“Dashan, why are you standing there grinning instead of getting back to carving that wood!” Zhang Hu hurried out of the kitchen as if fleeing some terrifying beast. At over forty years old, he took a deep breath of the fresh courtyard air, grumbling to himself, “How is this cursed thing so hard to eat…” As he looked up, he saw his son, Zhang Dashan.
He called out again, and the dazed Dashan finally snapped back to reality, his eyes shining as he couldn’t help but swallow his saliva. “Dad, did you smell that! It’s so fragrant! So fragrant…”
As he spoke, he couldn’t help but turn his gaze toward the distance. Zhang Hu’s nose twitched, and a rich, indescribable aroma aggressively assaulted his nostrils. “What is that smell?”
Zhang Hu followed the scent, sniffing carefully along his own low courtyard wall, before his certain gaze landed on the small courtyard opposite: “It seems to be from the family that just moved in? What are they making that smells so good?”
The eighteen-year-old youth nodded repeatedly, his stomach rumbling. He glanced at their own kitchen, from which a faint burnt smell was wafting, and boldly suggested, “Dad, our meal seems to have burnt. Why don’t we go check on the people opposite? New neighbors have moved in, we really should go pay a visit.”
“You rascal, don’t think I don’t know what you’re up to. What’s wrong, the food your father cooks isn’t good enough for you!?” Zhang Hu slapped him on the back of the head, his tone full of indignation.
If you asked him to build wooden crates, tables, or stools, he was a master, even capable of carving flowers into the edges of the wood! Perhaps everyone has their own strengths; Zhang Hu just happened to be incredibly inept at cooking.
As the saying goes: dragons give birth to dragons, phoenixes give birth to phoenixes, and the son of a mouse knows how to dig holes. Zhang Dashan, Zhang Hu’s only son, was cut from the same cloth—rugged in appearance, naturally gifted at carpentry, but possessed a singular talent for burning things in the kitchen. It was truly a difficult situation to describe…
On days with a lot of woodwork, the father-and-son pair would pay an idler to buy food from a shop, which they found satisfactory. With a rare lull in work these past few days, they took turns cooking. One day one would burn the rice, and the next the other would boil a pot of… strangely flavored soup.
It was evening now, and Zhang Dashan’s stomach was growling loudly. He sniffed hard, his eyes drifting toward the opposite side. “Dad! Smell it again! So fragrant! Why don’t we bring something over so we aren’t eating for free?”
Zhang Hu was already tempted, his appetite stirred by the aroma. Under his son’s instigation, he muttered, “That’s a fair point. Since they are new, they must be missing some things. You go grab a few wooden stools to take with us.”
Zhang Hu cleared his throat, smoothed out his coarse cloth shirt, led his son, and knocked on the He family’s wooden door with great trepidation.
Shitou opened the door. He looked at the two strangers with a touch of caution and, without a word, covered half the doorway. “Who are you?”
Yingzi, like a curious little sparrow, poked her head out from behind Shitou and asked, “Who are you? What are you here for?”
Zhang Hu hurriedly signaled for Zhang Dashan to hand over the stools, putting on an honest, friendly smile. “We live right opposite, surnamed Zhang, carpenters by trade. Look, these are stools we made ourselves; we brought them as a housewarming gift. Where are the adults?”
“Who’s there?” He Mingyu poked her head out of the kitchen. Seeing strangers, she walked up quickly, her hands still dusted with flour.
Seeing an older child, Zhang Hu started to speak, but Yingzi had already explained everything in detail. Finally, she added, “Big Sister, Uncle Zhang is so nice; he even brought two little stools. They’re so pretty!”
He Mingyu was surprised. She didn’t remember such customs in the Song Dynasty, but she said, “Uncle Zhang and brother Dashan, is it? I heard from the landlord. Please come in and sit. Shitou, pour them some water.”
She added apologetically, “I’m so sorry. We just moved in today, and things aren’t quite ready, so please forgive us for only offering plain water.”
