In the kitchen, Shen Miao wore a floral apron with her sleeves rolled up high, revealing slender yet strong forearms. She blanched the Chinese toon leaves, then rinsed them in cold water before neatly arranging them on the cutting board. Picking up a kitchen knife, she began chopping with rhythmic "tap-tap-tap" sounds, soon forming a small pile of finely minced toon leaves.
A unique, rich aroma filled the air.
Outside the kitchen window, Sister Xiang and Tao peeked in, crouching low when they saw Shen Miao calmly preparing stir-fried eggs with toon leaves as if nothing unusual had happened.
"How can she be so composed when the betrothal rites have already begun?" Tao propped her chin in her hands.
"I don’t know either," Sister Xiang mirrored her pose.
Earlier, right after Madam Ning left, Shen Miao had cheerfully announced they’d have cold noodles with toon leaves and stir-fried eggs for dinner, declaring that missing this seasonal delicacy would make spring feel wasted.
"Does stir-fried eggs with toon leaves excite her more than her own wedding?" Tao muttered, turning to Sister Xiang. "Is toon really that delicious?"
Sister Xiang swallowed a mouthful of drool and nodded firmly. "Delicious."
Tao: "…"
She turned away, recalling the earlier scene—when Shen Miao was hurriedly summoned back from her food stall on Imperial Street by a breathless Tang Er, she returned home to find Madam Ning holding a lively wild goose, its neck adorned with a bright red silk ribbon and legs wrapped in red cloth, a festive symbol of marriage.
Shen Miao understood immediately.
Before her return, Madam Ning had already been welcomed into the courtyard by an excited crowd—Tao, Fu Xing, Sister Xiang, and Chen Chuan—who served her tea and pastries while bombarding her with questions. Had the Xie family sent anyone? Who came? Where were they? What did the Xie family say? They even marveled at how the Xie family had managed to procure such a magnificent live goose—what a thoughtful gesture!
Their rapid-fire questions nearly overwhelmed Madam Ning.
The Book of Rites records: "For the betrothal gift, a wild goose is presented." This custom has endured since the Zhou dynasty.
Wild geese are migratory birds, flying south in autumn and returning north in spring, never missing their seasonal cycles. They are also symbols of loyalty—if one mate dies, the other never takes another, embodying fidelity and lifelong partnership.
But live geese have become increasingly rare and expensive to hunt, leading many families to substitute them with geese or wooden carvings. Wealthier households might commission bronze geese.
The goose sent by the Xie family was exceptionally beautiful—large, with a rich brown head, broad white markings stretching from its beak to its neck, and full, glossy feathers. It flapped its wings with surprising strength, as if it were the leader of its flock!
The group was beside themselves with excitement, but when Shen Miao entered and saw the goose and Madam Ning, she merely smiled.
Then, with graceful composure, she curtsied. "Greetings, Madam Ning."
"And congratulations to you, Lady Shen," Madam Ning replied, rising to return the courtesy. Impressed by Shen Miao’s calm demeanor, she explained gently, "Though you have no parents or brothers, you do have an uncle. I intended to discuss this matter with him in the outer city, but the Xie family’s representative from Chenzhou specifically instructed me to come directly to your home… So today, I’ve taken the liberty of visiting. I hope you don’t mind."
Tao’s eyes sparkled. In traditional betrothal rites, the bride and groom weren’t required to be present—only the matchmaker and family elders. But since Shen Miao had no parents, protocol dictated involving Uncle Shen and Aunt Ding. Yet even Tao, a later addition to the household, knew Shen Miao had long severed ties with them! The Xie family—no, surely it was Ninth Brother—must have known about the estrangement and arranged everything accordingly.
Ah, Ninth Brother was so considerate, always putting Shen Miao first! The realization made Tao’s heart swell with sweetness, as if she’d eaten honey.
Sure enough, Shen Miao replied with a smile, "There’s no need for apologies. My parents are gone, and my uncle and aunt have been unkind. Since we’ve long been at odds, what use would their involvement be? They certainly wouldn’t prepare a dowry for me. I see no issue in deciding this matter myself."
So frank and sharp! Tao silently cheered for her mistress. Our lady is so bold and dignified! Truly a woman who commands her own fate!
Madam Ning now fully grasped Shen Miao’s temperament.
