What was the best zongzi you’ve ever eaten?
For Shen Miao, the best zongzi was the braised pork zongzi made by her Grandmother in her past life.
Grandmother’s ancestral roots were in southern Fujian, and she was skilled in making traditional Minnan-style braised pork zongzi. She had married and moved far north in her youth, and after her parents passed away, she never returned to her hometown. So, in a northern town where sweet jujube and sugar zongzi dominated, she was the only one who insisted on making savory zongzi every year.
Her family had many cooks, and during the Dragon Boat Festival, they would prepare seven or eight different flavors of zongzi. Shen Miao’s father once made durian zongzi, which left the kitchen reeking for days. Another year, her grandfather learned to make a spicy pickled cabbage zongzi from a Quzhou native—an extra-spicy version at that. That year, the whole family suffered for two days, their rear ends burning from the heat.
Compared to these, Grandmother’s braised pork zongzi wasn’t even that unconventional.
But in Shen Miao’s heart, the zongzi made by her homesick Grandmother were still the best.
In her past life, Shen Miao was a mixed-blood child—well, mixed southern and northern heritage, though still within China, just from very distant regions.
This resulted in her having many northern dietary preferences: she loved beef and lamb, noodles, and stews. The only exception was zongzi, where she shared Grandmother’s taste. Because of this, Grandmother adored her from childhood, often cradling her and rocking her while saying, "Only our Miao Miao takes after her grandma, ah."
Grandmother would hold her close and teach her how to wrap zongzi, always playing favorites—stuffing hers with two salted egg yolks and hiding generous amounts of dried scallops inside, making them enormous. If any of her cousins tried to take one, Grandmother would smack their hands with chopsticks—none for them.
Eventually, the whole family knew that whenever a giant zongzi the size of two fists appeared in the pot, it was reserved for her—"Miao Miao’s Special Zongzi."
Grandmother once said she could watch little Shen Miao sitting on the doorstep, clutching the massive triangular zongzi with both hands and nibbling away, for an entire day without getting bored.
Perhaps this was why, in this life, Shen Miao couldn’t resist making oversized food for Sister Xiang. Watching the plump, adorable child with her two little buns happily munching on large portions, swaying her hands and feet with each bite, was endlessly entertaining.
Later, when she went to university, Grandmother would still vacuum-seal and cold-pack zongzi to send them to her from afar. Even though Shen Miao had long since learned to make all kinds of zongzi herself. But after Grandmother passed, she became the only one in the family who still made braised pork zongzi.
She had never lived a single day in Fujian, but thanks to Grandmother, she learned to fry vinegar-marinated pork, make five-spice rolls, wrap braised pork zongzi, and prepare rice cakes.
Festivals carry history; food carries emotions.
Sometimes, those emotions linger for a very, very long time because of food.
In this life, Shen Miao couldn’t tell whether she missed her past self or, like Grandmother, wanted to wrap all her fondest memories into zongzi.
Two days before the Dragon Boat Festival, Shen Miao began carefully preparing the ingredients for wrapping zongzi, treating it with great importance.
First, the leaves.
The most common leaves for wrapping zongzi are broad indocalamus leaves, but in Bianjing, reed leaves or banana leaves were also used. Since indocalamus bamboo didn’t grow in Bianjing—it thrived only in the warm, humid south—the indocalamus leaves available in the city were shipped north via canal boats, making them far more expensive than other leaves.
But Shen Miao still bought two baskets.
She was used to wrapping zongzi with indocalamus leaves—their unique fragrance after steaming enhanced the flavor. Since these zongzi weren’t for sale but for sharing with neighbors and eating herself, cost didn’t matter. The priority was enjoying good food.
The indocalamus leaves, dried for transport, were soaked overnight to soften, then boiled briefly. This made the fibers more pliable, easier to bend and shape without breaking or leaking rice, allowing for various zongzi forms.
Plus, boiling made the leaves even more fragrant.
The glutinous rice was a long-grain variety specially purchased by Fu Xing. When cooked, it had a pleasantly chewy texture—not overly sticky—making for a better bite. The rice was sifted to remove broken grains, then soaked for two hours.
