No matter the season, Jian Jia always used warm water when cleaning meat. The slightly cool cured meat, immersed in warm water, quickly reached a comfortable temperature, making it easier to wash thoroughly while softening the greasy residue.
Hunter Qin, having finished cleaning the pots and bowls and stepping out of the kitchen, heard the gentle lapping of water. Turning his head, he saw Jian Jia washing the pork belly. She faced the courtyard, a wooden basin filled with hot water in front of her, large slabs of pork belly soaking, her hands immersed as she kneaded and cleaned each piece.
Jian Jia’s hands were beautiful—slender, delicate fingers with full pads, the nails curved perfectly. At a glance, one could tell the owner of such hands had lived a pampered life. Yet now, these refined hands skillfully worked through raw pork belly.
After cleaning a piece, she placed it in a bamboo basket to drain. The large slab, trembling slightly in her palm, was tilted gently toward the basket and slipped smoothly into place.
Hunter Qin was no stranger to household work, but if he washed meat, his sleeves would inevitably get wet, and water would splash around the basin. Jian Jia’s sleeves, however, remained dry and neat, and only a few tiny droplets marked the ground. Her movements were fluid and practiced, as if she had done this countless times.
Some people’s work made others anxious; Jian Jia’s was a pleasure to watch. Her pace wasn’t fast, but each motion was orderly and precise. The more Hunter Qin observed, the more impressed he became.
A shadow of guilt crossed his mind. He had intended to bring Jian Jia home to care for the daughter of his benefactor, but instead, he and his family were the ones receiving her care. He had assumed she was a delicate young lady, never doing chores, yet she not only cooked delicious meals but also managed daily life skillfully. Since her arrival, the household had seen small, delightful changes each day.
Seeing the basin piled high with pork belly, Hunter Qin stepped forward quickly. “Let me wash the meat.”
Jian Jia glanced up and smiled. “It’ll be done soon. Don’t get your hands dirty. If you really want to help, you could empty the dirty water later.”
Hunter Qin said nothing and crouched silently, beginning to clean the meat. Jian Jia paused, a faint smile tugging at her lips, and let it be. As her hands reached for the next slab, Hunter Qin said in a low voice, “Your mouth seems dry. I poured you a cup of tea; go drink it first.”
Jian Jia blinked. Indeed, she was thirsty. She licked her slightly dry lips, rose, and shook her hands. “Alright, I’ll have some tea first.”
When she returned, she found Hunter Qin had taken her place washing the meat. Surprised, she moved to his previous spot, just as he lifted the basin, moving it away. “It’ll be done soon. Don’t get your hands dirty,” he said lightly.
Jian Jia’s eyebrows lifted. Had Hunter Qin just repeated her own earlier words back to her? She touched her nose, feeling both embarrassed and amused. Who wouldn’t enjoy someone helping with chores? She could even sneak a break and drink some water.
As Hunter Qin washed the pork, he spoke gently. “You’re very skilled in cooking. Did your aunt teach you?”
Jian Jia smiled faintly. Of course not. In the original life, the girl she had replaced had pampered parents who never allowed her to do chores, always indulged in romance and leisure, and a stepbrother had been adopted to handle the household. She had no such luck; her own parents divorced when she was very young and quickly remarried, neither wanting her. She had been tossed back and forth like a ball, finally taken in by her elderly grandparents.
Part of her culinary skill came from her grandparents, but more came from her own practice after school, learning from recipes. Especially when she became a food blogger, she had to study presentation and flavor in depth.
She wasn’t naturally gifted. When she first started her channel, people often criticized her work. But she kept her composure, never letting others’ nitpicking disturb her. Poor knife skills? She practiced after filming. Awkward stir-frying? She watched professional videos repeatedly. Her hands were once scarred, each mark a testament to her progress—not delicate like the original girl’s, but capable.
Yet how could she explain all this to Hunter Qin?
She had prepared a polite answer in advance. Holding the tea cup, she spoke slowly: “Yes, my mother loved to cook. But while she was alive, I only enjoyed her food and never learned properly. I’ve only now realized that the process of making food can calm the mind.”
