“Madam, is this the right flavor?” The chef had been put through the wringer these past two days.
Although he’d long known that pregnant women had changeable tastes, he hadn’t expected the eldest young mistress of the Huo Family to set him such a difficult challenge.
She insisted on drinking some mango pomelo sago milk tea.
Goodness knew, he had never even heard of the stuff.
But he was, after all, paid a salary—if his employer wanted it, he had to make it.
He spent all of yesterday experimenting: mango, grapefruit, black tea, milk, coconut milk, plus condensed milk. He tried for a long time.
The eldest young mistress took a sip and frowned. “Not right. That’s not the taste.”
She didn’t know what was wrong with her either—all she could think about was mango pomelo sago, and she wouldn’t rest until she drank it.
“Is something still missing?” the chef wondered. Hong Kong City did have milk tea, so perhaps the base of the mango pomelo sago the young mistress described was similar.
After two straight days of experimenting, Song Wan finally got to drink a stripped-down version of mango pomelo sago.
In this era, sago didn’t seem to exist yet.
“Fang Jie, have a taste. Is it good?”
Fang Jie normally loved sweets, and on her days off she would go to a tea restaurant for a cup of Hong Kong–style silk-stocking milk tea.
Young people liked that iced milk tea, but she couldn’t get used to it; the ladies and young misses preferred Western-style milk tea.
Song Wan poured a cup for each of the servants and had them all try it. “How does it compare to an iced yuenyeung?”
Iced yuenyeung was the trendiest new milk tea of the past two years, and the signature drink at many tea restaurants.
A vague idea was forming in Song Wan’s mind, though she hadn’t quite grasped it yet.
Over these past few days, watching Song Wan push the chef to make milk tea, they had all drunk plenty along with her.
At first they were amazed. Compared to the milk tea that was popular now, the “mango pomelo sago” the young mistress spoke of was clearly sweeter and more refreshing.
They had never imagined that fruit could be added to milk tea.
Fang Jie took a big gulp, her eyes lighting up. “It really isn’t bitter anymore?”
Song Wan replied with a smile, “The grapefruit I chose before wasn’t right—the membranes were hard to remove. I’ve switched to a different kind, and the flavor is just right now.”
The young maid, more lively by nature, said, “I’d like it even better with some sugar.”
The chef had tasted it himself. “The condensed milk and mango are both sweet already. For most people, that’s enough.”
Perhaps because of the pregnancy, Song Wan was very sensitive to flavors and could detect the subtlest differences.
She also felt fortunate that in her previous life she had tried being a food blogger.
She had once made a homemade version of mango pomelo sago following online videos, so she knew the general ingredients and recipe.
After finishing the mango pomelo sago, she tried making bubble tea on her own, and it was a great hit.
Fang Jie especially loved this milk tea and was very curious about the pearls inside.
“Madam, how did you come up with so many kinds of milk tea?”
Even the chef was won over. “If these two recipes got out, those tea restaurants would fight tooth and nail over them.”
This reminded Song Wan that she remembered more than just these two milk tea recipes—she also knew taro ball fresh milk tea, sea salt cheese foam tea, orchid latte, and more.
Song Wan called over the young maid. “A Zhen, do you know what the most popular dessert in Hong Kong City is right now?”
A Zhen was the youngest of all the maids, only about twenty, with a round face that looked very cheerful.
And because she loved eating, she was a bit plumper than most.
Asking her was asking the right person. A Zhen knew Hong Kong City’s popular desserts like the back of her hand. “Young Madam, the street stalls mostly sell put chai ko, dragon’s beard candy, sugar scallion pancakes, egg waffles, and grid cakes.”
“For Western desserts, there’s egg tarts, pineapple buns with butter, English muffins, sugar pudding, tiramisu—and I heard there’s a fancy cake called Black Forest cake.”
Just thinking about them made her mouth water.
It was a pity she had no right to go to the Huo Family’s old mansion and could only be stationed here.
Many things she’d only heard of, never had the chance to taste.
