“Bang—”“Bang—”“Bang—”
The sound of the wooden clapper at the fifth watch of the night pierced through the thin wooden walls, sharp and grating.
In the dead of winter, Su Qingyan woke up freezing in the drafty, leaky house on Maicao Lane.
This was the fifth day since she had transmigrated.
The original owner, also named Su Qingyan, was the sickly daughter of a once-aspiring scholar’s family in Bianjing. That winter, a once-in-a-century snowstorm swept across the capital region, freezing people and livestock to death.
Coal, grain, and medicine prices had skyrocketed overnight.
The original Su Qingyan, already weak, caught a cold. With the family’s money gone, they couldn’t even afford the cheapest medicine. The illness dragged on until it became fatal; a few days ago, she had finally died, conveniently leaving this unlucky twenty-first-century girl in her place.
Struggling to turn her neck, Su Qingyan felt a chill at the scene inside the room.
Her mother, Wang Shi, clutched the youngest daughter, Su Mingyao, in her arms. The baby no longer cried, only letting out faint sobs. In front of Wang Shi was a battered bowl containing a few mouthfuls of snowwater collected from the eaves—this was their food.
In the corner, her brother Su Mingxuan and sister Su Mingyue lay side by side on the straw. Their faces were pale yellow, their lips cracked and dry. Starvation had left them semi-conscious.
Su Qingyan tried to sit up, but her limbs felt like lead, refusing to obey.
She was a modern top-tier private chef, capable of reviving lost recipes and preparing nutritious meals for nobles—but here, she couldn’t even produce a single grain of rice.
All her skills were useless, and yet she was about to starve in this gutter.
As her consciousness began to blur and the cold drained the last of her strength, the shadow of death descended once more.
“Is this it? Am I going to die again immediately after transmigrating?”
This was too frustrating!
Just as she was about to slip into darkness, a flat, emotionless voice suddenly sounded in her mind.
[Private Kitchen Inheritance Space Binding in Progress…][Host vital signs detected as weak. Newbie gift package being issued immediately.][Congratulations! Host has obtained: 10 jin of premium snowflake flour, 2 jin of handmade brown sugar, a small packet of high-efficiency active dry yeast.]
Su Qingyan’s foggy mind cleared instantly!
Her damn “golden finger” had finally arrived!
A moment later, and she would have ended up like the original Su Qingyan, sent off by nothing more than a simple cold, becoming yet another silent, tragic soul of this snowy winter.
A mysterious power flowed into her body. She finally felt able to control the frail body she now inhabited.
With a thought, her consciousness descended into a wondrous space.
Before her was a modest storage room, with several rows of gleaming metal shelves. On one shelf sat the newly acquired flour, brown sugar, and yeast.
Beside the shelves was a virtual panel clearly displaying the space’s functions: ingredient preservation, culinary knowledge database, taste simulation…
Permanent preservation!
Su Qingyan’s heart leapt. This was a divine skill made for a chef like her!
She could not waste a moment—their lives were at stake.
“Extract the flour and brown sugar!”
With her command, a small pile of dazzling white flour and a bundle of brown sugar wrapped in oil paper appeared on the dilapidated stove.
Wang Shi, about to feed snowwater to her youngest daughter, froze at the sight. Her eyes widened, and the battered bowl in her hands fell with a crash, shattering into pieces.
“Qing… Qingyan… this… this is…”
Su Qingyan leaned against the stove, giving her horrified mother a weak smile.
“Mother, Heaven has given us a chance to live.”
She had to offer an explanation: “I dreamt of our ancestors last night. They saw how hard our family’s life is, so they specially appeared and gave us food.”
Wang Shi touched the flour with trembling hands. Its delicate texture proved it was not something they could afford.
“Quick, light the fire!” Su Qingyan urged.
“Yes! Yes!”
Snapping back to reality, Wang Shi hastily grabbed dried straw near the stove and struck the flint a few times until the fire caught.
Ignoring her frail body, Su Qingyan scooped water into a basin and began kneading the dough, adding the precious yeast. Using the space’s advantages, she activated “rapid fermentation” with her mind.
The dough, which normally required an hour to rise, expanded and softened in just fifteen minutes thanks to the space’s accelerated flow.
The stove’s firelight warmed Su Qingyan’s pale face and brought a hint of comfort to the freezing room.
Once the dough was kneaded and divided into portions, she decided to make the simplest, most heart-soothing treat: brown sugar blossoming buns.
Soon, a rich, sweet aroma wafted from the pot, invading every corner of the room.
“Smells so good…”
The previously half-conscious Su Mingxuan and Su Mingyue stirred, their little noses twitching at this unfamiliar scent, letting out pitiful whimpers of longing.
