On the day of the La Festival, firecrackers crackled through the streets, and the alleys were packed with people eagerly awaiting the grand procession of boats.
There was barely any standing room outside, and even Shen Miao's courtyard gate was blocked. She had initially planned to follow Aunt Li's family's example and watch from atop her own courtyard wall—clear view without the jostling. But when she looked up, she was met with a wall lined with broken porcelain shards—an unexpected downside of having overly effective anti-theft measures.
In the end, Tang Er had to carry Sister Xiang on his back, while Fu Xing hoisted Chen Chuan onto his shoulders, and they squeezed into the swarming crowd just as the distant sound of vigorous chants grew louder. The firecrackers roared even more fiercely as over twenty bare-chested men, their faces streaked with chicken blood, emerged carrying the dazzling "Plague-Sending Boat." The boat was adorned with fluttering colored banners, led by the clanging of gongs and cymbals, and trailed by the thunderous beat of drums. The onlookers couldn't help but join in the cheering.
Some even darted into neighboring alleys to scout the competition, weaving excitedly through the crowd. "Our alley's boat is the biggest—we've won, we've won!"
It wasn't until the boat passed right in front of her that Shen Miao realized the man at the forefront, bare-chested in the freezing winter, was none other than Gu Tusu. His face was painted with bold crimson streaks, his muscles taut, and his neck, collarbone, and arms inked with talismanic symbols. A colorful sash wrapped around his waist completed the look—like a fierce black tiger.
A young woman with a round face and a smattering of freckles happened to be standing right beside Shen Miao. At the sight of Gu Tusu, her eyes lit up, and she couldn't contain herself—jumping and squealing so loudly that Gu Tusu glanced their way. Instantly embarrassed, she clapped a hand over her mouth and ducked down.
Shen Miao quickly pulled her back up—with such a dense crowd, it was easy to get trampled. She recognized her as the apprentice of Wen Shiqiniang, the veterinarian from Horse Market Street, though she couldn’t recall her name. She had seen her before when taking Lei Ting for his "dirt-eating ailment." Rumor had it her father was a drunkard who often sent her to the Gu family to buy liquor on credit—only they were willing to extend him a tab, now marked by a board full of tallies.
The girl was quite capable. Once, when Lei Ting was vomiting, she had spotted fur in the mess and prescribed a remedy: a mix of plantago seeds and wheat germ blended with rapeseed oil. Three doses later, he was cured.
The glittering boat was soon carried out of the alley, and the crowd surged forward, escorting the plague-sending boats of varying sizes from different wards toward the outskirts of the city. Monks handed out incense sticks along the way, and young and old alike clutched them as they followed the procession to the frozen moat outside the city. There, the boats were set afloat, masked shamans danced and chanted around them, incense was burned in offering, and finally, the boats were set ablaze—reduced to ashes to banish the plague spirits.
Sister Xiang loved the spectacle, clapping and jumping along with the shamanic dances. Chen Chuan, however, stared solemnly at the roaring flames, his expression grave. "Such a waste—dozens of strings of cash spent on these boats, only to burn them after one viewing."
Back home, after shooing the mischievous children and their two dogs and one cat off to Liu Douhua's place, the pre-New Year cleaning began in earnest. Every curtain, quilt, mat, table, chair, door, window, floor tile, and beam was scrubbed and dusted—even the hexagonal glass lanterns hanging in the shop were taken down and polished corner by corner until they gleamed.
Shen Miao resolved to drown her restless heart in ceaseless labor.
Ever since that day when the last veil between them had been lifted, Xie Qi—or "Ninth Brother," as she called him—had carried himself like a man granted imperial authority. Though winter still gripped the land, he radiated springtime cheer, lingering around Shen Miao's home with newfound confidence. Not that anyone noticed—he had always been fond of sticking close to her. But Shen Miao, for the first time, felt an uncharacteristic shyness. Outwardly composed, she often found herself wanting to slip away.
But today, he was returning to Chenzhou. Shen Miao planted her broom firmly on the ground, her gaze darting toward the back gate for the fourth time. Had he already left? She hadn’t even spotted him at the La Festival festivities.
Even Yan Shu, always eager for a free meal, hadn’t shown up.
As she swept the fallen leaves in the yard, she inched closer and closer to the gate. Tang Er, being tall, had taken on all the high-up tasks—dusting the beams, plucking weeds from the roof tiles, wiping the lintels. With a feather duster in hand and a cloth covering half his face, he stood on a tall bamboo stool, vigorously cleaning the eaves.
