Chapter 40.1

By late October, the mornings and evenings in Longzhou had started to feel chilly.

Wen Xin climbed out of her warm bed, her long black hair messy and tousled like a bird’s nest. She ran her fingers through it a few times before gathering it into a simple bun. This was a trick she had learned from the old woman on the train—she had said Wen Xin’s hair was long enough to be secured effortlessly, and sure enough, once tied, it stayed in place without even needing a hairpin.

Wen Xin had taken a liking to this hairstyle and had been wearing it every day since.

Her hair was particularly thick. When she tied it up at the back, the dense, inky-black strands cascaded like clouds, making her delicate, palm-sized face appear even smaller.

She changed into her clothes, rubbed her hands together for warmth, and stepped out of her room. The early mornings and evenings here were damp and cold, the kind of chill that seeped into the bones.

The kind-hearted couple she met on the train were locals of Longzhou and lived near the city’s outskirts. The houses here bore some resemblance to those in the capital, featuring a square and orderly layout, though the courtyards were much smaller. In the north, yards were usually spacious, whereas in Longzhou, land was used more efficiently.

She had been in Longzhou for half a month now and had become somewhat familiar with the city. The buildings here were more numerous, though uneven in height. The alleys were narrow, flanked by tall, enclosing walls that led to winding, secluded streets paved with blue-gray stone slabs. When she walked, the rhythmic “pat, pat” sound of her footsteps echoed pleasantly.

If the central district of the capital exuded the grandeur and elegance of a noble lady, then Longzhou had the charm of a delicate, rain-kissed beauty.

Having lived in the Yan family, Wen Xin had long been trained into a habit—sleep early, wake early. She got up before Aunt Wei even stirred, went into the small kitchen next to the main hall, and lit the two coal stoves. The smoke made her cough twice; the damp air made the coal briquettes particularly hard to ignite. After washing her hands, she placed a pot on the stove, filled it with water, and then skillfully began kneading dough on the wooden counter.

A small iron pan over a low-burning coal stove—Wen Xin had worked at a breakfast shop every summer and winter break throughout high school, so she was highly proficient with dough-based foods. Her movements were quick, precise, and smooth.

She had bought a pack of pastries on the train, finding them quite delicious. Before getting off, she purchased another pack to study, and after some experimentation, she could now replicate them perfectly. In fact, hers turned out even better—golden, crisp, and mouthwateringly fragrant.

With a casual command to her system, a menu of stored ingredients, seasonings, and various extracted essential oils appeared before her.

The system’s products were of unparalleled purity, free from any impurities, making the flavors exceptionally refined. Even with identical ingredients, anything Wen Xin made using the system’s extracts turned out unbelievably delicious.

It was the difference between drinking murky water with sediment and sipping silky smooth, filtered spring water.

Aunt Wei was an early riser, but by the time she opened the door, the enticing aroma had already filled the main hall.

In such a closely packed neighborhood, everyone cooked around the same time in the morning. Across the alley, a neighbor opened her window, spotting the old lady and calling out, “Auntie, what have you been making every morning? The smell drifts right into our home, and my kids wake up whining for food because of it.”

As soon as Aunt Wei stepped into the hall, she caught the scent of freshly griddled pancakes. She also remembered that her husband had brought home two pounds of fish heads from the back market last night—Wen Xin had probably already started stewing them.

“In times like these, what can we eat? Just some dough slapped onto a hot pan—it’s already a treat. If your kids are craving it, just make some yourself,” she responded, brushing off the conversation.

From behind the window, the neighbor craned her neck, trying to peek into their kitchen.

That was the downside of living in such a dense neighborhood—everyone knew what you were cooking. The aroma spread everywhere.

When Wen Xin first arrived, she had gone to the grocery store at the alley’s end and bought a slab of pork belly from Old Wu’s stall. She had then made a pot of braised pork for the elderly couple. Aunt Wei still remembered how outrageously delicious it was—so fragrant it was almost sinful! The whole neighborhood had noticed.

No exaggeration, the meat was so tender and flavorful that people felt overwhelmed just from the aroma.

Now, even if Wen Xin was only cooking a bowl of noodles or scooping out a ladle of minced meat sauce, someone would open their window to investigate. Some even sent their kids over, hoping for a taste.

Brushing some dust off herself, Aunt Wei finally stepped into the kitchen. One of the coal stoves was simmering a pot of fish head soup, while the other had golden, glistening pancakes sizzling away—each one the size of a palm, crispy and inviting.

Oh, the fragrance!

Since Wen Xin came to stay with them, their meals had improved day by day. Aunt Wei and her husband had even put on some weight.

A pot of hot water had already been boiled and set aside, ready for the elderly couple to use in the morning.

“You child, why are you up so early again? It’s getting colder now. Waking up so early is such a struggle. You should sleep in a little—I can handle breakfast,” Aunt Wei said, quickly taking the spatula from Wen Xin’s hand.