Shen Miao had Youyu soak the rice while she prepared the braised pork.
Youyu carried a large basin of rice to the wellside stone trough, rinsing it three times before filling it with well water to soak.
Then she squatted by the basin, idly playing with the submerged rice—grabbing handfuls, squeezing them, then letting them go, counting the grains stuck to her palms. She’d lose track after thirty and start over, utterly absorbed.
The pork belly bought today was especially good.
Shen Miao had personally selected it from Butcher Zheng’s stall—a cut with three layers of fat and two of lean, diced into mahjong-tile-sized pieces. She rinsed them with sorghum liquor to remove any gaminess, then dry-fried them in a wok until amber-colored, setting them aside. The rendered fat wasn’t wasted—it would flavor other ingredients later.
As she finished frying the pork, the sound of children’s laughter in the yard drew her attention. She scooped spices while glancing out the kitchen window.
Tao, Doukou, Aunt Gu, Granny Zeng, Aunt Fang, Auntie Liu, Sister-in-law Nian, and others had gathered in her courtyard to bathe the neighborhood’s younger children. It was a warm, sunny day—bright as midsummer—so bathing outdoors wouldn’t chill them.
Sunlight filtered through the old osmanthus tree like scattered gold foil, the breeze carrying the faintly bitter scent of mugwort. Aunt Gu had brought her enormous cauldron—large enough to boil a child—and set up a makeshift stove in the yard to brew a bath of calamus root, orchid grass, and mugwort.
The liquid turned brown, steam thick with herbal fragrance.
A bamboo screen separated the boys and girls. Once the bath was ready, a few ladles of cold water were added, and the children were scrubbed while the water was still scalding—said to cleanse impurities best.
The aunties’ rough, strong hands left the kids yelping, their skin flushed red. Liu Douhua wailed the loudest, since her sister was bathing her. When Liu Doukou approached with a ladle, Douhua immediately tiptoed backward, trying to sneak out of the tub.
Before she could lift a foot, Doukou grabbed her by the scruff like a chick, hauling her back. "Running? It’s the heat that drives out toxins! Stand still!" With that, she upended a ladle of brown liquid over Douhua’s head.
"Too hot! Ma, look—!" Liu Douhua howled, tilting her face up.
Liu Doukou raised a hand, squinting threateningly. "Cry more, and no zongzi for you later."
"But it’s really hot…" Douhua whimpered, glancing at Sister Xiang, who was also shrieking under Aunt Gu’s ministrations. Seeing her friend equally miserable, she resigned herself, tears streaming.
Nearby, the Gu twins’ pig-slaughtering cries rose in tandem. Sister-in-law Gu pinned Di’s thrashing legs with one hand and gripped Bao’s slippery arm with the other, hastily signaling Tao to help rinse them.
Di absolutely refused to wash with the boys and insisted on squeezing in with Bao instead. Since they were the youngest, Sister-in-law Gu had no choice but to oblige.
Midway through the bath, Bao suddenly sniffled and complained, "Di poured an extra ladle of water on himself, so I got one less!"
Sister-in-law Gu quickly appeased, "Alright, alright, I’ll give you an extra scoop."
But Bao wasn’t satisfied. "Di’s ladle is bigger!"
"Then do you want the bigger ladle?"
"No!" Di, who had stopped crying, sat up abruptly. "I want the big ladle!"
"I want the big ladle too! We have to have the same!"
"Where am I supposed to find two identical ladles? Just finish washing up!" Sister-in-law Gu scolded loudly.
After finally getting them cleaned, they demanded identical towels, insisted on dressing at the same time, and even required their outfits to match perfectly. Once dressed, Tao tied colorful silk cords soaked in realgar wine around their wrists. Bao wanted hers on the right hand, but Di stubbornly insisted on copying her.
Sister-in-law Gu intervened, "Boys wear it on the left, girls on the right. Yours goes on the left."
"No! I want it the same as Sister!" Di wailed, tears streaming down his face. The noise grated on Sister-in-law Gu’s ears, so she relented and let him wear it on the right. She sighed in exasperation: Di copied Bao in everything—even at his age, he still performed feminine curtsies. What would become of him?
