Ye Jia had always been fond of cats and dogs. In her previous life, she had been too busy with work and constant business trips to ever keep a pet. After all, small animals were like children—if you took them in, you had to be responsible for them.
As she stroked the little creature’s soft ears, she couldn’t help but feel like half a dream had finally come true.
Madam Yu heard the commotion and came over to look. Staring at the coal-black little thing, she felt a pang of longing. Back when she was Princess Consort Jing, she had kept a pure white Persian cat.
Unfortunately, the little cat had disappeared the day the Prince Jing’s Mansion was seized. Looking at the pup in Ye Jia’s arms, she reached out to pet it twice, nearly getting her finger nipped in the process.
“What are you going to name it?” Madam Yu asked.
Ye Jia was notoriously bad at naming things.
With Madam Yu’s question, her mind filled with thoughts of food. “Pancake? Flatbread?”
Madam Yu was silent for a moment. “Isn’t that a bit too casual?”
They both turned to look at Zhou Jingchen. With a faint smile on his lips, he said, “Either is fine. As long as it rolls off the tongue.”
Ye Jia’s eyes met his, and for some reason, the light in his gaze caught her off guard. Her eyes flickered away for a moment.
Frowning, she gave it some serious thought before finally settling on a slightly more normal name.
“Diandian.”
The name was undeniably catchy, fitting perfectly alongside Miemie, the little lamb Rui’er was currently cradling.
Rui’er skipped over with her lamb in her arms, clapping her small hands in approval of the name her aunt had chosen.
Zhou Jingchen didn’t know whether to laugh or cry, but he didn’t object.
“You can give it any leftover goat milk we have,” he noted. “The little thing hasn’t been weaned yet.”
“No wonder it smells like milk,” Ye Jia remarked. She scooped up the puppy and headed toward the kitchen to fetch some.
Zhou Jingchen evidently still had business to attend to; having delivered the animal, he prepared to leave again. He didn’t stay for a meal, only leaving word that he would return in the evening.
Madam Yu watched his retreating figure, then turned to look at Ye Jia, who was crouching in the corner bottle-feeding Diandian. She let out a long, heavy sigh.
She couldn’t help but feel that her son’s feelings for Ye Jia weren’t nearly as cold as he claimed. After all, if he truly detested her, he wouldn’t bother speaking to her at all.
But a grown son is beyond his mother’s control, she lamented silently.
The family had a simple lunch together before throwing themselves back into the afternoon’s work.
The chive and egg pancakes had been selling well for over a month, bringing in a significant profit. While other vendors in town had tried to sell their own versions, none could compete. Aside from an old man who sold deep-fried radish cakes and had successfully introduced a fried chive turnover, the imitators fell short.
Their flavors were lackluster, and their ingredients were sparse. Few possessed Ye Jia’s willingness to use flour and eggs so generously.
They wanted to strike it rich without investing in quality ingredients, acting as if they were the only clever merchants in town and everyone else was a fool. Eventually, these imitators faded away, leaving only Ye Jia and the old man with the fried turnovers to enjoy a thriving trade.
As for the Zhang family, their stall opened sporadically, but they had been plagued by a series of misfortunes that kept them shuttered for several days at a time.
Ye Jia couldn’t be bothered with their troubles; it was better that Madam Zhang and her lot stayed out of her sight. However, she wasn’t the type to simply coast along.
While she wasn’t someone who meticulously planned ten steps ahead for every move, she believed in being prepared for leaner times. Her current business couldn’t stop, but she was already looking for new ways to make more money.
Bringing in a few dozen taels a month wasn’t her ultimate goal, and she had no intention of spending her entire life working a small street stall.
Ye Jia had been eyeing the trade routes of the northwest since the moment she arrived. She simply couldn’t stop thinking about fragrant soap.
Her interest was fueled by two things. First, during a previous visit to the local rouge shop—the only one in such a small place—she had noticed that while they sold powders and rouges, there were no soaps or similar cleansing products to be found.
Even accounting for the modest purchasing power of the people in Libei Town, the market gap was enormous. It was an itch she had to scratch; having recognized such a massive business opportunity, she couldn’t just sit idly by.
