“Auntie,” the woman said, tugging her child along, a smile spread across her face, “so sorry to bother you. I saw you’d got a fire going, and I was wondering if I could borrow a corner of your stove to warm up a couple of flatbreads for the little one?”
Auntie Pockmark was already in a foul mood. She gave the woman a once-over, eyes slanted with disdain. “What’s this? Trying to mooch off me, are we? Out on the road and you didn’t even think to bring your own kindling? If you haven’t got the strength, go find a food stall up ahead. If you haven’t got the coin, go gather some twigs in the woods and start your own fire!”
Then, as if a thought struck her, her tone turned even more spiteful. “Oh—I thought I recognized you! Aren’t you the one who went crawling to that cook at Jinxing House earlier today? What, did she send you over here to have a laugh at my expense?”
“Auntie, you’re doing me a grave wrong!” The woman’s voice wavered. “I left in such a hurry I truly didn’t have time to pack any of that gear. The boy’s been crying his eyes out from hunger, and I had no choice but to swallow my pride and come begging at your door. I could tell at a glance you’re a kind soul, warm-hearted, and that’s the only reason I dared to ask.” Zhao Sanniang’s eyes grew red as she spoke, and she raised a sleeve to dab at the corner of her eye.
Then, changing tack, her voice took on a note of grievance. “At noon, I did go to see that cook, Lin. I figured—she’s got a child of her own—surely she’d understand a mother’s plight. I offered to trade some of the fine wheat cakes we’d brought for one of her little steamed buns for the boy. She could have said no, and that would’ve been that. But instead—instead she laid into me, sharp-tongued and mean, saying I didn’t know my place and was trying to get her sacked! It’s—it’s mortifying, truly it is…”
At the mention of “fine wheat cakes,” Auntie Pockmark’s gaze dropped to the cloth sack in the woman’s hand, and she looked her over more carefully. The woman was travel-worn, but her face was neat and comely; her clothes were of rough cloth, yet looked freshly made. The child beside her seemed thin, but his hempen tunic fit well, and at the collar one could glimpse embroidered silk beneath.
“Hah! Her?” Auntie Pockmark looked away, going back to stirring her pot of watery pickled-vegetable soup. “That Lin, back when she was at the way station, was nothing but a down-and-out wretch who couldn’t scrape together two meals a day. Now that she’s climbed up to Jinxing House, her eyes are probably stuck on top of her head! It ain’t just you she looks down on—even me, an old woman who once tried to lend her a hand, she can’t be bothered with!”
Zhao Sanniang’s hand, mid-dab at her eyes, paused for just a beat. She looked up, probing gently. “From the way you talk, Auntie, sounds like you two have some history?”
“History? Me and her? What history would that be!” Auntie Pockmark’s voice shot up in denial, but her body shifted slightly, making room at the stove. “Here—there’s just a few embers left. If you’re quick about it, you can heat those up. Poor thing, that child, I can’t bear to see him suffer.”
“Oh! Thank you, Auntie! I knew you had a good heart.” Zhao Sanniang’s face broke into a warm, eager smile, and she thanked her over and over.
She swiftly warmed the flatbreads. She gave one to the child, then took another, tore it in half, and offered it to Auntie Pockmark. “Auntie, do have a taste. Just a small token, please don’t turn it down.”
Auntie Pockmark took it without a moment’s hesitation, shoved it into her mouth, and said through chews, “No need for all that politeness. On the road like this, we help each other out when we can.”
The warm bread loosened her tongue, and she launched into her grievances with righteous indignation. “Back at the Wucang County way station, I saw she was a widow with a young one, pitiful as could be. We were both headed to Lingzhou, so I thought I’d do a good deed and let them ride along with us. And what did I get for my trouble? She looked down her nose at our humble setup, then gave me a mouthful of acid in return. A real case of ‘save a dog, and it thanks you with a bite’!”
Zhao Sanniang’s eyes widened in feigned shock. “Heavens above! And here I thought I must have done something wrong myself to deserve her cold shoulder. So she treats even a kindly old soul like you the same way…”
The two of them chattered on, growing chummier by the moment. Meanwhile, Lin Wu—the very subject of their gossip—had finished her evening meal, though the salty, heavy flavor lingering on her tongue only made her crave something sweet even more.
