The next morning, a few distant rooster crows echoed as a ray of sunlight fell on Shen Zhihe’s face through the window. She struggled to extend a hand from under the quilt, blocking the light. After a moment, she gradually woke.
Propping herself up, she grabbed the Jia’ao from beside her and draped it over her shoulders. Peering at her younger brother beside her, she saw the redness on his cheeks had faded. Settling her nerves, Shen Zhihe reached out to touch Shen Zhian’s forehead and immediately sighed in relief. The ancients truly did not deceive—that folk remedy had indeed worked. Zhian’s fever had subsided.
The anxiety lodged in Shen Zhihe’s throat finally eased. Watching her brother sleep soundly, she tucked his quilt tighter before rolling out of bed. Clad in the Jia’ao, she walked slowly to the wooden table in the room and retrieved a somewhat worn blue money pouch from the bundle she brought yesterday.
This pouch was secretly slipped into the original owner’s arms by her mother while bedridden. Truly, parental love runs deep—Mother Shen, likely aware her time was limited, had left a lifeline for the siblings.
At this thought, Shen Zhihe lowered her gaze, stroking the pouch with mixed emotions. Mother Shen had planned meticulously but never anticipated her eldest daughter would also perish in that epidemic. Now, her body was inhabited by this wandering soul. Shaking her head quietly, she untied the pouch strings and poured out its contents: two taels of broken silver and surprisingly, five to six hundred copper coins.
She counted out two hundred coins, wrapped them in a handkerchief, and returned the rest to the pouch. Her eyes scanned the room before settling on the cabinet. Dragging over a chair, she stuffed the pouch into a clay jar, stepped onto the chair, and placed it atop the cabinet.
Gradually, noises emerged outside. Startled, Shen Zhihe warily tucked the coin-filled handkerchief into her clothes and hurried to the window. It was the burly man she’d briefly met yesterday stepping out.
He paused at the doorway, his gaze seemingly fixed on their courtyard gate. Shen Zhihe leaned against the wall, staring intently at him, thinking to herself that she must stay wary of this mother and son pair. After roughly half an incense stick’s time, the man brushed snow off his shoulders and walked away.
Only after his figure disappeared did Shen Zhihe step out carrying a bamboo basket. Though Shen Zhian’s fever had broken after his illness, he had suffered. Being so young, if not properly nourished, it might leave lasting health issues.
Moreover, she planned to sell tofu brain. Selling only tofu brain would be too monotonous—why not prepare other foods to pair with it and set up a breakfast stall? Their household ingredients were insufficient, necessitating a trip to the market.
The bitter wind outside made her shiver involuntarily. Pulling her collar tight, she deeply missed her previous life’s down jacket. Walking briskly against the wind toward the market, she noted the brightening sky. If she hurried, she could likely return before Zhian woke.
After such upheaval, Zhian had become deeply attached to her. If he woke to an empty house, he’d probably cry.
Perhaps because she now had a decent sum of money, Shen Zhihe felt lighthearted, her steps buoyant. Along the way, she saw many vendors lining the streets selling various foods—common items like steamed buns, mantou, and wontons.
The cacophony of overlapping vendor calls filled the air as Shen Zhihe scanned the unoccupied stalls along the street. She wondered silently what procedures were required to set up a stall here, thinking she might buy some pastries tomorrow to bring to the magistrate’s office for inquiries.
Having settled on this plan, Shen Zhihe quickened her pace toward the market. She mentally listed the ingredients she needed: the household oil was nearly depleted, so she might as well buy some fatty pork to render lard. The leftover cracklings would make a delicious dish too. Some marbled pork stewed with sweet potatoes would be nice, and she could also get a pork femur bone to make nourishing soup for Zhi’an. Rice and flour were also necessary.
