"Uncle Li!"
Shen Miao turned around to see Li Tiaozi halting his mule cart under the willow tree at the alley entrance. Overjoyed, she skidded to a stop and immediately rushed toward him. "I had Tang Er wait for you at Shuimen Ferry for three whole days! He even went there first thing this morning. Where did you come from?"
"We hitched a ride back on a grain boat arranged by Canal Official Tong—said it’d be faster," Li Tiaozi replied, visibly relieved at the sight of Shen Miao, his beady eyes crinkling into slits. "The grain boats unload at Tongjin Gate since the granaries are there. They hardly stop at small docks, only berthing briefly for supplies, mostly late at night, so I couldn’t send word. How’s Gou’er been this past month? And everyone else?"
"Ah, of course! The grain boats take different routes coming and going," Shen Miao smacked her forehead, realizing her oversight. She’d forgotten how many ferries lay outside Bianjing—different boats docked at different ports. Tang Er had waited in vain for days.
Hearing Li Tiaozi’s concern for Li Gou’er, she reassured him warmly, "All’s well. Gou’er left early for school. Don’t worry, Uncle Li. Lately, Ninth Brother’s father has been staying in West Alley, and he’s been tutoring all our children in calligraphy and essays. You can really tell the difference with those from scholarly families—just a few days of practice, and Gou’er’s teacher already praised his improved handwriting."
Nothing could’ve been better news. Li Tiaozi exhaled in relief, grinning so wide his eyes vanished. "Miss Shen, this is all thanks to you. Gou’er would never have such fortune otherwise."
Noticing Li Tiaozi was alone on the cart, Shen Miao frowned. "Where’s Auntie?"
Before he could answer, a sudden clash of gongs startled the mule, making it snort and paw the ground.
They turned to see twelve yellow-robed monks carrying a gilded palanquin with a Buddha statue around the street corner. Freshly bathed, the golden figure glimmered, fragrant water dripping onto the cobblestones.
"Oh no, they’ve already started the procession! Once the crowd gathers, we’ll be stuck. Quick, Miss Shen, come with me!" Li Tiaozi grabbed the reins urgently. "Auntie’s still at the duck farm—someone’s got to watch all those ducks."
Just then, the resonant chime of a bronze qing echoed from the west.
The temple’s main Buddha was about to begin its ceremonial parade!
Today marked the Buddha’s birthday, and every major monastery held "Bathing the Buddha" ceremonies. Monks and devotees poured scented water—brewed from licorice and spices—over copper statues before carrying them through the streets. Vendors even sold the blessed water, claiming it secured blessings for the next life. As the procession advanced, incense bearers scattered fragrant powders, and crowds of worshippers followed, kowtowing with burning incense.
In Shen Miao’s memory, the festivities once jammed even the Eastern Glory Gate of the imperial palace, leaving the streets impassable.
"Right, let me give instructions first!" Shen Miao hitched up her skirts and dashed into the courtyard. "Fu Xing, move the fresh batch of fish noodles to dry in the yard, then run to Shuimen and fetch Tang Er—Uncle Li and Auntie are back! Tao, mind the shop for now—"
Her gaze landed on Xie Chong, leisurely sipping sweet tofu pudding under the osmanthus tree, playfully teasing Qilin with his spoon.
Seizing the moment, Shen Miao called out, "Uncle Xie, I’ve got an emergency—could you watch the children? I’ll be back later!"
Without waiting for a reply, she patted Lei Ting, who wagged his tail eagerly, then addressed Sister Xiang and Chen Chuan, still drowsy by the corridor. "Eldest Sister needs to check the duck farm. Be good and listen to Uncle Xie, alright?"
The two nodded groggily.
Shen Miao then softened her voice for Youyu, whose cheeks were smeared with tofu crumbs. "Youyu, stay with Sister Xiang and Xiao Chuan. No wandering off, understand?"
Youyu, already on her third bowl of savory tofu pudding, clutched her dish and nodded obediently, picking stray bits from her face and popping them into her mouth.
So tasty.
She giggled to herself, hugging the bowl.
Xie Chong, suddenly tasked with childcare, blinked at his black ceramic bowl. He’d never raised children—Third Brother, Ninth Brother, and Eleventh Sister had all been reared by wet nurses. But Shen Miao was already gone, snatching her satchel by the door and vanishing in a whirl.
"I’m off! The house is yours!"
Resigned, Xie Chong sat back down, mechanically taking a few spoonfuls before pausing. Slowly, he turned to the corridor.
