Wen Fan stepped out of the house and into the fresh morning air. In the neighborhood park at the corner, she performed a set of Baduanjin, stretching out her limbs before slowly making her way forward.
The streets were alive with the morning rush: elderly people out for their morning exercises, children being hurriedly stuffed onto the back seats of electric scooters by parents rushing them to enrichment classes, and young professionals walking briskly, eating breakfast on the go.
Wen Fan observed it all as she walked, eventually finding herself at a morning market.
The place was teeming with people. The voices of vendors were amplified through strange large megaphones, repeating on a loop.
“Watermelons! Watermelons! Kirin melons on sale!”
“Freshly picked greens! Two yuan a bunch!”
“Big buns! Meat and vegetable fillings available!”
…
This noisy, bustling market felt more familiar to Wen Fan than the modern, strictly regulated grocery stores. In her previous life, during the few times she had left the palace to make purchases, she had seen similar lively scenes outside the city walls.
The difference was that people here were much more willing to spend on their appetites compared to the old days. Refined ingredients like white sugar, rice, and flour were much easier to obtain now, leading to a far greater variety of food.
As Wen Fan walked through the street, her professional instincts kicked in. By the time she snapped out of it, she was already carrying a pack of three sausages and a bag of fresh corn still in their husks.
Fortunately, her backpack was large enough. She stuffed the items inside and continued toward the library as planned.
But when she arrived, she was stunned.
She had only come here looking for a place to study based on the original owner’s memories. She hadn’t expected the library to be so overcrowded during the summer break.
The place she remembered as being mostly full of students on weekends was now crawling with children. Several parents were walking around, chatting and praising the facility.
“It’s a blessing to have a place like this. It’s air-conditioned and safe.”
“Exactly. The kids can even read some books while they’re here. It’s wonderful.”
“What are you doing for your kid’s lunch?”
“I gave him twenty yuan. There are stalls outside at noon, or at worst, I’ll just order takeout for him.”
“Ordering takeout is a good idea. I plan to do that too.”
“What are you choosing? Let me see.”
…
Wen Fan frowned, feeling that these parents were being a bit irresponsible.
Were there no kidnappers in this era?
Even if there weren’t, what if a child got hurt or bumped into something in a public place?
Catching the eye of a weary-looking librarian who seemed to have lost all will to live, Wen Fan decided to head back home for the day.
On the way back, she thought about the parents’ conversation again.
“Ordering takeout,” “Delivery”…
Wen Fan narrowed her eyes.
…
Back at the shop, Father and Mother Wen had been in a state of shock all morning over their daughter’s cooking. If they didn’t know her so well, Father Wen would have suspected she had secretly apprenticed under a master chef just based on that beef pancake from breakfast.
As the couple rode their tricycle, Father Wen was still reeling.
“It was better than anything my master ever made!”
Father Wen had learned his trade from a master who handled village banquets. He had spent three years doing odd jobs and five years learning the craft, yet in the city, his skills were considered mediocre at best.
But Father Wen thought that even that master, famous across ten miles and eight villages for his skill, couldn’t produce the flavor he had tasted that morning!
Mother Wen was more composed than her husband. Her only thought regarding her daughter’s cooking was pride.
“Our girl is so smart. Remember when she was little? She could memorize ancient poems in three to five minutes!”
Beyond pride, Mother Wen felt a sense of relief. “The child has grown up; she’s even cooking for us now. Didn’t you say Xiao Fan pickled those vegetables for you yesterday?”
Father Wen stopped the tricycle. Just as Mother Wen was about to ask what he was doing, she saw him lift the hem of his shirt to wipe his face.
Mother Wen: “…”
Father Wen choked up slightly. “I just feel… I feel like the child has become so sensible.”
Before, when she looked down on them for not being successful enough, they only felt heartbroken. But now that she was being so considerate, Father Wen felt a different kind of ache.
“…It’s all that bastard boy’s fault!”
Mother Wen’s eyebrows shot up as she immediately identified the culprit.
“Old Wen, we have to work hard and save more money for our daughter!” Mother Wen was suddenly struck by a surge of ambition.
Heartbreak had made her daughter suffer enough. Mother Wen decided that regardless of whether her daughter ever married, she would provide her with the ultimate security.
Full of fighting spirit, Mother Wen began researching how to do food delivery. After fiddling with her phone for a long time, she finally registered a rider account.
She was just about to look for a helmet so she could head out while it was quiet to familiarize herself with the system when her phone chimed twice.
Mother Wen looked down.
“An order came in, Old Wen!”
With an order arriving, Mother Wen naturally stopped her plans to go out.
This order was similar to the one yesterday: two servings of rice with toppings, with a note asking to swap one side for the pickled peppers.
Mother Wen wasn’t surprised by the order itself anymore. What shocked her was a five-star review she saw in the back-end system.
[Thank you, shopkeeper! I found my “life-changing pickles” in this little shop! I strongly suggest the owner put the pickled peppers on the menu. With those peppers, I could eat three bowls of rice! Of course, the rice with toppings was decent too, and the shop is very clean. Five stars!]
This lone comment sat in the review section. Mother Wen stared at it for a long while.
Father Wen was already numb to the surprises. He took a small dish of the pickled peppers from the stainless steel basin to share his daughter’s handiwork with his wife.
One bite was all it took for Mother Wen to realize the massive difference as well.
Father Wen was completely convinced. “Pack it up… We’ll add the pickles to the menu later.”
Most importantly, he really wanted to ask his daughter when she got back exactly how she made pickles taste like this.