Su Qingyan lifted the lid. Steam and intoxicating sweetness filled the air.
The buns were plump and white, with perfectly blossomed tops revealing the brown sugar inside—utterly enticing.
“All done!”
She quickly removed the buns, ignoring the heat. Carefully, she broke off a small piece and fed it to her youngest sister, Su Mingyao.
The little girl, who had been whining, immediately stopped crying, instinctively sucking at the sweet morsel.
Su Qingyan handed another bun to her mother.
“Mother, eat quickly.”
Wang Shi received the bun with trembling hands. Its warmth traveled through her fingers, nearly bringing her to tears. She bit carefully; the soft texture and rich sweetness exploded in her mouth.
A comforting warmth slid down her empty stomach, chasing away long-held cold and hunger.
Tears rolled down Wang Shi’s face, dripping onto the bun.
“It’s real… we are saved…”
Su Mingxuan and Su Mingyue also struggled to rise, and Su Qingyan quickly gave each of them a bun.
The children devoured them hungrily, their cheeks puffed like little hamsters stealing food.
The family of five gathered around the steaming stove, sharing the hard-won four buns.
The near-death chill was finally swept away by the warmth of the food.
With food in her stomach, Su Qingyan regained strength. She steadied herself against the wall and began checking the family’s assets.
After rummaging through everything, she found only three rusty copper coins in a worn cloth under the bed.
Three wen—this was their entire fortune.
With the space’s aid, it could last a day or two—but eventually, it would run out.
No, she had to find a way to earn money!
Clutching the coins, Su Qingyan made a quick decision.
“Mother, I want to use the remaining flour to make buns to sell on the street.”
Wang Shi froze mid-cleaning.
“What? Sell things on the street? Qingyan, that cannot be!”
Her mother frowned. “Your father is a scholar, and you are a daughter of a literate family. How can you stoop to selling in public? If word gets out, what will happen to your reputation?”
In the Northern Song, merchants ranked lowest in the social hierarchy. A scholar’s daughter calling out goods on the street would indeed draw ridicule.
Su Qingyan had anticipated this reaction.
She pointed to the sickbed. “Mother, father is still bedridden, waiting for medicine money.”
She gestured to the now rosy-cheeked younger siblings.
“Mingxuan, Mingyue, Mingyao are still young. They need food to live. Can reputation fill their stomachs? Can it buy father’s medicine?”
Her pointed questions left Wang Shi speechless.
Looking at her husband’s frail form, the emaciated children, and her daughter’s determined profile, her eyes reddened.
Yes—at this point, survival mattered more than reputation.
Wang Shi lowered her head, wiped her tears, and when she looked up again, there was no hesitation.
“Alright. I’ll follow your lead. What do you need me to do?”
“Mother, you’re skilled. Can you make a cover for the basket from an old cotton jacket? It’s cold, and the buns will cool quickly.”
“Yes, leave it to me.”
With her mother persuaded, Su Qingyan felt halfway relieved.
Late into the night, after her siblings slept soundly, her mother worked diligently under the oil lamp.
Su Qingyan immersed her consciousness into the space again, opening the “Culinary Knowledge Database.”
She would adapt her countless optimized modern recipes to the conditions of the Northern Song and produce the most popular products.
She soon decided on the flagship item: large brown sugar blossoming buns.
The selling points were simple: filling and extremely sweet!
For people struggling to survive or scholars with little money, nothing was more important than getting the most calories and satisfaction for the least money.
Her mother finished sewing a thick, clever cotton cover for the basket, making it a simple insulator.
Su Mingxuan quietly approached her.
“Sister, I’ll go with you tomorrow.”
The ten-year-old boy still had a childlike face, but his eyes showed a maturity beyond his age.
Su Qingyan patted his head, feeling warmed inside.
Looking at the remaining ingredients in the space, she bit her lip and decided to use them all tonight.
She extracted every bit of flour and brown sugar and worked through the night.
The stove burned without pause.
By the first light of dawn, she had made a total of ninety brown sugar blossoming buns.
Each was as big as an adult man’s fist, plump and white, with perfectly opened tops revealing the brown sugar inside, releasing an intoxicating sweet aroma.
Outside, the snowstorm that had raged for days finally stopped.
Morning light illuminated the entire Bianjing city in a blanket of silver.
Su Qingyan carefully stacked the steaming buns into the basket, covered it with her mother’s cotton cover, and wrapped the entire basket in thick cloth.
Su Mingxuan was already dressed, quietly carrying the smaller empty basket to help his sister share the load.
“Mother, we’re leaving.”
“Be careful on the road!” Wang Shi said, her eyes full of worry.
Su Qingyan nodded, hoisting the heavy basket full of the family’s hope onto her back.