"Step onto the stirrup with the front of your foot. Don’t be afraid—just push yourself up in one go."
With Xie Qi’s steady hand supporting her, Shen Miao cautiously climbed onto the horse’s back. She usually wore long skirts that reached her feet for work, but today she had opted for a butterfly-patterned, slit-front padded gown paired with quilted trousers, which turned out to be perfect for riding.
Horse saddles in the Song Dynasty were broad and flat, with curved wings extending outward, wrapped in soft cowhide—designed to accommodate either a single rider or two without hindrance.
For someone who had never ridden before, even mounting the horse was a struggle.
Fortunately, the Rolls-Royce horse was gentle-natured, standing as still as a statue despite Shen Miao’s clumsy, nervous movements. Once seated on the saddle, the sudden height made her heart flutter with unease, but it soon settled again.
Because Xie Qi, gripping the reins, swung himself up effortlessly behind her.
His broad, warm chest pressed against her back, shielding her from the wind.
"The wind is strong when riding. Lady Shen, you should wear a cloak," he said softly, his voice tinged with what seemed like even greater tension than hers.
Shen Miao didn’t dare turn around, much less look at the others, though she thought she caught Tao’s muffled, strange whimper from somewhere nearby.
Her face grew hotter by the second, like a steaming basket radiating warmth.
Clutching the edge of the saddle, she responded with a barely audible murmur.
Soon after, she felt a slight weight settle on her shoulders, and the exposed skin at her collar brushed against the smooth, thick silk of a cloak. Xie Qi had unfastened his usual fox-fur cloak and draped it over her from behind, his slender arms reaching around her shoulders. His well-proportioned fingers, wrapped in cloud-patterned satin ribbons, deftly tied a secure double knot at her throat.
Shen Miao tilted her chin up slightly to avoid touching his hands, but as she did, her earlobe accidentally grazed the protruding ulna bone of Xie Qi’s wrist.
His fingers paused mid-knot.
The coolness of her ear against his warm hand seemed to ignite, flushing instantly. Shen Miao froze, awkwardly holding her position, too afraid to move.
Luckily, Xie Qi quickly finished tying the cloak and withdrew his hands just as hastily.
The large hood, lined with fur, nearly covered half of her burning face. Xie Qi was much taller than her, and his cloak was generously long, practically enveloping her entirely.
"Let’s go."
His voice came out hoarse from behind her.
Xie Qi reached around her to take the reins, gently nudging the horse’s sides with his legs. The Rolls-Royce horse obediently moved forward at a steady pace, the bustling streets now obscured by the cloak.
She could hear Yan Shu and Sister Xiang singing nursery rhymes behind her, their voices mingling with Chen Chuan and Ji Brother’s debate on legal matters. The clip-clop of the other horses’ hooves followed steadily.
Lowering her gaze, Shen Miao nestled into the soft, dense fox fur. The dim, swaying darkness before her eyes carried the faint scent of cedar and pine that had been used to perfume the cloak. It was as if she stood in a forest named Xie Qi, surrounded by the crisp, resinous aroma of dry wood and a hint of cold sharpness.
Shen Miao had always loved the scent of wood—the raw, natural fragrance. Cedar, if not experienced in a forest, might just smell like pencil shavings. But if one walked into a misty pine grove before dawn, the crisp, invigorating aroma was entirely different.
Xie Qi’s scent, she realized after some thought, was something like this—a secret mountain breeze brushing through pine needles, the crisp air only found in the depths of the forest before sunrise, as if the trees were quietly breathing in the fog.
Strangely, this relaxed her, even as Xie Qi’s warmth continued to seep into her back.
Once they had crossed the familiar Jinliang Bridge and passed through the city gates, Shen Miao finally exhaled in relief.
People bustled about their daily lives, paying her no mind—at most, they spared a glance at the unusually tall horse.
Now, she dared to lift her gaze and take in Bianjing City from horseback.
