Seeing Xiao Jingshi reach for a second piece of stinky tofu, Ye An’an knew—this was a victory.
There was no palate in Huaxia cuisine she couldn’t conquer. If one resisted, she simply adjusted the method and tried again.
“Sister-in-law! Sister-in-law! I want more! I want more!”
The seventh and ninth princes, each clutching a bamboo skewer, stared longingly at the remaining pieces of tofu, like two tiny fledglings waiting to be fed.
“Yes, yes, plenty for everyone!” Ye An’an’s mood soared as she deftly scooped another plate from the oil, pricking holes and filling them with sauce.
For a time, the little courtyard of Tinglan Pavilion was filled only with the sounds of crunching and satisfied exclamations.
Even Chang Ting, standing nearby with a conflicted expression, hesitantly tried a piece at her encouragement. Naturally, it became another “miracle of deliciousness.”
“Your Highness… this… this is incredible!” Chang Ting exclaimed between bites. “I used to think good food must smell good—but I never imagined… something that smells bad could taste this amazing!”
“That’s called contrast, do you understand?” Ye An’an beamed, tilting her chin proudly.
One plate after another of stinky tofu disappeared.
Xiao Jingshi, astonishingly, ate three pieces by himself. Though he never uttered a single word of praise, his ever-quickening pace and the faint flush creeping across his face—whether from heat or spice—spoke volumes.
By the time the last plate was gone, everyone patted their lips, still wanting more.
Ye An’an looked at Xiao Jingshi, smiling. “Your Highness, do you still think my little ‘money-making’ plan is absurd?”
Xiao Jingshi dabbed his mouth with a napkin, keeping his elegant composure. Slowly, he raised his eyes, looking at her deeply—shock, admiration, and a hint of… appreciation he hadn’t realized he felt.
After a pause, he spoke: “This… may be tried. But it must be flawless.”
He had given his approval. Ye An’an fist-pumped internally.
“Your Highness, don’t worry!” she promised, slapping her chest. “I’m reliable! But stinky tofu alone isn’t enough—we need a more complete product line. For guests like you, who might find the ‘stink’ off-putting at first, I’ve prepared an upgraded dish.”
“Oh?” Xiao Jingshi’s curiosity was piqued. “And what might that be?”
“Secret!” Ye An’an winked mischievously. “You’ll see tomorrow.”
…
The next day, Ye An’an rose early.
Today’s mission: Stinky Tofu 2.0—stinky tofu soup buns.
This dish was essentially a variant of the traditional soup bun.
She prepared excellent dough, rolling it into thin wrappers.
The key was the filling.
She minced fresh pork from the foreleg, then combined it with the softest, creamiest parts of yesterday’s stinky tofu, blending them in precise proportions.
This neutralized much of the stinky aroma with the pork’s savory fragrance, leaving a uniquely fermented umami.
To achieve the “soup-filled” effect, she also used leftover chicken frames to make a rich broth, cooled and set into aspic, then diced and folded it into the filling.
Once ready, Ye An’an demonstrated her not-exactly-masterful but earnest bun-making skills.
One by one, the plump, neatly pleated “stinky tofu soup buns” filled the steamer.
As they steamed, the kitchen no longer emitted the aggressive stench, but a peculiar fragrance of dough, meat, and faint umami.
Xiao Jingshi, skipping court that morning to handle urgent affairs, found himself drawn, almost irresistibly, to Tinglan Pavilion.
Entering the courtyard, he saw Ye An’an carrying a steaming basket of buns. The wrappers were thin, almost translucent, faintly revealing the quivering soup inside.
“Your Highness! You’re here!” Ye An’an’s eyes lit up. “Come, try my new soup buns!”
She placed the basket on the stone table and handed him a small dish of ginger-infused vinegar.
“There’s a method to eating these,” she said, demonstrating: “Lift gently, move slowly, bite a small hole on the side, then sip the soup. Otherwise, it will burn your mouth.”
She bit carefully, savoring the rich, flavorful broth inside.
Xiao Jingshi, observing, mimicked her.
The wrapper was thin yet resilient, the filling a concentrated burst of soup.
He bit the side carefully, and an intense, indescribable fragrance surged out.
He inhaled softly.
The piping hot, savory, rich broth flooded his mouth.
It carried the freshness of chicken, the aroma of pork, and a peculiar, indescribable “enhancing” flavor.
It reminded him faintly of yesterday’s stinky tofu, but softened a thousandfold, leaving only the essence of umami.
Delicious!
Exquisite!
He slurped up the soup in one go, then dipped the remaining bun in a bit of ginger vinegar and ate it whole.
Thin, supple skin, tender filling, harmonized with vinegar and ginger—the balance was perfect.
One finished, he reached for another.
A basket of eight soup buns—he alone consumed six.
Only after finishing did he realize that the so-called “soup bun” contained the same stinky tofu from yesterday—the source of his love-hate relationship.
He looked at Ye An’an smiling at him, a storm of feelings stirring in his chest.
This woman had a way of breaking his principles again and again.
His so-called fastidiousness, his so-called bottom lines—they were utterly powerless before her culinary genius.
He was completely undone.