"Don’t come near, Mistress—it’s too dusty," Tang Er warned.
So she could only steal a fleeting glance at the quiet alley beyond—empty.
After a full sweep of the courtyard, she gathered the leaves into a cloth sack to compost for the vegetable patches. Bending over to pile them in the woodshed, she turned around—
And there, as if conjured by magic, stood a donkey in the yard, with Xie Qi astride it.
Shen Miao startled, then burst out laughing.
She had only ever seen him on horseback or in carriages—never on a donkey. His height made it absurd; his feet nearly dragged on the ground.
But she quickly composed herself. "Ninth Brother, are you leaving now?"
"Yes, the Minor New Year approaches—I must set off," Xie Qi replied softly, fingers absently tugging at the donkey’s fur.
A faint melancholy tugged at her, but she smiled. "Best to leave early—don’t miss New Year’s Eve. Oh, I’ve packed some provisions for you and Yan Shu for the journey."
Without waiting for his reply, she hurried into the kitchen.
Xie Qi glanced at Tao, who leaned against the doorway with a knowing smirk, his ears tingeing pink. But now that he considered himself a man with standing, he refused to be flustered. Calmly, he averted his gaze—though his fingers kept plucking at the donkey’s coat.
The donkey, displeased, let out an indignant "hee-haw" and began pawing the ground.
Donkeys were notoriously short-tempered, and though Xie Qi’s was relatively mild, it wasn’t to be trifled with. Before it could buck him off, he hastily released its fur, patting its head in apology. From a small pouch tied to the saddle, he fished out a carrot and offered it. The donkey crunched loudly, visibly pacified.
Xie Qi exhaled in relief.
He needed this donkey to carry them back to Chenzhou—best not to provoke it.
As he bent to murmur advice about emotional stability to the donkey, Shen Miao reappeared, lugging an enormous cloth bundle. Stunned, he slid off the donkey and crouched to inspect it.
She had packed all the food she’d prepared over the past few days. "Here’s the instant yam noodles you like—twenty portions, with sauce in the jar. These are jars of Laba garlic, great with the noodles. Dried meat for snacking, dried apples, honey-roasted walnuts, and these are meat floss buns—if you tire of noodles, you can have these instead..."
Even Tao couldn’t bear to watch, sidling over for a peek before remarking dryly, "Mistress, it’s a two-day trip from Bianjing to Chenzhou, not twenty."
"Spare no expense for the journey!" Shen Miao tied the bundle tightly onto the donkey's back with hemp rope.
Xie Qi finally laughed as well. He didn’t complain that it was too heavy or too much to carry, nor did he dampen the mood by saying they couldn’t possibly eat all of it. Instead, he silently stepped forward to help steady the bundle and pull the rope. When he glanced sideways at Shen Miao, the warmth in his eyes seemed to overflow: "Was it hard work?"
Shen Miao didn’t look at him or answer, focusing instead on securing the knot. She tugged at the rope to ensure it was tight before murmuring, "Take your time on the road. If it snows, stay at an inn—don’t push through the storm."
"Alright," Xie Qi replied, his gaze still fixed on her, his eyes brighter than stars.
Tao suddenly felt like an oversized lantern—she shouldn’t be here; she should be under the donkey cart. She hurriedly turned and retreated into the kitchen, shoving Fu Xing back inside as he tried to step out.
Fu Xing protested, "What’s the matter? I need to use the outhouse."
Tao considerately closed the kitchen door behind her. "Hold it in."
"People have three urgent needs—how can I hold it?"
"Oh, for heaven’s sake! Then go out through the front shop and borrow Aunt Li’s outhouse."
Poor Fu Xing, legs clamped together and utterly bewildered—why borrow an outhouse when they had their own? But Tao stood guard at the door, refusing to let him pass.
In the end, he gave in, darting out of the shop and rushing to the Li family’s porcelain repair shop across the street to borrow their facilities, earning a disdainful glance from Aunt Li, who sat by the entrance.
Fu Xing resentfully left his "fertilizer" at the Li household.
Meanwhile, Tao had already pressed herself against the kitchen window, squinting one eye to peer through the lattice cracks at Shen Miao and Ninth Brother Xie in the courtyard, her hands clasped together even more nervously than the two involved.
Today, there was no snow—the sky was clear. The frost-kissed bluestone paving in the courtyard shimmered under the diffuse sunlight, casting a soft glow.
