Gu Tusu had to do heavy labor every day, so he never cared much about his attire.
Today, he wore a sleeveless short shirt that was left open, revealing his sun-tanned, muscular arms.
The shirt didn’t even have buttons, and if it weren’t for the long towel he wore around his neck to wipe off sweat, his equally muscular chest and abdomen would have been fully exposed.
Shen Miao didn’t find anything unusual about this.
Many people in the alley dressed like this-Liu Dalang, who made tofu; Wang Sanlang, who sold fruits; and Zeng Qilang, who sold charcoal and firewood.
Anyone whose household required heavy labor dressed this way on a daily basis.
Perhaps only during festivals would they dress more formally.
The ancients were more open-minded than she had imagined, something she only realized after transmigrating here.
In the Song Dynasty, which people often thought of as conservative, men frequently went shirtless, and even women wore short-sleeved shirts during the hot summer.
The deep- V neckline style, which had been popular since the Tang Dynasty, was still in vogue.
In recent years, Bianjing had even started a trend of wearing sheer outer garments over undergarments, essentially “wearing lingerie as outerwear.”
Sometimes, when Shen Miao walked down the street and saw the variety of clothing, she couldn’t help but wonder who the truly conservative ones were.
Hearing Gu Tusu’s voice, she casually turned her head and pointed outside, asking him to help her move something to a shaded area under the eaves: “Thank you, Brother Gu.”
Then she turned back to focus on cooking the noodles.
Gu Tusu pushed the wine over and, on his way back, glanced through the window hole in the counter at the lame scholar standing in the shop.
The scholar wore a long robe with wide sleeves, his hair tied back with a plain silk ribbon, the ends of which hung over his shoulders like willow branches.
He was even more handsome than Rong Dalang, appearing to be only seventeen or eighteen years old.
Standing there, even without speaking, he exuded a gentle and refined aura, reminiscent of moonlight reflecting off snow on a winter’s eve.
Gu Tusu didn’t know how to describe him, but he felt a strange, restless energy inside.
Especially when the lame scholar, after noticing him, smiled and nodded, seemingly greeting him, a stranger, with warmth.
Another scholar, why was there another scholar?
That restless energy suddenly surged to his head.
But then he remembered the matchmaker his mother had invited over that morning, and the energy dissipated as if punctured by a needle.
In the end, he said nothing, turning his face away and muttering to Shen Miao’s back,
“It’s done. I’ll be going now.”
“Ah, thank you, Brother Gu,” Shen Miao replied, busy with the noodles.
She turned her head to smile at him before focusing on the pot again.
Ever since she and Gu Tusu had cleared the air, regardless of how he felt, she had been able to treat him with a calm and open heart.
Gu Tusu turned and left, muttering to himself that he must have some kind of conflict with scholars in his fate.
While others had conflicts with the stars, he had conflicts with scholars.
He dragged the empty cart back to his house.
The courtyard was quiet and cool, with only a plump sparrow perched on the wall, tilting its head left and right, completely unbothered.
Gu Tusu stared at the little bird, annoyed.
It had been there since early morning when he had argued with his mother, and now it was still there.
Displeased with its presence, he waved his hand forcefully in the air,
“You’ve been watching me all day, now scram!”
The sparrow finally flapped its wings and flew away.
After shooing the nosy bird, he cautiously peeked through the kitchen window.
It was still cold and quiet inside; his mother hadn’t even left him any porridge.
Knowing she was still angry with him, he sheepishly went to her door and knocked,
“Mother, are you there? I’m sorry for speaking to you like that this morning.”
His mother abruptly opened the door and said coldly,
“Tell me the truth. Are you refusing to marry because you’re still thinking about Shen Miao?”
Gu Tusu was silent for a while, then shook his head, “No, Mother.”
“Then why won’t you marry?”
“Can our family afford a bride?” Gu Tusu shrugged.
“I overheard you and Father talking. If we have to borrow money from Xingguo Temple, it’s better to save up and avoid paying extra interest. I’ve already waited this long; a year or two more won’t make a difference.”
His mother eyed him suspiciously.
“It’s the truth,” Gu Tusu exhaled deeply, a self-deprecating smile on his face.
“Mother, don’t worry. I’ve come to understand that, whether it’s three years ago or three years from now, Shen Miao’s eyes have never been on me. The man she likes isn’t someone like me.”
Gu Tusu thought to himself that Shen Miao must prefer scholars, those with a refined and delicate appearance.
There was nothing he could do about that because his father was dark-skinned, and so was he.
His mother had once joked that if you threw the two of them into a coal mine, you wouldn’t be able to tell the difference between them and the coal.
He was burly and illiterate; there was no changing that.
His mother finally relaxed, patting his shoulder,
“You’re right. So, let go of that idea. Alright, we’ll save up some more, and you’ll settle down and marry a woman who truly sees you. That’s the only way to live a prosperous life.”
“Alright, I’ll listen to you, Mother,” Gu Tusu forced a smile, picked up the chopper, and went back to work.
With her mind at ease, his mother listened to the rhythmic sound of her son chopping wood in the courtyard.
Feeling pleased, she grabbed the family’s large soup pot and headed out to celebrate her son finally coming to his senses.
She decided to buy a big pot of lamb noodles from Shen Miao’s shop for the family to enjoy.
It had been over half a month since they last had lamb, so today they would indulge a little.
It had to be said, Shen Miao’s cooking skills were truly exceptional, even surpassing her father’s.
The Gu and Shen families lived so close that ever since Shen Miao opened her shop, the aroma of her cooking had been wafting over.
The smell of lamb soup had even made her dream of gnawing on a lamb leg in her sleep.
Lamb wasn’t cheap, and she couldn’t make such a good lamb soup herself, so it was better to buy it ready-made.
