Her gaze fell on the clay pot in Lin Wenxuan’s hands—the one Zhou Yunniang had sent to the Lin family yesterday, filled to the brim with fish congee, meant to nourish Lin’s ailing mother.
“Brother Lin,” she began, her voice soft yet clear in the quiet hall, “when my mother delivered this pot, it contained fish congee. It was made with freshly caught fish, new rice, simmered for two hours until the rice released its creamy essence. My mother said that Aunt Lin’s health is weak, and a bowl of warm congee would soothe her stomach.”
Lin Wenxuan froze.
“Brother Lin was studying at the time, wasn’t he?” Su Mo continued, her tone still calm. “My mother told me when she returned that Aunt Lin drank two bowls and said she felt much better. Brother Lin must have tasted it too. How did it taste?”
Lin Wenxuan’s expression shifted, his fingers tightening around the pot. He had indeed tasted the congee—it was fresh, warm, the rice grains simmered until they bloomed, melting in the mouth. At the time, he hadn’t said anything, but inwardly, he had appreciated it. Yet now, being questioned so calmly and directly by Su Mo felt like a fine needle gently pricking him.
“The congee… was naturally good,” he said stiffly. “Uncle Su’s cooking has always been…”
“I made the congee,” Su Mo interrupted him.
Lin Wenxuan’s remaining words caught in his throat.
“I sliced the fish, washed the rice, and tended the fire,” Su Mo looked at him, enunciating each word. “Brother Lin, when you drank this congee, did you ever consider that this ‘smoke-filled, grimy place,’ this ‘unwomanly livelihood,’ allowed your mother to have a warm, stomach-soothing bowl of congee?”
Lin Wenxuan’s face turned from pale to red, then from red to ashen. He opened his mouth, wanting to say something, but no sound came out. His knuckles whitened as he gripped the pot, which trembled slightly in his hands.
“As for my future,” Su Mo shifted her gaze to the door. The afternoon sun was bright, shining on the bluestone path, dazzling. “I will earn it myself. I won’t rely on anyone, nor owe anyone anything. I appreciate Brother Lin’s concern.”
With that, she no longer looked at him, turned, lifted the curtain, and returned to the kitchen. The curtain fell, swayed slightly, and stilled.
Lin Wenxuan stood in place, like a rigid statue. After a long while, he took a deep breath, nodded slightly to Zhou Yunniang, and said in a hoarse voice, “Auntie… I must take my leave.” He turned and almost fled, walking quickly out the door. His steps were hurried, stumbling over the threshold, nearly falling before hastily steadying himself, then disappearing outside.
Zhou Yunniang stood where she was, watching his retreating figure vanish, then glanced at the spotlessly clean clay pot on the counter and sighed softly.
In the kitchen, Su Mo stood before the stove, watching the boiling soup in the pot. Steam rose, blurring her vision. She picked up a ladle, skimmed off a bit of foam, her movements steady, her hands not trembling.
Su Dashan was on the other side stir-frying spring vegetables, the spatula flying, filling the air with fragrance. He didn’t turn around or speak the entire time, but Su Mo could hear that the sound of his stir-frying was heavier and more urgent than before, as if venting something. Zhou Yunniang entered carrying an empty plate, looked at her daughter, then at her husband, her lips moving slightly. In the end, she said nothing, only murmuring softly, “The soup for table three is ready.”
“Mm,” Su Mo responded, lifting the lid of the clay pot.
The broth was milky white and thick, with the savory saltiness of cured meat and the fresh sweetness of spring bamboo shoots mingling together, swirling in the rising steam. The tofu knots, soaked through with the broth, bobbed up and down. She scooped up a spoonful and tasted it for seasoning. Perfect. Suddenly, she felt the lingering heaviness in her chest dissipate as she drank that spoonful of soup. It was good that it had faded.
After closing up for the evening, Su Mo and her parents went over the accounts and reviewed the day’s dishes. This was Zhou Yunniang’s favorite thing to do since the eatery started making money. Seeing that each day’s earnings surpassed the previous, Zhou Yunniang was filled with joy, praising Su Mo over and over for her capability and skill. Seeing this mother whose heart and eyes were now filled with thoughts of "Nian He," Su Mo felt a warmth in her own heart. She smiled as she watched her mother count the money and plan what new dishes to make the next day. Now that the eatery’s business was picking up, offering new dishes would surely make it even better.