The height transformed her perspective. The cramped, low-roofed houses and shanties lining the streets seemed smaller, their overhanging shop signs occasionally brushing past her head. Some courtyard walls were so low she could even spot laundry drying or trays of sun-dried mushrooms.
Looking down from above wasn’t about arrogance—just curiosity.
Once they left the outer city, the Rolls-Royce horse finally picked up speed on the open post road, leaving Sister Xiang and the others’ slower mounts far behind. The wind roared past her ears, billowing through her clothes. Shen Miao, still unaccustomed to riding, felt her thighs and backside lift slightly off the saddle as the horse galloped.
So fast—horses could run this fast? It felt like driving a car in the modern era.
Except this was an open-top ride!
Her heart leaped into her throat.
Just as she hunched her shoulders, on the verge of crying out, Xie Qi’s arms—which had been carefully avoiding contact—suddenly tightened around her.
"Don’t be afraid. Lean forward slightly and adjust to it," his voice carried over the wind.
Like an unshakable mountain behind her, his firm arms encircled her swaying body, anchoring her securely against his chest. Shen Miao’s back pressed flush against him, her waist supported by his arm—finally, it felt like buckling a seatbelt during a high-speed chase.
Too rattled to feel shy, she immediately noticed the reduced jolting. Her hips no longer hovered mid-air, and her thighs stopped slamming against the horse’s now taut, muscular frame.
She had survived.
No wonder inexperienced riders were thrown so easily when a horse bolted—the sheer power and speed of a galloping horse exceeded Shen Miao’s expectations.
In her past life, she’d never been wealthy enough to take up riding as a hobby. The docile trail horses at tourist sites could never compare to this sensation of flying like a shooting star.
The rushing wind tore her hood loose.
Xie Qi actually released one hand from the reins briefly, swiftly tugging the hood back into place.
Of course, it blew off again moments later.
Undeterred, he fixed it once more.
"The wind is strong—you’ll get a headache," he explained.
After several rounds of this, Shen Miao finally reached up and clamped the hood down herself, expressionless.
Xie Qi chuckled softly behind her.
Now that she had his support, Shen Miao gradually adjusted to the speed. Watching the fields blur past, she even found herself estimating the Rolls-Royce horse’s pace—by modern standards, it had to be at least 50 or 60 kilometers per hour.
The saying "a thousand miles in a day" might be an exaggeration, but a horse like this could surely cover hundreds of miles in a single day! No wonder the Liao and Jin cavalry had been so formidable in history—such rapid troop deployment in an era of cold weapons was practically cheating.
No wonder the emperor coveted Ferghana horses so badly.
Moreover, it didn’t slow down at all when taking turns, running swiftly and steadily. Xie Qi had no choice but to lean forward from behind, his breath mingling with the wind, almost brushing against Shen Miao’s ear: "My apologies, it’s been cooped up at home for days without a run. Today, it seems overly excited..."
"It’s fine, let it run to its heart’s content." Shen Miao also leaned forward, nearly hugging the neck of the Rolls-Horse, which only made it more spirited. With a "whoosh," it dashed around the bend and raced far ahead.
In less than half an hour, Shen Miao arrived near her pond fields in the outskirts of the city. The Rolls-Horse still hadn’t had enough. Xie Qi tugged the reins back, calling out several times, but it remained reluctant to stop. Finally, he had to tap its neck with the whip handle before it reluctantly slowed down.
They had nearly overshot the mark.
When dismounting, Xie Qi jumped down first, gripping the reins with one hand to steady the excited horse while extending the other to Shen Miao. He looked up at her: "Don’t worry. Hold onto the saddle, free your right foot from the stirrup first, then swing over. I’ll catch you."
Shen Miao resigned herself to fate. As her right leg crossed over the horse’s back and she sat sideways, she leaned toward Xie Qi. His arms immediately encircled her, lifting her down like a child, supporting her under her arms.
