Wen Fan had actually learned the dish “Sliced Meat in Hot Chili Oil” on the fly. In her original world, although chili peppers existed, the diets of the inner palace were governed by strict rules. The pungency of chilies and the sweating that accompanied eating them were considered undignified. Consequently, the various palaces almost never ordered such dishes. As for the palace maids and eunuchs, since they had to serve their masters, they avoided not only chilies but even slightly pungent ingredients like onions and garlic.
Wen Fan personally loved such bold flavors, but she only had a few rare opportunities during her breaks to secretly cook a little for herself. She had heard palace maids mention that in the deep mountains of the Southwest, people loved chilies to ward off “miasma” and dampness.
However, even the people from those Southwestern mountains would likely be shocked by the spice tolerance of modern people.
When Wen Fan visited the vegetable market, she saw various types of chilies piled up in sacks: dried, fresh, red, yellow, green…
The small vendors at the stalls would order a portion of Malatang with a thick layer of red chili oil, yet some would still grumble that it wasn’t spicy enough.
Thus, Wen Fan was bold and heavy-handed with the chilies when making the Sliced Meat in Hot Chili Oil.
After setting aside the portions for delivery, Wen Fan made a serving for the family.
A base of crisp lettuce, bean sprouts, and tofu skin was laid out. The tender meat slices were submerged in red oil, topped with a layer of minced garlic, chopped scallions, and dried chilies that had been sizzled with hot oil to release their fragrance. This added a magnificent layer of aroma to the spicy, fresh dish.
Qu Xiaoyu, who had just turned eighteen, was quite tall but possessed a pale sort of puffiness. He was shy and stood there awkwardly, unsure of how to join the conversation. Beside him, Yang Tao had eyes that were “clear and stupid,” but he had spent plenty of time helping his mother run her shop, so he was quite familiar with the neighbors.
Father Wen served each of them a bowl of rice. “You two haven’t eaten yet, have you?”
Yang Tao scratched his messy bedhead. “Not yet, Uncle Wen. This food smells amazing.”
He had been sleeping soundly when his mother suddenly yanked back the blackout curtains. The moment the light hit him, he shrieked like a vampire seeing the sun for the first time and huddled into the shadows, making his mother, Ms. Song Hui, laugh out of sheer frustration.
“If this continues, I’m afraid you’ll suck the life out of me! Hurry up, you must go out and see the sun today!”
Ms. Song Hui was thoroughly disgusted. “Up all night and asleep all day. Every midnight you get up to make instant ramen with an egg. Were you an instant ramen spirit in your past life? Get up!”
Yang Tao had been driven out by his mother and arrived at the shop wearing a randomly thrown-on outfit.
Initially, he had been extremely reluctant, but once he smelled the food, his mind changed instantly.
He firmly caught the bowl of rice Mother Wen handed him, showing no shyness at all. “Thanks, Auntie Xia! I won’t stand on ceremony then!”
With that, he nudged Qu Xiaoyu with his elbow. “What are you dazing out for? Eat!”
Qu Xiaoyu let out an “oh” and thanked them in a voice as soft as a mosquito, his face turning red.
Mother Wen smiled. “I didn’t expect your mother and sister to move so fast. We don’t have many dishes today, so just have a simple meal.”
On the table was only the basin of Sliced Meat in Hot Chili Oil and some vegetable stir-fry from lunch.
Yang Tao took a large bite of a meat slice, his eyes sparkling. “This is plenty! This Sliced Meat in Hot Chili Oil hits the spot!”
A layer of red oil floated in the basin, topped with various garnishes and the meat slices soaking beneath. Some sesame seeds and peppercorns clung to the meat. He placed a slice over his rice and took a large mouthful of both. The tenderness of the meat, the numbing spice, and the rice soaked in flavorful red oil were incredibly appetizing.
Yang Tao ate with gusto. Although Qu Xiaoyu didn’t speak, his actions spoke for him; his chopsticks moved faster than anyone else’s.
Wen Fan let out a soft laugh. The participation of these two young men suddenly gave her the illusion of being back in the Imperial Kitchen. There, the young maids and eunuchs didn’t seem immature when serving others, but once they were off duty, they would scramble for food just like this.
Yang Tao swallowed a large mouthful of rice and turned the tables by inviting Wen Fan to eat. “Xiao Fan, you should eat too.”
He was afraid that his large appetite might scare this shy little sister of Auntie Xia’s into not eating.
Beside him, Qu Xiaoyu paused his chopsticks for a second before shoveling down several more mouthfuls of rice with more restraint.
Wen Fan poked at the rice in her bowl. “It’s fine, you guys eat. I’m not very hungry.”
She had already tasted the dishes twice while cooking that morning and was half-full.
Yang Tao scratched his head and grinned. “Auntie Xia, can I have a bottle of Coke?”
What was the point of eating such a spicy dish without a Coke!
Mother Wen slapped her forehead. “I forgot. Old Wen, get the boys a drink…”
Wen Fan watched Mother Wen silently, her silent longing practically turning into tiny invisible hands tugging at Mother Wen’s sleeve.
Mother Wen: “…Take one more can.”
Instantly, it was as if stars had fallen into Wen Fan’s eyes.
Mother Wen couldn’t help but laugh. “Really now…”
The lunch was eaten quickly. Yang Tao and Qu Xiaoyu were so busy devouring the food that they were too embarrassed to take too much of the meat; they even used the leftover red oil to flavor a second bowl of rice. If they hadn’t run out of rice, they likely would have gone for a third. After two large bowls, they were so full they could barely stand. Even so, they still felt greedy for more.