Good—no need for roundabout talk. She stood and solemnly presented the magnificent goose to Shen Miao, declaring, "On behalf of the Xie family, I come today to propose marriage. This wild goose symbolizes their sincerity. May it carry their affection and mark the beginning of a blessed union between your families."
Shen Miao accepted the goose, cradling it in her arms, then took out two strings of coins and offered them to Madam Ning. "Thank you for your trouble. Please accept this."
"The Xie family has already compensated me," Madam Ning declined with a smile. "With this, the betrothal gift is complete. Later, you may release the goose by Golden Ming Pond. When the time comes for the formal betrothal gifts, the Xie family will present a list of betrothal items and deliver them. You, in turn, must prepare a dowry list and a bridal letter. These will be exchanged, and finally, both families will consult a diviner to select an auspicious wedding date."
Tao listened more intently than Shen Miao, already imagining the grand spectacle of the Xie family delivering the betrothal gifts. She nearly bounced on her toes in excitement—yet Shen Miao simply nodded, committing the tasks to memory, and thanked Madam Ning again. "Your guidance is much appreciated. Won’t you stay for dinner?"
"I must decline—I have other families to visit today," Madam Ning replied politely.
"Then let me see you out." Shen Miao escorted her to the gate.
Upon returning, she found everyone in the courtyard staring at her in silence. "What’s the matter? Why are you all looking at me? Are you hungry? We’ll have a variety of toon dishes tonight. Oh, and Tang Er—later, please release the goose. Don’t leave its legs bound like that."
Tang Er, bewildered, carried the goose out as instructed.
Tao couldn’t shake the feeling that Shen Miao was far too calm about her own wedding—a lifelong milestone!
"Elder Sister, you’re acting like you’re just handling official paperwork," Chen Chuan remarked, stroking Lei Ting’s fur.
Sister Xiang, gnawing on a braised chicken leg nearby, shook her head. "No, no—it’s more like she just made plans with Madam Ning to go grocery shopping."
Tao nodded vigorously. Exactly!
Shen Miao paused, then theatrically pulled a handkerchief from her sleeve, dabbing at her perfectly dry eyes. "Oh dear, I’m so overwhelmed with joy, I might just weep!"
The courtyard fell into silence, broken only by the chirping of a plump sparrow flying overhead.
Shen Miao tucked away her handkerchief with a smile. "Alright, wasn't this settled long ago? I’m happy, truly—I just didn’t show it. It’s getting late now; I’ll prepare supper. You all go on and amuse yourselves."
Tao could only watch as Shen Miao entered the kitchen and began washing the tender toon shoots delivered by the farmer that morning. Her expression remained calm as she busied herself with the cooking, as if nothing unusual had happened.
"It’s just that Shen Miao is too composed—even in the face of such a big matter, she doesn’t bat an eye," Tao concluded, withdrawing her hands from the windowsill and returning to her work in the front shop.
Inside, Shen Miao reached into a bamboo basket and retrieved a few plump eggs. With two crisp taps, she cracked them against the rim of a bowl, letting the golden yolks and translucent whites slide smoothly into it. She picked up chopsticks and whisked briskly, blending the whites and yolks until they became one. Then she tossed in the chopped toon shoots, sprinkled a pinch of salt, drizzled a few drops of sesame oil, and gave it another quick stir.
She heated oil in a pan and, once it was warm, poured in the toon-and-egg mixture.
The moment the mixture hit the pan, it sizzled, spreading out instantly as tiny golden bubbles formed at the edges. At the same time, the distinctive fragrance of toon shoots rose with the steam, filling the kitchen. As the egg began to set, Shen Miao deftly flipped it with a spatula.
The green toon shoots speckled the golden omelet like stars, their aroma growing richer.
She let it fry over low heat until both sides turned golden, then plated it.
Shen Miao inhaled the scent with satisfaction. Some people skipped blanching toon shoots, believing it dulled their fragrance, but she preferred to err on the side of caution—unblanched toon shoots could cause food poisoning.
Blanching preserved the shoots’ crisp tenderness and natural sweetness, though their aroma did mellow slightly. And once blanched, the red toon shoots turned green, losing some of their vibrant hue.
The best toon shoots were harvested before Grain Rain—tender and low in nitrites. One harvest was enough.
Setting the omelet aside, Shen Miao began preparing toon shoot noodles. As she scrubbed the pan, she glanced out the window—the two little heads peeking from below had vanished, and the courtyard was quiet again.