Once her feet touched the ridge of the field and she steadied herself with his arm, Shen Miao looked up at Xie Qi, about to say something, only to realize he was struggling even harder to suppress something himself. The corners of his eyes were faintly red, yet his gaze, fixed on hers, shimmered like clear water—utterly captivating.
The early spring sun was unusually bright, the sky a pristine blue with wisps of drifting clouds. There was no one around, only the empty wind coming and going, teasing the fields, their hair, and the fluttering tremors in their hearts.
In this world, if there was anyone who would willingly and unreservedly belong to her—
"Jiu Ge’er."
Shen Miao rose on her tiptoes and threw herself back into his embrace.
The moment her cheek pressed against his chest, she heard his heartbeat surge into a frantic rhythm.
—Only Jiu Ge’er.
"I won’t be a heartless scoundrel."
Shen Miao released him, tilting her head up with a smile in her eyes.
"I’ll take responsibility for you."
At the entrance of Shen’s Noodle Shop, Tao watched with satisfaction as Shen Miao and Xie Qi rode off on horseback. Humming a tune, she turned back into the courtyard with an especially light step, shooing the oblivious Tang Er and Fu Xing inside as well.
Honestly, the way Jiu Ge’er looked at Shen Miao was impossible to miss. Whenever he came to the Shen household, his eyes were only on her—how could these two blockheads not notice? They might as well get themselves a pair of spectacles.
Tao shook her head in exasperation.
Thankfully, there was still her, the sensible one. Tao sighed leisurely, heading into the courtyard to feed Zhui Feng and Lei Ting first, then gathering eggs and feeding the chickens before hauling wheat stalks from the woodshed to feed Shilang and Shiniang.
Qilin, however, got special treatment. Xie Qi had even brought several jars of chicken meat from Chenzhou, already cooked and sealed in pottery containers, frozen into a meat paste in the snow to preserve it in the cold weather. Tao painstakingly scooped out half with a clean, dry spoon, thawed it over a double boiler, and warmed it before serving it to Qilin.
Once all the animals, big and small, were fed, she exhaled, hands on her hips.
She had worked herself to the bone for this household.
Fu Xing obediently went to slaughter the ducks. Today’s batch had been reserved the day before, and he had already roasted them in the morning, with customers coming to collect them one after another. Now, he was preparing tomorrow’s roast ducks.
Tang Er shrugged and returned to the courtyard to rinse wool.
Once, Shen Miao had asked him if wool could be spun into yarn. It reminded him of the felt hats made by the Liao people—many border-dwellers in his hometown would spin wool and dog hair into thread, calling it "canine-sheep fur." Now, he decided to give it a try. The shorn wool was filthy, caked with dirt, dust, and grass. Tang Er scrubbed it repeatedly with lye water and soapberry solution until the rinse water ran clear.
He borrowed a fine-toothed wooden comb from Tao and patiently carded the wool. Tao, munching on a frozen pear, watched curiously: "Can this wool really be spun into yarn?"
"I’ve seen the Liao people do it this way. Worth a shot." Tang Er combed the wool until it was loose and straight, then dried it over the stove before twisting it into strands and placing them in a basket. "Come on, let’s borrow a spinning wheel from Aunt Gu and see if it works."
Since the shop was closed for the day, and Niu Sanshi was tending to the calf in the shed, Tao left him to mind the house. She picked up her sewing basket and followed Tang Er excitedly to the Gu household to watch the wool-spinning process.
Her basket also held scraps of fabric—while watching Aunt Gu spin, she could make a hat for the newly arrived Shiniang. Recently, she had developed a passion for making clothes for the animals.
Zhui Feng, Lei Ting, and Qilin were no exception. All three had festive outfits for the New Year: Zhui Feng got a standing-collar, front-opening robe with autumn leaf patterns, while Lei Ting had one in blue cloth with auspicious motifs. Qilin, however, had the most. Unlike Zhui Feng, who spent his days chasing donkeys and chickens, rolling around in filth and ruining his clothes, Qilin loved to sleep and stay clean. Tao doted on Qilin the most, making it cloaks, jackets, skirts, and even a tasseled collar.
