By the time the sky was neither fully dark nor yet bright, there was already rustling activity deep within Donglizi Alley.
Zhang Dashan helped He Mingyu load the thirty steaming baskets—neatly stacked and wrapped tightly in thick cotton covers—onto the wooden cart. Beads of sweat had already formed on his temples. He rubbed his hands together, his face showing a touch of shame: “I am truly sorry. I had hoped to finish the pushcart yesterday so as not to delay your opening, but in the end… there are still a few mortise joints not wedged tight. I was afraid it would rattle apart on the road.”
He Mingyu was taking inventory of the items on the cart. Hearing this, she turned around, her eyes curving into a smile: “What are you talking about? If it weren’t for you and Uncle Zhang helping to reinforce this wooden cart, I wouldn’t even be able to leave the door today. If you are this polite, Brother Dashan, it truly makes us seem like strangers.” Her voice was clear and crisp, like a new sprout covered in dew on a spring morning.
Seeing her smile, Dashan’s face grew even warmer. He could only nod awkwardly. Noticing her struggling to lift a heavy wooden table, he hurriedly stepped forward. As he exerted force, solid lines of muscle bulged beneath his shirt: “Let me handle this heavy lifting; you just rest nearby. Is there anything else to move?”
“No, that’s everything.” He Mingyu brushed the dust off her hands and turned to help Yingzi, who was hugging a ceramic jar, onto the cart. Inside was the sesame and peanut sauce she had woken up before dawn to prepare. Even with the lid sealed, a streak of rich fragrance escaped, distinct from the scent of ordinary soups.
Shitou stood silently beside the cart, pressing his lips together as his gaze followed Dashan’s figure.
He Mingyu walked to the door and said to Wu Chunlan, whose brow was furrowed with worry: “Mother, I leave the home to you.”
Wu Chunlan looked like a fledgling bird suddenly pushed from a warm nest, nodding with a forced smile: “Go with confidence; Mother will have the vegetables for tomorrow washed and ready.”
She reached out to tuck a stray lock of hair behind He Mingyu’s ear, muttering: “Be careful, and don’t get into arguments with anyone…”
“I know.” He Mingyu squeezed her mother’s slightly cool hand, then turned to Zhang Dashan: “Brother Dashan, you should head back. Shitou is here to push the cart.”
Dashan grunted an incoherent reply, yet stood still. Watching the three siblings push the heavy cart until they gradually disappeared into the morning mist, he suddenly raised his voice: “Yuniang! Have Shitou come back and send word when you’re closing up; I’ll come help!”
From beyond the mist came He Mingyu’s smiling response: “Okay——”
The cart wheels creaked as they traveled. By the time they reached the vicinity of the Imperial Academy (Guozijian), they slowed their pace. Since ancient times, the area near schools has been the premier location for stalls; students came and went incessantly, and as long as the food was good, there was no need to worry about a lack of customers.
That was what she thought, and so did everyone else. Stalls of all kinds were being set up, awakening the sleeping city of Bianjing. He Mingyu had spent the past two days exploring the area and had already set her heart on a spot: an open space next to a soup stall—soup and buns were a perfect match.
However, taking a closer look, the ideal spot was already occupied. She had to settle for second best. Scanning the area, He Mingyu immediately spotted a slightly secluded open spot diagonally across the way. Although it was a few steps further from the main gate, the place was clean and spacious. She signaled for Shitou to hurry and push the cart there.
Just as the cart came to a stop, the vendor selling shredded chicken qian (a type of flatbread/noodle) next to them cast a sideways glance. She was a woman of about thirty-five or thirty-six, dressed in indigo coarse cloth, her hair slicked back without a single stray strand.
“Oh? A new face?” the woman opened. Her inspecting gaze swept over He Mingyu. “What are you selling?”
“Elder sister, my name is Yuniang, and I sell some homemade buns.” He Mingyu immediately beamed, stepping forward with a tone that was both affectionate and natural: “These shredded chicken qian you fry are golden and translucent; the heat control is truly superb—I can smell how fragrant they are. Coincidentally, my buns are soft, and pairing them with your crispy treats—one soft, one crispy—isn’t that perfectly harmonious? From now on, since we’re setting up stalls next to each other, I’ll be counting on you for help, sister.”
Sun Erniang’s expression softened. She examined her closely—hardly sixteen or seventeen years old, not fully grown, with two young children in tow, and eyes that were clean and clear. She didn’t look like a treacherous person.
“The little girl has a sweet mouth. Are you allowed to call me ‘sister’? When I started setting up a stall on this street, you probably weren’t even as tall as a kitchen stove. In terms of age, you should call me ‘Auntie’.”
Flattery will get you everywhere.
He Mingyu, well-versed in this, exclaimed in surprise at the right moment: “My eyes must have deceived me! But looking at your grand demeanor, you look at most twenty-five or twenty-six; how could you be an ‘Auntie’? Don’t try to pull my leg.” She tilted her head slightly, her eyes filled with sincere doubt.
These words were gratifying. Sun Erniang couldn’t help but let the corners of her tightly pursed mouth curve upward. She waved her hand self-consciously, the distant, unwelcoming tone in her voice largely dissipating:
“Enough, enough, stop pouring sweet talk into my ears. My surname is Sun, I’m the second-born, and everyone on this street calls me ‘Sun Erniang.’ You certainly have a clever tongue. This space is wide enough; from now on, we’ll mind our own business, and as long as we don’t disturb each other, it’ll be fine.”
