He Mingyu rose to take a look. Wu Chunlan had been conservative in her description; this wasn’t half a basket, but a full basket overflowing with tender, fresh elm leaves.
Elm leaves are different from elm coins (the circular, tender green seeds). Elm coins are often picked and used for their distinct, refreshing fragrance. As for the leaves, they are exactly what the name suggests—the actual leaves of the elm tree—which carry a slightly raw, green scent of the branches.
Though they look quite different, the cooking methods are similar. Common families usually steam them with flour and leave it at that. In fact, drizzling them with garlic sauce after steaming adds more flavor. Currently, their steamed pork dish is served on a bed of yam—delicious but expensive—so replacing it with steamed elm leaves wouldn’t be a bad idea.
However, He Mingyu had an even tastier method. After steaming them the usual way, she would stir-fry them with two eggs in lard. Once the golden-yellow eggs were out of the pan, she would fry aromatics like green onions, garlic, and Zhu-yu (a pungent spice) to bring out the fragrance, then toss in the steamed elm leaves and eggs to stir-fry together. The eggs were savory and oily, coating the flour-dusted elm leaves, which became caramelized and crispy in the heat. If only she could pair this with two crispy, pan-fried griddle cakes…
“Yu Niang truly has a pair of clever hands. This stir-fried elm leaf dish actually tastes better than the roasted chicken from the Liu Shop in the West City!” Zhang Hu said, his head buried in his rice bowl as he ate. Ever since He Mingyu took over the midday and evening meals for the father and son, they had been arriving earlier each day.
Perhaps feeling embarrassed about always eating for free, they had brought food to share over the last two visits. Today, they had brought a famous roasted chicken from the West City—plump, fragrant, and delicious!
Zhang Dashan’s speed at devouring rice was no less impressive. He managed to squeeze out a sentence between bites: “Dad, I think it’s just that you eat the gourmet meals Yu Niang makes every day, and your palate has become spoiled.”
He then looked up and gave a helpless smile: “I cooked a pot of porridge this morning, and Dad actually called it pig swill…”
“Oh! Oh! Don’t mention your cooking anymore.” Zhang Hu clicked his tongue, his disdain evident. “You have the nerve to say that in front of Miss He.”
The meal left everyone thoroughly satisfied. Zhang Hu reluctantly set down his bowl and chopsticks. Seeing Shitou stand up to go to the kitchen for hot scallion pancakes, he seemed to suddenly think of something and asked casually: “Speaking of which, the spring examinations are in a few days. Have you considered sending Shitou to an academy to start his primary education after the summer? If he could earn a degree in the future, it would truly be a blessing for our lane.”
This sentence was like a pebble thrown into a calm lake, stirring up ripples. Wu Chunlan subconsciously looked toward the kitchen, a hint of expectation flitting through her eyes that even she hadn’t noticed.
“Naturally, I have thought about it. However—” He Mingyu paused, shaking her head with a smile, “My younger brother’s aspirations do not lie there. This matter… let it be.”
Her tone was light, but she felt a secret, quiet regret in her heart. Shitou wasn’t as clever as Yingzi. She had once tried teaching the siblings the Three Character Classic and the Thousand Character Classic for a few days; it was clear Shitou had no knack for books—he was poor at math, and his poetry and writing were a total mess. He Mingyu’s little daydream of “hoping my brother earns a degree and leads the whole family into the elite class” hadn’t even begun to take root before it was realistically shattered.
As for Yingzi, all her talent points had been dumped into arithmetic. She was hopeless at poetry and literacy. Before falling asleep last night, she had been lying there with her eyes closed, giggling. When He Mingyu asked her why, she actually said she wanted to save money to buy an abacus, so she wouldn’t waste time on calculations in the future.
Shitou brought over a stack of hot scallion pancakes, but he wiped his hands, muttered a dull “I’m going to chop wood,” and fled the dining table.
Zhang Hu was a rough man and didn’t notice this subtle change; he picked up another pancake to eat: “It’s fine not to go. That old master at the academy is incredibly strict! I think Shitou is steady and hard-working; he’s a good seed. He might not necessarily fare worse than a scholar in the future!”
Zhang Dashan nodded in agreement, though his attention was focused more on He Mingyu. Clearly, he hadn’t noticed Shitou’s abnormality. The carpenter father and son chatted a bit more about local gossip before taking their leave.
After seeing them off, He Mingyu walked into the courtyard and saw Shitou silently raising an axe, chopping wood blow by blow. His movements were mechanical and forceful, as if he wanted to vent all his emotions onto that pile of wood.
He Mingyu sighed lightly to herself. Ever since she transmigrated, she had noticed that this younger brother was excessively silent. It wasn’t just that he spoke little; his work, and even his way of greeting guests at the stall, carried an invisible timidity—as if he wanted to hide himself. In her words, he had a severe case of social anxiety and low self-esteem.
“Thud!”
With a dull sound and flying wood chips, this blow had been too forceful, making Shitou’s thumb-web numb, yet the feeling of resentment in his heart remained restless.
Why? Why can’t I learn it?
Everything the elder sister said, Yingzi understood the moment she heard it and could even apply it to other things. But in his own head, it felt like a clump of mush—the more anxious he got, the more confused he became; the more confused he became, the more stupid he appeared.
Perhaps… I am just a stupid person…
“Thud!”