Sister Xiang, Chen Chuan, and Youyu stared back at him, wide-eyed and expectant.
Silence. Only the cheerful chirping of plump sparrows hopping along the eaves.
After a long pause, Sister Xiang—her hair still loose—timidly ventured, "Uncle Xie… could you tie my hair in a flower-bud bun? I’m going to Douhua’s later to play with dollies."
Xie Chong: "…"
What in heaven’s name was a flower-bud bun?
Meanwhile, Shen Miao had boarded Li Tiaozi’s cart, weaving through the thickening crowds toward the outer city. Passing the labor broker’s stall, she called, "Uncle Li, wait! I need to pick up the workers I hired. Just yesterday, I told Tao I’d have them tidy the duck farm before you and Auntie returned. Who knew you’d arrive before I could send them?"
She waved at the broker, shouting over the street performers’ clamor. Luckily, he spotted her and jogged over. "Got it, I’ll fetch them now."
Soon, the cart was packed with four new hires—a family recommended by the broker.
The robust man, Hong Ba, had previously tended poultry for a stingy employer who’d cut his wages after five years without a raise. Fed up, he’d quit and brought his whole family along.
The woman appeared to be in her early thirties, named Luo Niang, his wife, who also had some experience tending to ducks and chickens. The couple had two children—an elder brother named Hong Shan and a younger sister named Hong Xi—both quite capable. When Shen Miao asked them about raising ducks, they answered with confidence. They could practically be considered half a labor force already. According to Hong Ba, the two children had been helping their parents at the duck farm since they could walk, learning how to raise poultry.
Young in age but with a decade of experience.
Shen Miao hired the entire family, arranging for them to move into the duck farm. The four of them would receive five strings of cash per month, with lodging included. When Hong Ba heard that there were newly built brick houses reserved for them at the farm, he was both delighted and satisfied. Previously, while working for their former employer, the whole family had to live alongside the ducks.
Picking up the Hong family of four only delayed them briefly before the mule cart got stuck between a meat pie stall and a monkey performance troupe.
Incense smoke curled in the air, stinging Shen Miao’s eyes. Fortunately, it wasn’t long before soldiers from the Street Administration arrived to clear the road, allowing Li Tiaozi to inch the mule cart forward at a snail’s pace.
While Shen Miao went to inspect the ducklings she had been longing to see, back at the Piyong Academy, Shen Ji’s instant noodle business was thriving.
The younger students had returned to the academy first after the New Year celebrations. Having indulged in plenty of good food at home, none of them could stomach the slop served at the dining hall. The cured sausages and two large crates of instant noodles that his elder sister had sent over via Tang Er were nearly sold out within days, leaving only a few portions.
Business was so good that his stove had been permanently set up in the corridor behind the dormitory, where he now cooked the noodles without moving it around.
Today was the Bathing the Buddha Festival, and many students had sneaked out to join the festivities. Rumors spread that acrobatic troupes and puppet shows from the entertainment districts would parade through the streets, accompanied by floats—promising great fun.
Shen Ji had only cooked two pots of noodles today. The second batch was only because Meng Honghe, overcome by cravings, insisted that the pastries his mother had sent at noon weren’t enough to fill him. Reluctantly, Shen Ji had put down his books to cook for him.
Crouched beneath the corridor’s pillar, the patterned shadows of the window lattice dappled the brick floor. Shen Ji stirred the noodles with chopsticks, cracked a raw egg into the pot, and sliced half a sausage. Soon, the broth bubbled with foam, and he quickly turned off the heat, handing the small earthenware pot to Meng Honghe.
Leaning against the corridor’s railing, Meng Honghe’s eyes gleamed behind his crystal lenses, eager to dig in.
"Go on, eat," Shen Ji grumbled, thrusting the chopsticks at him. "I was in the middle of my homework, you know."
Meng Honghe clutched the chopsticks with an ingratiating smile. "I was really hungry."
"Hurry up. After this, we’re going back to study. The teacher said he’ll quiz us on Mencius tomorrow." Shen Ji turned to tidy the charcoal in the stove.
"I know, I’ve already memorized it. Wow, this smells amazing—only you can make noodles taste this good..."
Meng Honghe eagerly lowered his head to take a bite, but the steam instantly fogged up his spectacles, turning them into two white discs. He could see nothing.
With a sigh, he set down the chopsticks, unhooked the spectacles from his ears, and wiped them with the hem of his robe.
Shen Ji shot him a sidelong glare. "...I haven’t memorized it yet."
