By noon, the crowd coming to buy wine had grown, and the latest fashionable rose dew wine in Bianjing was completely sold out within half a day. Gu Tusu hurried from his family’s wine shop to the back room, intending to fetch another vat of wine for the storefront.
He pushed aside the door curtain with long strides and turned down the corridor, only to find two unfamiliar red-lacquered camphorwood chests placed on the cart usually used for delivering wine.
Though the chests were old, their brass ring handles, lock plates, and latches were all exquisitely carved with pomegranates, grapes, and persimmons—clearly a woman’s dowry trunks.
And they looked somewhat familiar.
"Mother, where did these come from?" Gu Tusu wiped the sweat from his brow with the towel around his neck and called toward the kitchen. "I need the cart urgently. Can we unload these first?"
Aunt Gu propped open the kitchen window, still clutching a large ladle, and leaned out to stop him. "Don’t touch them! Actually, take them over to the Shen family across the street. Their Eldest Sister Shen has returned!"
Gu Tusu froze. "Eldest Sister Shen?"
"That’s right. No one knows why she’s suddenly back, but it’s good she is. Poor Shen Ji and Sister Xiang, just little children, so pitiful… Hey! Where are you running off to?"
Gu Tusu tossed aside the wine dipper in his hand, turned on his heel, and pushed the cart out in a hurry.
As soon as he stepped out the back gate, his gaze fell on the charred remains of the Shen family’s house, its roof beams reduced to blackened skeletons—a sight he often lingered on wistfully during his daily wine deliveries.
In his childhood, since the families were neighbors and his parents were busy brewing wine, he was often left in the care of the Shens. Two out of three meals a day were eaten at their home. The Shen family ran a noodle shop, and their home was always filled with the fragrant smoke of cooking.
He and Eldest Sister Shen would often crouch together by the threshold, waiting. If the crisp jingling of bells echoed from the alleyway, it meant the hawker selling Zexhou malt candy had arrived. Aunt Shen would press a few copper coins into his hand and tell him to take Eldest Sister Shen to buy some.
Each of them would get a stick wrapped with the sweet, sticky malt candy, made from rice and malt, its golden-brown hue irresistible to any child. They would sit under the willow tree at the alley’s entrance, savoring the candy slowly as they watched the bustling streets, the breeze ruffling their hair, until Aunt Shen called them back for meals.
Now, both Uncle and Aunt Shen had passed away. The once lively noodle shop had become a desolate ruin.
Sometimes, when the wind blew, ashes from the Shen family’s courtyard would swirl into the air. When it rained, weeds sprouted stubbornly among the rubble. And on quiet nights, the eerie cries of owls echoed from within.
Apart from Shen Ji and Sister Xiang, who had arrived in the rain a few days prior, the Shen household had long been devoid of life.
But today, when he looked up, he saw smoke rising once more from the broken chimney. His eyes stung, and his legs suddenly felt too heavy to move.
Then he heard a woman’s gentle voice drawing nearer, accompanied by light footsteps: "Shen Ji, rest a while longer. I’ll go fetch our luggage from the Gu family."
Gu Tusu stood dumbfounded as a slender woman stepped through the collapsed wooden gate. He, a man strong enough to lift hundred-pound wine vats single-handedly, now stood rigid, his palms sweating, unable to tear his gaze away.
Shen Miao turned back to give instructions, but Sister Xiang darted to her side, clinging to her sleeve. The little girl, just old enough to wear her hair in twin buns tied with red ribbons, had uneven, messy pigtails—likely Shen Ji’s clumsy handiwork. Her bangs were tousled, but her upturned face was bright with a sweet, beaming smile.
Ever since waking on Shen Miao’s back and recognizing her as the elder sister she hadn’t seen in three years, Sister Xiang had burst into tears, hugging her neck tightly, and now refused to leave her side.
Shen Miao had no choice but to let her tag along.
Then she turned and noticed the tall, broad-shouldered man standing in the alley. His skin was sun-darkened, his brows thick, his eyes bright. Around her age, he wore coarse short robes, the front loosely open despite the cool weather, his forehead glistening with sweat from hard labor.
Aunt Gu’s eldest son had died young, so this must be her second son, Second Brother Gu—her childhood playmate, according to her memories. Rumor had it they had nearly been betrothed before that pompous Rong Dalang interfered, and in the end, childhood sweethearts lost to fate’s whims.
