Shen Miao had not expected this at all—there were countless people in the world with the surname Xie, yet the Xie family she had arrived at turned out to be the very same one as the young master and servant duo she had encountered on the boat.
She couldn’t help but marvel at the mysterious workings of fate, feeling a deep sense of wonder.
As Xie Qi approached, she smiled, curving her eyes slightly, and said, “Brother Xie Jiu, greetings. Thank you for the crabapples. They added a lot of flavor to my journey.”
That note he had left behind—Shen Miao had kept it at the bottom of her chest.
Not for any particular reason, just that the handwriting was so beautiful that she couldn’t bear to throw it away.
That bag of crabapples… Xie Qi also remembered it now.
He had traveled to Jinling in search of ancient texts, venturing through the city and even the countryside.
However, his unfortunate streak had brought him a series of mishaps along the way.
The bag of crabapples had been discovered during one such misadventure—he had been climbing a mountain to visit a reclusive scholar when he first lost his footing and slipped down a slope, then had to flee from a pack of wild dogs while carrying a wailing Yan Shu on his back.
At the time, he had been utterly disheveled, parched with thirst, and Yan Shu had been so terrified his legs had gone weak.
With no other choice, Xie Qi had hiked up his robe and climbed a tree to pick some fruit to stave off hunger.
Who would have thought the branch would snap…
He had tumbled onto a thick bed of fallen leaves and broken twigs.
Yan Shu, frightened out of his wits, let out a wail and scrambled over, touching his hands and feet, then his neck, as if afraid he had broken something.
But as Xie Qi lay there, looking up, he saw the entire tree shake, causing a shower of crabapples to fall.
The evening sky was painted with golden light, the mountain peaks bathed in a radiant glow, and drifting clouds floated overhead.
The beauty of it all made him forget the pain.
He stared at the vast and colorful sky for a long time until a crabapple landed right on his forehead, snapping him back to reality.
That was why he had carried the bag of crabapples onto the boat.
Whenever he grew weary, he would eat one, and it felt as if he was tasting that day’s breathtaking mountain sunset all over again.
The sweetness would wash away his exhaustion, bringing him a moment of peace.
It was precisely because he had found them so delightful that he had given them as a gift.
Now, hearing Shen Miao’s words, his heart warmed slightly.
He finally shook his head with a smile and said, “It was Yan Shu who was impolite.”
Yan Shu stuck out his tongue sheepishly but couldn’t help sneaking a glance at Xiang Jie, who was sitting quietly, happily munching on a large peach-shaped steamed bun.
He even swallowed involuntarily.
“So you are the very same Miss Shen that my mother mentioned a few days ago—the one who makes such excellent pastries at Jinliang Bridge.”
Xie Qi pondered for a moment and then chuckled.
“What a coincidence! Even though we never met properly before, I have already tasted your cooking three times.”
Once on the cargo boat, and twice with the roasted mantou, both the vegetarian and meat versions.
“I’m here today at the request of Madam Xie to prepare the pastries for the Buddhist festival. Most of the baking is already done—this is the last batch,” Shen Miao explained, glancing back at the steaming oven.
The kiln was set up under the corridor, close to the entrance.
Ji Ge had initially stood up upon hearing the commotion outside, but after listening for a bit and understanding the situation, he didn’t rush over.
Instead, he sensibly returned to tending the fire in the stove, occasionally stirring the embers.
Yan Shu had long been craving Shen Miao’s cooking.
Ever since returning to the Xie household, he had often dreamed of eating her soup buns.
Now, hearing that she was free, he glanced at Xie Qi before pleading, “Meeting Miss Shen again is truly a stroke of fortune! Ninth Brother has been busy all day and hasn’t had a proper meal. Could we trouble you to make something delicious to fill his stomach?”
Xie Qi immediately frowned.
“Yan Shu! That’s rude!”
Yan Shu shrank his neck at once.
