On the day before the Lantern Festival, Shen Miao hung a "Closed" sign outside her shop early in the morning and had already sent word to the local authorities, watchtowers, and entertainment districts that she would be taking the day off.
Indeed, it was unusual for Shen Miao to close shop—even on New Year's Day, she kept her business running. But this time, it wasn’t because the sun had risen from the west. Rather, Yan Shu and his companions had arrived with oxen and several carts piled high with goods.
Chen Chuan had begun rising early every day to spend an hour at Lawyer Deng’s place, learning characters and legal matters before returning home. Sister Xiang, meanwhile, had officially started training with Ninth Brother, practicing basic stances and breathing techniques.
The girl had quite the bold spirit—she even mentioned to Ninth Brother that she’d love to try horseback riding. So Xie Qi discussed with Shen Miao the idea of heading to the outskirts of the city after lunch for a leisurely ride, a chance to unwind.
Shen Miao thought it would also be a good opportunity to check on the construction progress at the duck farm. Artisan He had already built the duck shelters before the New Year, but the warehouse and fencing were still incomplete. With the busyness of the holiday and preparing feasts, she hadn’t had time to visit in a while. Now was the perfect chance.
She readily agreed.
Today was an exceptionally rare, clear day—the rain had stopped, and the snow had melted completely. The feeble winter sunlight finally mustered some strength, warming Bianjing City like the flaky crust of an egg tart baking in Shen’s earthen oven. The air itself seemed to carry a cozy, buttery warmth.
Long bamboo poles stretched across the courtyard walls of Willow East Lane, draped with quilts of every pattern imaginable. Someone as tall as Ninth Brother had to duck his head the entire way from West Lane to East Lane, passing beneath the sun-warmed quilts that carried the scent of cotton and sunshine.
In the Shen family’s courtyard, Sister Xiang clung to Qilin, while Yan Shu held a three-month-old calf. The two little gluttons sat on small stools, steadfastly guarding the earthen oven that emitted a rich, milky fragrance.
Yan Shu had arrived late the previous night. Along with Qiu Hao, the ox herder, Zhou Da’s family, and three carts—one carrying Ninth Brother’s luggage, another loaded with local specialties from Chenzhou, and the third transporting a nursing cow—they had traveled slowly, stopping frequently. It had taken them two extra days to arrive compared to Xie Qi.
That morning, Yan Shu had knocked on the door with the cow and a mountain of local goods in tow. When Shen Miao saw the assortment of boxes and the pair of oxen, she was momentarily stunned.
Ninth Brother had returned days ago and hadn’t breathed a word about bringing her so many things.
Sorting through the specialties alone took an hour. But everything Ninth Brother had brought was incredibly practical. As Shen Miao unpacked and organized, she found uses for all of it: dried daylilies, garlic, and other ingredients she could use daily in her shop. The Chenzhou garlic, in particular, was impressively large and pungent—perfect for making fragrant garlic oil.
Two crates of black pottery from Chenzhou, all crafted by the same kiln and artisan, had surfaces so glossy they resembled mirrors. They replaced the mismatched bowls, plates, and utensils in her shop, which had varied in appearance due to different production batches.
Now, the noodle bowls and dishes were all uniform, their dark glaze bright and even. The elegant pottery elevated even the simplest bowl of plain noodles, making it look refined.
The lanterns and "clay dogs" were another hit—there were all shapes and sizes, instantly captivating the children, especially Sister Xiang. She spent over half an hour exclaiming in delight as she picked through the boxes. Even Ji Brother, despite being older, couldn’t resist his curiosity and chose a little clay dog painted like a scholar holding a scroll, which he later placed on his desk.
Chen Chuan returned from his studies just in time, and Sister Xiang insisted he pick his favorite clay dog too. Realizing there were still plenty left, she hesitated before timidly asking Xie Qi if she could share them with Liu Douhua and the others.
Xie Qi smiled. "These were brought for all of you to enjoy. You can give them to whomever you like."