The elder sister was so capable—she could make such delicious buns, think of so many novel ideas, and lead them to stand firm in this massive city of Bianjing. Yingzi was also so smart, calculating accounts fast and accurately, with a mouth so sweet that everyone liked her, even Mother…
Only me… Mother was right, I am just a wooden block. Besides brute force, I know nothing.
What Uncle Zhang just said was like a needle stabbing into Shitou’s heart—study… a degree…
That was something he didn’t even dare to dream about. He couldn’t even recite the Three Character Classic that his sister taught him without stumbling. How could he be qualified to pursue a degree?
“Thud! Thud! Thud!” He slashed at the wood viciously, sweat streaming down his temples, mixed with the sour, frustrating heat in his eyes.
This world is truly unfair. If my sister and Yingzi were men, they would easily be able to serve the country and bring honor to the family. Why must they live like this, guarding this smoky stall day after day, looking at other people’s expressions, and struggling to make a living? And I, a man who should be the pillar of the household, am so useless, like a burden that only drags them down…
“Shitou—”
He looked up at the sound and saw He Mingyu standing in front of him, calling his name with a hint of worry in her expression: “Don’t take what Uncle Zhang said just now to heart. No one ever decreed that one must earn a degree to be considered successful.”
She handed him a sweat towel, her expression softening: “If Father were still alive, he would certainly be proud of us to see us like this.”
Shitou wiped the sweat from his face haphazardly, keeping his head down: “Sister, I wasn’t thinking about the examinations. I know I’m not cut out for that.” He twitched the corners of his mouth, trying hard to squeeze out a relaxed smile, but as soon as he met He Mingyu’s inquisitive gaze, his heart panicked.
He considered himself useless enough at home, and now he didn’t want to add to his sister’s worries with these trivial thoughts. He hurried to speak: “Sister, I just… I just feel sorry for Yingzi. She is so smart and good at math. If only everyone could take the examinations…”
As he spoke, he looked involuntarily at Yingzi, who was sitting inside picking through vegetables. His eyes held genuine regret: “If it were possible, she would certainly achieve great things…”
He Mingyu followed his gaze, feeling a whirlwind of emotions. If she had been born in her own era, she would certainly have shone brilliantly. She sighed gently, partly to comfort Shitou and partly to soothe herself:
“There is more than one path in this world besides the imperial examinations. It is indeed a pity that women cannot sit for them and enter officialdom, but who says that only becoming an official counts as success? Our Yingniang might very well become the number one businesswoman of the Great Song in the future, perhaps even a renowned figure on the Qing-Tang road.”
Her tone shifted: “Among the four social classes—scholars, farmers, artisans, and merchants—merchants are at the bottom. But in this prosperous, dream-like Great Song, what day could do without people who trade? As long as one has a broad mind, travels the mountains and rivers, and lives freely and unrestrained, looking upon all the Great Song landscapes… wouldn’t such a life be a happy one?”
“As long as she is happy, as long as you are happy, I, as your sister, will support whatever you do!”
Her words were like a warm spring breeze, blowing away the haze in Shitou’s heart bit by bit. The young man bit his lip and smiled. Yes, his sister always had a way to find a path where there seemingly was none.
Early the next morning, the sky was dim; the city of Bianjing had not yet awakened.
Meng Xing wrapped his white cloth gown tighter around himself. The thin fabric could not stop the chill of early spring. A cold wind blew, causing him to shiver finely. He held his bamboo book case in his arms like a treasure, but his stomach was empty and frantic. A dull, lingering pain struck him, nearly causing him to stumble.
On the day he first arrived in Bianjing, he had found work copying books at a bookstore due to his excellent calligraphy, but the wages were barely enough to survive on. Coupled with his meager remaining travel funds, he had spent the last two days struggling by on nothing but water and hard cakes. Living expenses in Bianjing were incredibly high, and he was struggling to cope.
Now, the long streets outside the Imperial Academy were already filled with all sorts of food stalls. The aroma of countless foods was, to him, both a temptation and a torture.
For the past few days, Meng Xing had been sitting in on lectures outside the Imperial Academy. Besides the classics and essays, what the students of Bianjing discussed most was the “cicada-wing buns” of “He’s Small Stall.” Seeing it with his own eyes now, the sophisticated little pushcart was indeed distinct. The stall owner was a young woman who was lowering her head and nimbly arranging bowls and chopsticks. Beside her, two children—quick-handed and efficient—were obediently wiping down the table. The entire stall was cleaner than any food shop he had seen along the way.
The aroma aggressively drilled into his nostrils, triggering an irrepressible spasm in his stomach. Meng Xing subconsciously felt for his purse, which contained one liang of silver—he had planned for it to last until the end of the spring examinations. But at this moment, driven by some inexplicable impulse, his voice came out dry and hoarse: “Young lady, how do you sell these buns?”
The clever little girl was the first to look up with a beaming face, her voice crisp as an oriole’s: “A steamer of vegetarian buns is twelve wen, a steamer of meat buns is sixteen wen. Today we have steamed pork with rice flour, thirty wen a bowl!”
Meng Xing’s heart sank. He had been in Bianjing for over ten days; he should have guessed the price. He turned and hurried away, his face quickly flushing with a mix of shame and helplessness.
“Young sir, please stay.” A clear, gentle voice sounded from behind him.
He looked back at the sound, his gaze meeting that of the young lady stall owner. Her eyes were clear and mild, without a hint of disdain.
Meng Xing’s ears grew even hotter; he blurted out: “What? Don’t tell me I can’t not buy?”