Chapter 5 : A Tiny Hawthorn Fruit

Xie Qi shook his head.

“It would be highly improper to inquire about a lady’s home without prior acquaintance.”

Yan Shu tilted his head, then suddenly pointed at Xie Qi’s shoe, still bearing a faint footprint, and laughed.

“Jiu Ge’er, how can you say you’ve never met her? That lady stepped on you this morning!”

Xie Qi froze—so it was that young woman from the boiler room?

That morning, when he had taken Yan Shu to fetch hot water, the place had been crowded.

Since Yan Shu was small, Xie Qi had told him to wait aside while he went to buy water himself, worried that the boy might get pushed into the boiling vat.

Who would have thought that a woman behind him would step on his foot?

Now recalling her, he remembered—she was dressed as a married woman, her clothes simple and plain, with a slightly sickly, worn-out look.

Yet, she had a pair of bright, almond-shaped eyes, clear and rippling like autumn water, her beauty undimmed even by rough attire.

Xie Qi had glanced at her once and immediately looked away.

It was inappropriate to stare at a woman in public.

Especially since a woman’s reputation was paramount—and he himself was soon to be married.

For the sake of both himself and others, he had to be mindful of boundaries.

He became even more determined not to act impulsively over mere food cravings and warned Yan Shu again:

“There is a difference between men and women. Do not ask unnecessary questions. Just return the pot and express our gratitude.”

Yan Shu pouted but reluctantly agreed.

Knowing he wouldn’t get to eat such delicious food again, his heart felt like it was being squeezed.

Later, when Xie Qi left to fetch hot water for their evening wash, Yan Shu became so upset that his nose and eyes turned red.

After cleaning the pot, bowls, and table, he hugged the clay pot and knocked on Shen Miao’s door—on the verge of tears.

When Shen Miao saw the little boy looking as if he was about to part with a loved one forever, she couldn’t help but laugh.

Curious, she asked a few more questions and quickly understood the situation, finding it even more amusing.

“Jiu Ge’er says it is difficult for women traveling alone, that their reputation must be protected. Loose talk can ruin a person. So he forbade me from asking anything… But… but I still want to eat your stewed noodles!”

“And the eggplant rice too! I only smelled it—I never even got to taste it! Ugh… ugh… wahhh!”

His tears finally spilled over.

Shen Miao, holding back laughter, crouched down and gently wiped his tears with her own handkerchief.

She smiled.

“Your Jiu Ge’er is a righteous man, so it’s understandable that he’s cautious. But I am not from an aristocratic family, so these rules don’t apply to me.”

“If you want to eat my food, just come to Shen’s Noodle Shop at Yangliu East Alley by Jinliang Bridge. I run a food business—my doors are open to everyone. There is nothing you can’t ask.”

Yan Shu’s tears dried instantly.

His eyes lit up.

“Really?!”

“Of course, it’s true.”

Shen Miao smiled, her eyes curving into crescents.

“But my shop suffered a fire and is still under repairs. Hmm… I might set up a small stall at Jinliang Bridge first. If you and your Jiu Ge’er don’t mind my simple cooking, feel free to come by and support me.”

She had been cautious before, but now she spoke freely and openly.

After all, if she was going to run a business, why hide it?

Getting a few customers before opening, or having someone spread the word—that was a great opportunity.

Besides, after today, Shen Miao was nearly certain—this “Jiu Ge’er” was no different from the bright-eyed university students of the modern era.

A quality customer, no doubt.

No harm in that.

By midnight, the grain ship slowed, and the outside noises grew louder.

There was nothing to do on the boat, and she had no desire to wander out, so she had gone to bed early, getting a full night’s rest.

Now, wrapped in blankets, she sat up and noticed that outside her cabin’s small window, the view had changed.

Gone was the vast, rolling river—instead, they had arrived at a bustling dockyard.

They must have reached Chenzhou, a major canal town near Bianjing.

From here, it would take five or six more days by boat to reach Caizhou, where she could switch to a carriage.

Two more days of travel from there, and she’d finally see the majestic southern gates of Kaifeng.

The ship had just docked, and countless boat trackers, their bodies half-submerged in water, hauled at the tow ropes, calling out their rhythmic work chants.

Shen Miao watched for a moment, suddenly too awake to go back to sleep.

She got up.

Towns like Chenzhou, major hubs for grain transport, were never truly silent.

Even before dawn, the harbor was ablaze with lanterns, casting a golden glow over the constant movement of boats and people.

