Roasted Lamb Stuffed Pumpkin

Wen Chongyue reached for the tablet, but Xia Jiao quickly hid it underneath her body, desperately shielding it. “You can’t be unreasonable!”

Wen Chongyue asked in surprise, “Who’s being unreasonable?”

Xia Jiao pressed her entire body against the tablet, stretching her arm to protect it. Ignoring him, she insisted, “Just for a little while longer. I’ll go to sleep after watching this.”

She guarded it like a little kitten protecting its food.

Wen Chongyue tried to retrieve the tablet, determined. “You need to rest.”

He couldn’t grab the tablet, but he ended up with a handful of soft and fragrant food. Xia Jiao let out a little whimper and remained still, like a little hamster pretending to be dead in the corner.

Wen Chongyue pulled his hand away.

The old air conditioner in the room finally began to wheeze and warm up after enduring many years. Xia Jiao’s face was pressed against the bedsheet, and she started to feel a bit hot. She couldn’t quite pinpoint what was wrong, but she felt increasingly warmer.

Wen Chongyue picked up the pillow Xia Jiao had tossed aside.

The two of them sat in silence. After a moment, Xia Jiao obediently pulled out the tablet and handed it to Wen Chongyue. “…Then I won’t watch it today.”

Wen Chongyue took the tablet without saying a word and placed it on the small table beside them. The app hadn’t closed yet, and it froze on the playback screen, making the two characters look both silly and adorable. Underneath the tablet lay a picture book, and the vase on the side was empty, lacking flowers, but a Buddha’s hand fruit sat on the shelf nailed to the wall, releasing a gentle, sweet fragrance.

Xia Jiao held the blanket tightly with both hands and stared wide-eyed at the ceiling.

When Wen Chongyue got onto the bed, he moved quietly, but some sounds were still unavoidable. The bed was made of wood, and Xia Jiao remembered it had cost just over two thousand when they bought it. She wasn’t sure if it could hold both their weights.

The size of the bed and the bedding at home didn’t allow for them to sleep apart, so they had to share the same blanket. The chill of the southern night still lingered, and Xia Jiao felt cold. She sensed the warmth getting closer and wanted to shift to the side. As she cuddled and shifted, suddenly a pair of hands stopped her. “Do you want to sleep on the floor?”

Xia Jiao replied, “No.”

As she spoke, the wooden bed creaked.

Through the wooden door, the sounds from outside reached them—Father Xia’s cough and Mother Xia’s complaints. The voices were not loud enough to hear the content of their conversation, but from their tones, it was clear they were having a minor disagreement.

Wen Chongyue lay on his side. This was their first time sharing a blanket. He loosened his grip, saying, “Don’t fall off.”

After living in Yangzhou for three days, Xia Jiao treated Wen Chongyue to a Yangzhou breakfast. The Three Ding Buns had soft skins filled with a mixture of minced meat, bamboo shoots, mushrooms, and carrots, giving off a faint sweet aroma. There was also the Big Boiled Dried Tofu from Fuchun, the Jade Shrimp Dumplings from Yechun, and the Green Vegetable Buns from Jinchun. Not to mention the flaky Double Sesame Pastry, which was so crispy it had to be lifted gently, with the top layer of white sesame seeds toasted to perfection and the black sesame filling rich and delightful. The Crab Roe Steamed Dumplings had thin skins and plentiful filling, bursting with sweet, fragrant juice.

Although Wen Chongyue was from the North, he adapted well to Huaiyang cuisine, unlike Xia Jiao’s other Northern friends who struggled with sweet dishes.

In fact, Wen Chongyue also spoke Cantonese fluently and could prepare many Cantonese dishes. Xia Jiao had often been curious about his experiences, but upon reflection, it seemed unnecessary to ask him about them.

Xia Jiao felt she could never fully grasp Wen Chongyue’s thoughts, as if she was always one step below him, forced to look up at him. This wasn’t due to their usual interactions or conversations; she suspected it stemmed from differences in age and life experiences.

Talking with Wen Chongyue made her feel comfortable, but he never clearly revealed his past to her.

She once read a theory that said if spending time with someone brought you joy, it was likely that person had higher emotional intelligence and social skills than you. Xia Jiao believed this theory to be true. She was well aware of her shortcomings in social situations and worried that excessive probing might disrupt their peaceful coexistence.

To avoid such an unpleasant scenario, Xia Jiao quietly locked away her curiosity.

After all, maintaining a respectful relationship was her goal for marriage; she had no illusions about love.

On their last day in Yangzhou, Xia Jiao found a nearly unused oven in the storage room. The oven was in good condition, with all the baking tools intact, but it had been left alone and forgotten.

Sighing, she was about to put it back when Wen Chongyue stopped her. “Why put it back?”

“They won’t need it,” Xia Jiao patiently explained. “My parents don’t bake cakes.”

Wen Chongyue replied, “Who says an oven is only for baking cakes?”

Xia Jiao said, “Well… you can also bake fruits?”

Wen Chongyue rolled up his sleeves and took the oven from her, sighing. “In Western cuisine, ovens play a crucial role. How can you think such an important tool is only for baking bread, fruits, and vegetables?”

Xia Jiao earnestly apologized to the oven, saying, “I’m sorry, oven.”

Wen Chongyue checked the fridge and kitchen supplies, paused for a moment, and then asked, “Do your parents eat lamb?”

“Ah? Yes, they do!”

For the first time, Xia Jiao experienced the allure of the oven in baking.

He cut a fresh round pumpkin in half, evenly brushed both halves with olive oil, and sprinkled some black pepper and salt before setting them aside.

