Chef Fang idly chatted with her while she lazily fanned the kiln fire.
Occasionally, she glanced at Yan Shu and Xiang Jie, who were sitting on the doorstep, watching ants carry food.
She responded absentmindedly to Fang’s conversation.
Yan Shu and Xiang Jie each held a massive, properly-shaped taiyaki stuffed with red bean paste—bigger than their faces.
This time, Shen Miao had drawn the traditional fish shape.
Since she had made these before in her past life, her skills hadn’t faded.
Compared to the “ugly frog taiyaki” from before, these were far more lifelike.
Every time she came to the Xie household, she worried that Xiang Jie might get hungry, so she would prepare a different snack for her.
Yesterday, she had made a giant peach blossom red bean cake.
Yan Shu had happened to be there and looked on enviously.
Seeing this, Xiang Jie had generously struggled to break off half to share with him.
Though mischievous, Yan Shu understood the concept of returning a favor.
Having received a share of the red bean cake, he had immediately run back to his courtyard and returned with a handful of fresh cherries to split with Xiang Jie.
Proudly, he had explained, “These cherries came from our Ninth Young Master’s courtyard! He always says cherries are the finest of all fruits, the jewel of all harvests! Have you ever eaten them before?”
Xiang Jie had never tasted cherries and obediently shook her head.
So, when it was time for Shen Miao and her siblings to leave, Yan Shu had come running back, out of breath, carrying a small basket of cherries.
“Ninth Young Master said you should take some home. Otherwise, they’d just be wasted, left hanging for the birds.”
That was obviously a lie.
Cherries were notoriously difficult to grow in the Song Dynasty, and the fruit was incredibly valuable.
Shen Miao knew that cherries had been considered a tribute to the imperial court since the Han Dynasty.
The Emperor’s palace had entire groves of cherry trees.
It was customary for the first harvest of the year to be sent to the imperial mausoleums for sacrificial offerings before any remaining fruit was presented in golden bowls with silver chopsticks to the princes and high-ranking officials.
For commoners, cherries were far too precious to eat.
They would rather sell them to nobles and make a living from the profit.
Seizing the moment, Shen Miao asked, “Is your Ninth Young Master home?”
Yan Shu pursed his lips in a dramatic show of complaint.
“He is, but he isn’t! These past few days, the Lord keeps calling him to entertain guests, even making him go out in the rain to discuss poetry. Something about how ‘spring rain is as precious as oil’ and how ‘the willows by Jinming Pool are particularly poetic in the rain’.
So they just have to compose poems about it… Honestly, they’re just full from eating too much and have nothing better to do! Poor Ninth Young Master is exhausted.”
“You didn’t go with him?”
“Ninth Young Master didn’t let me! Said the rain was too heavy and told me to stay home.”
Yan Shu grinned mischievously, rubbing his hands together.
“I’m so glad! I don’t know how to read, so all that studying and writing nonsense is left for Qiu Hao instead.”
Shen Miao chuckled, “Then what tasks do you take care of?”
Yan Shu puffed out his chest proudly. “Shen Miao, you don’t know. When I was little, there was war and famine in the north. My family was scattered. I don’t remember much, but the Lady of the house once inquired about my origins.
The slave trader who sold me claimed that when I was two or three, my family walked all the way from Yanzhou to Yanzhou. But there was no food there either. Eventually, my parents starved to death.
My uncle couldn’t keep me alive, so he sold me for two bags of grain. After that, I traveled barefoot with the slave traders to Bianjing… and later, I was bought by Ninth Young Master.
Since then, the Lady of the house has had me follow Ninth Young Master in his studies. She says I am brave, have the same tough fate as him, and am not afraid of hardship!”
Shen Miao’s heart ached as she listened.
She instinctively reached out and ruffled his hair.
Tough fate?
No child could survive such hardships unless his starving parents had given him their last scraps of food.
The Lady of the Xie family must have been a gentle and kind person to speak to Yan Shu about his past in such a way.
No wonder Xie Qi grew up with such a temperament.
“But it’s a good thing my uncle sold me! Otherwise, how could I have ended up with Ninth Young Master?”
Yan Shu showed no sorrow, swinging his legs contentedly.