When Mother Wen picked up the remaining red oil to pour it away, the two of them watched her with lingering longing, as if they had the urge to pack the sauce to take home.
Yang Tao turned around, his face full of admiration. “Uncle Wen, your cooking is incredible.”
Father Wen chuckled. “It’s not my handiwork. Didn’t your mom tell you? Xiao Fan does all the cooking in the shop now.”
Yang Tao gasped. “Xiao Fan isn’t going to school anymore?”
Father Wen quickly waved his hand. “No, no, she’s still in school. It’s just summer break. Xiao Fan’s skills are better than mine, and she’s being considerate of me. It’s all thanks to her; the good business we have now is all because of her.”
Yang Tao gave a big thumbs up. “Our little sister’s skill is top-tier! This Sliced Meat in Hot Chili Oil today—I’ve never tasted anything this good anywhere else!”
Qu Xiaoyu nodded repeatedly. He was even worse off than Yang Tao; having stayed in a high school dormitory for three years, the food he’d eaten was barely better than pig feed.
Father Wen was happier than if he had been praised himself.
“Uncle Wen, Auntie Xia, just you wait. For the sake of our sister’s cooking, the two of us will definitely work hard!”
Yang Tao was full of energy. He and Qu Xiaoyu quickly registered their accounts and bound their rider IDs to the shop.
Once bound, Yang Tao realized the shop’s reviews and orders were pitifully few.
“This shouldn’t be right. Our sister’s cooking might not be number one in the whole city, but it’s definitely number one on this entire street. Why are there so few orders?”
Wen Fan was reading a book at a nearby table. She felt that Yang Tao calling her “our sister” didn’t feel presumptuous at all.
“Our shop doesn’t participate in promotions, so the platform downgraded us,” Wen Fan said, turning a page. She had overheard half of Mother Wen’s argument with the platform representative and then looked it up to understand what “downgrading” meant.
It basically meant the shop would no longer receive organic traffic unless a customer searched for it directly.
Yang Tao said, “Those black-hearted bastards. Don’t worry, little sister, your big brother will promote you!”
Yang Tao’s mother, Song Hui, was from the Northeast and had married far from home. Although Yang Tao usually spoke standard Mandarin, his Northeastern accent would slip out when he got excited.
As a high-intensity internet surfer, Yang Tao was much better at navigating the web than Mother Wen.
He didn’t bother arguing with the platform. Instead, he went straight to local forums and Tieba to start threads, and pulled up the shop’s page on review sites.
He fired off several posts, each title more eye-catching than the last.
One post pretended to be the shop owner: [Platform commissions are too high; can a shop with great taste but no traffic survive?]
Then, Yang Tao switched between three “sock-puppet” accounts to reply. One expressed sympathy, saying their own shop was in the same boat—either stay half-dead without promotions or earn money only for the platform with them. “Sigh, what can we do but endure? Keep going, restaurant workers!”
The second reply was a contrarian, saying: “What kind of shop has such a big mouth? Great taste? How great? Better than Jin Yu Tang? If your business isn’t picking up, reflect on yourselves. Have you been working seriously? Have you worked hard enough?”
The third reply fanned the flames:
“Exactly which shop is it? Tell us so we can check it out! I’ll be the judge of whether it’s actually good or if it deserves to go out of business!”
…
As it turned out, many people loved to join in on the drama. The thread grew quickly, with a bunch of people asking which shop it was so they could order takeout to test the owner’s skill.
Mother Wen and Father Wen were dumbstruck. Wen Fan, with a straw in her mouth, revised her opinion of Yang Tao, who had previously seemed like a simple, boorish guy.
—If he were in the palace, he could easily earn a Golden Pheasant rank badge.
Yang Tao’s fingers flew across the screen, alternating between acting as the owner and the customer.
[Have you guys thought about school food during summer break? I must be a masochist because I actually miss it.]
[Self-studying Chinese medicine. I wrote some prescriptions for my son, but my two-year-old insists on eating takeout.]
[Are Northerners especially fond of staple foods? I ordered a rice platter, but they sent a noodle platter. It was good, but I still feel like noodles aren’t as good as rice.]
…
Yang Tao shared his philosophy with high spirits: “If you want traffic on the internet, you just need these few things.”
Stereotyping, Chinese vs. Western medicine, gender wars, mother-in-law vs. daughter-in-law drama, and “grind” culture…
Wen Fan made a mental note.
She glanced at Yang Tao again.
Hmm, a Golden Pheasant badge is a bit low. A Peacock badge is more like it.
It was unclear whether it was Yang Tao’s posts from noon taking effect or the positive feedback from the library orders, but that evening, the shop’s delivery orders hit a new high.
There were about a dozen orders in one evening. Yang Tao and Qu Xiaoyu took nearly an hour to finish all the deliveries.
Mother Wen closed her ledger, sounding excited. “We broke a thousand!”
Father Wen and Wen Fan looked at each other; the family of three was exceptionally happy. For such a tiny shop, having this kind of income was already quite a feat.
“I’ll buy more lunch boxes tomorrow.”
The number of people in the lunch program was growing. That evening, Mother Wen’s phone chimed several more times. The group members had reached seventeen.
However… Mother Wen clicked on the member list and saw names and avatars that were more abstract than the last.
“How strange.”
The people introduced by Zihan’s mother had all changed their nicknames to their children’s names. but these new ones… what were they changing them to?
[Potato’s family member]
[Winter melon’s brother-in-law Watermelon]
[Tomato’s wife Egg]
[Durian’s sweetheart]
…
“Once the food is delivered tomorrow, how am I supposed to call out these names?”