Shen Miao and Ninth Brother Xie happened to be standing beneath the gnarled branches of the old osmanthus tree.
Through the gaps in the branches, fragments of cold, dappled light fell upon them. Tao widened her eyes, not daring to blink. In her view, this small world framed by the window lattice contained only Shen Miao and Ninth Brother Xie.
Even the donkey looked adorable in the winter sun.
Shen Miao tilted her face up slightly, saying something to Ninth Brother Xie. Tao pressed her ear against the window in desperation, catching snippets like, "Consider this an early New Year’s celebration for Ninth Brother..."
Then, faintly, she heard Ninth Brother Xie reply in a tender voice, "…I also have a New Year’s gift for Shen Miao."
He reached into his robe and first pulled out a string of coins threaded with colorful cord: "Since I won’t be here to celebrate the New Year with you, I’ve prepared this suinianqian in advance. May it bring you good fortune and joy."
Then, while Shen Miao was distracted by the coins, a smooth jade hairpin slid from his sleeve.
The pin was carved with flowing cloud patterns, the jade flawless and translucent. At the tip of the cloud motif, a bright caramel hue—like sunlight breaking through—added a rare and exquisite touch.
Not giving her a chance to refuse, he raised his hand and secured the pin into Shen Miao’s hair: "The days waiting for the exam results were dull, and since scholars aren’t required at the academy before the announcement, I carved this. It’s not as fine as a master jade carver’s work, but I hope you won’t disdain it."
As Shen Miao looked up in surprise, he took two steps back, took hold of the donkey’s lead, and smiled, his eyes crinkling:
"Ah Miao, Happy New Year."
When Fu Xing returned from the shop, he found Tao crouched beneath the window, clutching her nose and brimming with tears of excitement. Puzzled, he asked, "What’s wrong with you? Leg cramp?"
Tao sniffled, dabbing her eyes with a handkerchief. "You wouldn’t understand."
To her, Shen Miao and Ninth Brother Xie were like the scholars and beauties from the romance novels she adored—the kind that made her roll around on her bed in exhilaration when they finally got together.
Today, she had witnessed the real thing. How could she not weep for joy?
Unaware that she’d been observed, Shen Miao escorted Ninth Brother Xie out of the alley. Zhou Da had already hired two extra carts, waiting by the roadside. Yan Shu and Qiu Hao were loading luggage onto one, ensuring that Ninth Brother Xie could ride comfortably while the other carried supplies.
After securing their donkey to one of the carts, Shen Miao exchanged a few more words with Xie Qi before waving him off.
Once the donkey cart had disappeared into the distance, Shen Miao raised a hand to touch the hairpin, smiling faintly. In the end, she didn’t take it out.
Back home, she spread the suinianqian across her palm, running her fingers over it for a long while.
The suinianqian of the Song Dynasty was the precursor to modern red envelopes, but unlike today, these coins were given only to young children. According to Song-era folklore, the sui was a mischievous spirit that liked to pat children’s heads on New Year’s Eve, causing them to fall ill with fever. The suinianqian, imbued with yang energy, could ward off the sui and protect the child from harm.
Sitting on the edge of her bed, Shen Miao held the coins for a long time before noticing the small red cloth strip tied to them, inscribed with four tiny characters: Peace without worry.
Only then did she grasp Ninth Brother Xie’s unspoken message: When I cannot be by your side, I pray you take care and stay safe in all things.
A soft smile touched her lips as she sighed gently, then carefully tucked the clumsily braided coin string beneath her pillow.
After Ninth Brother Xie left, the Shen household grew much quieter. The old osmanthus tree no longer framed his figure—no more quiet afternoons spent stroking cats, sipping tea, or "waiting for exam results." (Due to the provincial exams, scholars were allowed to wait at home for the announcements, and Ninth Brother Xie had taken full advantage, visiting daily under the pretense of "awaiting the results.")
But this year, repeated blizzards had delayed the release. The Kaifeng government was preoccupied with disaster relief, and the emperor had repeatedly ordered granaries opened to aid the afflicted. The results likely wouldn’t be posted until after the New Year recess.
Without Ninth Brother Xie, Yan Shu and Sister Xiang’s competitive devouring of oversized roasted buns also vanished. Sometimes, when Shen Miao glanced out from the kitchen, she couldn’t help but feel the absence.
At least Ji Brother would be home soon! The Piyong Academy was the last in Bianjing to dismiss for the holidays—even after Little New Year, the younger students and those not taking the exams were only just being released.