She set down the loofah scrubber, turned her back to the stove, and pressed a hand to her chest, taking several deep breaths. Then she quietly scooped water to wash her face, steadying the frantic heartbeat that had raced ever since Madam Ning’s appearance.
That was close. I nearly lost my composure earlier.
In this life, if counting her first marriage—to Rong Dalang—this body was a widow’s. But for her, the soul within… this would be her first wedding in two lifetimes. Perhaps only she knew just how much resolve it had taken.
Shen Miao exhaled slowly, picked up the cleaver again, and began slicing noodles with measured strokes.
Beside her, the water in the pot had come to a boil. She blanched some bean sprouts, quickly cooled them, and set them aside in a bowl with the leftover toon shoots from the omelet.
Suddenly, she remembered a conversation from her past life—her grandfather had once asked why she refused to marry. Was it the pressures of modern life, the hectic work schedule, or the cautionary tales of friends whose marriages had crumbled? Was she a committed single, or perhaps not interested in men at all?
That last possibility had nearly made her choke on her tea.
Her grandfather had only looked at her innocently. "Just tell me. Whatever your reason, I’ll support you."
She had smiled then. She’d always known he was more open-minded than other parents who nagged endlessly about marriage.
How had she answered? She’d dismissed each suggestion one by one: "Work is busy, and life is stressful, but that’s not why. Seeing friends struggle in marriage is sobering, but that’s not it either—I’ve also seen couples deeply in love. And no, it’s not about being single by choice or… gender."
"Then why?"
She had gazed at the city lights outside, her voice softening. "I just want to find someone I truly love, who truly loves me back. It has to be someone I like—really, really like."
In that life, she never found that person before her untimely end.
But in this one, she’d been fortunate enough to meet him early.
A northbound canal boat. A bowl of noodles with mushroom and minced pork sauce. A bag of tart crabapples.
A fleeting encounter, yet bound by countless threads.
Lost in thought, Shen Miao continued preparing the noodle toppings effortlessly: minced garlic, scallions, sesame seeds. She fried peanuts until fragrant, crushed them, and added them to the mix before pouring hot oil over everything, releasing an instant burst of aroma. Then she stirred in soy sauce, vinegar, and salt.
A simple yet fragrant dressing, ready in moments.
She boiled the noodles, drained them, and divided them into bowls along with the bean sprouts, toon shoots, and chopped omelet. Finally, she ladled the dressing over each serving.
She planned to add this dish to the menu tomorrow, but today, she’d let everyone have a taste.
Pushing open the window, she called out, "Fu Xing, go fetch Ninth Brother for supper." Then she turned to Tao. "The noodles are ready—set the table. Everyone can come get their own bowls."
No sooner had she spoken than a customer entered the shop, calling out, "Is anyone here?"
"Coming, coming! Just a moment!" Tao hurried out after arranging the table.
Shen Miao glanced from the kitchen—the man appeared middle-aged, dressed in an elegant brocade robe with an expensive sheer gauze overcoat.
She only caught a glimpse before he turned, hands clasped behind his back, and wandered toward another part of the shop, seemingly captivated by Ninth Brother’s calligraphy and paintings on the wall.
Many new customers reacted this way—Ninth Brother’s artwork was simply too striking. Scholars from the Imperial Academy or local academies often reserved tables in advance for literary gatherings, always requesting seats near the Roast Duck Painting.
Truth be told, those pieces had drawn quite a few cultured patrons to her shop.
Dismissing the thought, Shen Miao returned to wiping down the counter and stove, reminding Sister Xiang and Chen Chuan—who had come to fetch their noodles—to be careful with the hot bowls.
Soon, Tao returned. "The customer caught the scent of the toon shoots and wants a bowl too. Should we make one for him? It’s not on the menu yet."
Shen Miao nodded. "It’s fine—it’s quick to make, and I’ve got everything ready."
"How much should we charge him?"
Shen Miao thought for a moment. At this time, Chinese toon wasn’t as expensive or rare as it would be in later years—it was just a wild vegetable, and there wasn’t much meat to go with it either. So she said, "Twelve coppers will do for a bowl."
Tao gave an acknowledging "Aye!" and went out to relay the message. From the kitchen, Shen Miao could hear her crisp voice addressing the finely dressed guest: "We can make it. Twelve coppers for a bowl. Please take a seat anywhere you like. We also have spicy pickled cabbage for three coppers a plate and vinegar peanuts. Would you care for some as well?"