As she combed her hair into a bun, she continued to observe the lively scene outside.

By the flickering lantern light, she saw a sea of moving figures—

Porters carrying heavy loads.

Street vendors hawking goods.

Cart drivers selling charcoal and firewood, hoping to catch the business of ship captains refueling their supplies.

Some of these charcoal sellers had long queues in front of them, as merchants and boatmen rushed to stock up.

Watching this restless, ever-moving world, the unease in her heart faded away.

Coming from a world far more advanced than this one, how could she not feel homesickness, fear, and frustration?

But in the end, she was no different from these laborers.

She, too, wanted to live.

No matter what—it was worth surviving.

Shen Miao rummaged through her chest and pulled out a toothbrush made of pig bristles and a jar of bamboo salt tooth powder, preparing to wash up.

When she first arrived in the Song Dynasty, she had been shocked—the television dramas had lied.

They claimed that ancient people only chewed twigs or used tooth-cleaning sticks, but in reality, toothbrush shops and toothpaste merchants were common.

Even more surprising, the toothbrushes here looked remarkably modern—

Long wooden handles with two rows of bristles.

The only downside?

The bristles were stiff and rough.

Of course, the wealthy had even finer options—some toothbrushes had jade or ivory handles, inlaid with gemstones and carvings, while their bristles were of the highest quality.

Still, the design remained the same, only the materials differed.

Thinking about it, it made sense.

Ancient people weren’t primitive—they had already mastered intricate craftsmanship.

Why would making a simple toothbrush be difficult?

The cost was low, after all.

Shen Miao scooped a spoonful of tooth powder, spreading it over her teeth before brushing.

Her tooth powder was the cheapest kind, made from bamboo salt, pine resin, and ground poria mushrooms—dried, crushed, and sifted to remove impurities before being packed into jars.

She had heard that the wealthy used premium toothpaste, mixing ambergris, frankincense, white sandalwood, and sweet pine into a fine powder, then blending it with honey to form a paste—making it just as convenient as modern toothpaste.

But it was extremely expensive.

Shen Miao wasn’t picky—the cheap powder worked just fine.

She carefully brushed her teeth twice, inside and out.

In ancient times, she had to protect her teeth and eyes.

If she became nearsighted, she doubted she could afford the expensive crystal-ground spectacles known as “Ài Dài”.

And if she got a cavity, things would be even worse—

She definitely didn’t want to undergo a root canal with medieval dentistry.

After washing up, Shen Miao grabbed her basin to empty the dirty water, but the moment she opened her door, she was surprised.

A cloth bag lay on the floor.

Inside, she found half-ripened hawthorn fruits, their colors still a mix of green and red.

Resting on top was a folded piece of paper.

She picked it up.

Under the dim, flickering lanterns of the dock, she unfolded the note and saw a beautifully written script, its strokes fluid, balanced, and precise—a classic Zhong Yao calligraphy style.

The handwriting was stunning.

The original owner of this body was illiterate, but Shen Miao was not.

Though the words were in vertical traditional script, she had studied calligraphy as a child under her maternal grandfather.

Her favorite calligraphers had always been Zhong Yao and Zhao Mengfu, though unfortunately, her own skills were rather lacking.

Still, reading it wasn’t difficult.

The message was written in polite, refined prose:

“To Lady Shen,

The meal last night was beyond words, each bite a delight.

Alas, my pageboy spoke too freely, and I fear he may have been rude.

I deeply regret this offense and offer these humble hawthorn fruits as a token of apology.

Though they are of little worth, I hope you will accept them and ease my guilt.

—Respectfully, Xie Qi**

April 9, Third Year of Baoyuan, aboard the ship.”

The corridor outside was still dark, the ship’s deck silent except for the occasional loud snore from sleeping servants.

No one seemed to be awake.

The only open door was the cabin where Yan Shu had stayed.

Shen Miao peered inside—

The room had been cleaned thoroughly, but it was empty.

They must have already disembarked to continue their journey.

The wooden deck beneath her feet swayed gently with the river’s current, and the distant glow of lanterns on the dock flickered in the night mist.

If she had slept in any later, this bag of hawthorn fruits might have been snatched away by someone else.

She pulled back inside, leaning against the doorway, rereading the letter in the unsteady light of the port.

The writing was elegant and cultured, and it made her smile.

With a soft chuckle, she picked up the bag of fruit and closed the door behind her.