The second reason was more personal. Whether it was her imagination or not, she felt her complexion was suffering. Between the relentless grit of the northwest winds and the constant grease and smoke from her cooking, she felt she was becoming increasingly weathered.
This simply wouldn’t do. If she kept going like this, wouldn’t she be old and haggard by thirty? The thought of the short lifespans and fleeting youth of women in ancient times pained her. She didn’t want a face full of hardship by her twenties or thirties.
She was determined to remain beautiful until she was fifty.
In his Supplement to the Formulas Worth a Thousand Gold, Sun Simiao once wrote that with the right treatment, “within ten days the face becomes white as snow, and within twenty, it is like congealed tallow.” Ye Jia didn’t know if that was an exaggeration, but she knew that traditional fragrant soaps offered genuine benefits.
It had two primary functions: removing grime and beautifying the skin.
Finding herself with a free afternoon, Ye Jia headed to the town’s butcher to buy a large pig’s pancreas. She also gathered bath beans and soap locust. To ensure the finished product smelled pleasant and wasn’t off-putting to use, she even prepared some fragrant floral powders.
Once back home, Ye Jia crouched by the well to begin processing the ingredients. Madam Yu, assuming she was concocting another unusual delicacy, leaned over to watch with interest.
Madam Yu rarely visited neighbors, as she found little in common with the village women. In her spare time, she usually occupied herself with laundry or stayed indoors embroidering to pass the hours. Since her daughter-in-law had joined the household, life had become much more vibrant and entertaining.
The flatbreads needed to be stuffed and wrapped in the evening to stay fresh, so there was no need to start on them yet.
Madam Yu brought out her sewing basket and began working on clothes for the family, all while keeping a close eye on Ye Jia’s progress.
“Jia-niang, are you dreaming up another new dish?” Madam Yu asked.
With her daily highlights now revolving around her meals, she looked expectantly at the bloody, pungent organ Ye Jia had brought back. She no longer felt the same disgust she once might have; after all, she had already eaten pig intestines. What else was left in this world that could possibly shatter her sense of dignity? Her only concern now was whether Ye Jia could make it taste good.
“No, it’s not that.”
Ye Jia hadn’t expected that after living together for so long, Madam Yu would begin to see everything as potential food. She went into the house to change into her work clothes; when she returned, she began scrubbing the blood from the pig pancreas before meticulously stripping away the fat and membranes.
“I’m going to make some fragrant soap for washing,” she explained. “No matter how much we scrub our faces and bodies, I can still smell a lingering scent of grease on us.”
Madam Yu’s hand paused over her embroidery, her eyes instantly lighting up.
She was a woman, after all. Born in the twelfth lunar month, she was only thirty-eight years old. Like any woman, she had a natural desire for beauty. When they couldn’t afford to eat, such things were far from her mind, but now that there was meat on the table, she was more than happy to start grooming herself again.
“Jia-niang, you know how to make fragrant soap?”
“I wouldn’t say I know how, exactly.”
In truth, Ye Jia had only tried it once before, following a tutorial. This attempt was purely experimental.
Even though Ye Jia spoke with uncertainty, Madam Yu remained hopeful. Having spent the last six months together, she had seen that Ye Jia succeeded at everything she put her mind to. In her heart, her daughter-in-law was already beyond capable.
Madam Yu lifted her arms and took a sniff. Her expression changed instantly. She hadn’t noticed before Ye Jia mentioned it, but now she could smell the faint scent of grease and sweat clinging to her skin.
Ye Jia bathed every day and washed her hair every few days, but Madam Yu had grown lazy, bathing only once every four or five days and washing her hair perhaps twice a month. Since most people in the region rarely bathed or washed their hair, she had never considered herself particularly dirty.
“Mother, help me grind these beans and soap locust pods into a powder,” Ye Jia requested.
This mixture, known as “bath beans,” was a luxury hygiene product that had risen to popularity among the nobility during the Wei, Jin, and Northern and Southern dynasties. It was often infused with various fragrances. While the wealthiest aristocrats used elaborate blends of many spices, the versions sold on the market typically included only one or two. Some used green bean flour scented with chrysanthemum leaves or osmanthus stamens; a high-quality blend could even strip the stubborn smell of crab from one’s hands.