"After I finish eating, I’ll help you review. I’ll quiz you—don’t worry, we’ll make it in time." Meng Honghe chuckled as he cleaned the lenses, but without his spectacles, even Shen Ji standing right before him looked like a blurred figure underwater.
Once he put them back on, his vision cleared. His eyes had been weak since childhood. His mother always blamed herself, saying she hadn’t eaten enough grapes while pregnant, which was why he was born with poorer eyesight than others.
But Meng Honghe didn’t see how that was her fault. Some people were born without arms, others mute. He wasn’t blind—just couldn’t see as clearly. That was already lucky.
His mother had sought doctors everywhere for his myopia, but all concluded it was incurable. The only solution was to save up for spectacles.
A single pair cost over ten strings of cash.
Meng Honghe buried himself in the noodles, but soon the lenses fogged up again. This time, he couldn’t be bothered to wipe them. The nuisance of wearing spectacles was this—either his vision was obscured by steam, or he’d misplace them when he took them off. Then, half-blind, he’d have to squint and grope around.
Shen Ji often joked that Meng Honghe spent ten out of twelve hours a day searching for his spectacles.
The thought made Meng Honghe smile—until a cold, sneering voice cut in from the side:
"Making a profit in the land of sages—how fitting."
Shen Ji and Meng Honghe turned simultaneously. It was Wang Shanwen from Dormitory B, flanked by his two lackeys. The sight of the trio made their scalps prickle.
Wang Shanwen, the nephew of the academy’s head, had a large head, thick neck, broad shoulders, and stout limbs. He favored dark-colored robes, so to someone like Meng Honghe with poor eyesight, he resembled a massive, menacing winter melon lumbering toward them when seen from afar without spectacles.
Shen Ji’s eyes rolled skyward at the sight. Here we go again. It never ends.
Wang Shanwen swaggered up to Shen Ji, arms crossed, bending down to leer at him. Then, one by one, he began flicking coins at Shen Ji’s head and body. "Are you here to study or to make money? How shameless. Since you love money so much, why don’t I give you some for your coffin fund?"
Coins struck Shen Ji’s face and the clay stove, some bouncing off into the distance.
The hand gripping the fire tongs tensed, veins bulging.
These days, everyone from officials to commoners loved playing football, and Piyong Academy had two football fields. Earlier in the year, the academy had hosted several matches. Shen Ji had only learned to play football after enrolling.
But his aim wasn’t great. Once, during a game, he’d hooked a ribboned ball with his foot—only for it to rebound off a post and smack Wang Shanwen square in the face.
The impact sent Wang Shanwen sprawling into the mud, blood gushing from his nose, to the uproarious laughter of onlookers.
Shen Ji had rushed to help him up, only to be kicked in return.
Ever since, Wang Shanwen had haunted him like a vengeful ghost. No matter how many times Shen Ji apologized, Wang Shanwen insisted it had been deliberate humiliation. Now, he seized every chance to harass him.
Shen Ji had tolerated it for a long time, not wanting to cause trouble for his elder sister. But now, here he was again!
Emboldened by Shen Ji’s silence, Wang Shanwen grew even more brazen. He pulled out a string of coins from his purse, bit through the cord, and poured a handful over Shen Ji’s head. "You like money, right? Have some more. I’ve got plenty!"
Shen Ji glanced at the scattered coins and, against his better judgment, felt a flicker of temptation.
So he stayed quiet.
Seeing no resistance, Wang Shanwen kicked over the clay stove, stomping on the shattered pieces in fury. "Sell this! Go on, sell it now!"
The still-burning charcoal scattered across the ground, searing the grass with a hiss.
Meng Honghe clutched the earthen pot, hiding behind a pillar in the corridor, both anxious and afraid. Gripping his eyeglasses tightly, he dared not step forward to help.
Shen Ji spotted him from afar, looking as frantic as an ant on a hot pan, and gave an almost imperceptible shake of his head, signaling him to stay back.
How old was Meng Honghe, after all? Barely older than Sister Xiang. It was better for him to hide—otherwise, if a fight broke out, Shen Ji would have to look after him too.
Turning his attention back to Wang Shanwen, Shen Ji took a deep breath. His elder sister had once told him, "Endure for a moment, and the anger only grows; retreat a step, and the resentment only festers..."
This scoundrel had ruined his stove, and Shen Ji was truly furious now! Steeling himself, he raised the fire tongs, ready to strike—when suddenly, a bamboo branch still adorned with leaves swept down onto the back of Wang Shanwen’s head, lashing his nape without warning.