But Shen Miao didn’t take offense.
Madam Xie had been generous—she had paid the full amount in advance, given extra gratuity, and treated her with great respect.
And Shen Miao had always been generous in return to such customers.
After all, she was using the Xie family’s ingredients and firewood, so it cost her nothing.
Besides, cooking was the easiest thing in the world for her.
So before Xie Qi could apologize, she cheerfully cut in, “It’s no trouble at all! I’m just waiting here idly anyway. Since that’s the case, Yan Shu, would you mind informing the cook inside? I wouldn’t want to overstep…”
“I’ll go right away!”
Yan Shu, thrilled by her agreement, bolted off.
The kitchen was stocked with all kinds of grains, meats, and vegetables.
The cook, looking displeased, emerged with a dark expression, reluctantly pulling out the key from his waist to unlock the food cellar, then stepped aside to let Shen Miao pick whatever she needed.
Yan Shu, full of excitement, followed Shen Miao inside.
Xie Qi had never been to the kitchen before and found it rather intriguing.
He was just about to step in when the head cook, already bowing, eagerly invited him to sit in the stone pavilion outside.
Unlike his earlier rude and dismissive attitude toward Shen Miao, he now wore a fawning smile and spoke with conviction, “Young Master Jiu is a nobleman—how could you enter such a place? Allow me to take you somewhere more peaceful.”
Xie Qi hesitated for a moment.
Just then, Shen Miao, after scanning the kitchen, turned back with a bright smile and asked, “Everything one could need is here, but I wonder—what does Young Master Jiu enjoy eating? The shepherd’s purse in the vegetable cellar looks particularly fresh.
How about I make you some shepherd’s purse spring rolls? And pair them with a bowl of scallion oil noodles? It’s already quite late, so it’s best to have something light—no need for rich meats that might ruin your appetite for dinner.”
Before Shen Miao had even finished speaking, Yan Shu had already cheered in agreement.
“Yes, yes, yes! As expected of Miss Shen, always so thoughtful!”
Xie Qi frowned and flicked Yan Shu on the forehead before smiling at Shen Miao.
“Spring arrives at the creek with blooming shepherd’s purse—it’s indeed the perfect time for it. I’ll leave it all to Miss Shen’s expertise.”
“In that case, please have a seat, Young Master Jiu. It’ll be ready soon.”
Shen Miao grabbed a large handful of shepherd’s purse and made her way into the kitchen.
First, she checked the kiln under the corridor, instructing Ji Ge to fan the flames and add more firewood.
If the heat wasn’t strong enough, the pastries would turn out pale and unappetizing—definitely not ideal.
“Ji Ge, I’ll leave the kiln to you. Just keep the fire at this level. If it burns too low, the batch will be ruined. Remember—just like at home.”
“Don’t worry, Sister,” Ji Ge nodded seriously, his eyes fixed unwaveringly on the fire.
Before heading inside, Shen Miao paused by the doorway and ruffled Xiang Jie’s hair before stepping into the kitchen.
She picked up the cleaver resting on the Xie family’s cutting board, weighed it in her hand, and carefully ran her fingers along its sharpened edge.
She couldn’t help but marvel—what a fine blade!
The steel seemed far superior to the one she had bought for eighty copper coins.
The head cook had followed her in and, seeing her admiring the knife, puffed out his chest with pride.
“That blade is the work of a master craftsman. See the hammered texture on the surface? It costs two taels of silver per knife!”
Shen Miao clicked her tongue in amazement.
No wonder only the wealthy could afford such tools!
But it was worth it.
She spun the knife lightly in her hand—it had just the right weight.
A truly excellent knife.
She washed the shepherd’s purse and lined up the leaves neatly before swiftly chopping them.
Spring was the season of renewal, and the best time to enjoy shepherd’s purse.
The Song people had called it the “Herald of Spring.”
As soon as winter’s grip loosened, these tender greens would break through the lingering snow in the fields, unfurling their fresh leaves.