With everyone busy preparing for the New Year, the shop saw little business. Shen Miao recalled that their last customers had visited just before Ninth Brother Xie’s departure—on the very day their feelings had become clear.
Looking back, so much had happened that day.
The visitors were all familiar faces—Liang Qian, the palace eunuch, and the nearly unrecognizable Lady Cui (now to be addressed as Madam Tang).
Liang Qian arrived first, once again in plain clothes. After using his membership card to buy two roasted ducks, he brought Shen Miao good news: The emperor had taken a liking to her instant noodles and wanted to purchase the recipe. The court planned to establish noodle workshops in each of the Sixteen Prefectures of Yan and Yun to improve military rations.
The bad news? His Majesty had the audacity to ask for a discount.
"Truly, this is just like you," Shen Miao thought to herself, though her expression remained perfectly composed. She furrowed her brows, feigning deep distress as she spoke: "Esteemed Eunuch Liang, I must confess—when I first sold the recipe for instant noodles, I had no idea it would become so significant. At the time, I signed an exclusive contract with Madam Tang, and she paid a hefty sum to monopolize the recipe. If I were to break the agreement now, I’d owe her thirty thousand strings of cash. As a humble commoner, I simply cannot afford such a penalty. I beg for His Majesty’s understanding."
From the very beginning, Shen Miao and the eldest daughter of the Xie family had agreed to keep the noodle workshop out of the public eye. This explanation had been prepared in advance for situations like this. No matter who later sought to "join" or open "branch workshops," all negotiations would be handled by the merchant house in Youzhou.
Moreover, the Youzhou workshop would never outright sell the recipe. Instead, they would take equity stakes in other workshops, establishing a network where the Youzhou workshop served as the headquarters, extending its influence through branches.
Eunuch Liang hadn’t expected Shen Miao to be so "short-sighted" as to hand over the recipe so easily. But recalling her financial struggles when she first arrived in Bianjing and hearing her wry explanation—that she had desperately needed funds to expand her shop and saw the instant noodles as her only opportunity—he eventually believed her.
"Eunuch Liang, having lived in Bianjing for so long, you know how expensive land is here. If Madam Tang hadn’t coincidentally offered to buy the recipe, I might have had to sell noodles and roast duck until I was eighty just to save enough for a shop," Shen Miao said with earnest sincerity. "How could I have ever imagined I’d one day catch His Majesty’s eye?"
"In that case, His Majesty will have to negotiate directly with Madam Tang for this business. Truly, fate works in mysterious ways," Liang Qian sighed before rising to take his leave and report back to the palace.
Shen Miao bowed deeply, only straightening after Liang Qian’s carriage had departed.
She rubbed her hands together in anticipation.
Though she had never met the emperor in person, Shen Miao had formed a rough impression of his character through firsthand experience and hearsay.
In her mind, the unseen, dark-skinned, portly emperor had already been labeled with traits like "stingy," "disdainful of aristocratic families," "sympathetic to commoners," and "attentive to the people’s hardships."
He would patiently help villagers search for lost pigs; when the Imperial Street became so congested that even he couldn’t pass, instead of banning street vendors, he established the Street Administration Bureau to regulate the market; he never demanded free roast ducks, though he also never left tips; and even when seeking to improve meals for border troops, he honestly approached Shen Miao to buy the recipe—though his frugal nature made him haggle for a discount.
From this, she concluded he was a good emperor who did not exploit his people.
With this in mind, the joint venture between the Youzhou noodle workshop and the imperial court was almost guaranteed—an eighty percent certainty. This was ideal; having the emperor as a backer was worth even a slimmer profit margin. Given his temperament, the workshop might even benefit from state-subsidized shipping via the Grand Canal in the future. Now, it was just a matter of how much profit His Majesty was willing to share with "Madam Tang" in exchange for the recipe.
What Shen Miao didn’t expect was that shortly after Eunuch Liang left, Lady Cui, who was far away in Youzhou, also arrived.
At the time, Shen Miao was in the kitchen making lard rice.
Her plans for chicken hotpot had fallen through that day, and with no time to prepare anything elaborate, she looked at the steaming white rice in the wooden bucket and remembered the lard rice her grandmother used to make for her and her cousins.
In her past life, her grandfather had been the family cook—her grandmother’s culinary skills were generally lacking, except for this one dish. A simple bowl of lard rice, fragrant enough to make any child tear up, required no skill yet was so delicious they’d lick the bowl clean.