He Mingyu felt relieved and hurriedly expressed her thanks. She turned back and began to organize things with Yingzi. Shitou, without needing to be told, picked up the wooden bucket prepared yesterday and silently went to find the water well. She had specifically instructed him yesterday that for a food business, cleanliness was the most important thing.
All around, the calls of vendors rose and fell: “Freshly baked Hu cakes—” “Drinks! Refreshing drinks—”
He Mingyu wasn’t in a hurry to shout. She washed her hands, stood by the cart, cleared her throat, and in a clear, resonant tone, recited a couplet:
“Thin skins as light as cicada wings, fragrant fillings make immortals stop.
Taste one before the Imperial Academy, and you’ll know the flavor in your heart.”
This unique “shout” immediately attracted students heading toward the academy just two or three steps away. One youth, dressed in a blue scholar’s robe with a youthful face, turned his head, his eyes showing curiosity: “Young lady, are you selling buns? This couplet is quite interesting.”
He Mingyu smiled and lifted a corner of the cotton cover on the steamer. Instantly, the rich scent of wheat dough and the fresh, savory fragrance of the meat filling surged out. The steam was swirling, yet one couldn’t quite see what was inside.
“The young master has a keen ear. I am selling ‘Cicada-Wing Buns’ passed down from my ancestors. It’s opening day, so I’m offering a deal: a steamer of twelve vegetarian buns for ten coins instead of twelve, and a steamer of eight meat buns for fourteen coins instead of sixteen.”
Yingzi, standing to the side, added a new phrase she had learned: “Don’t miss the chance, it won’t come again!”
The youth in blue exchanged glances with his companion. They were truly intrigued. He was the son of the Minister of the Court of Imperial Insignia—what delicacies hadn’t he tasted? But street food named after “cicada wings” made one curious.
“In that case, bring two steamers of the meat ones to taste,” the youth in blue said, gesturing with his chin toward Sun Erniang’s stall. “Sun Erniang, same as usual, one portion of chicken qian.” With that, they sat down at the makeshift wooden table.
“Coming right up.” He Mingyu responded neatly. She took a pair of long bamboo tongs and lifted the buns from the steamer into two wide-mouthed ceramic bowls. As she moved, the fine, bud-like pleats on top of the buns quivered slightly; the thin skin was nearly transparent, revealing the color of the filling inside.
She picked up a small brush, dipped it into the jar, and whipped the sauce—which had settled—until it became silky and glossy with an alluring, light-brown luster. With a light flick of her wrist, she brushed an even layer over each bun; where the sauce touched, the thin skin looked even more crystal clear.
“Yingzi, take them to the two young masters.”
Yingzi carefully carried the bowls over. The youth in blue’s companion took his, looked at the bowl and chopsticks, and nodded: “They are quite clean.”
Looking down closely at the buns in the bowl, he couldn’t help but give a small “Oh”: “The shape of these buns is truly unique! The skin is so thin you can almost see the filling, and the pleats on top are so fine and complex; they resemble the pink-jade-hidden-gold peony in your residence when it first begins to bloom.”
The youth in blue looked closely. The buns were delicate and small, the pleats on top densely packed, circling each other exactly like a peony bud, and the filling beneath was indeed dimly visible.
He picked one up and bit into it. His teeth first met the resistance of an extremely thin yet strangely supple skin, then broke through. In an instant, the hot, savory soup and the rich fragrance of meat, mixed with the unique sauce, exploded in his mouth.
The meat filling was minced extremely finely, the ratio of fat to lean perfectly balanced, with added water chestnut bits for freshness and crunch, neutralizing the pork’s greasiness. It was fragrant without being cloying, and the skin soaked in sauce had a distinct flavor of its own where the wheat and sauce scents melded.
“Marvelous!” The youth in blue’s eyes lit up. Ignoring the heat, he took two more bites, and the bun vanished in an instant. “The skin is thin but doesn’t break, and the sauce is the finishing touch! The name isn’t an exaggeration.”
The other person nodded repeatedly while eating, just as quickly.
In the blink of an eye, the two steamers were empty. The pair were still wanting more, and the youth in blue was so excited that he bought three more steamers of meat buns and summoned a servant waiting nearby: “Deliver these home immediately, and let Grandmother and Mother taste this fresh food.”
Seeing them satisfied, He Mingyu pointed to a board she had prepared by the cart and smiled: “If you two young masters find my Cicada-Wing Buns acceptable, would you be willing to leave a few lines of calligraphy? It doesn’t have to be a formal poem; as long as it’s interesting, that’s fine. At the end of every month, I will select the most interesting one and gift two steamers of buns to that talented scholar as a token of my gratitude.”
Hearing this, the youth in blue laughed and clapped: “The young lady has such refined taste? Wonderful, wonderful!”
He took a small piece of charcoal wrapped in thin cloth from He Mingyu, pondered for a moment, and began to write on the board:
“Cicada wings lightly wrap jade trinkets,
Fragrance lingers on the teeth, better than immortals.
Do not say there is no true taste on the streets,
This thing surely comes from heaven.”
Having written it, he smiled with satisfaction, passed the charcoal pen to his companion, and after the latter finished his calligraphy, the two exchanged smiles and left in high spirits.
Sun Erniang had been watching the scene with a squint. She clicked her tongue and muttered: “Tsk, these scholars, even when eating a snack, they have to be so pompous… writing poems, using boards…”
He Mingyu: Store is open, looking forward to your support!
Little Wan: Dear shopkeepers, any extra nutrient solution to spare?