As Xia Jiao nibbled on dried squid, she watched Wen Chongyue open the oven.

Curiously, she asked, “Are we putting the pumpkin in directly? Don’t we need to cut it into smaller pieces?”

She had tried baked pumpkin a few times, where it was peeled and seeded, coated with coarse salt and black pepper, and roasted until golden with a slightly charred surface. The sweet flavor enhanced by the salt made it a must-learn dish for lazy oven users.

“First, we need to preheat it,” Wen Chongyue explained. “A moderate temperature allows the dish to set faster, and for baking cakes, it also shortens the cooking time.”

Xia Jiao took a hearty bite of the squid, which her father had just bought. It was quite chewy; as she pulled it apart, her upper and lower teeth came together with a satisfying crunch, giving her the odd feeling of little people holding hands and dancing on her head.

She half-understood and asked, “So, if we’re not in a hurry, does it make no difference?”

Wen Chongyue loosened his fingers from the temperature adjustment knob and shook his head: “Both the taste and appearance will be affected.”

While the oven preheated, he mixed the chopped lamb, minced garlic, and onion, adding cumin, cinnamon, fresh lemon juice, black pepper, olive oil, and salt before filling the hollowed-out pumpkin with the mixture.

Xia Jiao took over the task of placing the pumpkin in the oven, carefully putting the tray inside, and setting it to 200 degrees for 15 minutes.

Wen Chongyue patted her on the head. “Alright, after 15 minutes, we can drizzle some sauce and mint on top, and it’ll be ready to eat. Would you like to grab a pizza for dinner?”

Xia Jiao mistakenly thought that he wanted to make it himself and said in distress. “But we only have one oven at home.”

Wen Chongyue reminded her, “Isn’t there a pizza place at the entrance of the community? You haven’t exercised all day, so you might as well take a walk to get some fresh air.”

Xia Jiao was taken aback. For someone with social anxiety, even going downstairs to buy pizza felt like a long journey.

Fortunately, the weather was cold, so she wore pants and a sweater, topped off with a knee-length down jacket and a mask. The mask felt like armor against her social fears; once it was on, her confidence soared. If she had Bluetooth headphones and sunglasses, she would feel invincible.

Fully armed, Xia Jiao followed Wen Chongyue downstairs. It was now rush hour, and they passed several acquaintances—neighbors who lived nearby but with whom she was not familiar.

She was grateful for the protection of her sunglasses and mask, saving her from having to greet anyone.

Unconsciously, she leaned closer to Wen Chongyue, holding onto his sleeve, her lips pressed tightly together, not wanting to let go.

Wen Chongyue glanced down at her.

At that moment, his new wife looked like a little squirrel that had lost all its winter pine cones, cautiously leaning against him with her tail tucked in.

While walking, Xia Jiao spoke softly to Wen Chongyue, worried about disturbing others. This gentle conversation didn’t bother the other pedestrians, but Wen Chongyue had to focus to understand what she was saying.

Suddenly, Wen Chongyue felt like his wife was a tiny snail. The moment they stepped outside, she withdrew completely into her shell, revealing nothing. Only in quiet corners did she sneak out her cute little antennae.

The pizza shop was not crowded, with few customers dining in. A delivery person waited for an order, and the staff at the ordering counter were chatting, but Xia Jiao didn’t approach them directly.

She instinctively looked for the self-service ordering machine in the store.

Even though there were no customers at the counter, Xia Jiao walked up to the machine, seriously considering the pizza options displayed on the screen.

She sought Wen Chongyue’s opinion, asking, “Do you think the fresh spicy seafood pizza is better, or the grilled beef stuffed crust?”

Wen Chongyue said, “Grilled beef.”

As soon as he finished speaking, the glass door of the pizza shop swung open with force, and a man dressed in a bulky black down jacket rushed in.

Xia Jiao placed the order, and before she could talk to Wen Chongyue, she heard a familiar voice: “I want two super supreme pizza… um… cheesy… cheesy crust… What a strange name. And the grilled sea… ah, this one, let’s have one of those too, and that one, I want it all.”

Wen Chongyue watched as the little snail beside him subtly shifted her position, her tiny antennae extending out unusually.

Xia Jiao turned to look at the person ordering nearby. At that moment, the man finished placing his order, turned around, and leaned his elbow on the counter.

Wen Chongyue saw the man’s face. He wasn’t wearing a mask, and his dark skin contrasted with his white teeth, resembling a husky who was tall but not very bright.

Xia Jiao wanted to turn away, but Yang Ye had already spotted her. He smiled broadly, flashing his big white teeth, and his loud voice echoed in the shop: “Little dumpling!”

His booming voice caught the attention of the staff in the store, all of whom looked toward the source of the noise. Yang Ye strode over, seemingly unaware of the curious gazes, and cheerfully exclaimed, “You’re back home too?”

Xia Jiao had no way to avoid him and didn’t expect to be recognized even with her mask on.

She replied, “I came back to see my parents.”

“What a coincidence,” Yang Ye grinned, “They say we’re destined to meet. I’m also—”

As he spoke, he instinctively reached out to pat Xia Jiao on the shoulder. However, his hand was caught by someone gripping his wrist.

It was only then that Yang Ye noticed Wen Chongyue.

In this cold weather, Wen Chongyue was dressed in a black coat, a rare sight for such a well-dressed man. He looked good, and Yang Ye blinked, feeling that he looked familiar but couldn’t quite place him.

Wen Chongyue, with an air of elegance, said, “I understand your excitement at seeing an old classmate and your overly enthusiastic actions, but please do not pat my wife.”