Shen Miao sifted through her memories, then glanced at the cart in his hands. She dipped her head slightly, offering a polite but distant smile. "Second Brother Gu, thank you for your trouble."
Gu Tusu snapped out of his daze and shook his head hurriedly. "No need for formalities. Let me help you carry these inside."
Shen Miao thanked him again. The chests were large and heavy—she could manage, but it would be a struggle. During her journey, she had paid extra for porters and cart drivers to assist.
The Shen family’s courtyard was in disarray, making it impossible to push the cart through. Fortunately, Gu Tusu was accustomed to heavy labor and swiftly carried both chests into the kitchen for her.
Catching his breath, he wiped his brow. Shen Miao had already scooped a bowl of hot water from the earthen pot on the stove and handed it to him. "Second Brother Gu, have some water. I haven’t had time to tidy up yet—please excuse the mess."
"Don’t trouble yourself," Gu Tusu said, glancing around. Shen Miao had scavenged a few rickety stools from the front, propping their uneven legs with bricks to create a makeshift bed against the wall, where the ailing Shen Ji now rested.
Seeing Gu Tusu, Shen Ji tried to sit up to greet him, but Gu Tusu quickly motioned for him to lie back down. To Shen Miao, he said apologetically, "When they first returned, my mother insisted they stay with us, but Shen Ji refused stubbornly. She could only bring bedding and sweep this room for them… But the boy still fell ill after getting caught in the rain."
"How could I blame you or Aunt Gu? If anything, it’s my fault for not keeping them with me. That these two survived without starving or freezing is thanks to your family’s kindness. I’m already deeply grateful—if anything, I should bow to you." Shen Miao stepped forward and gave a deep, respectful bow. Every family had its own struggles, and the Gus’ help was more than she could ask for.
Gu Tusu flustered, sidestepping her gesture and waving his hands. "No, no, no!"
Just then, the water in the pot boiled violently, steam nearly lifting the lid. Shen Miao rushed to pull some firewood from the stove. Knowing she still had much to settle, Gu Tusu prepared to leave. "You bought firewood? This won’t be enough. Focus on unpacking—I’ll bring another load once the shop quiets down. I’ll take my leave now."
Shen Miao didn’t insist on refusing, smiling in agreement. After all, the three of them had only managed to buy a bundle of firewood and daily necessities on their way back from Chief Physician Zhao’s place. With two children in tow, she couldn’t carry much—her left hand held the firewood, her right a sack of flour, and tucked under her arm was a green onion haggled from a vendor. A large iron pot hung from her back by rope. Sister Xiang carried a stack of bowls and chopsticks, while Shen Ji, despite his protests, insisted on helping, clutching a new wooden bucket and a basket of eggs.
By the time they returned, all three were panting heavily.
After seeing Gu Tusu off, she immediately set about making dough drop soup. Today she planned to make extra, intending to send some to the Gu family later as a gesture of thanks.
She had already inspected the stove in the kitchen earlier—four burners in total, with two still functional. After a quick clean-up, she fetched water from the shared well in the alley and boiled some for drinking.
Shen Miao poured out the boiled water and refilled the pot to prepare the dough drop soup.
Dough drop soup could be made vegetarian with just vegetables or heartier with meat. But for Shen Ji, who was still weak from illness, a light vegetarian version was more suitable—made with eggs, spinach, shiitake mushrooms, and Chinese yam.
Shen Miao still had a piece of Chinese yam, a bunch of spinach, and half a bag of shiitake mushrooms in her trunk. The oil, salt, and other seasonings from the journey hadn’t run out yet, and she had just bought eggs and flour—so everything was ready.
The key to a delicious dough drop soup lay in the dough itself. A good soup should have a thick yet smooth broth, with chewy, springy dough drops. As she gradually added water to the flour, stirring continuously until small dough lumps formed, she deftly cracked two eggs and whisked them into a frothy mixture. The shiitake mushrooms were soaked in hot water, then diced, and the spinach chopped finely.
She heated oil in the pot, stir-fried scallions until fragrant, then added the mushrooms and spinach to draw out their juices. After removing the spinach, she poured in water to boil the mushroom broth, then slowly dropped in the dough lumps. As she stirred with a ladle, she crouched to adjust the firewood, reducing the heat to a simmer.