The middle-aged man had a pleasant voice, smooth and clear, as if he were smiling when he spoke. His words drifted lightly inside: "Alright, then I’ll have some of each."
"Coming right up! Just a moment, and I’ll bring them to you."
Tao, having upsold the side dishes, returned cheerfully to open the jar of pickled spicy cabbage. In a hushed tone, she remarked to Shen Miao, "Mistress, today’s guest is so handsome! He looks to be in his forties, but still so dashing! Aside from Ninth Brother, he’s the most good-looking man I’ve ever seen."
Shen Miao was intrigued by her words and leaned in to ask, "Is he really that handsome?"
A man in his forties still being described as "dashing"? That was rare. Men’s prime was short-lived—whether in ancient or modern times, East or West. Some, like Third Bai, were pitifully devoid of any such prime at all.
"Truly! So tall—as tall as Ninth Brother!" Tao even gestured to emphasize her point. "You’ll see for yourself when you look, Mistress. I’m not exaggerating."
Having finished mixing the noodles, Shen Miao grew eager. "Then I’ll take the bowl out myself and have a look. I’ve seen enough short and scrawny men—haven’t yet met one as tall as Ninth Brother."
She placed the bowl on a tray, lifted the curtain, and stepped out.
The shop currently had only the middle-aged guest inside. He stood with his back to Shen Miao, hands clasped behind him as he admired the Roast Duck Painting. Indeed, he was tall, dressed in a striking, antique-style blue robe woven with peacock feather patterns, overlaid with crisp gauze—a very fashionable middle-aged man.
"Sir, your noodles are ready," Shen Miao called out.
He turned around, and upon seeing it wasn’t Tao, a flicker of something passed through his eyes before he smiled gently and asked, "You must be Mistress Shen?"
The moment Shen Miao saw him, she understood why Tao had called him handsome.
He really was handsome.
His beauty wasn’t just in his features but in his bone structure and bearing—bright eyes, well-defined brows, exuding a spring-like radiance. Even with faint wrinkles at the corners of his eyes and a short mustache above his lips, his striking appearance remained undiminished.
Shen Miao was momentarily dazed before curtsying slightly. "Yes, that’s me."
His smile deepened as he looked her up and down. Noticing she was still holding the tray, he gestured to the table beside him. "You may set it here."
Shen Miao placed it down, and he glanced at the black ceramic bowl before praising, "Fine craftsmanship."
Just then, Tao emerged with the side dishes and, overhearing his comment, proudly added, "Sir has excellent taste! This was a gift to Mistress from our soon-to-be son-in-law."
The man, who had just picked up his chopsticks, froze mid-motion, eyes widening in surprise.
Shen Miao’s face flushed. She clapped a hand over Tao’s mouth and hastily retreated, forcing a laugh. "Ah, this silly girl’s had too much Chinese toon—must’ve addled her brains. Please… please enjoy your meal."
She quickly dragged Tao away and hissed under her breath, "What do you mean ‘soon-to-be son-in-law’? That’s not the right term!"
"Then what should I call him?" Tao blinked, muffled under Shen Miao’s palm.
Good question. Shen Miao was stumped.
Behind them, the middle-aged man’s low chuckle seemed to follow.
Shen Miao’s face burned even hotter.
Still, there was something oddly familiar about this stylish gentleman. She racked her brain but couldn’t place him—though she was certain this was his first visit.
A man with such striking features would’ve been unforgettable if he’d come before. Lost in thought, she wandered back into the courtyard, where Sister Xiang and Chen Chuan were already slurping their noodles with gusto, heads bowed. Tang Er hadn’t returned yet, and Youyu had gone to fetch water.
Taking advantage of the lull after serving the guest, Ninth Brother had arrived. Seemingly wary of brushing against plants, he and Yan Shu sat far apart under the corridor, while Fu Xing had just brought out their noodles from the kitchen.
Seeing Xie Qi’s reddened eyelids, Shen Miao approached.
Xie Qi’s eyes were itchy from the medicated drops, tears continuously welling up, making it hard to see. He lifted his head, searching blindly for Shen Miao’s figure.
His eyes were damp, the rims flushed red, giving him the appearance of a young wife who’d been secretly crying.
"Are your eyes any better?" Shen Miao stopped before him, hands clenched at her sides to resist the urge to reach out and soothe them.
Still, seeing him like this filled her with concern.
