Mother Wen was still in a daze when she received the message.
“Zhuangzhuang’s Grandma” had sent a red envelope without a word, a complete 180-degree turn from her nitpicking attitude that morning.
“What on earth happened?”
Before Mother Wen could even wrap her head around it, she had no time to worry about such trivialities. Her phone began to chime incessantly. One notification after another appeared in her friend requests, all with the same intent:
“Hello, I’d like to order a meal for my child.”
“Ordering. Note: Xingxing’s Mom.”
“Ordering.”
Mother Wen rubbed her eyes. Once she realized what was happening, she was so excited she almost jumped for joy.
“Old Wen! Old Wen!” she shouted, desperate to share the news. “The orders are flooding in!”
To most, four or five orders might not seem like much. But to Mother Wen, having a guaranteed daily income for the next month or so was better than anything else.
Father Wen, massaging his aching shoulders, smiled with relief when he saw the list of orders on the phone. “That’s wonderful.”
Mother Wen excitedly approved the friend requests one by one and added them all into a “Ordering Group Chat.” As soon as the group was formed, she figured out where the orders had come from.
Zihan’s Mom seemed to know everyone else in the group. As soon as people joined, they greeted each other familiarly. Zhuangzhuang’s Grandma, however, was surprisingly quiet, a stark contrast to her talkative, voice-message-heavy behavior from the morning.
Zihan’s Mom, who was a teacher, quickly changed her group nickname to include her child’s name and asked: “@Mother Wen, hello. Could you please send out the menu for tomorrow in advance? Just in case any of the children have food allergies.”
The reminder jolted Mother Wen. She realized she had to be careful; children these days were delicate, and allergies were a serious matter. She quickly typed back a thank-you and rushed to find her daughter.
“Xiao Fan, what are we making for lunch tomorrow?”
Delivery was different from in-store dining. A set meal needed at least three or four dishes, and since it was for kids, nutritional balance was a priority.
Wen Fan thought for a moment. “Tomorrow… tomorrow we’ll have chicken.”
In the peak of summer, standing over a stove was brutal, even with the new air conditioner. Wen Fan decided that a cold chicken dish would be perfect.
Back in the palace, whenever summer arrived, the young princes and princesses often suffered from “summer lack of appetite.” The palace was not a place of reason; if a young royal fell ill from the heat, the servants and the Imperial Kitchen staff would all be held accountable. Over time, Wen Fan had created a repertoire of recipes perfect for summer, and her cold chicken dishes were among the most popular.
A simple version would be White-Cut Chicken. If the chicken was of high quality, the skin would be crispy and springy while the meat remained tender and odorless. Paired with a simple red oil sauce and soaked for a few hours, it was divine.
But Wen Fan’s personal favorite was Scallion Oil Drenched Chicken.
The poached chicken would be drizzled with scallion oil and minced garlic, sprinkled with white sesame seeds and chopped scallions, and topped with a handful of fragrant, fried crushed peanuts. The aroma of the scallion oil was irresistible, and the chicken remained firm and silky.
Mother Wen’s mouth watered just hearing the description as she typed out “Scallion Oil Drenched Chicken.”
“And the other three dishes?”
“We still have eggplants from today. I’ll make Crispy Eggplant. Plus, a Tomato and Egg Stir-fry, and a Mixed Vegetable Salad.”
Wen Fan had already grasped the pulse of modern society. The biggest difference from the palace was that people here didn’t define a meal’s quality solely by the price of the ingredients. A dish as humble as tomato and egg stir-fry could sometimes rival the finest delicacies.
In that case, she didn’t need to overcomplicate things. Simple, fast, and delicious—that was the secret to their shop’s survival.
Mother Wen posted the menu in the group chat. None of the parents had any objections.
Then, Zhuangzhuang’s Grandma spoke for the first time since joining: [Our child doesn’t eat tomatoes. Don’t pack the tomato and egg stir-fry for him tomorrow. Just give him an extra portion of Scallion Oil Drenched Chicken.]
Mother Wen didn’t see any harm in agreeing. However, as soon as Zhuangzhuang’s Grandma appeared, the other parents started chatting with her.
[@Zhuangzhuang’s Grandma, I haven’t had a chance to say thank you yet. My Xingxing came home and said Zhuangzhuang treated him to fried chicken at noon today.]
[Yeah, my kid was nagging me for fried chicken and burgers yesterday too. I was just about to order some for him these next few days.]
These simple comments left Mother Wen a bit confused. “I thought she said we had to be extremely careful about what the kids eat?”
How could someone demand vegetable inspection reports one moment and then order fried chicken and burgers the next? Was that stuff actually healthier than real food?
Suddenly, Mother Wen had a moment of clarity. “She probably just wanted to get something for free.”
All that fuss in the morning wasn’t actually about the reports; it was a tactic to get a free meal out of her. Mother Wen shook her head. “Really, now…” This certainly wasn’t setting a good example.