Once the kitchen was cleaned up, she took out some red beans, soaked them in fresh water, and set them aside for the next day’s work.
As night deepened, the campfire crackled, and the low murmurs of the night watchmen drifted through the dark.
Lin Wu, having prepared everything for the morrow, turned in early along with Lin Jing.
The next morning, before first light, the kitchen was already bustling.
Lin Wu led the crew in steaming the soaked red beans and the cubed taro roots until they were thoroughly soft, then mashed them into a fine, silky bean paste and a smooth, creamy taro purée, sweetening each with a touch of sugar syrup.
To accommodate those who weren’t fond of sweets, she also prepared a savory filling with minced scallions and cured pork.
Next, they kneaded an oil-rich dough, cut it into portions, wrapped each with the filling, and gently rolled them flat before setting them on a well-oiled hot griddle to slow-fry.
Out they came—each flatbread as big as two open palms, golden and crisp, fragrant and generously stuffed.
Lin Wu worked without pause, making a large batch, enough to double as traveling rations for the midday break.
For the honored guest’s meals, she set aside a separate small ball of dough and steamed a dozen or so dainty buns filled with bean paste and taro purée.
“Good heavens, that smells incredible!” Xiao Zhao arrived with the food hamper, handing it to Lin Wu with one hand while snatching a just-fried bean-paste flatbread with the other, not missing a beat. Undaunted by the heat, he took an eager bite, and his eyes went wide. The outer crust was flaky, layer upon layer, crumbling as he bit in, while the bean paste within was soft, sweet, and perfectly balanced—not the slightest bit cloying.
“Last night all I had was meat on my tongue, but a sweet bite like this this morning—just the ticket, just the ticket!” he praised through mouthfuls.
Lin Jing sat on his little stool, cradling a warm taro flatbread in his hands. On his bent knees rested a broad dried leaf. He took a small bite, and the crispy crust cracked open, scattering golden crumbs onto the leaf. His eyes narrowed slightly, clearly savoring that crunchy texture.
He didn’t rush to the filling. Instead, he worked his way around the edge, taking small, deliberate bites, carefully nibbling through half the crust before finally reaching the taro purée inside. Only then did he take a generous bite—crisp crust and soft filling together—and his eyes closed in contentment.
Inside the carriage, Fang Qian finished a taro flatbread of his own. “The taro filling is well done—soft, fragrant, melts the moment it touches the tongue. I imagine if it were made into steamed buns, the texture would be even more delicate. Perfect for my uncle, whose teeth aren’t what they used to be.”
“Funny you should say that,” came a cheerful voice as the curtain lifted and Xiao Zhao poked his head in, grinning. “The buns are here, just delivered for you, sir.”
He set a small white porcelain dish before Fang Qian. On it sat several buns—neat, round, their skins snowy white.
“Cook Lin made these special for you and Master Qin,” the steward added from behind. “They were steamed a quarter-hour longer than the flatbreads, just taken off the pot.”
“How thoughtful of her,” Fang Qian said, picking up a bun. The familiar, pillowy softness met his fingertips. He bit down, and the sweet taro purée dissolved on his tongue—cleaner and silkier than the fried version. “Indeed, it melts as soon as it enters the mouth, with a charm all its own. And in such a petite, delicate form—the elders and the little ones at home will adore these.”
Manager Zhang replied, "Once we return to the residence, I will instruct the kitchen maid to try making it the same way." The beauty of the filling lay more in cleverness than in intricate technique, so it should not be difficult to recreate.
But Fang Qian waved his hand. "No. That country woman is a widow with a young child, struggling to make ends meet. This little skill may be her only means of supporting herself. How could we take it without asking? If she deems it appropriate, we should make a fair deal with her and pay for the recipe. That way, both sides have peace of mind, and neither owes the other."
"You are kind-hearted, master. My thinking was too careless."
Breakfast time was short, and the convoy soon packed up and continued on its way.
After the evening meal, Manager Zhang sent Xiao Zhao to summon Lin Wu.
Lin Wu had been helping clear the dishes in the back. Her heart skipped a beat when she heard this. The evening meal was usually presided over by Li Sanniang, so why was she being called alone? Had she made some mistake during the day?
Feeling uneasy, she asked Li Sanniang to keep an eye on Lin Jing, smoothed down her coarse cloth dress, and followed Xiao Zhao with her head lowered.
