Su Mo had a cousin named Zhou Cheng, the nephew of Zhou Yunniang’s maiden family. He was seventeen this year and had been studying in a neighboring town. After the start of spring, his father—Su Mo’s uncle—used his connections to send him to the County School in Linshui County, saying the teachers there were better.
Just after the lunch rush, he walked into Su Ji Eatery carrying a blue cloth bundle, looking travel-worn. Zhou Yunniang was wiping tables when she looked up and saw him, both surprised and delighted. “Chengzi? What brings you here?”
“Aunt,” Zhou Cheng greeted her properly with a bow, a smile on his face. “Father sent me to study at the County School. I’ll be living in the county town from now on. He told me to come pay my respects to you and Uncle first.”
Communication was inconvenient these days, so before Su Mo’s family had received the letter from her uncle, they had already met Zhou Cheng.
“Oh, come, sit, sit!” Zhou Yunniang hurriedly pulled him to a seat, then called toward the kitchen, “Dashan! Nian He! Chengzi is here!”
Su Dashan came out from the kitchen, saw Zhou Cheng, and nodded. “Here? Sit. Have you eaten?”
“Not yet,” Zhou Cheng answered honestly.
“Then eat here,” Su Dashan said, calling toward the kitchen again, “Nian He, make a couple more dishes.”
From the kitchen, Su Mo responded. She peeked through the gap in the door curtain—Zhou Cheng was wearing a slightly worn long gown, his posture straight, his features refined, clearly a scholar. But his eyes weren’t aloof like Lin Wenxuan’s; instead, they held a clever spark. She smiled and turned to prepare the dishes.
Since her cousin was a guest, she couldn’t be casual about it. But the lunch rush had just ended, and there wasn’t much meat or vegetables left. She checked the remaining ingredients—half a grass carp bought in the morning, originally intended for steaming that evening; a piece of pork belly left over from making braised pork; and some spring bamboo shoots, fava beans, and shepherd’s purse. After a moment’s thought, she had an idea.
She sliced the grass carp thinly, marinating it with salt, rice wine, and starch. The spring bamboo shoots were sliced thin and blanched. The fava beans were shelled. The shepherd’s purse was washed and set aside. She didn’t make the braised pork—that was a signature dish, and her cousin could have it anytime.
She heated oil in the wok, then added ginger and garlic to stir-fry until fragrant, followed by the bamboo shoot slices and fava beans. When they were half-cooked, she added hot water and brought it to a boil. Once the water was rolling, she slid the fish slices into the wok one by one. The fish curled quickly in the heat, turning white, bobbing in the broth. Finally, she added the shepherd’s purse, blanching it briefly before removing it. This was a pot of fish slice and seasonal vegetable soup—light, fresh, and warming.
For the other dish, she used the leftover pork belly. She sliced the meat thinly, marinating it briefly with soy sauce, sugar, and rice wine. She added a little oil to the wok, stir-fried the pork slices until they curled at the edges and released their fat, then added the blanched spring bamboo shoot slices and stir-fried them together. Finally, she drizzled a bit of vinegar and sprinkled a handful of scallions. This was stir-fried pork with spring bamboo shoots—savory and slightly sweet, with a hint of vinegar aroma, appetizing and perfect with rice.
She also tossed a plate of shepherd’s purse, drizzled with sesame oil and sprinkled with sesame seeds.
When the dishes were laid on the table, steam rose, and the aroma filled the air.
“Cousin Nian He’s cooking is truly wonderful,” Zhou Cheng said, his eyes lighting up as he looked at the dishes on the table.
“Try it quickly,” Zhou Yunniang urged, serving him rice.
Zhou Cheng first tasted the fish slice soup. The fish was tender and smooth. “This soup is fresh,” he said, then picked up some stir-fried pork with spring bamboo shoots.
The pork slices were stir-fried until fragrant and crispy, the bamboo shoots tender and crisp, the vinegar enhancing the flavor—savory with a hint of sweetness, perfect with rice. He ate several mouthfuls in a row before putting down his chopsticks and praising, “Delicious!”
“If it’s delicious, eat more,” Zhou Yunniang said, her eyes crinkling with a smile. “Your cousin Nian He is quite remarkable now. The customers fight over the dishes she makes.”
Zhou Cheng looked at Su Mo, his eyes filled with surprise and admiration. "I’d heard from Father that Cousin Nian He was capable, but I never expected her to be this impressive."
Su Mo smiled. "You’re too kind, Cousin. These are just ordinary home-cooked dishes."
"It’s a true skill to make ordinary dishes taste this good," Zhou Cheng said earnestly.
He ate quickly but not rudely. A bowl of rice was soon finished, and when Zhou Yunniang offered to refill it, he waved his hand. "Aunt, I’m full. The food was so good that I ate more than I realized."
"As long as you’re full, that’s what matters." Zhou Yunniang began clearing the dishes. "If you don’t like the food at the County School cafeteria, come here to eat. It’s our own restaurant, so it’s convenient."
"How could I impose…" Zhou Cheng scratched his head.
"What’s there to impose?" Zhou Yunniang chided gently. "We’re family—no need to be so polite. Your father sent you here to study, hoping you’ll make something of yourself. Study hard, and don’t skimp on meals."
Zhou Cheng’s eyes reddened slightly, and he nodded firmly. "Yes."
After the meal, Zhou Cheng took his leave, saying he needed to settle in at the school. Zhou Yunniang saw him to the door and slipped him some copper coins. "Take these, buy some brushes and ink."
"Aunt, there’s no need…"
"Take them!" Zhou Yunniang insisted, pressing them into his hand. "Having a little money on hand keeps you at ease."
Clutching the coins, Zhou Cheng bowed deeply before leaving.
Zhou Yunniang stood at the door, watching him walk away until he disappeared from sight, then sighed and turned back inside. "Chengzi is a good boy," she said to Su Dashan. "Sensible and well-mannered."
Su Dashan nodded. "Takes after his father."
From then on, Zhou Cheng visited Su Ji every two or three days. Sometimes he came after school, sometimes during lunch breaks. He never ate for free—each time he tried to pay, but Zhou Yunniang refused. Unable to sway his aunt, he took it upon himself to help out as a waiter, carrying dishes and tidying tables.
Zhou Cheng was sweet-tongued and articulate. Every time he came to eat, he would praise Su Mo’s cooking.
"Cousin Nian He, this Spring Trio is incredible! The shrimp is springy, the bamboo shoots crisp, the fava beans sweet—the three layers of freshness unfold perfectly. Brilliant!"
"This cold tossed Indian aster—so refreshing! The balance of sesame oil and sesame seeds is just right—a little more would be greasy, a little less would be bland."
"Stir-fried river snails—spicy and satisfying! The aroma of perilla is truly the finishing touch!"
His praise was sincere, not exaggerated, and always hit the mark. Hearing it, Su Mo felt happy—there’s nothing more gratifying for a cook than when the eater truly understands.