“Not at all.” Zhang Hu had seen many people in his life and felt that this young girl was remarkably sensible and clever for her age. He surveyed the courtyard—not much stuff, but tidy. He smiled. “Water is great. For us carpenters, we love plain water.”
Zhang Dashan echoed from the side, “Indeed, indeed.”
Glancing at his son, who had grown tall but hadn’t grown a lick of sense, Zhang Hu rolled his eyes. He wondered when his son would become a bit more worldly.
It wasn’t entirely Zhang Dashan’s fault. He was usually sharp, but he was currently dizzy from the rich aroma of food. He took two steps toward the kitchen and saw two plates of golden-yellow leek boxes on the stove, steam rising from a pot, and whatever else they were cooking.
Leek boxes weren’t rare—Old Lady Wang at the corner of the alley sold them—but how could these smell so good? Zhang Dashan’s legs seemed stuck at the kitchen door, his eyes glued to the room, while he made small talk: “Since you just moved in, if there’s anything you need or need repaired, you can find me across the street… I noticed the door hinge seems a bit stiff…”
He Mingyu could see right through them. Watching them linger, their eyes stuck on the food, she understood perfectly.
She was delighted—these were potential customers right on her doorstep! She put on a welcoming smile and was about to extend an invitation when the courtyard door opened again. It was Wu Chunlan returning.
She carried a small oil-paper parcel containing the essential spices He Mingyu had asked for. “Yuniang, I’ve bought the things.” As she spoke, she noticed the strange men in the yard and paused.
He Mingyu smiled and introduced them. Turning to Zhang Hu, she offered a sincere smile: “The meal is almost ready. If you don’t mind simple fare, why not stay and have a taste?”
The words were like a godsend. Zhang Hu and Zhang Dashan nodded immediately, afraid that if they hesitated, she might change her mind. “Then… we’ll be disturbing you… you’re too kind…”
Zhang Hu rubbed his hands together, his smile finally genuine.
A moment later, the six of them sat around the courtyard.
The leek boxes, fried to a golden crisp with green filling peeking through, and the clear, sour, and aromatic soup noodles topped with chopped leeks were placed before them. The father and son could no longer be polite.
Zhang Hu took a big bite of a leek box. A crisp “crack” sounded as the crust broke, and the hot, savory leek-and-egg filling, mixed with the rich fragrance of pork lard, exploded in his mouth. It was so hot he puffed air, unwilling to spit it out, before swallowing it in two gulps. “Fragrant! Truly fragrant!”
Zhang Dashan was wolfing them down. He was a growing lad with a bottomless appetite; in the blink of an eye, two palm-sized leek boxes were gone, and he was slurping the noodles from his ceramic bowl.
The noodles were hand-rolled by He Mingyu, a mixture of wheat and grain flour that was both chewy and fragrant. The vinegar and Sichuan peppercorns alternated in their attack on the palate, making the diner’s mouth water incessantly. The bowl was covered in chopped leeks, and the pepper powder Wu Chunlan had bought cut through the pungent scent of the leeks, while the peppercorns enriched the texture. Slurping it hot, the numbing, spicy, sour, and fragrant taste made their appetites grow the more they ate.
Zhang Dashan said, muffled, “These noodles are also good! Sour, numbing, and spicy—drinking the soup makes my whole body feel comfortable!”
Beyond them, Wu Chunlan and the others were no less enthusiastic. Watching their ravenous way of eating, He Mingyu’s heart stirred. Only when they were mostly finished did she ask with a smile: “Uncle Zhang, brother Dashan, in your opinion, if I were to set up a small food stall in Bianjing, would it be feasible?”
“Feasible! Very feasible!” Zhang Hu slapped his thigh without hesitation. “He girl, your skill is no worse than the signature dishes of many food shops in Bianjing! These leek boxes and sour soup noodles are guaranteed to sell!”
Zhang Dashan nodded vigorously, his eyes full of admiration: “Yours are even better than my dad’s… er, better than anything I’ve eaten outside!”
His eyes shifted: “I just don’t know the price of the soup you make. If the price is right, it’ll save us having to pay an idler to buy food for us.”
