By the time the sky was fully bright, the spring bamboo shoot and salted pork soup was simmering on the stove. A small clay pot, white steam curling from the edges of its lid, the savory aroma seeping out in delicate wisps. Su Dashan had gone out early to buy the bamboo shoots, which still carried damp soil. Now, the chunks of bamboo shoots had stewed until they soaked up the broth, bobbing in the milky-white soup. The dried tofu knots had been soaked until soft, lying limply to one side, waiting to be added to the pot.
“Is the malantou ready?” Zhou Yunniang poked her head in. “Customers outside are asking.”
“Ready.” Su Mo picked up the bowl.
Several tables were already occupied in the main room. Dockworkers, having finished their morning shift, trickled in in twos and threes. Some ordered porridge, some noodles, while others pointed at the new wooden sign hanging on the wall and asked, “Spring bamboo shoot and salted pork soup? What’s it taste like?”
“Incredibly fresh!” Zhou Yunniang answered briskly. “The salted pork is home-cured, the bamboo shoots were dug up just this morning. Fifteen coins for a clay pot, enough for two or three people.”
“Then bring a pot to try! And a plate of malantou!”
“Coming right up!”
Su Mo portioned the malantou into small dishes, carrying them out plate by plate. The vibrant green wild vegetables, sprinkled with golden sesame seeds, looked refreshing. The workers ate quickly, their chopsticks moving fast, finishing the dish in just a few bites, smacking their lips. “This flavor’s good! Cuts through the greasiness!”
“Another plate?”
“Yes! And bring a plate of peanuts too!”
Zhou Yunniang responded, her face creasing into a smile. She turned and walked toward the kitchen, her steps light, as if she had shed ten years.
During the lunch rush, the crowd grew even larger. Not only were there dockworkers, but also neighbors from the street and passing merchants. The spring bamboo shoot and salted pork soup sold especially well. When the clay pot was brought to the table and the lid lifted, a burst of steam mixed with fragrance would waft out, making the customers exclaim, “Wow!”
“This soup is authentic!” a middle-aged man dressed as a merchant took a sip and narrowed his eyes. “The salted pork is fragrant, the bamboo shoots are fresh, and the tofu knots have soaked up the broth—full of flavor!”
“Proprietress, will this soup be available tomorrow?”
“Yes, yes, yes!” Zhou Yunniang replied eagerly. “As long as there are bamboo shoots, we’ll have it every day!”
In the kitchen, Su Mo was so busy she barely touched the ground. Tossing the malantou, ladling soup, and keeping an eye on the heat for the spring three delicacies. Su Dashan was on the other side, boiling noodles and serving porridge. Father and daughter worked in perfect sync, understanding what needed to be done with just a glance.
“Malantou’s out!” Zhou Yunniang brought in an empty plate. “Toss some more!”
“Two pots of bamboo shoot soup left, three servings of spring three delicacies!” Su Dashan called out without looking up.
Su Mo wiped the sweat from her brow, her hands moving deftly as she tossed the vegetables. The fragrance of sesame seeds, the richness of sesame oil, and the slight bitterness of malantou blended and melded in her hands. Her mind was calm, but her hands worked swiftly. Just like in her previous life in the kitchen, when orders flew in like snowflakes, her heart grew exceptionally steady.
Amidst all this bustle, a voice came from the front room.
Clear and bright, carrying the distinct tone of a scholar.
“Auntie Su.”
Zhou Yunniang was just serving soup to a customer. She looked up and saw him, her face breaking into a smile. “Wenxuan, you’re here? Come in and sit!”
He stood at the doorway, backlit, his scholar’s robe washed to a pale hue. He wasn’t holding a book but a coarse clay jar, its mouth stoppered with old cloth. He stood there, not immediately entering, his gaze sweeping across the main room—filled with people, coarse ceramic bowls and plates on the tables, small wooden signs with dish names hanging on the walls. Steam mixed with the aroma of food surged through the gaps in the kitchen curtain—noisy, chaotic, and vibrant.
Lin Wenxuan finally stepped inside. He walked slowly, his steps steady, the hem of his blue robe swaying gently. In the main hall, someone looked up at him, then lowered their head and continued eating. He stopped at an empty table near the door, placing the earthenware jar gently on the table.
"Auntie," he began, his voice clear and measured, neither too loud nor too soft, "my mother asked me to return the earthenware jar. We were grateful for the meal you sent the day before yesterday, but we haven’t had the chance to return it until now."
"Oh, it’s just a jar, no need to rush." Zhou Yunniang wiped her hands and walked over, picking up the jar to inspect it—it had been scrubbed clean, without a trace of grease even in the corners. "Your mother is too polite. Have you eaten? Why not stay and have a bite? Nian He made a new dish, and it’s quite good!"
Lin Wenxuan smiled faintly, his expression gentle, though his eyes did not crinkle. "Thank you for your kindness, Auntie, but I have already eaten. Moreover—" He paused briefly, his gaze drifting almost imperceptibly over the customers eating in the hall. "A scholar lingering in an eatery at this hour might invite idle gossip."
"I see…" Zhou Yunniang’s smile faltered, and she placed the jar on the counter with an awkward air. "Well, have a seat, then. Would you like some tea? I just brewed it—it’s coarse tea, but I hope you won’t mind."
"No need." Lin Wenxuan waved his hand, his eyes lingering for a moment on the wooden sign on the wall that read, "Spring Trio Delicacy, Thirty Coins." "Auntie’s shop is thriving, and Nian He… must be working very hard."
Just then, the kitchen curtain was pushed aside, and Su Mo walked out. She carried a freshly cooked dish, sweat beading on her face, with a few damp strands of hair clinging to her temples. Her apron was stained with grease, her sleeves rolled up to her elbows, revealing slender yet sturdy forearms.
When Lin Wenxuan saw her, his gaze flickered briefly before returning to calm, even carrying a hint of carefully measured concern. "Nian He."
"Brother Lin." Su Mo placed the shepherd’s purse dish at the serving window and turned to face him, her expression composed. "Here to return the jar?"
"Yes." Lin Wenxuan looked at her, his gaze lingering for a moment on her grease-stained apron before shifting away. "It’s been a while since we last met. You’ve grown thinner. Though kitchen work can earn a living, it is ultimately too taxing. You must take care of your health."
"Thank you for your concern, Brother Lin." Su Mo’s tone was flat. "I’m doing fine."
Lin Wenxuan seemed taken aback by her response. After a pause, he said, "I’ve heard you’ve been studying culinary arts lately and have made great progress. However… for a woman, chastity and tranquility are paramount. Spending all day amid smoke and grease, mingling with vendors and laborers—this may not be a sustainable path. As you grow older, you should start planning for the future."
The main hall fell silent for a moment. A few customers glanced over, then lowered their heads and continued eating, though their ears were perked up.
She looked at Lin Wenxuan, at the earnest, admonishing expression on his face, at the faint glimmer in his eyes that mingled pity with a sense of superiority. Suddenly, she remembered her childhood—Lin Wenxuan had indeed helped the original owner chase away a few bullies. Back then, he was just a frail boy, standing in front of her, his voice trembling as he tried to straighten his back. In the original owner’s memory, that moment had once been a warm stroke.