After distributing them among the family—and secretly stashing her favorites in her room—Sister Xiang excitedly called over the children from the lane to share the rest. For a while, the Shen household buzzed with the same liveliness as New Year’s celebrations. Liu Douhua was so moved she declared she’d be Sister Xiang’s best friend forever.
And then there was the most significant gift of all—the cow, complete with its herder.
The ox herder, Niu Sanshi, was a hereditary servant of the Xie family. His ancestors had raised oxen for generations, and his name—literally "Ox Thirty"—was casually given by his parents, likely because he was born on the 30th day of a month.
Niu Sanshi patted the cow proudly as he introduced it to Shen Miao. "Ninth Brother wanted a cow that could produce milk. After careful selection, I chose this one from the herd. She’s the strongest and gentlest on the estate—even when she calved, she didn’t need any help."
Shen Miao approached the cow curiously, tentatively letting it sniff her hand. The cow gazed at her with gentle eyes and lightly swished its tail. Niu Sanshi said, "She's not upset. It's fine if Madam Shen wants to ride her."
"She has a calf with her—I won't ride her." Shen Miao simply reached out to stroke the cow's back. Its fur wasn't as soft as a cat or dog's, slightly coarse to the touch, but Shen Miao still found herself fond of it. This yellow cow had a lighter coat than most, not the deep brownish-yellow of others, but a wheat-colored hue that looked tender and fresh. Its eyes were large, its gaze steady when looking at people, and its nose was a soft pink.
Moreover, its forehead was broad, its ears round, and its frame quite large—standing about 1.3 meters tall, which was quite tall for a cow, nearly the size of a full-grown bull.
It was rare to see a cow so visibly elegant at first glance.
Niu Sanshi also mentioned that this yellow cow was only four years old, at the peak of health and milk production, currently in the middle of its lactation period. Shen Miao crouched down to watch it nurse its calf—a heifer that closely resembled its mother, except for a few white patches on its nose, hooves, and belly.
Once the calf had its fill, Niu Sanshi even milked a dou (over 7 liters) for Shen Miao.
Milk! Fresh milk, something she had never dared splurge on before!
Shen Miao’s eyes sparkled as she gazed at the freshly squeezed, still-warm milk—creamy white with a faint yellow tint and frothy bubbles.
Countless milk-based treats flashed through her mind: milk cakes, egg tarts, baked milk, fried milk, custard pancakes, double-layer steamed milk, red bean cheese pastries… and milk tea! Sweet milk tea, savory milk tea—she could finally enjoy all the flavors from her past life!
Her mouth watered with longing.
Xie Qi sat on the veranda, holding Qilin the cat in his arms, quietly watching Shen Miao’s delighted, bright-eyed expression. Seeing her so happy, his heart felt as though it were soaking in sweet, velvety milk, and he couldn’t help but smile, his lips curling upward without realizing it.
He only remembered Shen Miao lamenting the lack of milk tea before, but he hadn’t known she loved milk this much. Had he known earlier, he would have sent some over long ago. Internally, he chided himself for being so late in bringing it.
But Shen Miao quickly snapped out of her milk-induced joy and instructed Niu Sanshi to help boil the fresh milk over a low flame. Then she turned and sat beside Xie Qi, asking seriously, "Ninth Brother, how much does this cow cost? Food aside, cows are such valuable livestock—I can’t just accept it without paying."
Xie Qi smiled faintly. "Ten wen."
Shen Miao gave him a deadpan look. "Be serious."
Plow oxen were precious in this era, and cows were harder to raise than sheep or donkeys, making a good one quite expensive. She estimated in her mind. "At least several dozen strings of cash, right?"
"There’s no need for Madam Shen to feel uneasy," Xie Qi said, lifting Qilin’s paw and waving it playfully. His voice was warm as he added, "Consider this cow as payment for me, Yan Shu, and Qiu Hao frequently dropping by to freeload meals at your place."