Perhaps because her facade had been poked through, the messages in the group stopped there, and Zhuangzhuang’s Grandma didn’t say another word.
Mother Wen closed the chat and excitedly began calculating the day’s earnings. The income was quite impressive. Since Wen Fan was no longer making the claypot rice, only Father Wen was handling it in the kitchen. Even with the price increase, they had only sold ten portions.
However, the two toppings Wen Fan had prepared were completely sold out by 7:00 PM. Between the walk-ins and the delivery platform, they had made over eight hundred yuan!
Mother Wen realized Wen Fan was right—claypot rice wasn’t cost-effective for them. Rice and noodle platters with pre-made toppings had a much faster turnover.
“Maybe we should just drop the claypot rice,” Mother Wen suggested. Specialized claypot rice shops had at least ten to twenty burners. Those stoves required specific modifications, and changing their setup just for one dish wasn’t worth it. With their current three burners, even if they worked non-stop, they could only sell a few dozen portions a day.
Father Wen’s muscles ached, but he gritted his teeth. “Let’s keep it.”
He saw how much his wife was taking on for the shop. Last night, she had stayed up late, murmuring about how she lacked education and hadn’t achieved much in the city all these years.
“Now that our daughter has this talent, we have to think about how to not hold her back.”
Although Wen Fan showed incredible culinary instinct, she was also studying hard. Mother Wen didn’t want her daughter to be the only one sacrificing for the family. They wanted to ensure their daughter could make her future choices without any worries.
Mother Wen’s words had kept Father Wen awake all night. He figured that if he had nothing else, he at least had a “dumb persistence.” Back in the village, when he was learning from the master chef, the master had taken in over a dozen kids. Eventually, almost all of them left.
The reason was that the master held back his secrets. For the first seven or eight years, the main thing the master had him do was slice cucumbers. Over and over, he practiced the “Suoyi” (accordion) cut. Now, Father Wen could slice a perfect accordion cucumber with his eyes closed.
That “dumb persistence” was what made him the only apprentice to actually finish his training and open his own shop in the city.
Looking at his daughter leaning against his wife’s shoulder, Father Wen thought: As long as I master the claypot rice to perfection, I can support the family even after my daughter goes to university or gets a job! One day, he would open a shop dedicated solely to claypot rice.
Mother Wen sighed helplessly but let him have his way.
The next day, Mother Wen woke up early again. She felt that handing out business cards once wasn’t enough. However, this time she actually invested some capital. Before closing up the night before, she had rushed to a print shop and ordered a hundred simple handheld fans.
The fans were printed with the same slogans as the cards, but they also included photos of the storefront and the kitchen, along with a QR code for the group chat.
“This way, I don’t have to add people one by one,” Mother Wen thought. “As long as they join the group, they can just place their orders there every day.” For the first time in her life, she was actively managing… a project? Yes, though she felt a bit shy about the word, she felt “project” was the best way to describe her vision.
She carried a notebook with her, constantly thinking of ways to optimize. If I can do a summer lunch program this year, why not next year or the year after? If I can deliver to the library, why not to cram schools or enrichment classes? Mother Wen was brimming with energy.
Father Wen and Mother Wen were practically competing to see who could wake up earlier, and both agreed to let Wen Fan sleep in.
Wen Fan, meanwhile, had begun her long journey of learning. Following Wu Na’s advice, she navigated to a video website on her phone. Wu Na had told her that there were teachers who posted free lectures online. Wen Fan found a middle school math course recorded by a teacher and began studying and solving problems bit by bit.
When it was almost time, Wen Fan headed to the shop.
Tying on her apron, she efficiently began poaching the chicken, frying the peanuts, coating the eggplant in batter, and whisking the eggs.
The eggplant, coated in a thin layer of starch, flipped in the oil and quickly turned an enticing golden color. After being scooped out to drain, it was double-fried until it became firm and charred. In a bowl, she mixed white vinegar, sugar, light soy sauce, and oyster sauce with water. She stir-fried scallions, garlic, and dried chilies in the pan, then poured in the sauce, stirring until it thickened.
Timing it perfectly, Wen Fan tossed in the fried eggplant, stirring quickly to coat every piece before sprinkling a handful of white sesame seeds and turning off the heat.
The fragrant, crispy, sweet, and sour Crispy Eggplant was ready.
Whenever Wen Fan cooked, Father Wen watched intently from the side. He followed Mother Wen’s example and carried a notebook, jotting down everything he couldn’t memorize. He didn’t ask questions when he was confused because his daughter’s answers were always frustratingly simple: “It just tastes better this way.”
There was nothing Father Wen could do. Culinary arts were like that; his own master had been the same. Having cooked for a landlord for a few years, the master had no one to teach him—it was all based on his own intuition.
Wen Fan finished the food quickly, and the lunch rush began. Mother Wen couldn’t step away, so she hailed a courier on the delivery platform.
“Deliver all of these to the library.”
.