“Back then, I was stuffed into a sack of wheat flour, dragged around by slave traders like livestock, being hawked in the market.
Ninth Young Master saw me and asked the Lady of the house to buy me. Otherwise, the Xie family already had enough servants—they wouldn’t have purchased me from outside.”
Shen Miao nodded.
Xie Qi might be young, but he was clearly kindhearted.
It wasn’t just Yan Shu; even she, a mere pastry cook, had been treated with courtesy in the Xie household.
Perhaps it wasn’t just Xie Qi—perhaps it was the entire Xie family.
Over the past few days, she had noticed how the reed pavilion had changed.
On the first sunny day, it had only a roof, but when the rain started, the sides were soon covered with oilcloth.
Later, braziers were added, along with tea infused with ginger and malt sugar, served day and night.
Shen Miao’s red bean paste buns were just part of the monks’ meals—they had three dishes and a soup daily.
Chef Fang wasn’t a pastry chef, but he and the kitchen staff had worked late into the night for three days, ensuring the monks had proper meals.
After three days of chanting scriptures, far from looking emaciated, some monks had actually gained weight.
“Yan Shu, look—my brother is practicing his writing in the ash again,” Xiang Jie suddenly whispered to Yan Shu, pointing secretly at Ji Ge.
“My brother is amazing at studying, and he’s great at counting money too!”
Yan Shu took a big bite of his taiyaki and nodded.
“Your brother is very diligent. He’ll have a bright future.”
“Of course! My sister said that next month, Guozijian will hold the summer entrance exam for young students, and she’s going to have my brother take the test!”
Xiang Jie chomped on her pastry as well.
“So now he studies whenever he gets a chance.”
Yan Shu tilted his head, as if deep in thought, then suddenly wrapped up the rest of his taiyaki.
“Wait here! I’ll be right back!”
He carefully tucked his half-eaten pastry behind Xiang Jie’s vegetable basket and then bolted off.
Shen Miao blinked, startled by his sudden departure.
“Hey, where’s Yan Shu running off to?”
Xiang Jie was just as puzzled, shaking her head cluelessly.
She was wearing a new outfit Shen Miao had made—a soft pink short-sleeved blouse paired with a matching pleated skirt.
Shen Miao had even embroidered tiny cherry motifs on the cuffs and hem.
To complement the outfit, she had styled Xiang Jie’s hair into two adorable heart-shaped buns, adding red string decorations with little dangling balls.
As she walked, the tiny ornaments swayed at her ears, making her look even more playful and charming.
Shen Miao was momentarily captivated by Xiang Jie’s slight head tilt, finding it adorable.
She pinched the little girl’s chubby cheeks before turning back to check the oven.
She hoped Yan Shu would return soon—she had put in a great deal of effort that afternoon making a box of pastries to send to Xie Qi.
With this batch of 150 red bean paste buns baked, it was likely that she wouldn’t be coming to the Xie family again.
High-ranking households like the Xie family, which had a tradition of keeping servants and even their own ancestral recipes, rarely purchased food from outsiders.
That was why, when she first arrived, Chef Fang had been so resentful toward her.
But Xie Qi’s kindness over these past few days—she had to thank him properly.
That afternoon, she had spent considerable effort making salted egg yolk pastries.
Why egg yolk pastries?
It was a simple decision: they were delicious, visually appealing, and unique.
The key to a perfect egg yolk pastry was the layered, flaky crust.
If the oil-based dough was made well, each bite would crumble delicately.
She had put great effort into making the oil dough properly, ensuring the right balance between flakiness and softness.
The salted egg yolks she had purchased from Aunt Li in advance.
Though Aunt Li was known to be nosy and gossipy, she raised her chickens and ducks well, and her preserved eggs were top-notch.
Shen Miao had a sharp eye for picking salted eggs—a good one would have a white, powdery coating on the shell, slightly rough to the touch but clean and smooth underneath.
Inferior ones had dull, dark shells with black spots, and if they had cracks, they were even less fresh.
She had squatted beside Aunt Li’s pickling jar for a long time, sorting through the eggs until her legs went numb, all while enduring Aunt Li’s persistent questioning: “Dajie’er, just how did you get involved with such high-ranking folks?”