She had even fashioned little plum-blossom-buttoned vests for the chickens.
Shen’s shop was unusually closed, but the streets were bustling with crowds drawn to the lantern displays on Imperial Avenue. Many gathered around this year’s lantern mountain to admire it before strolling about.
Zhang Yushan and Li Ya, clerks from the Bianjing Prefecture office, stepped out hungry and irritable, jostled by the throngs.
"Why did Shen’s have to close today of all days?" Li Ya grumbled, striding ahead. Gaunt as a bamboo pole, with dark circles under his eyes, his face was numb with exhaustion.
As a clerk in the prefecture, Li Ya assisted magistrates and judges in organizing case files. His duties were endless—gathering evidence, interviewing witnesses, and compiling meticulous records. Every document that passed through his hands had to be cataloged and maintained, ready for retrieval at a moment’s notice.
He was so overworked his soul felt detached, and missing today’s communal meal only deepened his misery.
Zhang Yushan wasn’t much better. His face was sallow as he massaged his wrist. As a scribe, he drafted and copied all official correspondence, whether for superiors, subordinates, or other offices. His superior, Jia Kongmu, was notoriously exacting—last night, Zhang had revised a document eighteen times.
He had barely slept.
This morning, he placed the nineteenth draft of the document on Jia Kongmu’s desk, unsure whether it would finally meet his approval. But there was no other choice—only after Jia Kongmu’s review could the document be officially issued or submitted to the left and right inspection offices of the yamen.
Zhang Yushan’s mind had gone numb from all the revisions, yet anxiety still gnawed at him. He dreaded another round of harsh reprimands or pages marked red with corrections.
This year, he and Li Ya were among the clerks assigned to duty during the New Year festivities in the yamen. Hungry and overworked, their resentment simmered.
At least Shen Miao’s daily meal deliveries had been a saving grace these past days! Huddled behind his messy desk, wolfing down food while flipping through documents, he could save time and eat well—a small comfort.
But today, Shen Miao’s shop was closed!
Though they’d been notified the day before, Zhang Yushan couldn’t shake his irritation.
Now, out on the street with Li Ya, they wandered halfway down the block, undecided on where to eat.
"Last time, Shen Miao’s menu had three-cup chicken. Did you try it? It was incredible." Li Ya’s eyes flicked toward a roasted chicken stall ahead, but the birds looked dry and tough. His appetite vanished, and he walked on, still raving about that three-cup chicken.
Zhang Yushan shook his head. "I had the braised pork that day. The meat was so tender and fatty—perfect."
Li Ya smacked his lips, still reminiscing. "That three-cup chicken was everything I could ask for." Even now, the memory of its rich, juicy flavor lingered.
Zhang Yushan sighed. "Every meal from Shen Miao has been satisfying. These days, I look forward to nothing more than the sound of their delivery bell." He even kept a carrot on his desk specifically for Shen Miao’s donkey.
Zhang Yushan adored that donkey.
It was always neat and tidy, wearing a small round hat and a scarf around its neck—unlike other smelly, filthy donkeys that left piles of dung wherever they stopped. Shen Miao’s donkey was pristine, its white tail fluffy and wagging happily whenever fed a carrot.
Li Ya, however, looked weary as he gazed at the bustling, lantern-decked streets, his enthusiasm waning. They’d already tried most eateries around the Imperial Avenue.
Frowning, he muttered, "It’s strange. Shen Miao only started delivering meals to the yamen about a week ago, but I’m already hooked. Now, I just want to wait for that hot meal at the yamen—no interest in eating out anymore."
"Maybe we’ve just gotten tired of the usual options," Zhang Yushan offered.
Before Shen Miao’s deliveries, they’d scoured the same nearby eateries year after year. Venturing farther wasn’t an option—the yamen’s endless tasks left no room for delays.