Wang Shanwen yelped in pain, jumping as if scalded. Clutching his neck, he spun around and roared, "Who dares hit your grandfather?!"
"Good grandson, it’s you I’m hitting," came a cold, crisp voice, delivering the taunt with icy precision before striking his arm with another sharp flick.
Wang Shanwen howled, hopping on the spot.
The slender bamboo branch looked like it had been snapped off casually from the roadside, leaves still clinging to it. Though thin, such branches stung terribly when used as a whip. Wang Shanwen writhed under the lashes, spewing curses between yelps—only to earn himself even harsher blows.
"Do you know who my uncle is? How dare you treat me like this!" Wang Shanwen swung a fist, but the assailant sidestepped effortlessly, leaving him to take another stinging strike—this time across the delicate skin of his wrist. He shrieked in agony, his cries cut short as a kick sent him sprawling face-first into the dirt. His wails dissolved into pitiful whimpers.
"Waaah… Uncle! Someone’s beating me…" Pinned under the other’s foot, he couldn’t even roll over, reduced to invoking his uncle’s name. But the figure above merely looked down at him and said coolly, "Headmaster Wang sent you to this academy to study, not to torment your peers. If I catch you doing this again—"
The bamboo branch sliced through the air with a terrifying whistle, the unspoken threat hanging heavy in the silence.
Wang Shanwen’s two lackeys had long since huddled together, trembling at the sidelines. They recognized this person—he was a senior student from the top dormitory, the highest scorer in this year’s academy exams. Wasn’t this him?
And wasn’t he… from an illustrious family? Not someone easily trifled with, unlike Shen Ji, whose background was humble.
Once the trio had fled, sobbing, the frost in Xie Qi’s eyes finally melted away.
Shen Ji stood frozen, the fire tongs still half-raised, staring as Xie Qi turned toward him.
Sunlight filtered through the trees, casting dappled light over Xie Qi’s gentle, smiling features. His usual warmth had returned as he righted the small clay stove, now half-crushed underfoot, sighing regretfully. "What a shame. Your sister just bought this, didn’t she?"
Shen Ji snapped out of his daze. "Ninth Brother, what brings you here?"
Before Xie Qi could answer, Shen Ji remembered and answered his own question. "Ah, today’s the start of term for senior students. I forgot."
"Your sister made some Buddha’s incense cakes and asked me to bring them to you." Xie Qi lifted his other hand, revealing a neatly tied oil-paper package secured with hemp twine. Miraculously, it had survived the scuffle unscathed. "Everyone at home has already had some. You’re the only one left."
Shen Ji accepted the package, belatedly realizing Xie Qi had been wielding the bamboo branch single-handedly. A beat later, thoughts of his sister warmed and ached his heart, dampening his spirits. "The stove’s ruined, and I’ve caused trouble for her again."
"None of this is your fault. If that troublemaker drags Headmaster Wang into this, just put the blame on me." Xie Qi brushed the soot from Shen Ji’s sleeves and stood. "As for the stove, we can use the coins scattered here to buy a new one."
Shen Ji couldn’t help but laugh. Most proud scholars would’ve been furious at being pelted with such "filthy lucre," but only Ninth Brother would say it was conveniently useful.
"Now that the cakes are delivered, I should head back." Xie Qi’s voice was soft. He’d only just arrived at the academy and still needed to pay his respects to Mr. Feng.
"Let me walk you out." Shen Ji hurried to escort him, listening as Xie Qi advised him on what to say if questioned.
At the dormitory gate, they spotted Qiu Hao waiting at the corner, a bookcase strapped to his back. Seeing them, he clasped his hands in greeting.
Shen Ji returned a half-bow. Xie Qi patted his shoulder. "Go on back."
Nodding, Shen Ji watched Xie Qi turn to leave—then suddenly called out, "Ninth Brother, wait!"
Xie Qi paused, puzzled, as Shen Ji dashed back to his room and returned moments later, clutching a lump of purple-root soap. Pressing it into Xie Qi’s hand, he pointed at his own neck. "You’ve got a bug bite there, don’t you? The weather’s been strange this year—insects are out so early. This soap’s from my sister. It stops the itching. Take this one—I’ve got another."
Shen Ji grinned, his eyes crinkling in a way that mirrored Shen Miao’s. When Xie Qi hesitated, he shoved the soap into his palm. "Take it! I’d better get back to my books. See you later!"
With that, he sprinted off.
Xie Qi stood rigid, staring down at the soap in his hand.
Though it was soap he held, he didn’t smell the usual fragrance of purple root. Instead, the cloying scent of Buddha’s incense seemed to fill his senses again.