To keep costs down while still ensuring a pleasant scent, Ye Jia had bought the simplest ingredients and a separate packet of fragrant powder.
Madam Yu took the ingredients and began to work with a small pestle. Having grown accustomed to physical labor over the past few months, she had developed considerable strength. It took her only a few moments to grind the beans into a fine powder.
The process of making fragrant soap was relatively simple. First, the pig pancreas had to be cleaned and ground into a paste with a pestle or hammer. Granulated sugar was added during the grinding process, followed by either sodium carbonate or wood ash. The finer the mixture was ground, the better the final product would be.
Since pure soda ash like sodium carbonate wasn’t available on the market, Ye Jia had to make do. Though she knew the chemical equation to produce it, she lacked the practical experience to attempt it safely.
Wood ash, however, was plentiful in the countryside. Stalks left a bounty of it after burning; all she had to do was scoop it from the back of the stove.
As Ye Jia exerted all her strength into crushing the pig pancreas, Madam Yu and Rui’er watched with eager eyes. Crouching beside her, they asked how they could help. Ye Jia sent them to fetch some wood ash.
After adding the ash and pounding the mixture again, Ye Jia mixed in the spices and fragrances she had bought. Madam Yu’s face went pale as she watched. It wasn’t that she was scared; the slimy, gooey concoction just looked revolting.
“What’s next?” Madam Yu asked, enduring the sight for the sake of beauty. “What do we do now?”
Ye Jia poured in the bean flour and gave it another thorough pounding. Since this was her first time, she wasn’t entirely sure how long to keep at it, so she just went by feel. Once she finished and looked down at the pulpy, mangled mess, she couldn’t help herself—she rushed to the side and retched.
As luck would have it, she rushed toward the entrance just as Zhou Jingchen was walking in with a group of people. They collided head-on.
The afternoon had slipped away unnoticed, and evening had already arrived. Seeing her in such a state, Zhou Jingchen assumed something was wrong. He immediately dropped what he was carrying and caught her by the shoulders, pulling her into his arms.
Behind him, the three young men carrying supplies quickly averted their eyes.
“What’s wrong, Jia-niang?” Zhou Jingchen asked softly.
Madam Yu’s gaze lingered on them from behind. Meanwhile, the little creature in the yard, who had been sleeping after its meal, woke at the commotion and began to let out high-pitched, milky yaps. Ye Jia was mortified; she had actually managed to make herself gag just by pounding that paste.
She wiped her face and forced a blank expression. “It’s nothing. You’re home, Husband?”
“I am.” Zhou Jingchen looked down at her, searching her face, but found no answers. His eyes eventually drifted up to meet his mother’s. His gaze flickered for a moment before he released his hold on Ye Jia’s shoulders.
“We have guests,” he said.
Ye Jia glanced over his shoulder. The three young men were staring intently at the sky or the ground, clearly trying to give the couple privacy.
Zhou Jingchen cleared his throat and regained his composure. A tiny creature, no larger than his shoe, had waddled over on its fat little belly. It was shaking its head and frantically gnawing on his pant leg. He lifted a foot and gently nudged the little thing away.
The little thing tumbled across the ground. With a belly bloated from milk and legs that were far too short, once she flipped onto her back, she couldn’t get back up. Ye Jia watched as the “puppy son” she’d adopted just that afternoon lay there, four tiny legs kicking wildly at the sky as her little body squirmed and twisted in a futile struggle to right itself.
Hurrying over, Ye Jia heartached for the creature and flipped her over. “Diandian, my sweet boy—”
Zhou Jingchen’s gaze snapped toward her instantly.
Ye Jia immediately fell silent, her face turning wooden as she stepped aside, acting as if the words he’d just heard were a mere hallucination. However, when she had picked up her “puppy son,” she noticed several wild animals—pheasants and hares—lying on the ground.
She picked up the game, her expression shifting into a polite, hospitable smile. “Husband, why don’t you bring our guests inside to sit? I’ll go prepare some tea.”