Her home didn’t serve dragon meat—how long would several dozen strings of cash last? Besides, Xie Qi had already paid thirty strings for meals during his exams, and that hadn’t even run out yet. Shen Miao opened her mouth to protest, but Xie Qi suddenly lowered his head and nuzzled the cat, his expression turning melancholy. Like Qilin, he gazed up at her with clear, imploring eyes and sighed. "It’s only been a few days, yet Madam Shen is already treating me like a stranger…"
Shen Miao choked on her words.
"If today it’s just a cow that divides us, will I even dare to visit tomorrow?" His eyes brimmed with a pitiful look, as if fearing betrayal. "That day… didn’t Madam Shen agree?"
Instantly, Shen Miao recalled Sister Xiang’s recent remarks about heartless men. Though spoken innocently, she now felt an absurd sense of having transformed into the villainous "Shen Shimei" herself.
Under Xie Qi’s intense, dark-eyed gaze, she couldn’t take it anymore. Clearing her throat awkwardly, she blurted out a flimsy excuse: "I think I hear the milk boiling—I’ll go make some egg custard puff pastries."
Watching Shen Miao’s retreating figure as she fled to the kitchen, Xie Qi suppressed a laugh and lowered his eyes, meeting Qilin’s clueless, almond-shaped stare. He rubbed the cat’s round head but ultimately failed to hold back his amusement. Hugging the cat, he silently laughed until his shoulders shook, tilting backward onto the veranda.
He had long since realized—Shen Miao yielded to softness, not force.
As the eldest sister, she was accustomed to presenting a capable, unyielding front to the world, shielding those around her—her younger siblings and others not yet grown. She seemed unbreakable, wise to the ways of the world, yet her heart was as tender as the thawing ice of the Bian River in spring.
Adaptable and embracing, she had unknowingly soothed him time and again.
Perhaps she still didn’t realize it, but Xie Qi remembered every word—how she said misfortune wouldn’t last forever, how she spoke of life’s fleeting nature, how she once told him that meeting him felt like luck.
He remembered the taste of every delicious dish she had made for him.
Xie Qi picked up the cat and buried his face in its soft belly, closing his eyes as he sank into the warmth. The overwhelming emotions he suppressed in his heart were too raw to confess aloud, yet... this was truly how he felt—everything he owned, even his very being, he wished to offer to Lady Shen.
If only she would take it.
As soon as Shen Miao stepped into the kitchen, escaping Ninth Brother’s pitiful, accusing gaze, she was enveloped by the scent of firewood and creamy milk, and she let out a deep sigh of relief.
Niu Sanshi was stirring the boiling milk in a deep earthenware pot with a spoon, tiny bubbles rising and rolling within. The pale milk had already been simmering for some time.
Boiling the milk for about fifteen minutes was enough to sterilize and remove any gaminess—there was no need to overcook it.
Shen Miao instructed him to move the pot aside and let the milk cool naturally until it was warm to the touch.
Then, she began kneading the dough for the egg tart crust.
Shen Miao had a foolproof, simple method for making versatile egg tart pastry—once mastered, it rarely failed.
First, the oil dough: in a wide-mouthed clay bowl, she poured six taels of flour, a spoonful of salt, two spoonfuls of sugar, half a ladle of cold water, and a spoonful of lard. She kneaded it thoroughly until every grain of flour was evenly coated with oil—this step was crucial, as the crispiness of the tart crust depended entirely on it.
In another bowl, she mixed water and sugar, stirring with chopsticks until dissolved. Then, she added three egg yolks to the syrup, continuing to whisk until smooth, followed by six taels of flour. She used her hands to combine the mixture into a smooth dough—this was the water-oil dough, which would encase the oil dough.
During baking, the moisture in the water-oil dough would gradually evaporate, causing the oil dough to separate into flaky layers, ensuring the tart crust turned crisp and delicate.
After preparing both doughs, she took them outside—the kitchen was too hot, and they needed to rest in the cooler air for about half an hour.