With the Lantern Festival still ongoing, many shops remained closed, leaving them with nowhere to go.
After a fruitless stroll, their picky palates unsatisfied, they settled for two large flatbreads from a street vendor and trudged back to the yamen, sighing.
Biting into their bread, they entered the yamen only to find a group of clerks huddled together, eating from bamboo meal trays.
Li Ya gaped. "Huh? How do you still have meal deliveries? Did Shen Miao reopen?"
One clerk shook his head. "This is from Kang’s Kitchen."
Zhang Yushan peered over curiously. "Kang’s does deliveries now? How’s the food?" If it was good, he’d order too!
Another clerk grimaced. "After Shen Miao’s, Kang’s just doesn’t measure up." He set his chopsticks aside and revealed the meal tray.
Kang’s food came in plain bamboo trays without compartments. Instead of rice, there were two steamed buns, and no soup—just three lackluster dishes. The stir-fried cabbage was soggy, the shredded meat passable but unremarkable.
"The price is the same as Shen Miao’s, but the menu’s nowhere near as good. Shen Miao always balanced meat and vegetables perfectly—something light, something spicy, something sweet."
The thrifty clerk scowled at the tray. "And this flimsy thing costs a ten-coin deposit? What’s the point? I’m returning it right after!"
Shen Miao’s trays, though pricier at fifteen coins, were made of fine white ceramic—worth keeping even if you forfeited the deposit, especially for messy children at home.
Li Ya and Zhang Yushan exchanged glances, then looked at their flatbreads. Suddenly, the bread didn’t seem so bad.
At least they hadn’t wasted money today.
They parted ways, returning to their respective offices. The moment Zhang Yushan stepped inside, a colleague gave him a pitying look. His stomach dropped.
Rushing to his desk, he found the document he’d submitted that morning waiting for him.
"Magistrate Jia said last night’s draft was even worse than the previous one. He’s furious. With the left inspection office breathing down his neck, he suggests you just revise the earlier version to save time."
The earlier version? He couldn’t even remember what he’d written two days ago!
Might as well jump into the Bian River.
Zhang Yushan grabbed his hair, tilted his head back, and let out a bloodcurdling scream.
Meanwhile, Shen Miao’s sudden closure also ruined the day for Ning Yi, who had just returned to the capital.
Some time ago, the imperial court conducted a sweeping confiscation of noble families, and the Ning household was not spared. Ning's Father lost his minor official post and a considerable fortune. Left with no choice, he had no option but to take Ning Yi back to their ancestral home in Chenliu Town, where they spent the New Year. Though stripped of their official status and land, the family at least emerged unharmed—a blessing in itself.
Now, as the Lantern Festival approaches, Ning Yi returns, leading his donkey with his page boy in tow.
After the festival, the prefectural offices would officially resume work, and the results of the provincial examinations were due to be announced soon. The exact date remained uncertain, so Ning's Father urged him to return early and wait, lest he miss such an important occasion.
Truth be told, Ning Yi had been eager to come back.
During his stay in Chenliu Town, he had already filled more than half of his culinary journal. He meticulously recorded every dish prepared by Madam Shen—especially the roasted duck and grilled fish, which he described in such vivid detail that his writing spanned six thousand words without pause. He also included delicacies like the mutton pies from Nanxun Gate, the crystal pork knuckle from Fan Tower, plum blossom soup cakes, and Guanghan pastries.
Had Madam Shen created any new dishes lately? Even if not, he’d be content just to savor that fragrant roasted duck again.
With a stack of "Shen's Duck Vouchers" tucked in his robe, Ning Yi strode eagerly across Jinliang Bridge, tugging his flatulent donkey behind him.
Yet what greeted him was a tightly shut door and a wooden sign swaying in the wind: "Closed Today."
Another bolt from the blue.
Ning Yi stood frozen, clutching his topknot before letting out a pained groan.
Why was Shen's place closed every time he came?