Without waiting for a response, she cradled her puppy and retreated to the kitchen. While she prepared the tea, she took the opportunity to feed another bowl of milk to her newly awakened “son.”
Zhou Jingchen stood there, speechless.
Madam Yu had already finished tidying up and stood to greet the arrivals. After a few rounds of polite pleasantries, Zhou Jingchen led the men inside.
They had returned earlier than expected; originally, they weren’t supposed to be back until dark. Ye Jia had nearly finished making the fragrant soap. All that remained was to hand-mold it into shapes and leave it in a ventilated area to dry naturally.
The Zhou family’s home was small, consisting of only three little rooms and a kitchen. When guests visited, they had to be entertained in the central hall; it would have been improper to host them in a couple’s private bedroom.
Earlier that afternoon, Ye Jia had set a pot of mung bean soup to simmer over a low flame. By now, the beans were soft and mushy, dissolved into a thick paste. Since the family was no longer struggling for money, Ye Jia didn’t believe in depriving them of good food, so she had been generous with the sugar.
After serving several bowls and bringing them to the hall, she called Madam Yu over to help mold the mashed soap base into squares.
Madam Yu frowned as she worked, unable to ignore the strange, tacky texture. Ye Jia also had to force herself to push through the unpleasant sensation. Working quickly, the two of them finished fifteen bars in no time. Ye Jia arranged them on a wooden tray and carried them inside to dry by the window.
Once they had finished and washed their hands, Ye Jia, Madam Yu, and Rui’er each had a bowl of the mung bean soup. Then, Ye Jia began preparing dinner.
Zhou Jingchen had given her fair warning that morning, so she had picked up the necessary ingredients while she was out. Madam Yu had already brought the groceries out and was crouching by the well, asking how they should be prepared.
Ye Jia hadn’t bought much—just a two-pound slab of pork belly with a good balance of fat and lean meat. She had also picked up some Chinese cabbage and chives, which were still in season, along with some amaranth and celery that had just hit the market in May.
Since the guests had raved about Ye Jia’s braised giant red perch last time, she had bought another one for this occasion.
Dealing with the fish naturally fell to Zhou Jingchen. Ye Jia had considered handling it herself by clubbing the fish to death with a mallet, but she ultimately decided the scene would be too gruesome. It was far more practical to let Zhou Jingchen finish it with a single, clean stroke.
Zhou Jingchen chuckled when she pulled him outside to show him the fish. With guests waiting, he worked quickly, killing the creature before expertly descaling it and scraping away the black membrane from the belly cavity. He then moved on to the rabbits and pheasants, skinning and plucking them with practiced ease.
His movements were so fluid and his smile so calm that an onlooker might have thought he was engaged in some refined, scholarly pursuit rather than butchery. Once he finished, he began to wash his hands at the well with deliberate care.
He looked up to find Ye Jia watching him with an inscrutable expression. His eyes crinkled with amusement. “What is it?”
“Husband,” Ye Jia said, beaming at him, “don’t your hands smell fishy after all that?”
Zhou Jingchen looked slightly puzzled, though his tone remained mild. “It is manageable.”
“It’s fine, don’t worry. It isn’t dry yet, but the effect should be about the same.” Ye Jia brought over the basin she had used to mash the fragrant soap.
Zhou Jingchen looked down at the basin coated in thick paste, then looked back up at her.
Ye Jia grabbed one of his hands and pressed his fingers against the rim of the basin, dragging them through the residue with bold enthusiasm.
As the sticky substance coated his long, elegant fingers, the Prince Regent—a man whose fastidiousness bordered on a lifelong obsession—could only purse his lips in silence.
“Go wash your hands and see,” Ye Jia said, her eyes sparkling with excitement that she was trying very hard to keep professional.
Half-doubting her, Zhou Jingchen went to wash his hands, scrubbing them twice.
Suddenly, Ye Jia leaned in and snatched his hand to take a sniff. Zhou Jingchen’s entire body went rigid the moment she touched him. He stood perfectly still, watching as her face lit up with a glow that practically shouted, As expected of me.
His eyelashes fluttered as he let out a soft chuckle. His voice dropped, becoming even lighter than the evening breeze. “Well?”