After tying the cords, the two meticulously inspected each other’s, ensuring even the knots were identical.
Tao wiped her brow sympathetically. "Raising twins must be exhausting. Do they always demand everything to be the same at home?"
"You have no idea. Today’s actually been mild," Sister-in-law Gu shook her head. "They insist on matching clothes, identical meals—earlier, when we passed a street performance, Bao saw a dog jump through a flaming hoop, but Di missed it. Guess what? We had to go back so he could watch it too, or he’d have cried the sky down."
Tao tilted her head. "...But wouldn’t Bao have seen it twice then?"
Sister-in-law Gu clapped a hand over her mouth. "Shh! Don’t let Di hear that! You’ll be the death of me!"
Tao promptly mimed sealing her lips.
"That’s nothing," Sister-in-law Gu sighed, then leaned in to whisper despairingly, "Do you know what Di threw a fit over last time? He demanded to know why Bao didn’t have ‘that thing’ between his legs like he did. He sobbed that he didn’t want his ‘thing’ either—called it a useless burden."
Tao choked on her own spit.
Soon, all the children in the courtyard had finished bathing. Each was given a piece of candy and herded to the porch to play knucklebones. The families gathered their children’s laundry, while Aunt Gu, who had no kids of her own, helped out by scrubbing the clothes of the Shen family children.
Before long, the clothesline sagged under the weight of dripping-wet bellybands, shirts, and trousers.
As the tree shadows shortened and the sun climbed toward its zenith, the damp little heads huddled together, drying alongside the laundry.
Shen Miao, sleeves rolled up, was nearly ready.
She caramelized rock sugar with freshly rendered lard until the syrup bubbled like crab eyes, then added a bowl of huadiao wine. The moment the alcohol sizzled, she pulled the pot off the heat. Next came water, soy sauce, fermented rice, and spices, followed by chunks of skin-on pork belly, simmered gently for two hours. The fire had to be carefully controlled—a rolling boil first, then reduced to a lazy simmer after skimming the scum.
The sauce was done when it thickened luxuriously without sticking.
For the glutinous rice, she fried it in lard with crispy scallions, then drenched it in the rich braising liquid until every grain gleamed amber, plump and glossy.
Other fillings—dried scallops, shrimp, and shiitake—were soaked, rinsed, and stir-fried in scallion oil. Those premium scallops cost a fortune, ancient times or modern; Shen Miao had gritted her teeth paying over three hundred coppers for a pound.
Peanuts were toasted separately. Chestnuts would’ve been ideal, but none were in season.
The salted egg yolks, bought from Aunt Li that morning, oozed golden oil.
With everything prepped, assembly began: a spoonful of rice, a yolk, a slab of pork, another spoonful of rice, then fillings, topped with a final layer of rice. Wrapping the leaves around them was quick work.
Shen Miao carried the ingredients to the courtyard, where Aunt Gu and others had brought their own glutinous rice and fillings. Bowls and basins crowded the porch as the families gathered to wrap zongzi together, planning to swap flavors later.
Perched sideways, Shen Miao deftly folded softened bamboo leaves into cones, filled them, and listened to the aunties gossip about the neighborhood—who was pregnant, whose chicken got stolen, whose loincloth landed in a neighbor’s yard—until the conversation inevitably turned to her impending marriage.
"Soon. Half the betrothal rites are done," Shen Miao answered without a hint of shyness, tying hemp twine around a zongzi corner.
Her gaze flicked to the courtyard. Father Xie was out, having gone with Zhou Da to fetch Ninth Brother and Ji Brother from the academy. They ought to be back soon.
"Ah, our girl’s luck was just waiting to bloom!" Granny Zeng cackled. "Such a fine match, such a splendid man—hard to come by even with a lantern! Why, I saw Ninth Brother’s father the other day. Handsome as they come, the spitting image of his son."
Aunt Gu snorted. "Granny, you’ve got it backward. The son resembles the father, not the other way around."
"Same difference. Standing by the west alley gate, you couldn’t tell who was who from behind."
Sister-in-law Gu sighed wistfully. "If only my Gu Dalang looked half as good as Ninth Brother, I’d marry him even if he were penniless."
