Following her lead, Gu Jing’an lifted his spoon to take a sip of the broth before fishing out a wonton.
The dumplings, which had looked as large as silver ingots in the bowl, seemed to shrink to the size of a thumb once they hit the tongue. He found himself chasing that fleeting hint of savory meat, savoring each bite with a quiet persistence, one after another.
The result was unexpected. Gu Jing’an, who had claimed he wasn’t hungry and was only there to keep her company, looked down to find his bowl empty. He hadn’t even left more than a few drops of soup.
Xie Yuechan, who still had nearly half her portion left, looked up in shock. “Are you still hungry? Should I go boil some more?”
“It’s enough,” Gu Jing’an replied, feeling a flush of embarrassment. He had indeed eaten quite a bit tonight. “If I eat any more, I’ll be too full to sleep.”
“Mm, you’re right. It’s better not to overdo it at night.”
Xie Yuechan finished her soup and gave a long, luxurious stretch. With her stomach full, a wave of exhaustion hit her, and she began to yawn.
“Being seventy percent full is the sweet spot. I feel like if someone gave me a pillow right now, I’d be out by the count of three.”
“Then go to sleep.”
Xie Yuechan thought she heard a faint chuckle in his voice, but she was too drowsy to be sure.
“Goodnight, Gu Jing’an.”
“Goodnight.”
Gu Jing’an understood this new phrase immediately and mirrored it. Sleep in peace. He assumed she was wishing him a night of tranquil rest.
Was that it?
Yawning again, Xie Yuechan didn’t bother walking back through the courtyard. She simply slipped behind the folding screen and disappeared into the bedroom.
Gu Jing’an, however, didn’t possess such a convenient sleep mechanism. Lying in bed, sleep eluded him, and his mind drifted back to the reason for his anger that morning.
It had been triggered by that whistle—a sharp reminder of who Xie Yuechan used to be. She had changed so much since their marriage that he had almost allowed himself to forget the terrible impressions of her past.
Last winter, outside Jinming Lake, she had spotted a young scholar reciting poetry. Seeing his fair skin and refined features, she and her maidservant had openly teased and harassed him. Scholars are proud and thin-skinned; unable to endure such public humiliation, the young man had lost his temper and lashed out with reckless words.
Jinming Lake was a royal garden, a place where entry was restricted to royalty and high-ranking officials. In other words, if a melon seed fell from the sky there, it would likely land on the hat of a third-rank official.
The unfortunate scholar, having lost his composure, accidentally offended the chief examiner of the following year’s palace examination. He was stripped of his chance to compete and sent back to his hometown, his future utterly ruined. It had no effect on Xie Yuechan, of course; her reputation was already so tattered it was beyond saving.
Gu Jing’an had heard rumors of the incident.
But a few days ago, while gathering with colleagues, he had discovered that the scholar hadn’t returned home. Instead, he had stayed in the capital to work as a lowly schoolteacher. After a few drinks, the man’s true feelings had poured out. With bloodshot eyes, he had clutched the sleeves of those around him, ignoring Gu Jing’an’s status as he cursed Xie Yuechan with a bone-deep hatred. Gu Jing’an had felt a pang of profound sorrow for him.
Nothing unites scholars like a shared grievance.
Xie Yuechan’s whistle had jolted him awake. That’s right, he had thought, she has always been this flippant. She was the type of person who would flirt with any man possessing a passable face.
So, as for him… she had likely only taken a fancy to his “human skin,” hadn’t she? Perhaps she was already growing bored of it. That would explain why she hadn’t been as enthusiastic lately.
Gu Jing’an had never paid attention to the city’s gossip regarding his looks, nor had he ever cared for his own reflection. But now, in the dead of night, curiosity took hold. He rose quietly and walked to the large water vat in the corner of the courtyard.
The moonlight was brilliant. The surface of the water acted as a mirror, reflecting a sharp, clear silhouette.
A young man in his late teens stood there, graceful as a jade tree in the wind. They said his smile was like the bright moon entering one’s arms, yet he rarely smiled; thus, he looked distant, untouched by the dust of the world—like an immortal.