“It’s just an idea for now, so I haven’t really settled on a price…” He Mingyu’s face lit up with joy. Through the open gates, she glanced at the half-finished, sleek wooden furniture in the opposite courtyard, and an idea struck her. She smiled and complimented him: “Uncle Zhang, when I was renting the house yesterday, I saw the cabinets you made. Even from afar, they looked exquisite and sturdy. With your skill, you must be one of the best in Bianjing.”
Before Zhang Hu could answer, Zhang Dashan puffed out his chest with pride: “Of course! My dad’s skill is well-known throughout the South City!”
“You talk too much!” Zhang Hu scolded his son, but a proud smile crept onto his face.
He Mingyu seized the chance: “Uncle Zhang, to tell you the truth, I’m looking to get a small pushcart for the stall, but the money at home is… tight. How about this? I’ll cover your lunch and dinner for a month—could you give me a discount on the cart?”
Zhang Hu had been worried about losing this delicious food in the future. His eyes lit up: “You’re being too much of a stranger! As long as you feed us two for a few days, I’ll use proper, good materials to build you a cart that is sturdy, light, and guaranteed to be easy to use!”
“As for the price…” Here, he looked at Wu Chunlan. A widow with children rarely had an easy life. Although Zhang Hu was shrewd, he was kind-hearted. He smiled: “How about this: I’ll have my son build it for you so he can practice his craft, and we’ll charge you at cost. As for his skill, you can rest assured!”
He Mingyu smiled at Zhang Dashan. “Fine craftsmanship is valuable. I’m the one taking advantage of this deal, so it’s settled. I’ll cover your meals for this period. But…” She paused, looking a bit embarrassed. “I have some ideas of my own for the small cart, and I’d like to show them to you. Would it be possible to build it that way?”
She picked up a small stick and drew a design on the ground. It integrated modern food-cart concepts: clearly defined functional zones, movable partitions, and a dedicated space on one side for the stove.
The father and son studied the diagram. They were stunned at first, but as He Mingyu explained, Zhang Hu began to ponder, and a thick interest flared in his eyes: “Marvelous! I’ve never seen a design like this! He girl, you’re very clever! Done! We’ll build it exactly like this! I’m taking this job—it’s interesting!”
They drank the last of the sour soup, satisfied, and gave a hearty burp, showing expressions of slight embarrassment.
Zhang Dashan rubbed his round belly and asked curiously: “Young Lady He, when you set up your stall, will you be selling these sour soup noodles and leek boxes?”
He Mingyu shook her head and smiled: “I plan to sell buns first. But… I don’t know where to get the bamboo steaming baskets I need right now.”
“Buns?” Wu Chunlan was stunned. Could it be the buns they ate this morning that gave her the idea? She asked, “Are they the kind of big buns we had?”
He Mingyu smiled mischievously: “Let me keep that a secret for now. Why don’t you wait until we have everything set up in a couple of days? I’ll steam some buns for you to taste, and then I’ll need Uncle Zhang and brother Dashan to give me your opinion on the flavor.”
Hearing this, Zhang Dashan’s mouth watered as he slapped his thigh: “Good! Good!”
Zhang Hu said: “There’s an Old Chen in the East City. His ancestral craft makes bamboo steamers that are both sturdy and breathable. It’s a bit out of the way, inside Yutang Alley.”
Seeing the He family listening intently, he enthusiastically added: “Oh, right! Near Yutang Alley, there’s a night market! Since you’re new to Bianjing, if you’ve never seen one, you should go have a look—it’s very lively! They sell everything, and you might even find the equipment you need.”
A night market? He Mingyu and Wu Chunlan exchanged glances, both seeing the curiosity and excitement in the other’s eyes. Even Shitou, who had been silent, had his eyes light up, and Yingzi, who had oil all over her mouth, suddenly lifted her head: “Mother, Big Sister, I want to go too!”
“Everyone is exhausted from moving today, so let’s rest and recharge at home,” He Mingyu patted her head. “Tomorrow evening, we’ll go and see the night market in Bianjing.”