The women roared with laughter. Aunt Fang elbowed her, waggling her brows. "Careful what you wish for! If your man heard that, he might take it as a challenge and leave you bedridden all night!"
Sister-in-law Gu folded her arms. "Ha! If he could manage that, I’d set off firecrackers for three days straight!"
Another round of laughter erupted. Shen Miao nearly choked on her own spit.
The chat soon veered into risqué territory, with even Aunt Gu whispering questions about the efficacy of Sister-in-law Gu’s usual tiger-penis tonic supplier.
The crowd burst into laughter at Aunt Gu’s bold declaration that she still wanted to have another child. Aunt Gu retorted with righteous indignation, "Even if I don’t have another child, I can’t just live like a widow!" The aunties covered their mouths, giggling.
Aunt Fang sighed regretfully after laughing, "What a pity Li Tiaozi’s wife went back to her parents’ home. Otherwise, we’d have even more juicy gossip!"
Sister-in-law Gu agreed, "Exactly! Remember last time when Li’s younger sister came? She said her new husband was as useless as an embroidery needle, crying to her brother and sister-in-law for support, throwing a tantrum to demand a divorce. Aunt Li described it so vividly—her sister-in-law said she was so nervous on her wedding night that she kept her eyes shut, thinking nothing had even started. But when she opened them, it was already over!"
The group erupted into laughter again.
Somehow, the atmosphere grew increasingly risqué as they wrapped the zongzi. Even Shen Miao, who prided herself on being worldly, was left wide-eyed and speechless.
How… ironic that she seemed to be the most conservative one here!
But then again, had the neighbors quietly reclassified her as a married woman? Otherwise, why would they suddenly share such bawdy talk in front of her? Shen Miao couldn’t help but laugh at the realization.
Fortunately, just as they finished wrapping the zongzi, the sound of a donkey cart echoed at the gate. The wheels rolled over the brick pavement tinted orange by the twilight. Qilin, who had been lounging on the threshold swishing his tail, suddenly spotted the person on the cart and darted out with a series of excited meows.
The aunties and grannies, who had been delving into increasingly inappropriate topics, immediately straightened their postures and feigned propriety, switching to discussing dinner plans and whether it would rain tomorrow.
After exchanging their zongzi, the aunties left with cheerful smiles as Xie Qi walked in, cradling the cat.
Xie Qi’s steps slowed unconsciously as he entered.
In the courtyard of the Shen residence, nameless wildflowers bloomed vibrantly by the wall, their petals scattered across the green bricks. The sweet fragrance of glutinous rice wrapped in bamboo leaves wafted through the air, mingling with the scent of fresh mugwort hung on the porch and the golden glow of the setting sun. It was as if a warm, hazy mist had settled over the yard.
Xie Qi felt so at ease he nearly sighed aloud.
At some point, stepping through this gate had become synonymous with peace.
Dust from the road still clung to his shoulders. He tugged absently at his tightly buttoned collar, set the cat down, and brushed off his clothes.
Then his gaze landed on the figure seated under the half-rolled bamboo curtain on the porch and lingered.
The woman in the pale blue dress was carefully arranging the wrapped zongzi into a bamboo tray. The white jade hairpin in her bun cast delicate reflections on her neck.
His fingers curled slightly. Before he knew it, Xie Qi had moved toward her and softly offered, "Let me help you carry it."
Shen Miao looked up and smiled, handing him the tray. "Alright, take it inside. We’ll cook some for dinner tonight."
As if burned by her smile, Xie Qi quickly lowered his head, ears turning red as he carried the tray of zongzi toward the kitchen.
Seeing Shen Miao always filled him with joy, but the memory of what had happened in the alleyway soon resurfaced, making it hard to meet her eyes.
Too ashamed to speak of it… yet he dreamed of that day constantly, even in the academy.
In the kitchen, Tang Er had already prepared the large earthen pot for boiling the zongzi. Shen Miao first lit a fire of pinewood until the pot’s base turned white, then added water, the zongzi, and three copper coins. Once the coins clattered in the boiling water, she reduced the fire, letting the residual heat from the embers slowly simmer the zongzi.
