Feeling more at ease, Shen Miao leisurely washed up and dressed, yawning as she made her way into the kitchen to prepare breakfast.
Yesterday, that Ninth Young Master from the Xie family had insisted on giving her a generous amount of food to take home.
An entire leg of lamb, two bags of fine flour, a basket of eggs, an assortment of fresh vegetables and fruits, and even a ball of dough that had already been kneaded and left to rise.
The head cook, Master Fang, had handed her the dough with great care, explaining, “It’s already late. If you had to go home and start making dinner from scratch, it would be too much trouble. It’s best to take something that can go straight into the pot.”
Fearing she might refuse, he had quickly added, “This was also Ninth Young Master’s idea.”
And so, last night, Shen Miao and her siblings enjoyed a rare, hearty meal.
She sliced the lamb leg into thin, translucent pieces, using the bones to prepare a rich broth.
The pre-kneaded dough was expertly shaved into boiling water… and just like that, a steaming bowl of hand-sliced lamb noodles, fragrant and full of flavor, melted away the fatigue of her entire day.
Ever since their parents passed, Xiang Jie and Ji Ge had not had such an indulgent meal with so much lamb.
And since coming to this world, neither had Shen Miao.
As a seasoned cook, she could tell the quality of lamb just from its scent.
But even without that, the meat’s color alone—vibrant pink even without the aid of a lantern—spoke volumes.
It gave the impression that the lamb had been full of life, vigorous and well-fed before it was slaughtered.
When she sliced it open, the evenly marbled white fat added to its richness.
This was exactly how a lamb leg should be.
If the fat had turned yellow, it could indicate poor-quality feed or oxidation from being stored too long—such meat would have a strong gamey taste.
A leg with excessive fat would be greasy, while one too lean would be dry and tough.
This one, however, was perfectly balanced.
Shen Miao washed the lamb leg as if she were caressing a beauty’s thigh, swallowing back her own saliva.
Moreover, the lamb leg that Master Fang had given her was clearly a foreleg.
In lambs, the front legs move less than the hind legs, making the meat slightly fattier but with fewer tendons and membranes—ideal for hotpot, where quick cooking preserves its tenderness and juiciness.
By contrast, the hind leg, with more muscle and connective tissue, was better suited for braising, stewing, or slow roasting.
So, when cooking the noodles, she simply sliced the lamb and briefly dipped it into the simmering bone broth.
This way, the meat retained its original flavor—rich, tender, and silky smooth.
Her knife skills were impeccable; she could shave the lamb so thin that light passed through it.
When eaten, it was so tender it almost melted in the mouth.
Likewise, her noodle-shaving technique was masterful—each piece was thicker in the middle and thinner at the edges, with sharply defined ridges, resembling delicate willow leaves.
Once boiled, they turned perfectly chewy yet smooth, needing only a sprinkle of scallions and ginger for seasoning.
No heavy spices were required—the broth alone was enough to bring out the lamb’s fragrance without a trace of gaminess.
The aroma of the simmering lamb bone broth filled the entire house, making mouths water before the meal even began.
When the noodles, meat, and broth came together, the three siblings sat around their small kitchen table, warmed by the flickering stove.
Each of them had a large, steaming bowl in front of them, the surface covered in tender lamb slices.
They ate heartily, savoring every bite.
By the time they finished, not even a drop of broth was left.
They set down their bowls in unison—then, just as in sync, let out full, satisfied burps.
Ji Ge hadn’t eaten this much in a long time.
He turned to glance at Xiang Jie, who had eaten so well that she was sweating, her cheeks flushed pink.
Looking down at her rounded belly, she patted it with her chubby hands and exclaimed in wonder, “Ah-Jie, look! My stomach turned into a froggy belly!”
Shen Miao burst into laughter.
The three of them were so full that they slumped in their chairs for a long while, basking in the satisfaction of a warm meal.
Eventually, Ji Ge was the first to get up, gathering the bowls and chopsticks and fetching water to wash them.
Meanwhile, Shen Miao took Xiang Jie outside for a walk to digest their meal.