While the dough relaxed, Shen Miao took a small earthen pot and placed it over the stove. She first toasted a pinch of tea leaves over low heat until fragrant, then added some rock sugar and continued frying until the mixture caramelized and bubbled. Next, she poured in the boiled milk and let it simmer briefly before tossing in some sweetened red beans—thus completing the brown sugar red bean milk tea.
With the milk tea ready, she returned to making the tarts.
Retrieving the rested dough, she placed both portions on the counter and pressed each into thin, round sheets—the oil dough on top, the water-oil dough beneath, their centers perfectly aligned.
Then, she lifted the edges of the water-oil dough to envelop the oil dough, pinching the seams tightly to prevent any leakage. This completed the wrapping step.
Next, she gently rolled the wrapped dough into a rectangle with a rolling pin. Starting from the longer side, she carefully rolled it up like a scroll, forming a tight cylinder, which she then sliced into small portions and flattened into discs.
Using wide-mouthed clay cups as molds, she pressed each disc into the cups, shaping them into tart shells.
She pre-baked the shells in the earthen oven until their edges turned lightly golden. Meanwhile, she prepared the custard filling by mixing sugar, milk, and egg yolk, straining it twice through cheesecloth to remove any foam or lumps, ensuring a silky-smooth texture.
Pre-baking the shells was essential because Shen Miao relied on experience rather than temperature control in the rustic oven. A double bake ensured the crust stayed crisp and prevented the bottom from becoming soggy when the custard was added.
When pouring the custard, she was careful not to overfill—otherwise, it would spill during baking.
Today, Shen Miao didn’t have time to make fresh cream or butter, so these were traditional Chinese flaky milk tarts. Since pure milk contained more moisture, she paid extra attention to the flour-to-egg ratio, avoiding overmixing the custard. Timing was critical—once golden spots appeared on the surface, she gave it a little more time before removing them, or else the tarts would collapse.
The aroma of the tarts was intoxicating. Even while still in the oven, the sweet, caramelized scent of milk wafted through the courtyard. In this era, children from common households rarely had the chance to taste dairy after weaning—Ji Brother and Sister Xiang probably hadn’t had milk since they were one year old. The moment the fragrance emerged, Sister Xiang abandoned her play and dragged a stool over, sitting intently by the oven to wait.
Even Yan Shu was entranced. Milk was a luxury—despite the Xie family raising many cows and goats, as a servant, he seldom had the opportunity to enjoy it, let alone a delicacy like this, painstakingly crafted with eggs and milk.
Such a treat might well be unheard of in all of Bianjing City!
I had thought that cricket cookies with yellow cream were already the most delicious pastry, but Shen Miao came up with a new recipe. Yan Shu couldn’t take his eyes off the earthen oven as he inhaled the enticing aroma.
Shen Miao spent the entire morning experimenting, ruining a few batches before finally producing three plates of near-perfect "egg custard mille-feuille." Though the shape differed from modern versions, the taste was largely the same—perfectly paired with freshly brewed brown sugar red bean milk tea.
Each person was given two, and they disappeared quickly.
Tang Er and Fu Xing stood by the kitchen door to eat theirs, sniffing curiously before cautiously taking a bite along the flaky edge. Tao sat under the osmanthus tree, waving her hand from the heat but refusing to spit out even a crumb.
Shen Miao handed one to Xie Qi, and the two sat on the veranda watching the children enjoy their treats.
Watching Sister Xiang and Yan Shu eat was especially delightful—the two chubby little ones buried their faces in the pastries, making it seem like whatever they held must be incredibly delicious.
Fresh out of the oven, the egg tarts were too hot to eat. The aroma alone was intoxicating—layers of crisp pastry cradling a thick, wobbly custard center. But one bite would scald the tongue, so patience was required.
Sister Xiang, ever impatient, didn’t wait for Shen Miao’s warning and burned herself immediately. Still, she didn’t get upset, puffing her cheeks as she blew on the tart. Seeing her reaction, Yan Shu hesitated, tentatively sticking out his tongue before joining Sister Xiang in their synchronized blowing.
They looked like two little frogs.