Wen Xin’s hair was tied up, but after working for a while, a few strands had fallen loose around her temples, making her look both delicate and alluring. She smiled and said, “It’s fine, Grandma. I’m used to it—I wake up at this time naturally. You and Grandpa can wash up first, and then breakfast will be ready.”

Aunt Wei adored this girl more and more each day. She barely had to lift a finger around the house anymore, and she was beyond pleased—she felt like she had gained a daughter.

Wen Xin was extremely thoughtful. Since Aunt Wei had refused to accept rent from her, she had taken over the responsibility of cooking all three meals.

The elderly couple had always lived frugally. Occasionally, they would buy some fried dough sticks or sesame cakes with soy milk, but that was rare. Their usual meals consisted of plain porridge with some pickled vegetables—simple and bland.

But ever since Wen Xin arrived, things had changed.

One day, she’d pick up a small bag of white flour from the grocery store. The next, she’d bring back a cut of pork belly. The day after, she’d carry home a couple of fish. She kept switching up the meals, making sure the old couple ate well. They were completely smitten with her.

Her adoptive grandfather thought about the trouble of getting a rural household registration for her and decided—why not just register her under their own family? It would be simpler.

As it happened, Aunt Wei had a younger sister whose family had fled to Xianghai years ago when times were rough. Her sister’s daughter had passed away from illness, so Aunt Wei used that identity to register Wen Xin as their niece.

Now, Wen Xin had a new name—Wei Xin.

It sounded almost the same as Wen Xin, and now, she officially had an identity in this world. That put her at ease. She had no intention of returning to the capital. From now on, this would be her life.

Aunt Wei and Uncle Wei were now her family.

And Wen Xin, with her sweet words and caring gestures, had won them over completely. They doted on her as if she were their own daughter.

The child was exceptionally good-looking, and since the neighbors knew she was the old lady’s niece, three families had already come by yesterday to propose marriage for her. But the old lady rejected them outright—she was only eighteen, and she wanted to keep her around for another two years. Times had changed; twenty wasn’t too late for marriage. Besides, with her looks, would she ever have trouble finding a husband?

The sixteen-year-old boy from the alleyway entrance was already smitten, staring at her blankly whenever he saw her. He even made it a habit to grab her basket and dash ahead to deliver it straight to her doorstep.

…

Early in the morning, Grandpa Wei bit into a freshly made, still-warm crispy pastry. The golden crust was flaky, and the center was filled with sweet sesame paste, so delicious it felt like he could swallow his tongue. He then took a sip of the fish head soup, garnished with finely chopped green onions. The broth was milky white, smooth as silk on the palate, and when it slid down his throat, the freshness was so overwhelming it was hard to tell what day it was.

After finishing his meal, Grandpa Wei took the half-pot of steaming fish head soup from the stove, wrapped five leftover pastries in a paper bag, and briskly walked to the street at the back of the alley.

At the very end of the alley stood a three-story house with red tiles and white walls. He worked there part-time, tending the fire and running small errands for twenty yuan a month.

The house belonged to a couple—the husband was mute but broad and burly, while the wife, in her thirties, was stunningly beautiful. She had a remarkable talent for cooking duck, a dish that had become her specialty. Longzhou was a land of rivers and lakes, abundant with ducks and seafood, and her duck recipe was so exquisite that those who tasted it couldn’t stop raving about it.

At first, only friends would bring their own ingredients for her to cook. Then, those friends brought more friends, and eventually, rumors began to spread. She shut her doors for a while, but later, someone with connections advised her that the government would soon be easing restrictions. She was given a few suggestions on how to proceed.

So she reopened, but this time, she only served close friends and distinguished guests—those with status, wealth, and influence. She never openly charged for meals, but apart from close friends, all her patrons were people of importance who valued their reputation. In those days, hardly anyone would dare to dine and dash—paying for food was only natural. Over time, the couple earned a considerable sum, enough to renovate their home.

The entrance was modest, like any ordinary household. A wooden table held a pot of tea, the walls were adorned with calligraphy paintings, and a few porcelain vases held delicate fabric flowers, lending the place a tranquil elegance.

To the left and right were two rooms, their doors veiled by bamboo curtains. These screens, simple yet refined, created a sense of seclusion and serenity, as if stepping into another world.

Lifting a curtain revealed an inner room divided into two private dining spaces, each with a table. The house exuded a tasteful charm—every item was placed with care, offering both practicality and beauty. At the back of the alley was the kitchen.

The mute husband crouched by the stove, tending the fire under the simmering duck. Meanwhile, his wife stood gracefully beside the pot, carefully watching the heat.

Grandpa Wei called out to him. Though the man couldn’t speak, his hearing was fine. After ensuring the fire was just right, he came out to the front hall.

“You haven’t eaten yet, have you? Come, have some. I brought this especially for you—it’s made by my niece. Try it and tell me what you think,” Grandpa Wei said, motioning for him to sit.

The mute man chuckled in his deep, throaty way, “Heh heh,” then grabbed a bowl and ladled himself some fish head soup.