By now, their three little chickens had gotten used to being raised in the household.
Instead of running away at the sight of people, they followed them around, hoping for food.
So, as Ji Ge washed dishes in the kitchen and glanced outside, he saw his sister leading the way, with Xiang Jie trailing behind—both of them followed closely by a trio of fluttering little chickens.
Two humans, three birds, all walking in a line.
The sudden death of their parents, followed by three years of living under another’s roof, had turned Ji Ge into a wary child, one who rarely smiled.
But in this moment, watching his sister and little sister strolling through the courtyard, he scrubbed the bowls a little harder—without even realizing that his eyes were filled with laughter.
It felt like the day Shen Miao had returned was the day this house truly became a home again.
These days, when Ji Ge occasionally dreamed, his dreams were no longer filled with the dark, oppressive sight of his parents’ coffins, nor the swirling ashes from the funeral incense.
He no longer dreamt of the cold, endless nights at his uncle’s house, where he had to rise before dawn to labor.
Instead, his dreams were filled with colors and sounds—the soft crowing of young chicks, the faint hues of wildflowers, the sound of Xiang Jie’s laughter, and the comforting sight of Ah-Jie waking early to knead dough and cook in the kitchen.
And he had also tasted warmth.
The hearty satisfaction of dumpling soup, the fullness of black rice and yam steamed buns, the tenderness of spinach pockets, the fragrant crispness of quan jia fu pancakes, the sweetness of honeyed red bean pastries, and the rich umami of lamb knife-shaved noodles.
From this moment, warmth and abundance had returned to their lives.
It was… truly wonderful.
He lowered his head, concealing the slight heat in his eyes.
Unbeknownst to Shen Miao, as she and her siblings enjoyed their meal behind closed doors, the aroma of lamb had spread through the narrow alleyway, tantalizing everyone nearby.
Aunt Gu, who had been clumsily attempting to recreate the cabbage and egg dumplings that Shen Miao had gifted her last time, was immediately hit by the mouthwatering scent.
Startled, she nearly lost her footing.
Wiping her hands on her apron, she stepped outside and took a deep sniff.
Coincidentally, Uncle Gu, who brewed wine for a living, was home.
He had been wiping down his large vats, sweating under the exertion, when the intense fragrance of lamb hit him.
He looked up sharply, inhaling deeply.
“Now that’s some fine lamb. No heavy spices masking the smell—this must be top-quality meat.”
As an experienced winemaker, Uncle Gu had a sharp nose.
Even from across two courtyard walls, he could tell that the richness of the broth came from the high quality of the lamb itself.
The pure, meaty aroma hadn’t been overwhelmed by excessive seasonings, making it all the more enticing.
His stomach growled slightly.
He stretched his neck, hoping to catch a glimpse of the source.
But when his gaze landed on the kitchen table, he only saw the misshapen vegetarian buns his wife had been making.
Disappointed, he sighed and slumped back.
Meanwhile, Aunt Li had also opened her door, peering around in search of the source of the heavenly smell.
Her eyes eventually settled on the newly installed wooden door of the Shen family’s home.
That eldest Shen girl sure couldn’t stay idle.
Just a few days ago, she had dragged back two old, charred wooden stools with broken legs.
Instead of throwing them away, she had propped them up with stones to create a makeshift platform at her doorstep.
Then, she had repurposed broken pottery—old bowls and jars—to plant some wildflowers.
Not stopping there, she had placed a wooden board beside the planters, pasted red paper on it, and carefully written a blessing:
“Spring brings fortune, summer brings peace, autumn brings comfort, winter brings joy.”
Even the wall beside the door had a small wooden plaque nailed to it, with the single character ” Shen”.
At night, when the lanterns cast a warm glow over the inked characters and delicate petals, the scene exuded a simple yet charming beauty.
More importantly, the calligraphy was strong and precise, with powerful, steady strokes.
Aunt Li’s expression darkened.
Only Ji Ge knew how to write in the Shen family, but hadn’t he been expelled from the private school?