Remembering the large jar of sweet potatoes at home, Shen Zhihe suddenly craved fried sweet potato balls. She imagined steaming and mashing the potatoes, mixing in finely chopped carrots and scallions, combining them with flour, then deep-frying until golden. The thought of that crispy exterior giving way to soft, savory sweetness made her unconsciously wipe at her non-existent drool. Hoisting her bamboo basket, she headed toward the butcher’s shop.
Standing before the counter, she pinched a piece of fatty pork to examine – its snow-white flesh appeared quite fresh.
“How much per catty for this meat, shopkeeper?”
The butcher glanced up from his chair, taking in the young woman’s faded Jia’ao that suggested limited means. He responded with indifference until Shen Zhihe repeated her question, then answered impatiently, “Lean meat twenty coppers, fatty meat twenty-five, and marbled pork twenty-two.”
After brief consideration, Shen Zhihe replied, “Please cut me one catty each of lean meat, fatty meat, and marbled pork.”
The butcher sprang up immediately, all former annoyance replaced by beaming enthusiasm. “That’ll be sixty-seven coppers total! Please wait while I prepare your order.”
As Shen Zhihe counted out the copper coins, her eyes fell upon a meticulously cleaned pork femur in the corner. After a moment’s hesitation she asked, “How much for that femur bone?”
“That thing’s hardly worth anything,” the butcher said, following her gaze. “If you want it, young lady, ten coppers will do.” Nobody usually wanted this meatless bone, yet today this young woman had asked about it.
“Please wrap it up for me then.”
“Right away!”
About half an hour later, Shen Zhihe had gathered all her required ingredients, filling the large bamboo basket to capacity and exhausting all the copper coins she’d brought. She began trudging home with the heavy basket.
Soon she reached the pawned shopfront, where a crowd had gathered. Distinguishing distressed wails from the commotion, her curiosity prompted her to squeeze through the throng using her petite frame. Parting the onlookers, she saw her aunt sitting on the ground, making a scene.
“Judge for yourselves, good people!” the woman wailed from the ground. “This shop rightfully belongs to my husband’s second brother! But my poor brother-in-law and his wife died suddenly from illness, leaving two children behind. The children were too young to manage the shop, so I’ve been overseeing it for them. I intended to return it when the girl came of age, but now it’s been seized by outsiders!”
Lin Qian stood at the doorway, his fleshy cheeks trembling as if suppressing inner rage. Impatience flashed in his eyes as he said coldly: “Repaying debts is only right and proper. Your Shen family owes me a considerable sum. Wasn’t it you who told me yesterday that the shop is in the hands of Shen Erlang’s eldest daughter? Wasn’t it you who told me to seek payment from the young lady Shen? Why are you here wailing today?”
Hearing this, the woman’s sobbing halted briefly before she resumed her loud lamentations, repeatedly crying about the injustice of it all.
After watching for a while, Shen Zhihe found it utterly tedious. Carrying her basket, she turned back home, thinking to herself that since her aunt now knew she had mortgaged the shop to Lin Qian, trouble would likely come knocking within days. She needed to prepare early.
“Zhian, your sister is back.” Shen Zhihe spotted the furry-headed figure squatting by the courtyard gate from afar.
Shen Zhian looked up abruptly to see Shen Zhihe trudging through the snow with a bamboo basket, her steps uneven in the deep snow. His eyes immediately reddened as he wiped them with the back of his hand before running toward her.
“Sister, where did you go? I woke up and couldn’t find you. I thought you had abandoned me.” Shen Zhian buried his head in Shen Zhihe’s embrace, his voice choked with tears that tugged at heartstrings.
Shen Zhihe led him back inside, set down the bamboo basket, and crouched to pat his head. “I went to buy some food. How about going to the Ji Shi with me tomorrow?”
A growling sound came from Shen Zhian’s stomach, making his cheeks flush instantly.
With an understanding smile, Shen Zhihe magically produced a Chuibing from her bosom and handed it to him. “Have this to tide you over, Zhian. I’ll make you something delicious.”
Having been kept warm against her body, the baked cake was still steaming when Shen Zhian received it. He unwrapped the oiled paper, tore it in half, and offered one portion to Shen Zhihe. “Sister, let’s share.”