By March and April, they would reach full growth, and late April to May was the prime time for harvest—right now, they were at their absolute peak.
At this moment, the shepherd’s purse was crisp and vibrant, its white stems and emerald-green leaves brimming with moisture.
Eating seasonal ingredients had its own charm—the freshness of the produce itself ensured deliciousness, as long as the cook didn’t make any mistakes.
Shepherd’s purse had a clean, delicate flavor.
Since spring roll wrappers were deep-fried, balancing textures was key—crispy on the outside, tender on the inside.
The contrast was what made the dish truly enjoyable.
The chopping was swift and precise.
Shen Miao was used to working quickly, and this knife fit her hand even better than her own.
In almost no time, she had diced the shepherd’s purse into fine, uniform pieces.
Because of her speed and accuracy, barely any juice was left on the cutting board—keeping all the flavor within the greens.
Shen Miao always cherished her ingredients.
The natural sweetness of shepherd’s purse was in its juice; if the chopping was slow and careless, the board would be covered in wasted liquid.
Shepherd’s purse that had lost its moisture would turn tough and bitter once fried, and worse, get stuck in one’s teeth.
That was why a sharp knife and swift chopping were crucial.
She wasn’t showing off—this was simply how it had to be done.
But as she worked, the head cook, who had been pretending to busy himself with other tasks, kept sneaking glances at her out of the corner of his eye.
Watching her flawless knife skills, his earlier disdain and resentment toward her began to fade.
He was a household servant of the Xie family, already the third generation.
His family had served as cooks for the Xie family for three generations.
Naturally, his skills were not lacking.
However, when the lady of the house dismissed his pastries and suddenly switched to ordering vegetarian snacks from the marketplace instead, he was left feeling dejected and resentful, with even a trace of fear.
Would the culinary skills passed down through three generations of the Fang family be ruined in his hands?
Then today, when Shen Miao arrived, he was met with a young woman barely past her youth.
This only deepened his frustration—such a young woman, could she even have the skills?
What kind of delicacies could she possibly make?
Cooking was an accumulated craft, a skill honed over decades.
Without ten or twenty years of experience at the chopping board, how could anyone master it?
Fang the cook had not been convinced.
But now, watching Shen Miao handle the knife with such skill, slicing with both speed and precision, half of his skepticism had already dissipated.
After finishing with the vegetables, Shen Miao sliced off a strip of beef, marbled with fat and lean meat.
Earlier, she had spotted half a cow in the Xie family’s food cellar, which had shocked her.
In the Song Dynasty, draft cattle could only be sold at the market if they died naturally, and the price was astronomical—almost unattainable for commoners.
Many people might live their entire lives without ever tasting beef.
Yet, in the Xie household, it was just another staple ingredient.
They must have a private cattle farm somewhere, she speculated.
Beef of this cut was perfect for grilling—tender and rich in fat.
It was almost extravagant to use it as a filling for spring rolls, but pairing it with shepherd’s purse would create an exceptionally complementary flavor.
A single bite would be crispy yet tender, juicy and fragrant.
Shen Miao glanced around and, right in front of Fang the cook, grabbed another knife from a nearby cutting board.
Holding a blade in each hand, she chopped the beef rapidly and evenly, reducing it to fine mince in moments.
She then set down the knives, scooped up a ladle of water to rinse them clean before returning them to their original spot.
Turning back, she picked up soy sauce, salt, oil, ginger slices, and cooking wine, blending them skillfully into the mixture before thoroughly combining it with the shepherd’s purse.
With that, the filling for the spring rolls was ready.
Fang the cook, holding a ball of dough in his hands, stood there staring blankly.
He watched as she wielded the knives effortlessly, moving swiftly without making a single mistake.
She was just one person, yet she made it seem like three were working at once.
In no time at all, the filling was prepared, the fire was burning, and the oil pot was heating up.
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