Once Wang Da-ma’s figure disappeared outside the door, Su Qingyan closed it behind her, shutting out both the warning and the biting cold.
Inside, warmth embraced the room.
The silver-thread charcoal in the brazier burned brightly, emitting no smoky odor—just pure heat that transformed the shabby house into a cozy fortress. It was the most comfortable night the Su family had enjoyed in years.
Su Qingyan placed the broken bowl that Wang Dama had returned on the stove and turned to look at her family.
Her younger siblings had already dozed off, snuggled together, their little faces flushed with contentment, mouths curved into sweet smiles. Mother Wang(Wang Shi) sat by the lamp, needle in hand, but she wasn’t mending old clothes.
She was carefully polishing the pile of copper coins on the table, as if they were priceless treasures.
“Mother,” Su Qingyan whispered.
Wang’s eyes sparkled in the lamplight. “Qingyan, I counted—it cost us 250 wen today, and we still have a full 200 wen left!” Her voice brimmed with excitement. “Two hundred wen! That’s enough to feed the whole family for a month on coarse rice!”
The simplest wish of ordinary people: to have enough to eat.
But Su Qingyan wanted far more than that.
She walked to the table, picked out 100 wen from the pile, and pushed it toward her mother. “Mother, keep fifty wen for household needs, in case of emergencies. The other fifty wen—early tomorrow, go to the general store on East Street and buy some good bamboo splints and the strongest hemp rope.”
Wang blinked. “What do you need those for?”
“For packaging,” Su Qingyan’s eyes glimmered in the firelight. “Our buns will be sold to scholars, and even wealthier people. I want to make delicate baskets—two per pack, four per pack—complete with our own hand-painted sign. That way, even giving them as gifts looks respectable.”
She looked at her mother’s hands, agile despite being full of needle pricks. “Mother, your embroidery skills are among the best in Bianjing. Only you can weave baskets and tie cord so quickly and well. From now on, every food item that leaves this house will pass through your hands as the final check. Whether it looks good, whether it’s presentable—depends entirely on you.”
Her words set Wang’s heart ablaze. She was no longer the woman who hid in the house crying or went to the street as a burden; her daughter had entrusted her with an important task.
“All right! I’ll take this job!” Wang Shi said, nodding heavily, her eyes shining like never before.
A weak cough came from the inner room—Father Su, the scholar.
Su Qingyan hurried in and saw her father propped up half-sitting. Though his face remained pale, his eyes were much clearer.
“Qingyan… I… I’m useless…” Su Xiucai looked at his daughter, shame written all over his face. “To let a daughter go out and show herself… I…”
“Father, what are you talking about!” Su Qingyan interrupted, adjusting the pillow behind him. “You are the pillar of this family, always have been, always will be. I barely know my characters, and tomorrow I want to write a few words on the stall, and I need your guidance—our family’s great scholar.”
Su Xiucai’s eyes brightened instantly.
Indeed, he was still useful! He could still write!
He struggled upright, his voice hoarse but strong: “Write! I’ll write for you! What do you want? ‘Su Ji’? Or ‘Best in the World’? My handwriting even won prizes at the Imperial Academy!”
Seeing her father’s renewed determination, Su Qingyan’s heart warmed.
This family—had come alive.
Late into the night, everyone else had fallen asleep. Su Mingxuan still wore a smile, mumbling indistinctly: “Sister… sold out… all sold out…”
Su Qingyan tucked him in, then quietly rose and sank her awareness into the private culinary inheritance space.
The space looked the same, but the shelves that once held flour and brown sugar were now empty.
Next to the shelves, a virtual panel displayed a line of flickering text:
【Current Fame: 15 points】
【Points needed to upgrade the space / refresh the next batch of basic materials: 85 points】
As expected!
The resources in the space were not infinite, nor simply refreshed monthly—they were tightly bound to her “fame”!
Selling ninety buns today and earning the recognition of Shen Yan, the Imperial Academy scholar, had only earned her 15 fame points. To upgrade the space quickly and gain more and better ingredients, she had to make “Su Ji” famous throughout Bianjing!
The pressure surged.
But with it came a stronger excitement.
She took a deep breath, focusing on the “Culinary Knowledge Library” and “Taste Simulation.”
Brown sugar buns and pork buns could open the market, but they weren’t enough to build a barrier. She needed something truly unheard-of in this era.
“Filter: snacks not yet appearing in the Song dynasty, low-cost ingredients, novel flavors.”
Countless recipes flashed across the knowledge library panel.
Soon, two names caught her attention:
【Cantonese Custard Bun】, 【Milk-flavored Mini Bun】.
The key to the custard bun was the filling: salted egg yolk sand, the richness of butter, the fragrance of milk, and the sweetness of sugar—carefully balanced, so that when steamed, it would ooze like molten lava. These ingredients, aside from sugar, were unheard-of in the Northern Song.
But she had them in her space!
Su Qingyan wasted no time and began “taste simulation” in the space.
It was as if she had the hands of a god: she crushed salted egg yolks, mixed them with melted butter, milk powder, and sugar, adjusting the proportions again and again. Too sweet? No, scholars preferred subtle flavors. Too oily? No, it would feel greasy.
Once, twice, ten times…
Finally, a perfect recipe crystallized in her mind. She could almost taste the exquisite interplay of salty, sweet, and creamy aroma.
Success!
Next, she simulated the milk-flavored mini buns. Simpler: just replace water with premium milk powder from the space when kneading the dough, and the buns would naturally carry a rich milky fragrance. Such pure sweetness was irresistible to children and women alike.
After finishing this, she turned her thoughts to today’s major customer—Shen Yan.
He was not only her benefactor but also the key to the high-end market. She had to secure him firmly.
Su Qingyan carefully packaged a small portion of the custard bun filling and some milk powder in pristine oiled paper. Tomorrow, she would present Shen Yan with a unique “new product sample.”
Only then did she exit the space.
Outside, the moon hung sparsely in the sky.
She walked to the table, using the faint moonlight to look at the remaining 200 wen in copper coins.
Two hundred wen—her startup capital for tomorrow.
With this, she would leverage a 200-wen investment to aim for a 1,000-wen goal!
She was no longer a meek ancient maiden; she was Su Qingyan, a chef who relied on her skills to survive, daring to dream and act.
Liu San-niang’s yelling? Street thugs’ harassment? All trivial matters compared to fame points and a 1,000-wen target.
A clear blueprint formed in her mind: Shui Gui Street was just the beginning, the Imperial Academy her base; the bustling night markets of Zhouqiao and Xuande Gate—the true gold-mines—would be her battlefield!
At that moment, the pressure to earn, the responsibility to support her family, and the thrill of conquest mingled, igniting her chest with heat.
The horizon brightened with the first pale light of dawn.
Su Qingyan felt no sleepiness. She went to the stove and took the last flour and the newly acquired milk powder from the space.
As the first rays of morning light slipped through the window, a rich, sweet aroma, infused with a unique milky scent, once again quietly drifted from this humble house in Mai Shao Alley—just as promised.
Meanwhile, at the street entrance of Shui Gui Street, in Liu San-niang’s cake shop, a shifty-eyed man was bowing and taking a few copper coins from her hands.
“Don’t worry, San-niang. Today, that little girl’s stall won’t last!”