with a deeper, heartier flavor.
A steaming bowl like this warmed him from the inside out, shielding him from the icy drafts seeping through the canvas walls.
Cradling the clay bowl, he gazed up at the hazy sun outside, the heat from the soup radiating through his palms.
He wondered how things were at home. Had his father resigned from his post yet? Had the family’s lands and estates been sorted out? His thoughts drifted to Yan Shu—was he still staying with Shen Miao, or had he returned home to help?
By the time he left the exam grounds, everything might look entirely different.
Xie Qi lost himself in thought.
The autumn wind rustled, scattering a few withered leaves onto the booth’s roof, casting delicate, fragmented shadows.
One such shadow flickered across his eyelids. He looked up, finding an odd beauty in the way the light filtered through the gaps.
For the first time, he felt at ease during these three grueling days.
The fractured leaf shadows inexplicably reminded him of the old osmanthus tree in Shen Miao’s yard—and the osmanthus cakes made from its blossoms. Staring at the leaves, he could almost smell the sweet floral aroma, a quiet serenity settling over him.
He lit an oil lamp, spread out fresh paper, and began transcribing his draft. But the first character he wrote was "Shen." Chuckling at his own distraction, he reached for a knife to scrape off the mistake.
The scrap of paper vanished into the brazier’s flames. He started again, this time correctly, though his mind still wandered:
Shen Miao must be busy stocking up for winter and managing her shop. He hoped she wasn’t overworking herself.
She’d mentioned catering a banquet for a Liang family on Imperial Street. He wondered how that was going—since when was there a prominent Liang family there? Perhaps newly wealthy merchants.
She’d also promised to make clay pot rice noodles for him and Yan Shu once the exams were over.
Shen Miao… What was she doing right now?
At that very moment, Shen Miao was roasting chestnuts.
Mid-stir, her nose suddenly tickled. She turned away just in time to sneeze.
"Who’s cursing me?"
She wiped her nose with a handkerchief, grumbled under her breath, and went back to stirring the sand-coated chestnuts in the wok.
Roasting chestnuts required patience. The sand had to be heated slowly over low fire before adding the nuts. After that, it was just relentless stirring.
The trick lay in controlling the heat—too high, and the chestnuts burned; too low, and her arm would fall off before they cooked. A steady medium-low flame ensured even roasting.
When the slits on the chestnuts split wide, revealing amber-hued flesh, and the sweet, nutty aroma seeped from the sand, they were done. She sifted out the hot chestnuts, shook off the grit, and piled them into bamboo baskets, ready to be cracked open and eaten.
The chestnuts Sister Xiang and the others had gathered were already ripe when they fell from the trees, so they didn’t need extra sugar. A simple roast filled the whole yard with their warm, earthy sweetness.
Dousing them in syrup made them cloyingly sweet and messy to peel, leaving sticky residue on fingers.
Done right, plain roasted chestnuts were sweet enough on their own—clean, easy to peel, and satisfying to crack open with a squeeze. The brittle shells split along the cuts, yielding plump, intact kernels.
Pop one into your mouth, and it melted into a creamy, nutty richness, the natural sugars coating your tongue.
This wasn’t the saccharine punch of candy, but the wholesome sweetness of chestnut flesh itself—a high-energy, high-sugar treat that delighted anyone who tasted it.
Shen Miao handed out little pouches to everyone in the yard, adults and children alike, as snacks.
Though she warned them not to overindulge—too many chestnuts could bloat the stomach. A handful here and there was just right for satisfying cravings.
The aroma of roasted chestnuts had already wafted through the serving window above the counter, filling the front of the shop. The two students, who had been devouring their stir-fried noodles with their heads down, lifted their noses and glanced around, drawn by the enticing scent. Shen Miao promptly scooped a generous handful and handed it to them to share.
The wild chestnuts hadn’t cost a penny, and the sand used for roasting them had been scavenged for free. Shen Miao also distributed the freshly roasted chestnuts to Aunt Gu, Aunt Li, and others, sharing them throughout the entire alley.
When she returned, her arms were laden with gifts from the neighbors: two bunches of scallions from Aunt Gu’s garden, salted duck eggs from Aunt Li, pickled cabbage hearts made by Granny Zeng, and even a rare handful of wildflowers for the season, given by little Bao from the Gu family. As Shen Miao walked, she couldn’t help but smile.
She placed the flowers in water and set them on the windowsill. The salted duck eggs were steamed, to be enjoyed later with the crisp-sweet pickled cabbage hearts, paired with millet porridge and shredded chicken.
