Aside from Old Li and the other three, the later customers were all drawn by their eating manner and exclamations of praise. There were neighbors, passing merchants, and workers who had finished their shifts at the dock and came for dinner. Three coins a bowl—not expensive, yet filling, warm, and satisfying.
Everyone who finished eating was left wanting more. Someone asked, “Will you be selling this tomorrow morning?”
Zhou Yunniang replied with a smile, “Yes! Starting tomorrow, our Su Ji will open for the morning market!”
“That’s wonderful!” the customers chimed in. “We’ll come first thing tomorrow!”
When the evening market closed, Zhou Yunniang counted the extra sixty coins in the money box—earned from selling Yangchun Noodles, not including income from other dishes—her hands trembling slightly.
“Dashan, look!” She held the money out to her husband, her voice quivering.
Su Dashan was wiping the stove. Hearing her, he turned and glanced at the pile of copper coins. Under the dim yellow lamplight, his face showed little expression, but his eyes softened considerably.
“Mm,” he grunted, then went back to wiping the stove, scrubbing with extra force as if determined to clean away years of accumulated grease.
Su Mo was clearing the bowls and chopsticks. Hearing her parents’ words, a warm feeling surged in her heart. She knew this wasn’t just about the money—it was her parents’ unconditional trust and support.
“Dad, Mom,” she walked over and said softly, “Tomorrow, I still want to try making fish slice congee. Just selling noodles in the morning might not suit some customers who prefer something lighter. With fish slices, it’ll be fresh and nourishing for the stomach.”
Zhou Yunniang immediately agreed, “Good! If you want to try, then try! Mom will go buy fish first thing tomorrow!”
Su Dashan paused his wiping, remained silent for a moment, and said, “Pick lively fish—dead ones aren’t fresh. Shrimp too—get the green-shelled, translucent ones. Take the money from the counter and buy the best.”
“Yes!” Su Mo answered brightly, her eyes sparkling.
Both the noon and evening noodles had sold out, so the family hastily had some leftover morning congee for dinner before preparing for bed. Everyone felt a mix of excitement and anticipation—tomorrow, Su Ji Eatery’s morning market would open.
Early the next day, before dawn had fully broken, the lights at Su Ji Eatery were already on.
Su Mo and Zhou Yunniang went to the morning market together and returned with two live grass carp and a pound of fresh shrimp.
“Dad, Mom, I have a better way to make the congee tastier. Will you help me as assistants?” After returning, Su Mo looked at her parents earnestly.
Seeing the sincere and earnest look in their daughter’s eyes, Su Dashan and Zhou Yunniang couldn’t bear to refuse and readily agreed.
Su Dashan kneaded the dough, Zhou Yunniang lit the fire, and each family member had their role. The kitchen was steaming with activity, yet orderly and organized.
Su Mo first measured out two bowls of rice, gently rinsing them with clean water—no rubbing or twisting, just letting the cloudy starch water filter out. She repeated this three times. Finally, she added clean water for soaking, mixing in a few drops of oil—a secret her master from her previous life had taught her, as oil makes congee smoother and silkier.
“Mom, the rice needs to soak for half an hour. I’ll go prepare the fish and shrimp.”
Su Mo scooped up the grass carp and placed it on a sturdy cutting board. The fish was still struggling. With her left hand firmly holding the fish’s head, she picked up a thick-backed knife with her right hand and struck the fish’s head precisely with the back of the blade. The fish shuddered and went still.
“Oh, you child…” Zhou Yunniang watched from the side, slightly startled.
Su Mo didn’t explain, focusing on her task. Scaling, removing the gills, gutting, and cleaning—her movements were so fluid it seemed she had done it a thousand times. She washed away the black membrane inside the fish belly in clean water—a crucial step for removing the fishy smell.
Next came slicing the fish. She switched to a thin-bladed knife, cutting along the backbone to remove two intact fillets. Skinning was a delicate task—the tip of the knife gently pried between skin and flesh, and with a steady pull of the wrist, the skin peeled away cleanly, wasting not a shred of meat.
"This skill…" Zhou Yunniang watched, stunned. Her husband Su Dashan also took considerable effort to handle fish, yet her daughter made it look as effortless as cutting paper.
Su Mo sliced the fish into butterfly cuts—the first slice not cutting all the way through, the second slice severing it, so that when unfolded, the pieces were thin and wide. This allowed them to cook quickly and remain intact. She placed the slices into a coarse ceramic bowl, adding a pinch of salt, some yellow wine, and ginger juice, mixing them evenly by hand. Finally, she sprinkled a bit of starch. The starch would lock in the fish’s moisture, making it tender and smooth after cooking.
"Mother, do we have eggs?"
"Yes, bought this morning." Zhou Yunniang retrieved two eggs from a bamboo basket.
Su Mo used only the egg whites, adding them to the fish slices. Egg white was a natural tenderizer, ensuring the fish would be silky and tender.
When handling the shrimp, she showed even more ingenuity. Most of the shrimp were deveined, with heads and shells removed, leaving only the meat. But she intentionally kept a few whole shrimp, trimming only the long antennae and sharp spines before washing them clean.
"Why keep whole shrimp?" Zhou Yunniang asked, puzzled.
"For presentation," Su Mo replied with a smile. "If the porridge only had white rice and fish slices, it would look too plain. Adding a few whole shrimp with red tails makes it more appetizing, and customers will feel they’re getting good value."
By now, the rice had finished soaking. Su Mo drained it and poured it into boiling water. Here was a trick: adding rice to boiling water created a temperature difference inside and outside the grains, making them split open more easily. She didn’t use an iron pot but deliberately chose a heavy clay pot—earthenware heated evenly, preventing the porridge from sticking to the bottom.
"Mother, keep the flame low."
The clay pot sat on a small stove, the rice grains tumbling in the boiling water. Su Mo held a long wooden spoon, stirring gently in one direction. This motion had to continue until the water boiled again, preventing the rice from settling and sticking to the pot.
As she stirred, she explained to her mother, "A high flame boils too quickly—the grains won’t split before the water dries up, and the porridge won’t be creamy. It needs to simmer gently like this, letting the rice’s natural oils slowly release."
Zhou Yunniang watched her daughter’s calm profile and suddenly felt a sense of unreality. The person before her was clearly Nian He, whom she had raised since childhood, yet this skilled poise and composed demeanor seemed to belong to someone else. But without pausing in her own tasks, she still followed instructions, removing the large logs from the stove and leaving only a few thin ones to burn slowly.