“What do you mean, ‘well’?” Ye Jia lifted his hand to the tip of his nose, urging him to smell for himself. “Smell it! Isn’t it fragrant?”
Zhou Jingchen caught the light, delicate scent of sweet osmanthus.
“The cleaning effect is quite good,” Ye Jia remarked, nodding with satisfaction. The idea had only flashed into her mind when she saw him scaling the fish, but now she was convinced. “If we can successfully produce this fragrant soap, our family will have another way to make money!”
Zhou Jingchen’s fingers curled slightly at his side. “Is this what you were busy with all afternoon?” he asked softly.
“That’s right.”
Ye Jia had originally intended to rinse the mixture out of the wooden basin, but now that she knew it worked, she decided to save it for the laundry. Since clothes needed soaking anyway, it was better to make the most of it.
“We can’t just rely on the food stall forever,” she added.
Zhou Jingchen’s Adam’s apple bobbed as he gave a low, resonant grunt of agreement.
Without another word, Ye Jia picked up the basin and hurried off. Watching her retreat, Zhou Jingchen sniffed his fingertips once more; the fragrance of sweet osmanthus was unmistakable. He dried his hands and returned to the main hall to rejoin the others.
Two of the men were familiar faces. There was Sun Yushan, who had helped repair their roof, and a long-faced, dark-skinned scholar. Ye Jia hadn’t caught the scholar’s name during his last visit, but she now knew him as Guo Huai.
The name made her pause. She didn’t remember the original novel’s plot in great detail—only the broad strokes—so she wasn’t sure of every minor character’s role. Yet, the name Guo Huai sounded strangely familiar.
The third guest was a towering man of foreign descent. He stood half a head taller than even Zhou Jingchen, a burly figure with a thick, bushy beard and a ragged cloth tied around his head. He looked like the legendary brute Li Kui, though his name was much harder to remember: Zhabatu.
One look at the trio told Ye Jia that she couldn’t be stingy with the cooking. That mountain of a man alone could likely eat enough to feed her entire family.
Madam Yu worried that two catties of meat wouldn’t be nearly enough to feed their guests. Taking some extra coins, she headed back to town to see what the butchers or meat shops had left.
Meanwhile, Ye Jia stayed busy in the kitchen. She prepared a pot of braised pork and stewed a fish with tender tofu. The wild rabbit was tossed into a wok for a spicy stir-fry, while the pheasant was simmered into a rich soup with mushrooms. For the vegetables, she lightly sautéed some amaranth and fried a plate of celery with slivers of pork.
Still concerned there wouldn’t be enough to go around, Ye Jia went to the backyard to cut a bunch of fresh chives. She grabbed five or six eggs and whipped up a large platter of stir-fried eggs and chives. Once the dishes were ready, she steamed a dozen buns and cooked a massive pot of mixed-grain rice.
Madam Yu eventually returned, though she had been unable to find any more meat. Instead, she brought back a package of pastries and, quite thoughtfully, a jar of wine.
The meal was ready just as she arrived. Ye Jia set aside a portion of the food for themselves before bringing the rest to the main table.
Although there was a local custom that women should not sit at the table with men—an old-fashioned habit Ye Jia usually ignored—there were so many guests today, and with the wine flowing, she knew they would likely be left with nothing but cold scraps if they joined them. To avoid the hassle, she, Madam Yu, and Rui’er set up their own table in the backyard and began to eat.
As they enjoyed their meal, Ye Jia mentioned the matter of Zhou Jingchen washing his hands earlier.
Madam Yu was pleasantly surprised. “It really worked?”
“It did,” Ye Jia replied. She had only meant to experiment and hadn’t expected to succeed on her first attempt. “But using it at home is different from selling it as a product. We should wait seven or eight days to see how it looks once it’s fully set. If it turns out well, we can try retailing it in town.”
Madam Yu’s eyes lit up with excitement as she looked at Ye Jia. However, she remained composed and nodded. “We’ll have to wait and see then.”
The weight that had been pressing on Madam Yu’s chest since her son’s departure began to lift. It was human nature to feel adrift without a focus, but once there was a goal to strive for, the heart would steady, and one could find the strength to carry on.
