He heard Aman set down the water buckets—heavy—and heard her breathing.
“I’ve brought the water back. It’s almost dawn. I have to go to the slaughterhouse to work. I’ll return by noon!”
Her voice sounded subdued; she didn’t even look at Zhao Ye before heading out.
To signal that someone was there, Aman propped a bamboo screen at the doorway, hoping no one would barge in on Zhao Ye again.
“You’re late today,”
Master Shu Zaiyang had already started slaughtering pigs. Aman had run all the way and was late, but she didn’t want to lose this job.
She looked at him earnestly. “It’s my fault. You can deduct some of my pay for today, but I hope you’ll let me continue working here. I won’t be late again!”
She had no money—she was poor.
She didn’t want to spend her life in this era struggling like this.
Clearly, Li Guaitie had cheated, yet the woman who died was his wife.
They’d simply wrapped her in a straw mat and thrown her into the ravine—no grave, nothing.
She had borne Li Guaitie a son and a daughter; the daughter had already married, and the son was still at home, unmarried.
Shu Honglie looked at the little girl before him—dark-skinned, thin, not conventionally beautiful—but her eyes were bright and lively.
“Eat a few of these buns to keep your strength up. Later you’ll need it to carry the pork,” he said.
Aman’s eyes lit up. “Thank you, Master Shu!”
“You really are a kind person. You and Lady Feng are both so kind!”
For the first time, a faint crack of expression appeared on Shu Honglie’s usually stoic face.
Kind? His wife might be kind—but he was not.
By noon, Lady Feng Wanzhen came over. Aman was busy working—she could carry half a pig herself to the ox cart and stack it neatly.
She layered greaseproof paper between the meat, then went back to carry more.
Despite her small, thin frame, her strength was astonishing.
“This girl has incredible strength!”
Lady Feng exclaimed.
Shu Honglie nodded. “She’s willing to work, eats little, and can handle heavy tasks. That’s rare.”
He looked at the remaining half of the buns on the small table.
Those were saved by Lady Feng for Aman—since she had come early, missed breakfast, and had a day of heavy labor ahead.
“If you don’t like the buns, have her take them for lunch,” Lady Feng suggested.
“You’re kind,” Shu Honglie said, not refusing. Being good felt nice sometimes.
“Aman,” Lady Feng said with a gentle smile while washing her hands. “The meal you made yesterday was very tasty. Do you have any new ideas?”
Lady Feng had a poor appetite—finishing half a bowl of rice was already impressive. Her body was weak and frail.
“I… I don’t have much skill, only some home-style dishes,” Aman replied, wiping her hands.
She could tell Lady Feng came from a wealthy household—used to fine foods far above the rustic fare here. Aman’s skills weren’t remarkable, but she managed.
“Home-style dishes?” Lady Feng held her hand. “Teach me, will you? I’d like to learn to cook for my husband too.”
“Sure!” Aman agreed happily.
Lady Feng picked up a piece of meat, and Aman went to heat water and start cooking, moving deftly and efficiently.
Today, the household was generous, giving her a large slab of pork for her culinary skills. Aman planned to make braised pork with potatoes.
In the corner were many potatoes—slightly shriveled but plenty enough to satisfy.
When no one was watching, Aman retrieved the appropriate seasonings from her space.
Cinnamon, bay leaves, and star anise were essential; the rest were available in the house. Freshly dug green onions still had dirt clinging to them.
Fresh pork belly was cut and blanched. As Aman began sautéing the meat, its aroma filled the entire kitchen.
“What is Miss Aman making today? It smells so delicious!”
“Home-style braised pork with potatoes,” Aman replied. Lady Feng looked forward to it eagerly.
The fire blazed brightly; Aman used the cooking time to prepare other dishes.
With many people, she had to make enough for all. Fortunately, the household wasn’t stingy; daily ingredients were sourced from nearby farms.
“Are these discarded?”
Aman noticed the butcher was about to toss the pig intestines to the dogs. She hurried forward.
“These are hard to handle, and not very tasty. We used to give them to neighbors, but now no one wants them,” the butcher said.
Aman knew pig intestines were difficult to clean, needing repeated scrubbing. Without proper seasoning, they were hard to make palatable.
Wealthy families might eat them, but not often; thus, few desired them.
“You want them?” Lady Feng guessed Aman’s thoughts. The girl had a clever mind.
Aman nodded like a little chick pecking at food—this was a treasure! To waste it by feeding dogs would be a shame.
“Then have the master clean them and give them to Miss Aman,” Lady Feng instructed.
“Thank you, Lady Feng! Thank you!”
“What will you do with these?” Lady Feng asked curiously. She had tried pork and lamb intestines in restaurants before—rich flavors that some loved and some couldn’t bear.
Aman smiled sheepishly. “I can cook them. It depends if you dare to eat them.”
Not everyone liked this dish.
Aman said, “Braised, stir-fried, stewed… even steamed or in soup. If Lady Feng can eat them, I can make it any way!”
“You’re resourceful,” Lady Feng said.
“I’ll prepare some for you at noon tomorrow. You can try it then.”
“Good.”
By noon, they had cleaned all the pig intestines. The experienced butcher could do it perfectly with just a wooden stick.
The intestines were threaded onto a long stick, then repeatedly rinsed with water.
“Miss Aman, these are all cleaned. How would you like to prepare them?”
Aman fetched greaseproof paper, wrapped the cleaned intestines, and placed them in her basket.
“The rest I’ll cook at noon tomorrow. I promise it will be delicious!”
She patted her chest confidently, guaranteeing it.