Some steamed their zongzi, but Shen Miao preferred boiling them—the traditional way her grandmother had taught her, using the "three boils" method: weighing them down with stones during the first boil, adding cold water to make them float during the second, and repeating the process three times to ensure the rice was perfectly cooked without turning mushy.
This method yielded zongzi with no hard center—just soft, sticky, and tender glutinous rice. After boiling, they were cooled in water before being peeled and eaten. A pressure cooker would’ve sped up the process, but now they had to wait patiently for nearly an hour.
As Shen Miao placed the zongzi into the pot, Xie Qi naturally took a seat on the small stool by the stove, silently tending to the embers. This left Youyu, who had just finished washing the dishes, bewildered—where was she supposed to sit?
She was the one who usually tended the fire! Just as Youyu was about to protest, Tao swept in like a whirlwind, grabbing her arm. "Come with me, little one. I’ll tie a five-colored thread around your wrist for good luck and safety."
She then shot Tang Er and Fu Xing a sharp look, making their spines stiffen. One abruptly excused himself to fetch rope, while the other mumbled about checking the shop, both hastily retreating.
Youyu, still dazed, was dragged away by Tao.
"Silly girl, the kitchen’s already bright enough—no need for us, understand?" Tao whispered as she led her out, though Youyu only blinked in confusion.
"Never mind, let me tie this for you."
Tao carefully fastened the colorful thread around Youyu’s wrist while Father Xie hung sachets of protective herbs around the necks of the Shen family’s cat and dog—even the donkey chewing on licorice in its shed wasn’t spared. Patting the donkey’s neck, he declared with satisfaction, "May all creatures, great and small, thrive in peace."
Now, only Shen Miao and Xie Qi remained in the kitchen.
Shen Miao pulled up a chair beside Xie Qi to watch the fire.
Steam curled around the beams, drifting between them. In the misty haze, Shen Miao felt a gentle tug on her sleeve. The moment she turned, a warm gust of steam enveloped her face, leaving it damp and flushed.
Then, through the fog, she was pulled into an embrace.
Soft strands of hair brushed against her shoulder, tickling her neck, while the arms around her tightened.
"A-Miao."
His voice, muffled against her shoulder, was as tender as spring dew.
"The… liberties you taught me… I think I’m starting to understand them…"
The embers crackled softly in the stove, the pot bubbled steadily, and outside, the cat and dog chased each other noisily. Yet amidst the clamor, the kitchen felt strangely quiet—so quiet that Shen Miao heard Xie Qi’s whisper as clearly as if it had been spoken directly into her ear:
"Can I… try being improper with you again?"
Half an hour later, the sky had turned dusky, and lanterns were lit in the courtyard.
But… the mistress and Ninth Brother still hadn’t emerged.
Unable to resist, Tao pretended to pass by on her way to fetch something from the shop, stealing a glance into the kitchen.
There she saw Shen Miao.
Standing with her back to the window, the mistress calmly lifted the lid of the pot.
The pork zongzi were ready.
The rich aroma of bamboo leaves and meat burst forth as the zongzi, now a deep bluish-black from boiling, were lifted out with long chopsticks. The twine around them gleamed, saturated with savory juices. Shen Miao remained composed, even leisurely selecting one to unwrap.
The string was cut, the bamboo leaves unfolded, and the chopsticks pierced through the center of the zongzi, revealing glossy rice grains clinging to quivering amber-colored fatty pork. The red oil from the salted egg had seeped into every glutinous morsel, the aroma so rich it made one’s mouth water.
Who knew a savory zongzi could be unexpectedly fragrant… but…
Tao’s heart had long been clawed at by a Qilin’s talons—her attention was entirely elsewhere. She quickly rose onto her tiptoes and stole another glance downward. To her astonishment, Ninth Brother also appeared completely normal!
He sat with his back to the window, legs bent on a small stool, clumsily gripping a pair of fire tongs as he helped Shen Miao tend to the flames.
The firelight from the stove bathed him head-on, casting a halo-like glow around his silhouette from behind. Tao couldn’t tell whether his ears were flushed from the heat of the fire or burning with some other emotion.
Tao rubbed her chin. Hmm… something wasn’t right.