"Better, it’s nothing," Xie Qi reassured her with a smile, though his vision remained blurred. "The medicine’s working. They’ll be fine in a couple of days."
As he tilted his head up, the line of his neck tensed slightly beneath his collar.
Shen Miao averted her gaze, forcing a stiff smile. "That’s good."
After a pause, she suddenly remembered the matter of the wild geese and relayed Madam Ning’s earlier visit in detail. To her surprise, Xie Qi first brightened, then frowned. "But why haven’t I received any word from home?" He added, "Who came from my family?"
After the betrothal gifts (nacai), the next step was exchanging birthdates (wenming). A senior family member should have come to deliver the horoscopes.
"Madam Ning didn’t say," Shen Miao scratched her head, equally unfamiliar with the finer points of the rituals. She sat beside Xie Qi and mused, "She only mentioned the betrothal presents (nazheng) afterward."
That didn’t make sense. Xie Qi grew even more puzzled. "Nacai, wenming, and naji come before nazheng. How could they skip the earlier steps and only mention the last one?"
His parents wouldn’t have been so discourteous. Even if they couldn’t come themselves, they should’ve sent a respected elder from the clan.
Shen Miao shook her head. "Perhaps it’s already arranged, so Madam Ning didn’t mention it."
But Xie Qi wasn’t convinced. Covering his teary eyes with a handkerchief, he called over Yan Shu, who was busy devouring his noodles. "Yan Shu, go to Spring Manor. Tell the servants guarding the estate to send two men back to Chenzhou at once to clarify this."
"Aye!" Yan Shu immediately sped up his slurping.
Shen Miao quickly intervened. "It’s fine. Let’s ask Madam Ning tomorrow before deciding anything. Don’t send Yan Shu out of the city so late—it’s not safe."
Yan Shu, mouth full of noodles topped with sauce and Chinese toon, glanced uncertainly between Xie Qi and Shen Miao, unsure whose order to follow.
In the end, Xie Qi relented softly. "Never mind. Do as Mistress Shen says."
Yan Shu nodded cheerfully and resumed eating.
"You should eat too, before it gets cold," Shen Miao nudged the bowl toward Xie Qi.
Though his vision was blurred, Xie Qi had already caught the fragrant aroma of Chinese toon filling the courtyard. He smiled. "Spring toon before the rains, tender as silk. Even though I couldn’t see clearly when I arrived, I could smell the spring in your home, Mistress Shen."
Just as Xie Qi was about to start eating, the customer in the shop called out again.
Shen Miao stood quickly, stopping Tao, who was halfway through her meal. "I’ll go. You finish eating."
She lifted the curtain and stepped inside, only to find the customer had already finished every last bite of his noodles, leaving not even a side dish behind. He was now wiping his mouth with a handkerchief he carried.
"My, these noodles are absolutely delicious," the middle-aged man turned to Shen Miao, praising enthusiastically. "The toon leaves are thick and tender, with such a rich fragrance—they pair wonderfully with the noodles."
"We're delighted you enjoyed them," Shen Miao replied with a smile. "Do come back often."
"I will," the man said warmly, placing half a string of coins on the table. "Keep the change. This bowl of toon noodles is the freshest taste of spring—worth every penny."
Shen Miao's eyes curved into crescents with joy—she always appreciated generous customers. Eagerly, she thanked him, "In a few days, our shop will also serve shepherd's purse. Mixed into glutinous rice flour, it makes delicious shepherd's purse cakes. When you return, I'll give you a plate on the house."
"Much obliged," the man nodded with a smile, rising to leave. As he reached the door, he suddenly turned back and asked, "Madam Shen, do you happen to know of any good pastry shops nearby? I rarely shop outside, and I’ve no idea where to order wedding cakes."
Shen Miao said, "A wedding in your family? Congratulations! North of Jinliang Bridge, there’s a shop called Wei’s Pastries—they’ve been around for twenty years, and their treats are excellent. You might ask there."
The man smiled again. "Thank you."
He turned to leave, but Shen Miao couldn’t shake the feeling that he looked familiar, especially when he smiled. On impulse, she hurried after him and asked, "Might I ask your name, sir? If you return and I’m not here, I can still tell the staff to set aside shepherd's purse cakes for you."
The man had just turned to answer when Shen Miao heard footsteps behind her, followed by Yan Shu’s voice, suddenly filled with astonishment: "Madam Shen, I’d like another bowl— Oh? Sir, what are you doing here?"