Hunter Qin inclined his head slightly. “I see…” Once, Jian Jia had been bold and carefree, but after her parents passed and her stepbrother and sister-in-law betrayed her, she had been forced to mature. Like Lang’er pretending to be strong, Jian Jia’s love of food was also a way to connect with memories of her family.
He looked at the meat in his hands, continuing to wash it thoughtfully, his dark eyes reflective. It seemed that from now on, he would save more of the hunted game at home.
Once drained, the pork belly was ready for frying. Though not difficult, deep-frying was time-consuming and required constant attention. This task naturally fell to Jian Jia, who wouldn’t be leaving the kitchen this afternoon.
Two woks on the stove were fully utilized: the large wok for frying pork belly, the smaller for braising pig intestines, while the hearth simmered a pork rib soup.
The kitchen was thick with smoke and aroma, the mix of fried and braised scents driving Da Hei wild. To get the first reward from his owner, Da Hei lay at the stove’s edge, eyes glinting, following every move.
Jian Jia, holding long chopsticks, laughed in exasperation. “Da Hei, you’ve changed.” She remembered the first time she’d met him; even tempted by fried dough, he had sat obediently, waiting for Hunter Qin’s command. Now, for a bite of food, he ignored his owner entirely.
Da Hei jumped up, whining softly, rubbing his large body against her legs.
“Come on, here’s a piece of oil-crisps. From now on, you’re my number one!”
Unable to resist, Jian Jia opened the cabinet and tore off a piece of oil-crisp. Before it hit the ground, Da Hei snapped it up. Jian Jia’s tone softened as she warned: “This is the last piece. Once you finish, you have work to do.” She spoke both to Da Hei and herself; she had always been soft-hearted toward animals, unable to resist their pleading eyes.
Da Hei seemed to understand, chewing happily, tail curling as he left the kitchen.
Jian Jia returned to the stove, checking the small pot of braised intestines. It had been simmering for half an hour; now the chopsticks could easily pierce through. Cleaned thoroughly and cooked with enough spices, the intestines left only a rich aroma, tasty even on their own.
She cut a small section into pieces in a bowl and called through the window, “Lang’er, are you there?”
Qin Lang’s voice soon came from a distance: “Yes, sister, I’m coming!” He ran to the kitchen. “Do you need my help?”
Jian Jia handed him the bowl with a smile. “Taste this. See if it’s seasoned right.”
Qin Lang took a piece, chewed a few times, frowning delicately. “Not too salty, not too bland, but… there’s a strange taste…” His voice lowered, uncertain. “A little… smelly?”
Considering the intended use of pig intestines, Qin Lang’s expression grew uneasy. He looked at Jian Jia carefully. “Should we let brother try it?”
Jian Jia raised her brows. Lang’er clearly couldn’t take the flavor of intestines. Not everyone liked the same tastes; she couldn’t force someone who disliked bitter melon to call it delicious. She smiled and nodded. “Alright, let your brother try.”
Qin Lang’s smile returned as he carried the bowl out. “Brother, Sister Jia wants you to taste this—”
Hunter Qin returned with an empty bowl and saw Jian Jia lifting the fried pork belly into the prepared jar. The golden pieces had shrunk slightly from frying. Fully cooked, they looked tough and not easy to chew.
Hearing Qin Lang approaching, Jian Jia didn’t look up. “How is it? Tastes okay?”
Hunter Qin set the small bowl down. “Very good. But Lang’er might not handle the intestines’ flavor.” He peeked into the pot, seeing square pieces of pork belly floating in the lard, bubbles forming on the exposed surfaces. The aroma of fried meat seemed tangible; just standing nearby, he could feel the scent clinging to him.
Jian Jia laughed. “Tastes differ. That’s normal. By the way, where were you? I didn’t see you earlier.” She noticed his hem was wet, as if he’d been in the mountains.
Casually, he replied, “I tidied up the old orchard. Once the weather clears, I’ll go to town to buy two small pigs to raise.”
The statement was full of surprises. Jian Jia froze. “Wait… old orchard? Small pigs?” Did the Qin family have an orchard? Small pigs? Like the pet miniature pigs she knew?
What was happening? Was Hunter Qin planning to switch from hunter to breeder?