Whenever her grandfather was away, her grandmother would whip up this dish for the ravenous grandchildren. It was quick and easy: hot rice, a spoonful of lard, a sprinkle of crispy lard cracklings, and a dash of soy sauce. The greasy, savory magic would instantly transform rowdy little monkeys into well-behaved children, each devouring multiple bowls with teary eyes.
Remembering the chaos and rich, oily flavors of her childhood, Shen Miao couldn’t help but smile.
It had been a long time since she’d had it.
She took a slab of premium pork fat—the kind so white and thick it resembled snow piled on roof tiles after a heavy winter night—and cut it into uniform cubes for even rendering.
As the fat hit the pan, it sizzled and popped, the edges curling into golden crispness. She turned the heat low, patiently stirring as the lard slowly rendered, the cracklings shrinking into crunchy, golden nuggets swimming in liquid gold.
The kitchen filled with the rich aroma of lard.
She scooped steaming rice into bowls, made a well in the center, and poured in the hot lard, followed by soy sauce, a pinch of salt, sugar, cracklings, and scallions.
This was the basic version. Some households added shepherd’s purse for a herbal twist, while others upgraded it with a runny fried egg, ham, and lettuce for a deluxe edition.
But Shen Miao preferred the old-school simplicity—just lard, soy sauce, and cracklings mixed into glossy rice, each bite crispy, greasy, and deeply satisfying.
Lard rice was the only greasy indulgence she could tolerate.
The scent soon permeated not just her home but the entire alley and even her shop.
Sister Xiang, Chen Chuan, and the other children, still flushed from ice-skating, followed their noses inside. Liu Douhua and Li Gou'er abandoned their sleds, one bringing tofu and the other sugar as "payment," begging to stay for dinner.
Yan Shu, sniffing the air, dragged Xie Qi—whose face was still flushed from the cold—inside as well.
Shen Miao served them their first-ever bowls of lard rice.
The grains, glistening with oil and soy sauce, turned a rich brown when stirred. The kids picked out cracklings to nibble separately, pairing each crispy bite with a mouthful of rice, their faces lighting up with bliss.
For Xie Qi’s bowl, Shen Miao secretly tucked a soft-fried egg at the bottom.
The children, crammed together, squabbled over cracklings, their bowls in hand as they chased each other around the courtyard.
Shen Miao and Xie Qi sat apart on the veranda, eating in silence. When he discovered the egg, his ears turned pink. Perhaps because they had only recently confessed their feelings, they simply ate, too shy to speak.
After finishing the meal, Shen Miao asked stiffly, "Was it good?"
Xie Qi was equally stiff, nodding vigorously like pounding garlic. "Delicious, so fragrant."
That day, the wind carried the warm, familiar scent of animal fat wafting through the Shen household. The two of them sat holding their mixed rice bowls, looking utterly foolish. Yet somehow, this dish—imbued with the memories of her childhood—had traveled across time and space into Xie Qi’s stomach, filling her with an inexplicable sense of satisfaction that lifted her spirits.
It was as if, beside the little Shen Miao who once waited by her grandmother’s stove with a bowl in hand, there now stood a little Xie Qi.
She realized it clearly, vividly: in Xie Qi’s eyes, she had never been just "Eldest Sister Shen." The person he truly saw was Shen Miao.
How wonderful.
Just then, Tao, who had gone to mind the shop after finishing her meal, suddenly returned to say that a certain Master Tang from afar had come to see her.
Tang? What a coincidence! The surname instantly sharpened Shen Miao’s focus. She immediately set aside her girlish sentiments and murmured to Xie Qi, "Take your time, no rush. I’ll be back soon."
Xie Qi nodded gently, his dark, luminous eyes seeming to say, I’ll wait for you.
Shen Miao swiftly put down her bowl and hurried out.
Pushing aside the door curtain, she was met with the sight of Lady Cui dressed in men’s Hu-style attire, complete with a fake beard. She was bundled up, her skin darkened by the sun, her face dusty from travel, and her disguise so convincing that Shen Miao froze for a moment.
Shen Miao had only seen Lady Cui once before, long ago at the Xie residence. What had left the deepest impression then was Lady Cui’s lifeless, emaciated appearance. Comparing that memory to the woman before her now, she couldn’t find a single point of resemblance.
Yet Cui Wan Niang had already greeted her with a solemn cupped-hand salute, bowing deeply in the biting winter wind.
