“Gu Jing’an—”
A crisp female voice shattered his reverie. He looked up to find his second brother and sister-in-law long gone; he had been lost in thought for far longer than he realized.
“What are you daydreaming about?”
Xie Yuechan had already crossed Yueying Bridge. Standing on the far bank, she turned back and waved to him. “Aren’t we going back?”
The “Moon-Shadow Bridge” was a bridge in name only, spanning a small stream that fed into the lotus pond behind the rockery. The water below was just still enough to perfectly reflect the moon—hence the poetic name—but the path was so narrow that two people walking together had to cross one after the other.
“You’re not yourself today,” Xie Yuechan teased once they were alone.
“In what way?” Gu Jing’an’s face stiffened with a touch of unnatural tension. He feared she had seen through the anxieties he’d been harboring since the start of the day.
“You didn’t praise my clay pot porridge,” Xie Yuechan huffed playfully. “But I saw you secretly sneak three whole bowls!”
She gave a triumphant little hum, making it clear her sharp eyes missed nothing.
“…It was delicious.”
Relieved that her observation was so innocent, the heavy weight on Gu Jing’an’s heart seemed to lift. He even found himself adding, “And this morning’s…”
“You didn’t praise the pan-fried buns this morning either!”
They spoke in such perfect unison that they both froze in surprise. Then, Xie Yuechan burst into a bright laugh. “What a coincidence.”
“I was actually going to say,” Gu Jing’an admitted, avoiding her gaze out of a sense of guilt, “that Kui Yu snatched the buns away. I didn’t get to eat them.”
It was only the second time he had ever told a lie. It didn’t flow smoothly; he swallowed hard, his nerves getting the better of him. He even stammered a little.
“Ah, is that so…”
Her tone was airy, making it hard to tell if she was upset. Gu Jing’an, however, assumed she must be. Who wouldn’t be hurt if their hard work went unappreciated? He scrambled to make amends.
“Next time… next time I won’t let your kindness go to waste.”
His promise was so earnest and plain-spoken that Xie Yuechan struggled to stifle a giggle. She didn’t have the heart to tease him any further.
“Fine, then let’s make it ‘next time’ right now!”
“Hmm?” Gu Jing’an was bewildered. Now? Hadn’t they just finished dinner?
Xie Yuechan stopped and looked up at him, performing a mock-solemn curtsy with a pitiable expression. “I was so busy ‘serving’ your family just now that I barely ate a bite. My stomach is quite empty. I wonder if my dear husband would do me the honor of accompanying me for a midnight snack?”
The way she said husband was soft and sweet—a stark contrast to the way she usually barked his full name.
“Alright.” A wave of guilt washed over him. “Perhaps you shouldn’t go in the future. I will speak to Mother.”
Why should her spirit be stifled? His mother was never going to truly accept her as family anyway, and eventually, they would have to…
“Don’t do that!” she chirped, her eyes bright with a smile. “Second Sister-in-law told me all about it. Eldest Sister-in-law, Second Sister-in-law, and even you when you were little—didn’t you all go through this? She’s an elder! As long as we keep up appearances, she’s easy enough to coax… Today was likely just her being tsundere. If I try to please her a few more times, it’ll be fine. If you go and complain, she’ll just blame me for leading her son astray.”
If that happened, she’d never hear the end of it.
“Tsundere?”
It was a strange word, one Gu Jing’an had never heard before. “What does that mean?”
“It means…” she explained, “that perhaps the Old Lady’s heart is already softening toward me, but for the sake of her pride, she has to hide it by acting tough!”
She agonized over her words for a moment before finally landing on a suitable explanation.
“Mm.”
He had to admit, the description fit her rather well.
The two of them chatted idly as they strolled back to Snow-Fall Residency. Ji Tao’s eyes lit up when she saw her mistress return, and they sparkled even brighter when she realized Gu Jing’an had personally escorted her back. Beside her, Ling Long wore an identical expression. At the two maids’ insistent prodding, the rest of the servants took the hint and discreetly withdrew for the night.
