The last rays of the setting sun bathed Maichaoxiang Lane in a warm golden glow, yet they could not dispel the lingering chill in the air.
Inside the Su family’s humble home, it was bustling with activity.
The small mountain of 1,200 wen in copper coins shimmered enchantingly under the dim yellow oil lamp.
Wang Shi and the three children sat around the table, counting over and over again, their little faces lit with silly grins, as if they could never tire of this sight in a lifetime.
Su Qingyan leaned against the doorway, quietly watching her family’s excitement, while her mind raced with calculations.
Today’s business had been booming—half thanks to the new products’ flavors, and the other half, to the “east wind” blown in by Liu San-niang’s public scandal.
But such accidental fame was unstable.
Moreover, from kneading dough, fermenting, preparing fillings, to individually wrapping and steaming, two hundred buns and a hundred steamed breads had nearly drained all of her and her mother’s energy.
From dawn until the sun was high, they had earned 1,200 wen.
It sounded like a lot, but after subtracting costs, and thinking of her father’s seemingly bottomless medicine jar, this sum was still just a drop in the ocean.
Relying purely on volume, the profit was too thin, and the labor too exhausting.
Change was imperative.
Late at night, after her family had gone to bed with satisfied smiles, Su Qingyan once again sank her consciousness into her private culinary inheritance space.
The numbers on the virtual panel had changed.
【Current Fame Points: 35】
【Fame required for space upgrade / next batch of basic ingredients: 65】
One major sale, one street confrontation, and her fame had only risen by 20 points. Clearly, selling well alone was not enough to rapidly increase fame. She needed something more impactful, something that could spark discussion.
Her eyes fell on a new shelf in the space. In addition to basic ingredients like flour and spices, a small compartment had appeared, quietly holding a basket of eggs and a small bag of red dates.
The eggs were uniform in size, their shells a pleasant pinkish-brown, looking extremely fresh. The red dates were plump and deep red, as if they contained concentrated sunlight.
Su Qingyan’s heart stirred, and a bold idea emerged.
“Filter: Use eggs and red dates as the main ingredients to create a new, novel pastry, not yet seen in the Song Dynasty.”
The knowledge base searched at lightning speed.
Soon, a name popped up—【Red Date Egg Cake】.
The recipe and method instantly filled her mind. This wasn’t a simple steamed cake; it relied on whipping egg whites at high speed to create a fluffy texture, then folding in egg yolks, flour, and red date paste, before steaming. The result: a cake soft as clouds, full of rich egg and date aroma, completely unlike the heavy, dense pastries of the era.
This… was essentially a traditional sponge cake!
Her heart raced, and she immediately began “taste simulation.”
In her conscious space, invisible hands separated egg whites from yolks. Bamboo chopsticks moved at incredible speed, mimicking the effect of a mixer. The snow-white egg whites gradually thickened, forming firm, glossy foam.
This process demanded extreme arm strength.
But the result was worth it.
When the simulated Red Date Egg Cake melted on her tongue, Su Qingyan couldn’t help but sigh in satisfaction.
This was it!
The next morning, Su Qingyan did not rush to knead dough for buns. Instead, she solemnly took ten eggs and a small handful of red dates from the space.
She first pitted the red dates and steamed them until soft, then mashed them into a fine paste.
Next came the crucial step—whipping the egg whites.
With no specialized tools at home, she poured the ten egg whites into a clean wooden basin, bundled three or four chopsticks together, took a deep breath, and began whisking furiously.
“Plop, plop, plop…”
The crisp sounds echoed in the quiet morning light, monotonous yet rhythmic.
Wang Shi and the just-awakened Su Mingxuan curiously gathered around.
“Sis, what are you making? The egg whites are foaming,” Su Mingyue rubbed her eyes, curious.
Su Qingyan’s arms were numb with exertion, sweat forming on her temples, but she did not pause. “A new kind of pastry, a surprise for you all.”
Time passed little by little; her arms went from numb to burning, yet her speed never faltered. The egg whites transformed from clear liquid to a fine, snowy foam that could even stand on the chopsticks without dripping.
“Heavens! What magic is this?” Wang Shi gaped.
Su Qingyan exhaled deeply and gently folded in the egg yolks, flour, and red date paste, then poured the mixture into oiled molds and steamed them.
While the cakes steamed, she took a few thin, pliable bamboo strips and handed them to her mother. “Mother, your hands are skillful—please weave ten small baskets like these,” she gestured with her hands to show palm-sized dimensions. “They should be delicate enough to match our new pastries.”
Then she unrolled a sheet of pristine rice paper, prepared ink, and brought it to her father’s bedside.
“Father, I’ll trouble you again.”
Su Xiucai had regained much of his energy and could now sit up by the bed. Seeing his daughter’s expectant gaze, a warm feeling surged in his chest. He took the brush and asked in a deep voice, “What shall I write today?”
“Write ‘Su Ji’ in a graceful style. Then add a line of small text: ‘Red Date Egg Cake, limited to ten per day, 20 wen each.’”
“Twenty wen?!”
Su Xiucai’s hand trembled as he held the brush, ink dripping onto the paper.
“Qingyan, isn’t… isn’t this too expensive? Most families only spend a dozen wen a day!” His face was filled with worry.
“Father, trust me,” Su Qingyan said calmly but firmly. “Good things deserve their price. Just make the writing worthy of it.”
Seeing the resolute gleam in her eyes, Su Xiucai steadied himself, took a deep breath, and dipped the brush in ink again. This time, his strokes were steady and fluid, a line of elegant yet strong clerical script taking shape.
When the lid lifted from the steamer, an indescribable sweet fragrance instantly filled the house.
The aroma of baked eggs, rich and toasty, mixed with the sweet, mellow scent of red dates, aggressive yet gentle, making the three little ones’ mouths water.
The freshly steamed cakes were caramel-colored, fluffy and soft; pressing them lightly made them spring back.
Su Qingyan carefully cut them into ten portions, each wrapped in clean oiled paper, then placed in the small, exquisite bamboo baskets her mother had woven overnight. The baskets were tied with red hemp cord in neat knots, looking like beautiful gifts.
When Su Qingyan and Su Mingxuan returned to Shui Gui Street, the entire stall’s aura had transformed.
No longer were there steaming baskets of buns; in their place stood a wooden sign marked “20 wen.” Beside it, an open bamboo basket held a sample Red Date Egg Cake.
Even Lin Po-po couldn’t sit still; she pushed her drink cart closer, lowering her voice and stomping her feet in panic.
“My goodness, Qingyan! What are you doing? Business was so good yesterday—why aren’t you selling buns today? This cake, twenty wen? Are you crazy? Who would buy it?”
Curious regulars gathered around, staring at the price in shock.
“Twenty wen? Am I seeing this right? Highway robbery!”
“Is this cake made of gold?”
Su Qingyan paid them no mind. She sat steadily behind the stall, a faint smile on her lips. No shouting, no hawking—just quietly waiting for the fish to bite.
Yet the cake’s aroma was a traitor that could not be hidden.
The rich scent of eggs and dates drifted on the morning breeze, threads of it seeping everywhere. It wasn’t as aggressively appetizing as the savory meat buns, but more like a gentle hook, tickling the hearts and stirring saliva without anyone noticing.
The entire morning, many gathered to watch, and even more pointed and whispered—but not a single person stepped forward to inquire.
Su Mingxuan grew uneasy, clutching the corner of his clothes and glancing anxiously at his sister.
Su Qingyan, however, remained calm and composed, even leisurely picking up a book she had been learning from after her father taught her to read.