The rich aroma of the soup gradually intensified, the bubbling broth filling the messy kitchen. Soon, the fragrant steam drifted beyond the Shen household, lingering in the narrow alley.
It was now midday, and the alley buzzed with the sounds of households preparing lunch.
In the Song Dynasty, whether commoners or nobility, people had begun eating three meals a day. However, the common folk kept their midday meal simple—usually just reheating leftovers from breakfast or having pastries and snacks.
The Gu family was no exception. Aunt Gu and her son were eating leftover millet porridge from the morning with flatbread when an irresistible fragrance suddenly wafted over from next door.
"Who’s cooking such a fragrant stew?" Aunt Gu paused, sniffing the air. "It smells like shiitake mushroom soup, but different somehow."
Gu Tusu folded his flatbread and finished it in two bites, wiping his mouth. "It must be Eldest Sister Shen. When I delivered her luggage earlier, she was boiling water and had a bowl of shiitake mushrooms soaking."
"Her cooking is that good? I never knew before." Aunt Gu was surprised, then sighed regretfully. "Well, Old Shen doted on his eldest daughter—never made her do any chores, so no one ever saw her cook. Ah, what misfortune has befallen the Shen family? In just a few years, they’ve been reduced to ruin."
The topic was heartbreaking. Three years had passed, yet the case remained unresolved in the Kaifeng government office. No one knew who was responsible, nor dared to investigate—after all, beneath the emperor, the highest-ranking officials were untouchable. How could ordinary people like them pursue justice?
It only deepened their sense of helplessness.
Gu Tusu slurped down the rest of his porridge. "Mother, I won’t go help at the shop this afternoon. Once Father returns to mind the store, I’ll take some firewood to the Shen family. I’ll also pick some vegetables from the garden out back and bring them over."
"Go ahead. Those three children have it hard. Help them tidy up too—their house is in such a state, how can a woman with two half-grown children manage alone?" Aunt Gu took another sip of porridge but found it increasingly bland, while the aroma from next door grew even more tantalizing.
She set down her chopsticks. "No, this is too tempting. I’m going to make something warm too."
Meanwhile, in the Shen household, what Shen Miao considered a simple, quick lunch was nearly ready. Sister Xiang had somehow slipped back to the stove, eyes fixed on Shen Miao as she poured in the egg mixture, then added salt, sugar, ginger, and a dash of soy sauce. The spinach was returned to the pot, simmered briefly, and then the soup was ready.
When made skillfully, dough drop soup was fast—perfect for a busy day like this.
Shen Miao ladled the soup into the earthenware pot she had carried all the way from Jinling. Sister Xiang’s throat let out an audible gulp.
She tasted a spoonful to check the seasoning, finding it slightly under-salted, so she added a pinch more. But the dough drops had just the right chewiness—overall, it was a success.
Sister Xiang was already on tiptoe, eagerly pleading, "Eldest Sister, let me try a bite!"
Amused, Shen Miao scooped a spoonful for her, blowing on it before offering. Sister Xiang’s eyes sparkled after the first taste. "Eldest Sister, it’s delicious! So fragrant!"
She served bowls first for Shen Ji and Sister Xiang, then a half-bowl for herself. The untouched half-pot remained warming on the stove, soon to be delivered to the Gu family.
With no table or chairs, the three of them stood by the stove to eat.
Sister Xiang, thrilled with her bowl, nearly jumped for joy. Too short to reach the stove comfortably, she stood on tiptoe, puffing her cheeks as she blew on the steaming soup. After just a few attempts, she began shoveling spoonfuls into her mouth, occasionally hopping from the heat but never stopping.
Even in her busy state, she found time to sigh blissfully.
"Eldest Sister, it’s so good!"
Shen Ji, in contrast, ate with much more restraint—yet his bowl was emptied swiftly. The shiitake-infused soup was thick and velvety, with an almost meaty richness. Each dough drop held its shape, and the warmth spread through his body, even bringing out a light sweat. His foggy head felt clearer.
When had Eldest Sister’s cooking become this good? Though he still refused to call her "Eldest Sister" aloud, the thought slipped into his mind. Like Aunt Gu, he felt a flicker of curiosity.
But he quickly rationalized it: Father had been skilled at making noodle soups, so it made sense that Eldest Sister had a natural talent for cooking.
Silently, he helped himself to another half-bowl and continued eating with gusto.