“What should we have?” Xie Yuechan mused. “It’s late, so something quick. Somin noodles? Cold noodles? Or maybe just wontons?”
After rattling off a list of options, she unilaterally decided on wontons for their midnight snack. She lifted the lid of a pot, surveyed the remaining ingredients, and prepared to light the stove.
Seeing her reach for the firewood, Gu Jing’an stepped forward to intercept her. “I’ll do it.”
“You know how?” she asked, sounding skeptical.
“When I was about Jue’er’s age, I studied at Qinglu Academy,” Gu Jing’an replied with a rare, dry wit. “Unlike the Imperial Academy, it wasn’t filled with sons of high nobility. There were no servants to wait on us. If I hadn’t learned such things, was I expected to live off dew and fresh air?”
Xie Yuechan flashed a wide, toothy grin. “I always assumed young masters like you looked down on such chores. Doesn’t the saying go, ‘A gentleman stays far from the kitchen’?”
“The original intent of that saying—that a gentleman should not personally take the life of a living creature—was a lesson in self-restraint and compassion. It was never meant to be an excuse for a man to be helpless in his own home.”
“Exactly!” Xie Yuechan agreed, moved by his insight. “Take Master Su Shi, for instance. He loved to cook and adored pork—something people in his time considered ‘lowly.’ Yet that didn’t stop him from being revered. It just goes to show that some people only quote that line to dodge household chores. A gentleman isn’t a gentleman because of what he avoids; he is a gentleman because of who he is.”
Gu Jing’an was startled by her sharp tongue, yet he found he couldn’t disagree with a single word.
As they talked, their hands never stopped moving. They kneaded the dough, let it rest, rolled it thin, minced the meat, and seasoned the filling.
“Start the water,” she directed. “They’re almost ready for the pot.”
Xie Yuechan had wrapped about forty wontons—exactly twenty for each of them. These were the “Bubble Wontons” famous in the Jiangsu region. The skins were paper-thin and the filling sparse; they weren’t meant to be a heavy meal, but rather a comforting, soothing warmth for the soul.
Gu Jing’an noticed these were quite different from the wontons he usually ate. The skins were as translucent as a cicada’s wing, revealing the tiny, pink blush of the meat inside.
“Is there a trick to wrapping them like this?” he asked curiously.
“You’ll see once they’re cooked.”
In a separate pot, she rendered some fat from bits of pork until the room was filled with a savory aroma. She then added the boiling water, followed by a handful of chopped scallions and dried shrimp. This served as the base—a clear yet flavorful broth for when there wasn’t time to simmer bone or chicken stock.
She dropped the wontons into the pot like scattered flower petals. Within moments, they bobbed to the surface, swelling into delicate spheres that floated like translucent bubbles.
“They really do look like fish blowing bubbles,” Gu Jing’an remarked.
Fascinated, he ladled them into a bowl and gently nudged the surface with his spoon, watching the little bubbles drift and sway. Realizing how childish he was being, he quickly stole a glance at her out of the corner of his eye to see if she had noticed.
Since the bowls were scalding hot, he took charge of carrying both his and hers. Once again, they found themselves sharing a midnight meal in his study. He lit two lamps; the light was dim, but enough to see by.
Finding the broth a bit too plain for her liking, Xie Yuechan fetched a jar of cornelian cherry chili oil and added a generous spoonful. The soup instantly transformed into an inviting, fiery red.
“Do you want to try mine?” she offered, catching him staring at her bowl. She pushed it toward him. “I haven’t touched it yet.”
“I… think not,” he hesitated, clearly not yet accustomed to such casual intimacy.
“Suit yourself.” She didn’t press him. Unable to wait a second longer, she blew on a spoonful of broth and took a sip.
It was silky, piping hot, and tingling with spice. A midnight snack always seemed to taste twice as good as any other meal.