His dark eyes fixed intently on her, as if he wouldn’t eat unless she accepted the half. Seeing this, Shen Zhihe gave a faint smile and took the offered portion. They finished the cake together, though its taste could only be described as bland – not worth eating yet not worth discarding.
She retrieved the previously washed sweet potatoes and placed them in the pot, then rinsed some rice to prepare congee. Looking down, she noticed Zhian circling around her, seemingly eager to help. “Zhian,” she said, “could you help me light the fire?”
“Okay!” he responded enthusiastically, scrambling behind the stove.
Since the sweet potatoes would take time to steam, she took out the purchased ingredients, sorted them, and began processing the soybeans that had been soaking for a day. Finding them fully expanded, she carried them outside in a wooden basin.
The stone mill in the yard hadn’t been used for some time and was covered in dust. After setting down the basin, she drew several buckets of well water to clean the mill before beginning to grind the soybeans. Shen Zhihe’s slender frame made her arms ache within less than fifteen minutes of grinding, but seeing the increasing amount of soy milk in the wooden bucket, she persevered through gritted teeth.
After about two hours, she finally finished grinding all the soybeans. By then, the sweet potatoes steaming inside were thoroughly cooked. Having done strenuous labor for so long, Shen Zhihe felt quite hungry as she carried the bucket of soy milk back into the house.
Shen Zhian curiously craned his neck to look. “Sister, why are you grinding so much soy milk?”
“You’ll find out soon.” Shen Zhihe smiled mysteriously, taking two eggs, a carrot, and a bunch of scallions from the basket.
With deft movements, she chopped the carrot and scallions into fine pieces, setting them aside for later use. Then she mashed the sweet potatoes into a paste and let it cool. She added the previously prepared carrot and scallions to the sweet potato paste, followed by cracking in two eggs. Next, she gradually incorporated flour in small batches, mixing until everything was well combined. Scooping a spoonful of salt from the salt jar, she sprinkled it into the mixture, kneaded it evenly, and shaped it into a ball before setting it aside. Afterward, she scooped a spoonful of lard rendered by her father into the pan. Once the lard had melted and the oil was hot, Shen Zhihe swiftly dropped the sweet potato balls into the pan.
As the lard sizzled, an irresistible aroma filled the air. Shen Zhian couldn’t help but sniff repeatedly, leaning against the stove and staring eagerly at the golden-fried sweet potato balls in the pan.
Amused by his eager expression, Shen Zhihe waited until the frying was nearly done and called for Shen Zhian to fetch a plate. She watched as he scurried to the cupboard, stood on his tiptoes, and retrieved a plate along with bowls and chopsticks.
Taking the plate from him, Shen Zhihe picked up a fried ball from the pan, blew on it to cool it down, and held it to Shen Zhian’s lips. The rich scent of lard mingled with the distinct aroma of sweet potatoes wafted directly into his nose. Shen Zhian couldn’t resist swallowing hard, then cautiously glanced up at Shen Zhihe.
“Try it, Zhian. There’s plenty more here,” she encouraged.
Hearing this, Shen Zhian finally opened his mouth and took a bite of the sweet potato ball. The moment it entered his mouth, his eyes lit up. He had never tasted anything so unique—the exterior was crispy and golden, while the inside was soft and glutinous with the flavor of sweet potatoes, complemented by the fragrance of scallions. It was savory and delicious.
After the two had eaten their fill, Shen Zhihe began processing the soy milk. She first strained out the soybean pulp using a cloth, then poured the soy milk into a cleaned pot to bring it to a boil.
By the time everything was done, dusk had fallen. Shen Zhihe covered the wooden bucket containing the tofu brain, clapped her hands, stretched, and rubbed her sore arms. Tomorrow, once the tofu brain had solidified, she could take it out to sell. But before that, she needed to inquire and make arrangements with the local authorities to avoid unintentionally offending anyone.