Wen Fan had expected the question. She pulled the sausages and corn out of her backpack and said casually, “I just followed what I saw online. Oh, and I added a few things here and there as I went.”
Father Wen was eager to know. “What did you add?”
Wen Fan pointed to the counter. “Just those spices. The tutorial said to infuse the oil, and I saw we had some schizonepeta and black cardamom in the fridge, so I threw some in.”
“And the beef pancake from this morning?”
“I just made it on the fly. I thought the mince wasn’t fine enough, so I processed it again. I added ice water, onions, and black pepper. As for my own ‘flair’… I just added whatever I saw.”
Father Wen looked like he had seen a ghost.
Wen Fan didn’t want to dwell on the subject. Eager to get into the kitchen, she said, “Dad, I’ll make you some claypot rice for lunch, okay?”
Father Wen gave a dazed nod, his mind racing with theories.
Suddenly, she called out, “Dad, come over and teach me how to use the stove!”
Wen Fan pointed at the complex burner. “How do you light this thing?”
Yesterday, she had used a small portable stove to fry the oil. Others might have thought it was good, but to Wen Fan, the oil temperature hadn’t been high enough; it lacked a certain “fire power.”
Father Wen finally snapped out of his daze, laughing at himself for overthinking. “Coming!”
Wen Fan quickly learned how to use the gas and the industrial stove, which left her very satisfied. The heat from the gas was sufficient, making many dishes much easier to prepare.
Wen Fan took over one burner to make the claypot rice. To dispel her parents’ suspicions, she performatively placed a phone with a recipe on it in front of her.
While Father Wen fried toppings, he watched his daughter. Wen Fan really did look like she was unfamiliar with cooking; she would sniff the seasonings first and sometimes even use a chopstick to dab a bit and taste it.
Yet, despite that, as soon as the rice began to simmer in the claypot, the aroma became impossible to hide.
Mother Wen was at the front counter. She wanted to head out for a delivery run but found herself unable to leave.
Although the eight tables in the shop weren’t full, there were significantly more people coming in than usual. Some customers commented on how good it smelled the moment they entered and asked what was being cooked in the back.
“I don’t care what it is, give me a serving!”
Wen Fan happily agreed, telling Mother Wen she was making enough for six people.
“We’ll keep three portions for ourselves and sell the other three.”
Mother Wen swallowed hard. “Okay.”
After a moment’s thought, she went out to announce the price: “Claypot rice, eighteen yuan per serving.”
Seeing her delicate daughter working in the kitchen without air conditioning in the middle of summer, sweating profusely, Mother Wen felt that charging eighteen yuan was perfectly fair.
Some people grumbled about the price, but in the end, three servings were sold without a hitch.
Two of the portions went to young people, but the final one went to a familiar face.
“Sister Yang, what brings you here? Wait a moment, let me get you a bottle of ice water!”
Yang Hong sat there, her expression not particularly happy. Her mind was occupied by nothing else but the subpar fried rice she had eaten yesterday at noon.
She felt miserable!
On one hand, she wondered if Father Wen knew she was the one who ordered and had intentionally made it poorly. On the other hand… she was craving it.
The craving was gnawing at her. She had eaten so fast yesterday morning that while her stomach was full, her soul wasn’t satisfied. That mediocre fried rice at lunch did nothing to comfort her!
Last night, she had refused to believe the hype and drove out at 9:00 PM to Jin Yu Tang to order their “Golden Splendor Fried Rice.”
A 218-yuan fried rice in a magnificent hall.
And yet, Yang Hong still felt it wasn’t enough!
The rice wasn’t moist enough, there weren’t enough vegetables, the seafood wasn’t fresh, and the shredded meat wasn’t fragrant enough.
In short, Yang Hong went home hungry.
Even more annoying was that the Wen couple had sent over the rent money right then, making it impossible for her to contact them in the middle of the night to ask if they were upset about her asking for the rent yesterday morning.
Yang Hong endured it as long as she could, but by noon today, she couldn’t take it anymore.
She skipped her mahjong game and walked into the shop as soon as it opened for lunch.
Mother Wen was polite, bringing Yang Hong a cold Coke first before asking what she wanted.
Yang Hong was tongue-tied. She wanted to say fried rice but was afraid of getting yesterday’s standard again. Once she caught the scent wafting from the kitchen, she stopped hesitating.
“Whatever that smells so good, give me a serving of that!”
She would treat it as a last resort; if it smelled that good, it couldn’t be bad!
Mother Wen successfully sold the three servings of claypot rice while several customers outside began eating the rice and noodles Father Wen had prepared.
Seeing his daughter’s hair damp and plastered to her forehead, Father Wen felt a pang of sympathy. “I’ll watch it for you, you go out and rest.”
Wen Fan shook her head. “You have to watch the fire for this.”
She controlled the intensity of the flame, and soon, a sizzling sound came from inside.
Wen Fan let out a breath. “Done!”
As she lifted the lid, a rush of fragrance hit her face. Inside the claypot, the sausages were neatly arranged alongside vibrant green baby bok choy and bright yellow corn kernels, with an egg nestled in the center.
Father Wen’s throat bobbed as he listened to his daughter mutter about not having time to prepare ribs and lacking a certain sauce.
“Xiao Fan, is it ready to eat?”
The sausages were sliced evenly and simmered in the claypot until the edges were translucent and slightly curled. Along the edges of the pot, the rice crust showed a hint of golden brown, and a few chopped green onions garnished the freshly cooked rice…
Wen Fan smiled. “It’s ready.”