The back door of the Shen household wasn’t locked, so Gu’s mother pushed it open and walked in.
This was common among neighbors; the alleys behind the streets were usually narrow, and strangers rarely came by.
Women often did light chores in front of their doors, and children played in the alleys.
As long as someone was home, the back doors were rarely locked, and neighbors visited each other without formal invitations.
Besides, the Shen household had two guard dogs, so there was no fear of thieves.
She walked in, first patting the black dog’s head, then the yellow dog’s, before softly calling out, “Shen Miao?”
There was no response.
Puzzled, she walked along the corridor to the small door connecting the front shop and the back kitchen.
At this hour, the shop was mostly empty, with only a scholar and his servant enjoying a bowl of hot noodles.
Shen Miao was sitting in the kitchen, leaning on the counter, smiling as she watched them eat.
She softly reminded, “Yanshu, slow down. Blow on it a bit before you eat. The noodles cool slowly, so be careful not to burn your mouth.”
The scholar looked up and smiled,
“He’s been like this since he was a child. Even though he doesn’t remember it now, he still eats like he’s starving. Last time he ate two boxes of the cricket cakes you taught Fang the cook to make, and he ended up with indigestion, rolling around in pain at night, crying at my bedside.”
“I had to get up in the middle of the night to find him some digestive medicine.”
Shen Miao found it both pitiful and amusing.
She rested her chin on her hand and pointed at Yanshu, who was too busy eating to speak.
“You, you!”
Tiny specks of dust floated in the beams of light, and the warm aroma lingered in the room.
The three of them, separated by a half-drawn curtain and the sunlight on the floor, chatted casually, their conversation meandering from one topic to another, yet there was a sense of peace and comfort in the air.
Gu’s mother watched from afar and, for some reason, turned around and silently left.
As she passed the two guard dogs again, she paused, looking down at their puzzled expressions, and asked herself,
“Why didn’t I go in? I came to buy lamb noodles! Why did I leave?”
Perhaps it was because she didn’t want to disturb them.
She thought.
But why didn’t she want to disturb them?
She couldn’t quite figure it out.
Maybe I’ll come back later to buy them, she murmured to herself, looking at the empty pot in her hands.
Xie Qi finished a bowl of the soft and flavorful noodles and, like Yanshu, leaned back slightly, letting out a comfortable sigh.
This seemingly simple yet unexpectedly delicious noodle dish was something he had never tasted before.
Especially after Shen Miao finished cooking the noodles, she heated oil in a pan, fried some ginger, garlic, and scallions until golden, then poured a spoonful of vinegar over it.
As the white smoke rose, she poured the sizzling oil over the noodles, enhancing the flavor even more.
When the bowl of noodles was first served, it looked rather ordinary.
He nodded, thinking that the name “Hutou Noodles” (Muddled Noodles) was fitting, as it seemed like a mix of various ingredients “muddled together in one pot.”
But after the first bite, the freshness of the vegetables, the richness of the meat, and the chewiness of the noodles all came through.
Some noodle dishes start off well but become bland and unappetizing as you eat more.
But these Hutou Noodles were different-the more you ate, the more you appreciated their unique flavor.
They had a soft, almost porridge-like texture, but were far more interesting than porridge.
“The name ‘Hutou’ (Muddled) may imply chaos, but in reality, it’s a dish of subtle complexity. I’m afraid I’ll never forget today’s Hutou Noodles,” Xie Qi said, placing his chopsticks neatly on the bowl.
He smiled gently, “I’ve troubled you again today, Shen Miao, but for such delicious noodles, I’m afraid I’ll have to trouble you again in the future.”
“You’re always welcome. Running a business means serving customers, there’s no such thing as trouble,” Shen Miao replied, her eyes curving into a smile.
She couldn’t help but feel pleased when customers praised her cooking.
“In fact, I’d be even happier if you came more often.”
Xie Qi was momentarily stunned, then his ears turned red,
“Really? Then… I’ll come more often?”
Shen Miao didn’t notice anything unusual and smiled as she lifted the curtain to collect the bowls and chopsticks,
“Of course.”
The sunlight outside the shop was slanting westward, and Yanshu, still savoring the lingering taste of the noodles, finally noticed the time.
He turned to Xie Qi, “Ninth Brother, we’ve congratulated her, and we’ve eaten the noodles. Shouldn’t we be going now? You still need to change the dressing on your leg!”
But when he looked over, he saw Xie Qi sitting there in a daze, absentmindedly rubbing his ear, his eyes still following Shen Miao’s retreating figure.
“Ninth Brother? Ninth Brother?”
Yanshu called out, puzzled, “We should go back now, Ninth Brother.”
Xie Qi suddenly snapped out of his reverie, flustered as he stood up with his crutch,
“Yes, yes. Shen Miao, I’ll be going now. Yanshu, pay the bill…”
Shen Miao placed the bowls and chopsticks in the sink, wiped her hands on her apron, and hurried out to see them off,
“You should go back. You can’t delay treating your leg.”
As she spoke, she noticed that Xie Qi’s ears and cheeks seemed a bit red.
Was it because the noodles were too hot?
But it was indeed a warm day.
“Oh, Ninth Brother, Eleventh Sister asked us to bring back some snacks!” Yanshu said, supporting Xie Qi’s arm.
His eyes lit up, “Why don’t we buy some pastries from Shen Miao? That way, we won’t have to make a detour to the pastry shop.”
That way, he could have another treat!
Shen Miao’s pastry skills had completely won him over.
He didn’t even want to eat pastries from anywhere else.
And it wasn’t just him.
Everyone in the Xie household knew of Shen Miao’s reputation.
Take Eleventh Sister, for example :-