The Xie family’s carriage had come to pick her up for two consecutive days, and such a grand horse-drawn carriage was bound to attract attention in the alley.
Naturally, rumors had spread among the neighbors.
As gossip circulated, the initial pity people had felt for her return had twisted into jealousy.
Some claimed she had “climbed onto another wealthy branch,” others said she was just lucky, and a few even speculated she was about to remarry—after all, it was a Xie family steward named Zheng who had originally come looking for her.
At first, Shen Miao had tried to clarify things once or twice, but the more she explained, the wilder the rumors became.
People who thrived on gossip only got more excited when they saw you cared.
She found it utterly ridiculous—Zheng’s grandson was nearly a month old now, yet people still found a way to drag him into their stories.
Regardless, she had managed to pick out some excellent salted duck eggs.
When bitten into, the yolks released a rich, oily fragrance and had a sandy, melt-in-the-mouth texture—perfect for pastries.
Working swiftly, Shen Miao rolled the oil dough into logs, cut them into even portions, and shaped each portion into a small round ball.
She did the same with the oil-free dough, ensuring each piece was smooth and uniform.
Next, she flattened each round, wrapped the oil-based dough inside, and sealed the edges carefully.
Then, she rolled out the dough into a tongue-like shape, folded it up, rolled it out again, and repeated the process several times before setting them aside.
For the filling, she mashed red beans into a smooth paste and mixed it with honey to enhance the flavor.
She took five salted egg yolks, roasted them lightly over the fire to remove excess moisture, and crushed them into fine pieces.
Each pastry was meticulously assembled: half a salted egg yolk, coated in a layer of red bean paste, was carefully wrapped inside the dough.
She sealed each one securely, shaping them into plump, round pastries before brushing the tops with two layers of egg wash and sprinkling a pinch of black sesame seeds for decoration.
She then placed them all into the Xie family’s large oven for baking.
In modern times, egg yolk pastries remained one of the most popular flaky pastries, beloved for their rich fillings, appealing presentation, and satisfying texture.
Even in an era of abundant resources, they had maintained their status as a timeless favorite.
With limited time, she hadn’t been able to add mochi or pork floss, which were common in contemporary versions, but the traditional style was just as delicious.
When the pastries emerged from the oven, they were golden, plump, and glistening with oil, the tops adorned with a delicate sprinkle of sesame seeds.
The flaky crust crumbled at the slightest touch, revealing the soft, rich filling inside.
The aroma was incredible.
Even without the buttery scent of modern-day baking, the balance of textures was perfect.
She had made quite a few, so she shared them with Chef Fang, Ji Ge, and Xiang Jie for a taste test.
Taking a bite herself, she savored the crunchy layers of pastry, the smooth bean paste, and the slightly grainy yet rich egg yolk filling.
It was soft but not dry, rich but not overwhelming, with a delicate balance of flavors.
It had turned out even better than she had expected!
She had worried that the old-fashioned kiln oven might make it difficult to control the heat, but it had worked perfectly.
Seeing Chef Fang tilt his head back, eyes closed in enjoyment, savoring the lingering taste with a satisfied smirk, Shen Miao was certain—her egg yolk pastries were a success!
Egg yolk pastries had their own special charm.
Especially in a wealthy household like the Xie family—she couldn’t afford to give extravagant gifts, and after thinking it over, the only valuable thing she possessed was her culinary skills.
Besides, in the Song Dynasty, no one had ever eaten or even heard of egg yolk pastries.
Surely, Xie Qi would find them novel and intriguing.
As the fire flickered, its glow cast a warm light on Shen Miao’s face.
She sat on a small wooden stool, resting her chin on the back of her hand, deep in thought.
If Yan Shu doesn’t return, how am I supposed to send the egg yolk pastries in?
Chef Fang had already mentioned that he couldn’t enter the inner courtyard, which meant she would have to rely on someone else to deliver them.
That would attract too much attention, and she didn’t want to make a big scene.
Just as she was brooding over this dilemma, a voice—cool and clear, like a mountain stream—suddenly sounded from behind her.
“Shen Miao, are you well today?”
thank you for the translations! i’m really enjoying this story