“But Jia-niang,” Madam Yu asked, “if we do sell this fragrant soap, what price do you think would be appropriate?”
Back when she was still a Princess Consort, the household’s daily affairs had been managed by her eldest daughter-in-law—Rui’er’s mother, who had died in childbirth three years ago. When Madam Yu was younger and still a daughter-in-law herself, she had the help of capable senior maids and only concerned herself with major expenditures. She had a vague memory of small toiletries like soap, but she couldn’t quite recall the exact costs or the reasoning behind them.
Ye Jia wasn’t entirely certain. She hadn’t seen any fragrant soap during her visit to the rouge shop, and the most common bath beans on the market cost half a tael of silver per catty. In the northwest, most people used soap pods; few could afford processed soaps.
“The ingredients we used today cost over two taels in total, and we only produced fifteen bars,” Ye Jia said, falling into a thoughtful silence. “We’ve been busy all afternoon, and my back is aching. If we factor in the labor and compare it to the prices of cosmetics in the shops… if we’re feeling ambitious, do you think we could sell them for one tael a piece?”
She hesitated, worried that few in Libei Town could afford such a price. After a moment, she added, “We can’t rely on the locals for this. We need to target the merchant caravans. If we can get them to buy our stock and take it to the Western Regions, we might actually turn a significant profit.”
Madam Yu vaguely recalled that the soaps used by the noble families back home cost far more than a single tael. However, those were luxury goods, heavily infused with expensive perfumes. Their current batch was relatively simple; it would be better to keep it affordable.
“We’ll see,” Madam Yu said, her heart hammering against her ribs. She took a deep breath, forcing the surge of excitement down.
After finishing their meal and resting for a moment, the two women returned to preparing the flatbreads. Business would continue as usual tomorrow morning; they couldn’t abandon their foundation just because of a single batch of fragrant soap. The entire family still relied on the stall’s income to survive.
Meanwhile, Zhou Jingchen finished his discussion with the other men. As they were wrapping up, he called Ye Jia and Madam Yu over to join them.
Among the group, the dark-complexioned scholar, Guo Huai, spoke up. “If your family ever needs anything in the future, don’t hesitate to find me. If it’s within my power, I will do everything I can to help. Brother Yushan and Brother Bazhatu will be joining the army with Yun’an, so I’m afraid they won’t have much free time.”
Ye Jia was quick to offer her sincere thanks. Flush with wine, Guo Huai waved off her gratitude and bid the group farewell alongside the others.
As Madam Yu cleared the leftovers from the table, she stole a few glances at her son. Zhou Jingchen sat in silence, his eyes half-closed and his expression unreadable. She looked up at Ye Jia, but the younger woman hadn’t noticed.
Ye Jia had already turned and headed outside. A moment later, she returned carrying her puppy, carefully settling its bed right next to her own.
Madam Yu sighed, and after finishing her chores, she joined Ye Jia to prepare the pancakes for the next morning. Both women were exhausted after a long day of work, but the prospect of earning money made the fatigue bearable. Ye Jia’s arms were particularly sore from pounding pig pancreases all afternoon, so she hurried into the house to find her source of “free labor” for a massage.
When she nudged him, the man slowly looked up. It was only then that she noticed something was off. Zhou Jingchen had apparently had too much to drink; he was clearly tipsy.
Ye Jia wasn’t about to give up—drunk or not, he was going to work. She leaned in close to test him. “Do you remember your name?”
“Zhou Jingchen, style name Yun’an.”
“Good.” Satisfied that he still knew who he was, Ye Jia nodded. “Where are you from? How old are you? Do you have any hidden silver? Where exactly is it hidden?”
What started as idle questions quickly turned into a blatant interrogation. Zhou Jingchen couldn’t help himself; he gazed at her for a long moment, his eyes shimmering with amusement. He pressed a hand to his forehead and gently nudged her back, laughing.
“Just say it. What do you want me to do?”
Without a hint of embarrassment, Ye Jia straightened her clothes with an air of utmost integrity. “Get up and knead the dough for me.”