Ever since she had transmigrated, Xie Yuechan had learned to keep a light heart. She hadn’t suffered a single night of poor sleep, and today was no exception—she woke up naturally, feeling completely refreshed.
The cherries she had ordered yesterday had arrived. She planned to simmer them into a jam to store for future desserts, but mostly, she just wanted to satisfy her own cravings.
Cherries in this era weren’t as massive as the varieties found in the future, but each one was plump, round, and a brilliant, glossy red. She popped one into her mouth. Mm! Sweet.
Washing, de-stemming, and pitting a whole basket of fruit took up the better part of the day. Once that was done, the rest was simple: just cherries, sugar, and orange peel. The orange peel acted as a substitute for lemon, cutting through the sugar to ensure the jam wasn’t cloyingly sweet while adding a bright, refreshing aroma.
She layered the cherries with sugar and let them macerate for two hours until the sugar dissolved into a deep red syrup. Everything went into the pot together. Once the fruit softened, she added the orange peel.
The process required constant attention to prevent scorching. As the juices thickened, she added maltose, stirring rhythmically.
“We stop when the liquid is nearly reduced,” Xie Yuechan explained. She noticed the maids had crowded into the small kitchen, watching her work with wide, curious eyes, so she patiently shared her method. “The natural pectin in the cherries will make the jam set and thicken once it cools.”
“Madam, you’re incredible!”
A round-faced little maid exclaimed in sincere admiration, her eyes twinkling like stars. She had been a servant at Snow-Fall Residency long before Yuechan arrived. Since Gu Jing’an disliked having people hover over him, the head maid Ling Long handled the tea and meals while the rest of the staff did little more than sweep the courtyards. Their lives had been quiet and, frankly, quite dull.
But since the Madam arrived, things had changed. She led them in baking bread and experimenting with all sorts of marvelous treats they had never seen before. Crucially, the Madam always shared the spoils with them first before sending any to the Third Young Master. Touched by such kindness, who could possibly remember the nasty rumors about her past?
In their eyes, she was clearly the best mistress in the world!
Having unwittingly captured the hearts of her entire household staff, Xie Yuechan couldn’t help but feel a smug internal glow. My charm is truly becoming a force of nature, she thought.
Seeing some cherries left over and with dinner still hours away, she decided to whip up a quick dessert: Cherry Egg Tarts.
She had commissioned the tart molds back when she built her brick oven, along with various other pastry cutters, and now was the perfect time to break them in. Following the classic method for puff pastry, she worked the dough—layering, buttering, folding, and rolling—repeating the cycle until she had a beautiful, laminated dough. She rolled it up and set it in a cool spot to rest.
While the dough chilled, she prepared the custard. It was a simple affair: whisking egg yolks with sugar and straining in fresh milk.
Once the pastry had rested, she cut the dough into small rounds, dusted them with a bit of flour to ensure they wouldn’t stick, and pressed them into the molds. After letting them sit for fifteen minutes, she filled them seventy percent full with the custard, dropped a single cherry into the center of each, and slid them into the oven.
Before long, a rich, sweet aroma filled the entirety of Snow-Fall Residency. When she pulled them out, the maids let out a collective, breathless “Wow!” The tarts were a perfect, shimmering golden brown.
Xie Yuechan shared the first batch with the maids who had stood guard by the oven from start to finish.
Biting into one while it was still hot was an experience for the senses. First, the teeth met the shatteringly crisp, flaky crust that rained crumbs without mercy. Then came the tender, silky custard heart, which didn’t even require chewing; it simply dissolved on the tongue and slid warmly down the throat. The top layer had a slight amber “skin” that offered a pleasant, chewy resistance.
With the second bite, you reached the cherry. Once baked, the cherry became even sweeter than when raw, its concentrated flavor outshining even the sugary custard. Fortunately, it was just one small fruit—any more and it might have been too rich, but like this, one bite was absolute perfection.