“Madam Shen, time to settle the bill!” a voice called from the shop.
Shen Miao responded with a cheerful “Coming!” and hurried out.
The two students had finished their meal and were now peeling chestnuts. When Shen Miao came in to clear the dishes, they couldn’t stop praising the food.
“Madam Shen, do you sell your pickled spicy cabbage? It’s absolutely delicious—crisp, spicy with a hint of sweetness, indescribably good! It’s the perfect match for these stir-fried noodles, a match made in heaven! I couldn’t stop eating,” Gao He said, still savoring the flavors.
When the noodles had first been served, they shimmered like golden threads, glistening with oil, flecked with chopped spicy cabbage and scallions—just the sight alone was enough to whet the appetite.
“In my opinion, that spicy cabbage pairs even better with tofu soup. The broth is savory, spicy, and refreshing, and the tender tofu melts like custard, soaking up that rich, spicy broth—it dissolves the moment it touches your tongue.”
“And these roasted chestnuts! They’re so fragrant. The ones sold outside, roasted over open flames, don’t even come close. No sugar added, yet they’re bursting with flavor!”
“I can’t sell the spicy cabbage—I only made one jar, and the shop would run short if I did. But you’re welcome to come back for more,” Shen Miao replied with a laugh. “As for the chestnuts, my younger siblings gathered these wild ones from the mountains. They’ve been stored in the ground for a while, and after the recent frost, the natural sugars developed—that’s why they taste so good.”
The two students left satisfied, pockets stuffed with still-warm chestnuts, walking out together in high spirits.
While Shen Miao and Tao were clearing the dishes, the students suddenly rushed back in, asking if she could reserve two tables for them ten days later at dusk, pushed together to seat six or seven people.
They were still young lads, their eyes bright with excitement as they explained, “A classmate of ours is leaving to study abroad, and we want to throw him a farewell feast. But this time, we’ve all agreed—no more wasting money at fancy taverns or renowned restaurants. We’d much rather come here for your affordable, delicious food! A few platters of grilled fish, a couple of roast ducks, some ale by the stove—it’ll be far more enjoyable.”
“Of course! Consider it done. I’ll note it down and save the tables for you—two by the window,” Shen Miao agreed readily, even asking for the exact number of guests to ensure enough space.
They paid a ten-coin deposit before finally leaving, rubbing their full bellies and sighing, “So full, so full!”
Later, several more orders of spicy cabbage stir-fried noodles were sold, and a group of long-absent garrison soldiers hurried in for a quick meal of instant noodle soup. One familiar soldier, after wolfing down his noodles, quietly slipped her a warning when settling the bill: “Madam Shen, close up early these next few days. Things might get chaotic outside for a while.”
Shen Miao was startled, but the soldier only gave a solemn shake of his head before striding away.
Still, she took the warning to heart. That very night, she bolted her doors early—and sure enough, deep into the night, the sounds of galloping horses, creaking carts, and occasional cries and shouts echoed beyond the walls. The unrest lasted nearly a week before finally quieting down.
The tense nights left Shen Miao on edge. By day, she overheard hushed conversations among customers—rumors of raids, with several prominent wealthy families in the capital being targeted.
But no one dared speak too openly. After a few murmured words over drinks, they’d clamp their mouths shut as if fearing eavesdroppers.
Even Xie Qi seemed to vanish after leaving the examination hall. Days passed without a word from him, and an inexplicable unease settled in Shen Miao’s heart.
Had something happened to the Xie family? Once, while visiting a grain merchant, she detoured to Bell-and-Drum West Street to peer from a distance. Though a few garrison soldiers patrolled the area, the estate appeared undisturbed—even the side gates, usually shut, occasionally opened for waste carts or water deliveries, with servants visible inside. It didn’t look like a raided household.
Had Xie Qi landed in trouble again? Shen Miao’s worry gnawed at her like ants crawling under her skin. But with the Xie family’s gates mostly closed and soldiers shooing away loiterers, she couldn’t even get close enough to inquire.
It wasn’t until Liang Qian arrived in plain clothes, smiling as he bought roast duck, that she finally learned what had happened.
“What? Ten acres of suburban land—including that large pond—gifted to me?”
Liang Qian quickly corrected her, “Not gifted. His Majesty said these are confiscated lands, all prime quality. Given his admiration for your roast duck skills, he’s willing to sell them to you at a discounted rate for raising white ducks.”
After a pause, he emphasized again, “At a discounted rate.”
“……”