A narrow alley, tucked away in the shadows. Outside, the clamor of the Buddha-bathing festival ebbed and flowed. Sunlight shifted along the eaves, scattering flecks of light over his flustered self and Shen Miao, who gazed up at him with a smile.
Two fingers hooked into the rhinoceros-horn buckle of his belt, pulling him closer. Through the thin fabric of his robe, the press of knuckles against his abdomen sent heat pooling low.
They stood nearly nose to nose.
Xie Qi felt like he was burning up, tilting his head back, not daring to look down. His pulse hammered wildly.
Then her other hand rose, delicate fingers brushing the hollow of his throat before her thumb pressed hard over the faint blue vein there.
His entire body locked up.
The next instant, a sharp, wet sting bloomed over his Adam’s apple—
Her teeth had closed lightly around it.
His breath hitched to a stop.
Overwhelmed, he jerked his head down—only to see the dark coil of her hair and the white jade hairpin nestled within.
Her face was buried against his neck.
Spine rigid, fists clenched, he somehow remained standing, clinging to the last shreds of his composure.
"Ah—" The moment he tried to speak, her tongue flicked over the bite mark on his throat, and his voice shattered.
That single touch turned his bones to molten wax.
Scalding heat flooded Xie Qi’s veins. The last thread of his restraint snapped.
Boneless, he slid slowly down the wall.
The spot where she had bitten and licked him felt as if all the blood in his body had rushed there. Dazed, he could even feel the pulse beneath his skin throbbing at his Adam's apple.
A breeze carrying the scent of sandalwood swept over the eaves, stirring Shen Miao’s mischievous smile as well.
She took half a step back, bent down, and glanced at the damp teeth marks on his throat, suppressing a laugh as she tucked the loose strands of hair behind his ear.
"Fool."
"Remember, this is what it means to take liberties."
On the stone path outside the schoolhouse, Qiu Hao stood a few steps away, watching in confusion as Xie Qi remained frozen in place for a long moment before suddenly stumbling, his face flushed scarlet, and steadying himself against a bamboo pole.
Qiu Hao tilted his head in bewilderment.
What’s going on?
Can one get heatstroke in spring?
In the Funing Palace of the imperial court, Zhao Boyun stared curiously at the fish ball as large as a small bowl and the unusually thick noodles in the broth before him.
"This is the new noodle soup from Shen’s shop. The aroma was so enticing that I took the liberty of buying it," Liang Qian said with a smile, placing the bowl by Zhao Boyun’s side. "Your Majesty has a toothache, doesn’t he? The imperial physician said it’s due to internal heat—perhaps it’s best to eat something light and avoid roasted duck for a few days?"
Shen Miao wasn’t at the shop today, but the attendant, Fu Xing, claimed that both the fish noodles and fish balls were made by her own hands. The attendant was efficient—he blanched the fish noodles, packed them in a bowl, and separately carried the piping-hot broth in a bamboo tube. The fish balls were also boiled and packed separately.
He advised bringing it back quickly and assembling the noodles, broth, and fish balls at home to prevent the noodles from clumping, ensuring they’d taste just as good.
The palace wasn’t far from Shen’s shop, so after some thought, Liang Qian decided to bring it back—ever since His Majesty’s toothache began, nothing had appealed to him.
Even his broad, dark face seemed slightly thinner.
Liang Qian had no children of his own, nor a proper family. The first half of his life was spent serving the late emperor, and the latter half caring for Zhao Boyun. Though he never dared say it aloud, he regarded the emperor with the same concern and tenderness as a father would his own child.
So seeing Zhao Boyun lose his appetite pained him deeply. Liang Qian’s heart ached as he looked at the emperor—His Majesty had lost at least two taels of weight! Just look, even the plumpness of his cheeks no longer bounced as it used to.
When Liang Qian suggested giving up roasted duck, Zhao Boyun, his swollen dark cheek cradled in his hand, sighed gloomily: "If I can’t eat roasted duck, what joy is left in life?"
He glanced down at the fragrant "fish ball noodle soup" with little enthusiasm, picking up his chopsticks with disdain. "Fish balls are too fishy. I’d rather have plain congee than this..."
But remembering that Liang Qian had gone out of his way to buy this for his sake, he reluctantly picked up a fish ball and took a small bite.
"Hm?"
The moment his teeth broke through the outer layer, his tongue met a tender, sweet filling—smooth yet springy, as bouncy as a sparrow’s tongue.
"Hmm?!"