After a brief wait, the two sipped half a cup of milk tea to curb their cravings. The tea was just as delightful—sweet and rich, leaving a milky ring around their lips that they licked clean.
Finally, when the outer pastry cooled enough to handle, the inside reached the perfect temperature.
Now, they could truly indulge.
The tarts were piping hot and sweet, the custard center impossibly tender, smooth, and rich. The flaky crust crumbled with every bite, scattering crumbs everywhere. Sister Xiang grew frantic, plucking fallen bits from her clothes, but the pastry kept disintegrating before she could eat them.
"So much fell! I didn’t even get to eat it," she lamented, cupping her hands beneath her chin.
"Wait, I’ll get plates!" Yan Shu dashed into the kitchen and returned with two plates. Now, the crumbs could land safely, and once they finished their tarts, they could enjoy the leftovers.
Chen Chuan approached his tart with the caution of facing a formidable foe. He’d bite the edge without fully detaching it, then—as if catching the tart off guard—quickly suck out the custard, ensuring not a drop escaped. He repeated this method with each bite.
Ji Brother, having grown more reserved after his time at the academy, ate alone in his room, likely unwilling to let anyone see him covered in crumbs.
Lard-based Chinese pastry was best eaten fresh and hot—once cooled, the lard flavor would resurface, turning cloying.
After finishing hers, Shen Miao sipped her milk tea and mused: When I have time, I should make some butter.
This weather was perfect for chilling it into bricks, slicing off portions as needed.
Then she could bake a batch of warm, flaky pineapple buns, split open but not fully separated, with a cold slice of salted butter tucked inside. Biting into it before the butter fully melted—that would be heavenly.
This was a Cantonese teahouse specialty, something Shen Miao always ordered during her past-life dim sum outings.
As for the "egg custard mille-feuille," even Xie Qi had never tasted anything like it.
Using a thin spoon, he carefully traced the edge between the cup and the pastry, then gently lifted the tart free by its fluted rim.
Cradling it in his palm, he marveled at how the delicate layers encased the trembling custard, its surface bronzed with caramelized sugar.
Xie Qi usually avoided dairy—milk often upset his stomach—so he regretfully declined the tea. But the tart’s aroma overwhelmed his reservations.
The scent was irresistible, compelling him to take a bite.
With a "to hell with the consequences" resolve, he devoured one in a few mouthfuls. The shell shattered at the slightest pressure from his teeth, giving way to the silken custard melting on his tongue.
This… this is incredible.
Stunned, Xie Qi stared at the "egg custard mille-feuille" in his hand, then lifted his gaze to Shen Miao, rendered nearly speechless by the assault of sweetness, creaminess, and fragrance.
Shen Miao, still eating, was already pondering recipe tweaks when she noticed Xie Qi’s awestruck expression. Brushing crumbs from her lips, she asked, "What’s wrong?"
"Nothing, it's absolutely delicious." Xie Qi shook his head, then lowered his gaze to take another bite of the last half in his hand. The second egg tart had cooled slightly, but the custard inside had solidified like milk pudding, so delightful that his brows relaxed in contentment.
Just moments ago, he had been wondering if Shen Miao was perhaps the Kitchen God descended to earth.
How could she conjure up so many exquisite, mouthwatering delicacies capable of banishing worries and even evoking happiness? Even after finishing the tart, Xie Qi remained lost in thought over this question.
Yan Shu, having devoured one egg tart, stared at the last one in his hand, reluctant to eat it. The first had been gulped down eagerly, but now he savored the second slowly, as if wishing a single tart could last an entire day.
But egg tarts were finite. After finishing it, he even tipped the crumbs from the plate into his mouth.
Then he quietly slipped into the donkey shed—now crammed with a donkey, a horse, and two cows (one a calf), making the horse visibly agitated.
Zhou Da, concerned for the horse, had already led it out, planning to take it for a leisurely stroll around the streets. Horses weren’t meant to be confined, and after today’s ride in the outskirts, this prized "Rolls-Royce" horse would be taken back to Chenzhou by Zhou Da, who would switch it out for a donkey.