How had his handwriting turned out so well—better even than her own son Li Gou’er, whom she had always been so proud of?
But her son was still talented!
Aunt Li reassured herself with a firm nod.
Just then, the wind carried another wave of rich, meaty fragrance her way.
Aunt Li took another look at the Shen family’s door, pursed her lips, and withdrew into her house, shutting the door behind her.
“The Shen family is making lamb soup? That’s quite extravagant. Lamb isn’t cheap!”
She swallowed hard, trying to ignore the sudden hunger gnawing at her.
“They only just started that little food stall, and now they’re already spending so much? Buying lamb of all things? Eating like this, no amount of money will last!
That Shen girl is still too young—she doesn’t know how hard it is to earn a living. She won’t be able to keep this up for long.”
Shen Miao was blissfully unaware of the gossip brewing outside.
Even if she knew, it wouldn’t stop her from enjoying her meal.
This lamb was too good to let go to waste.
If she didn’t eat it fresh, wouldn’t that be a real shame?
She had always hated wasting food.
Besides, maybe it was just her imagination, but after eating the lamb, she had felt warm all night.
Her stomach was comfortable, her hands and feet were warm, and she had slept especially well.
Perhaps that was why she had overslept today.
Raindrops the size of beans drummed against the rooftops.
By noon, the rain had not let up—instead, it had grown even heavier.
Seated in the kitchen, Shen Miao busied herself with kneading dough for the red bean paste buns she needed to deliver to the Xie household today.
As she glanced at the rain cascading off the eaves like a shimmering curtain of water, she couldn’t help but frown in concern.
If the rain didn’t stop, she would have no choice but to spend money hiring a covered donkey cart.
Walking in this downpour would mean getting completely soaked.
She didn’t mind getting wet, but the freshly made red bean paste buns certainly couldn’t be rained on.
She hurried to finish her work, still holding onto a sliver of hope—perhaps the rain would stop soon.
But fate had other plans.
By the time she had finished all 150 red bean paste buns for the day, not only had the rain failed to stop, but the wind had picked up as well.
The fierce gusts drove the rain in slanted sheets, making the trees outside sway violently, their branches shivering under the onslaught.
Grabbing an umbrella, she stepped outside to check on the situation.
The streets had turned into rivers, with not a single soul in sight.
Where was she supposed to find a cart now?
What to do?
Sighing, she turned back, just about to close the door when she noticed the back gate of the Gu family’s courtyard was open.
Gu Tusu was outside in a straw raincoat, pushing a cart as he hurriedly moved the large wine vats indoors.
His hat tilted slightly as he looked up and saw her.
Underneath the rain-soaked brim was his deeply tanned face, his neck even showing distinct layers from sun exposure.
He stopped, adjusted his hat, and asked, “Big Sister Shen? Something wrong?”
“Nothing, just checking the rain,” she replied with a smile.
She had considered asking the Gu family for their cart, but in such heavy rain, a wooden pushcart wouldn’t be much better than carrying the goods on her shoulders—it would likely get stuck in the mud, and if it tipped over, it would be even worse.
Besides, pushing a cart in this downpour would leave her just as drenched.
She had already made up her mind to rent a proper covered carriage from the horse-and-cart business.
It would be more expensive, but at least it would keep them from looking utterly miserable, and more importantly, it would be safer for Ji Ge and Xiang Jie.
But before she could act, Gu Tusu, sensing her hesitation, stepped forward.
His dark, serious eyes met hers as he said, “If you need help, just ask. You’ve been setting up your stall these past few days—why haven’t you come to me for a hand?”
Shen Miao opened her mouth to respond, but before she could say anything, the sound of galloping hooves rang through the rain.
Tatatata!
Wheels splashed through puddles as a brand-new, oil-cloth-covered carriage broke through the curtain of rain.
The chestnut-colored horse snorted, steam rising from its nostrils, before the vehicle came to a swift halt right in front of her.
Shen Miao was taken aback.
She looked up.
The six-sided glass lantern, its silk covering swaying in the stormy wind, bore a single painted character—Xie.
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