Song Wan listened with a smile, then asked casually, “Have you ever eaten a towel roll cake?”
A Zhen shook her head in confusion. “Young Madam, towels can be eaten too?”
“What about mango pancakes, snowflake crisps, taro mochi?”
A Zhen shook her head repeatedly. “Young Madam, I’ve never heard of the things you’re mentioning. Are they all delicious?”
Whenever food came up, her face lit up with excitement.
Song Wan didn’t deny it. “Go on down for now. Let me think.”
For the moment, she was alone in the room.
With a notebook spread open before her, Song Wan picked up a pen and recorded the dessert recipes in her head.
Thankfully, she had been a food blogger for half a month back then. Though she hadn’t succeeded, she’d had to make a different dessert every day.
She first wrote down the recipes she could still remember, including towel roll cakes, mango pancakes, canelés, tiramisu, strawberry cakes, and more.
Some recipes that seemed like just one could actually be extended into many.
Take the mango pancake, for example—the crepe stayed the same, but the filling could be swapped for banana, durian, or other fruits.
And the towel roll cake—besides fruit, you could add matcha red bean, cocoa banana, black sesame, and so on.
Before she knew it, Song Wan had filled several pages.
“There’s so much I’ve forgotten. A pity—I’ll just have to experiment slowly later on.”
Song Wan knew that Hong Kong City would go through decades of rapid economic growth and take off in the future.
She didn’t have any great talents and couldn’t outfox the old foxes of the business world, but surely she could open a trendy dessert shop.
With the Huo Family behind her, a small shop wouldn’t be deliberately targeted by anyone.
She would put up the money and the recipes, hire a few suitable pastry chefs, and get the shop running.
Her expectations weren’t high—as long as it turned a steady profit, that was enough.
Before she knew it, another day had passed.
Song Wan stretched, and Fang Jie anxiously reminded her, “Young Madam, careful with your belly!”
She wasn’t showing yet, so Song Wan had genuinely forgotten there were three little ones in her belly.
Embarrassed, she patted her belly. “It’s only two and a half months. A little stretch isn’t going to hurt anything.”
She remembered a colleague at her old company who, to get a few extra days of maternity leave, had worked right up until a week before giving birth.
Fang Jie had given birth to two children and had experience. “With pregnancy, you can never be too sure. Better to be careful.”
Song Wan nodded perfunctorily. “Mm, got it. I’ll be careful. Oh, Fang Jie, I want something light today. Pour me a glass of water too.”
While Fang Jie was downstairs, Song Wan picked up the glass and let the Spirit Spring flow in from her fingertip.
Just a few drops—even a close look wouldn’t reveal anything.
Song Wan had tested it specifically: the spring water in her Spatial Dimension really was Spirit Spring water, non-toxic and harmless.
To be safe, she only added a tiny bit each day. When she drank it, she could only detect a faint sweetness.
And that was with her unusually sharp sense of taste.
She had tried giving it to Fang Jie, A Zhen, and the others to drink, but none of them could taste anything unusual, and there was none of the dramatic meridian-cleansing effects described in novels.
After drinking it for a few days, the only difference Song Wan noticed was that she felt a bit more energetic, and her skin had become smoother than before.
If you didn’t touch it with your hands, you couldn’t tell.
The biggest change, in fact, was that her eyesight seemed to have improved.
The original owner had been slightly nearsighted—things looked a little blurry, though not enough to require glasses.
When she got up this morning, Song Wan clearly felt her vision had improved considerably; she no longer saw double.
Her life these days was exceptionally comfortable—lots of money, little work, and a husband who never came home. Simply perfect.
Just as she sank into a deep sleep, a familiar car suddenly appeared at the gate of the quiet villa.
The night-watch bodyguard jolted awake. “Who’s there?”
The man pushed the door open and entered, his footsteps light. “It’s me.”
“Sir, you’re back!”
Huo Jingheng didn’t alert anyone else and went straight up to the master bedroom on the third floor.