Had it not been for the heavy load and Ninth Brother’s eagerness to return home, they wouldn’t have used it. Among all the horses bred by the Xie family, this was the only one truly worthy of being called a "thousand-mile steed"—the fastest of them all.
Yan Shu bypassed Eleventh Young Master Shen, who was endlessly munching on hay, and crouched beside the cow, Shen Shier Niang. Leaning close to her ear, he whispered pleadingly, "Once we’re out of the city, I’ll find you the freshest, juiciest wild greens. Do you prefer purslane or shepherd’s purse? Or both? If you eat my offerings, you must give more milk, alright?"
"Who knew your milk could make pastries so delicious?" Having struck his one-sided bargain, Yan Shu hugged the cow’s head, savoring the lingering taste, his tongue flicking over his lips as he murmured in awe. "I should’ve convinced Ninth Brother to bring more cows..."
The cricket cakes had been dethroned. Yan Shu mentally moved them down his ranking of favorite desserts, solemnly declaring the egg custard puff pastry the best he’d ever tasted in his life!
No contest. Yan Shu nodded gravely.
After baking the tarts, Shen Miao used the earthen oven to roast two whole chickens, then dug out frozen pears, candied persimmon cakes, jujubes, dried apricots, and other snacks for their horseback outing.
She asked Tao, Tang Er, and Fu Xing if they wanted to join. Tao immediately stood up, shielding the two behind her, and declared firmly, "No need. You and Ninth Brother should take the children out to play."
"Not even Tang Er and Fu Xing?" Shen Miao peeked around Tao to ask again.
The moment Tang Er and Fu Xing opened their mouths, Tao elbowed them both into silence. They then shook their heads in unison, saying, "We won’t go, we won’t go."
Fu Xing claimed he needed to roast a duck, while Tang Er said he wanted to wash and shear a sheep’s hide to spin wool for felt hats, a northern specialty.
Their excuses were solid, so Shen Miao didn’t press further. Still... Tao’s smile was oddly knowing.
She beamed at Shen Miao, then at Xie Qi, her expression inexplicably maternal.
Zhou Da returned from walking the Rolls-Royce horse.
Yesterday, they’d arrived with three carts and four horses. If Tao and the others had joined, they’d have hitched two carts for the trip. But since they were staying, the horses were just enough.
Apart from the Rolls-Royce horse, the other three were small, mild-tempered draft horses, steady on their feet. Zhou Da had his son, Zhou Chuyi, help lead them—one for Sister Xiang and Chen Chuan, another for Ji Brother and Yan Shu.
Shen Miao had assumed she’d ride the remaining short, adorable little draft horse.
But Ninth Brother said earnestly, "Shen Miao, you’ve never ridden before, and there’s no one else familiar with horses to guide you. Why not ride Red Steed? I’ll lead it for you."
Before Shen Miao could respond, Tao suddenly interjected, "Didn’t you say you wanted to see the duck ponds? At this leisurely pace, you’d never make it back before dark."
She suggested matter-of-factly, "Why doesn’t Ninth Brother ride with you? You two can gallop ahead to the ponds while the children follow slowly. That way, you won’t waste time."
Xie Qi blinked in surprise, then coughed lightly and clasped his hands in gratitude. "Tao’s right—that’s much more practical." Turning to Shen Miao, his ears flushed, he stammered, "Then... since time’s short... may I help you onto the horse?"
He kept his eyes down, not daring to meet her gaze, only extending a hand toward her.
Shen Miao shot Tao a glare, but at the sight of Xie Qi’s outstretched hand, her heart softened.
His hands were broad and slender, with calluses at the base of his fingers—hands that could grip a long staff and sweep through the air with fierce momentum. Yet now, his palm lay open, upturned, the slight curl of his fingertips trembling faintly, imperceptibly.
Something pricked at Shen Miao’s heart. She paused, startled, but in the end, she took a step forward.
She placed her hand firmly into his warm, waiting palm.
