Xie Yuechan had been enjoying her peaceful life of “lying flat,” but suddenly, the fire found its way to her doorstep.
It all started when the Old Mrs. Gu was chatting with her eldest daughter-in-law, Lady Zhu. During their casual conversation, Lady Zhu mentioned—seemingly without intent—that the troublesome third wife, Xie Yuechan, had recently turned her small kitchen into a whirlwind of activity. Apparently, the children from both the first and second households, and even little Gu Changsheng, had grown quite fond of her cooking.
Because of this, Xie Yuechan often sent over whatever new treats she had whipped up, and their relationships had grown significantly warmer.
Upon hearing this, Old Mrs. Gu scoffed with disdain. “What could a person like her possibly make?”
Lady Zhu began counting off the dishes on her fingers: “Hot pot, Malatang, roasted chicken, fried skewers, and something called… ice cream?”
Each dish was something the Old Lady had never heard of in her life. As the household’s most staunch defender of tradition, her brows knit together in a deep frown.
“Since she has married into the Gu family, she represents our reputation to the outside world, whether you like it or not,” the Old Lady declared. “One is influenced by their company. Our children are young and impressionable; it would be disastrous if she led them astray. It seems the proper rules must be enforced. Starting tomorrow, have her come to my quarters to serve dinner. We shall temper her character.”
This was exactly what Lady Zhu had hoped for.
Delighted, she replied sweetly, “Mother is right. Your attendants are the most well-bred in the estate. If the Third Younger Sister is disciplined by your people, she will surely change for the better. This is a blessing many would beg for!”
After leaving Taoran Pavilion, Lady Zhu pressed a hand to her heart and sighed to her maid, Simei. “Finally, my worries of the past few days are resolved. Though she meant well with her gifts, I felt I was being too petty… but Mother is right. I cannot gamble with my son’s future.”
Simei comforted her. “Fortunately, the Old Lady dotes on the young masters and misses the most. With her keeping the Third Mistress busy, she certainly won’t have time to keep those appointments with Young Master Cong.”
Back at Tingfeng Residence, Lady Zhu watched Gu Cong and Yuanhui reading and practicing calligraphy under the eaves. Only then did the gloom that had been weighing on her finally dissipate.
Xie Yuechan, entirely unaware of Lady Zhu’s “report,” spent the entire night in a state of high anxiety. She couldn’t even finish her dinner, feeling as though she were truly facing the proverbial moment where “the ugly daughter-in-law must finally face the in-laws.”
Even though the original owner’s past follies had nothing to do with her, and she hadn’t exactly been treating Gu Jing’an like a real husband, he was still hers—at least on paper.
After tossing and turning for hours, she finally deflated, then pumped herself back up with a burst of courage. It’s just dinner! No matter how much she nagged, it would just go in one ear and out the other!
Meanwhile, in the study, Gu Jing’an found things rather strange. Why was there no scent of cooking coming from the courtyard today?
He summoned Linglong and asked, “Has she… had no movement in the kitchen today?”
Linglong, feeling a spark of sympathy and hoping her master might finally play the hero and protect his wife, sighed and shook her head, exaggerating the situation.
“Ever since the Old Lady’s nanny left, the Madam has shut herself in her room all day,” Linglong whispered. “She’s hardly touched a drop of water or a grain of rice. She must be terrified… so nervous she can’t eat.”
Gu Jing’an paused. “…” She actually knows how to be afraid?
“My mother is not the type to punish people without cause,” he noted.
Linglong let out a huff of disagreement. “Sir, the Old Lady is your own mother; naturally, you don’t feel awkward around her. But for the women of the inner court, the Matriarch is the highest authority—especially when that person is one’s mother-in-law, and one who already has a… poor impression of you. Tell me, are you ever truly at ease in front of elders you barely know?”
A superior who didn’t like you was indeed a difficult hurdle. Seeing Gu Jing’an sink into thought, Linglong suppressed a smile and quietly retreated.
Late that night, Gu Jing’an carried a candle to the screen that divided their quarters. Behind the silk panels was Xie Yuechan’s bedroom.
He cleared his throat to steady his nerves. “Asleep?”
“Huh?!”
Xie Yuechan had been lying in bed wide awake, counting her fingers. Hearing Gu Jing’an’s voice from the other side made her bolt upright like a startled fish.
“Something wrong?”
“It’s nothing.”
After a three-second silence, Xie Yuechan heard him speak again, his voice carrying a strange, unidentifiable undertone.
“I just wanted to let you know… Mother isn’t actually a difficult person to get along with. While she values decorum, she is aware of how you were in the past… well. You simply need to show a proper attitude. Perfection isn’t something achieved in a day or two; as long as her opinion of you begins to change, it will be enough. She won’t make things hard for you.”
As Gu Jing’an finished speaking, he felt a sudden heat rise to his cheeks, his heart fluttering with uncharacteristic unrest.
To teach a woman—one he had previously detested, no less—how to win over his own mother… this was a first for him, and something he had never imagined doing.
The moon climbed higher, hanging over the willow branches. In the surrounding courtyards, the household had retired for the night. It was so silent that Gu Jing’an could hear nothing but his own steady, slow breathing.
He stood behind the screen, candle in hand. From Xie Yuechan’s perspective, his shadow was cast perfectly against the silk—tall, elegant, and refined.
“Thanks, bro!”
In a sudden, inexplicable lapse of judgment, Xie Yuechan let out a sharp, jaunty whistle.
She sounded for all the world like a delinquent schoolgirl teasing a straight-laced honor student.
She immediately clamped her mouth shut and waited. When no sound came from the other side, she figured he must be deeply regretting his decision to comfort her. With a heart full of mock-remorse, she rolled back into bed. Miraculously, sleepiness finally washed over her; she seized the chance and drifted into a deep slumber.
Behind the screen, she left a very bewildered Gu Jing’an to deal with the aftermath of being catcalled.
The next morning, Xie Yuechan woke up feeling refreshed.
She rose even earlier than Gu Jing’an, humming a little tune as she busied herself in the small kitchen, having completely wiped the previous night’s embarrassment from her memory.
Today’s specialty: Shengjian Mantou—pan-fried crispy pork buns.
She prepared both shrimp and fresh pork fillings. The most crucial step, however, was something she had started the morning before. She had originally intended to eat them last night, but her nerves had gotten in the way.
The secret to the bun’s signature burst of soup was the meat aspic. She had cleaned and de-haired pig skin, sliced it into strips, and simmered it for half an hour with ginger, scallions, and star anise before letting it cool into a firm jelly.
Xie Yuechan chopped the aspic into fine bits and folded them into her two fillings. Then, she pleated them into small, delicate buns.
She lined them in a pan with a splash of water, steaming them until the liquid vanished, then added oil to fry the bottoms until a satisfying sizzle filled the air.
After a final garnish of sesame seeds and chopped scallions, the buns were ready. The bottoms were golden and shatteringly crisp, while the first bite promised a mouthful of rich, savory broth.
Just as the first batch of shrimp buns came out, Gu Jing’an happened to be leaving.
Xie Yuechan expertly wrapped ten of them in greaseproof paper and sprinted after him. “Hey, Gu Jing’an! Wait up!”
“What is it?”
Xie Yuechan noticed that Gu Jing’an seemed much colder today, having reverted to his usual aloof, otherworldly persona. She figured he probably just wasn’t a morning person.
“Pan-fried buns!”
Beaming with excitement, she slapped the warm paper parcel into his arms. Remembering the second batch still in the pan, she didn’t stick around to chat. She turned and dashed back toward the kitchen, leaving him without so much as a chance to refuse.