Chapter 9: Drawing the Menu

After making up her mind, the next day Song Miaomiao went up the mountain carrying a saw.

Menus were used frequently, and drawing on xuan paper wouldn’t work—it was too fragile and too expensive. She couldn’t afford it.

But there was a type of tree in the mountains with bark that could be used for drawing.

Hunters often used charcoal to mark things on it when tracking game.

“Yah!!”

Song Miaomiao sawed through the top and bottom sections of the bark, then cut a line across the middle. Using a stick, she pried up one edge and began to peel.

She thought that since it had been cut on all four sides, it would come off easily.

But unexpectedly, the layers of bark were still stuck together. She pulled for a long time and couldn’t get it off.

In that moment, her desire for money overpowered her fear of soft-bodied bugs.

She rolled up her sleeves, braced one foot against the tree root, and pulled with both hands while leaning back.

But she yanked too hard—the bark tore in the middle, and she was thrown backward by the recoil.

“Ahhhh!!”

Song Miaomiao screamed in panic—if she fell, she’d roll straight down the mountain.

At the last second—

A strong arm wrapped around her waist, pulling her back. A wave of masculine scent enveloped her—she had been saved.

“You okay?”

Lu Zheng let go of her, hiding his hands behind his back, his ears a little red.

Song Miaomiao had never been this close to a man before. Her face turned as red as the evening sun, and she stammered awkwardly.

“I—I’m fine. Thank you for saving me… again.”

She lowered her head, revealing a stretch of snow-white neck.

Thanks to his height, Lu Zheng had a perfect view—and his throat suddenly went dry. Embarrassed, he looked away in a hurry.

Noticing the half-peeled bark, he walked over, used a dagger to pry along the edge, and easily pulled off a whole piece.

He handed it to Song Miaomiao. “Want more?”

Song Miaomiao stared in wonder at the bark—it was nearly half her height.

She forgot to be shy and nodded eagerly like a pecking chick.

“Yes! I need two more pieces!”

Lu Zheng stripped off two more for her. Song Miaomiao gratefully accepted them and handed him some wild mushrooms she had picked along the way.

“Thanks for your help—these are for you.”

Lu Zheng originally didn’t want to accept, but when he saw the joy in her eyes, he swallowed his refusal and took the mushrooms.

After carefully placing the bark into her basket, Song Miaomiao tied some dry grass around the exposed tree trunk.

Lu Zheng asked curiously, “What’s that for?”

Song Miaomiao replied seriously, “The book said that if you cover a tree after peeling the bark, it won’t feel cold and can survive the winter safely.”

She had taken the tree’s “clothes,” so she had to give it something to wear in return.

Lu Zheng looked up at the scorching sun, opened his mouth to say something, but in the end, said nothing.

…

Back home, Song Miaomiao used dry grass as a spacer and weighed the bark down with flat stones to sun-dry it.

At night, she brought it inside. The next day, she continued drying it under the sun. After three days, the curled, damp bark became flat and dry.

She took a bowl, flipped it upside down on the bark, traced perfect circles, and cut them out with scissors.

Then, using charcoal, she carefully sketched the shapes of various dishes.

Finally, she used plant- and flower-based pigments to color them.

From morning till midday, she worked non-stop and finally completed thirty illustrated dishes.

Eager to test their value, she told Wang Guifang she was going out—and rushed out the door.

Wang Guifang thought she was headed into the mountains again and didn’t ask questions.

She didn’t realize Song Miaomiao had gone to the village entrance, boarded a passing ox cart, and was on her way to town.

The joy of possibly earning money gave her enormous courage—she wasn’t even afraid to travel alone anymore.

About an hour later, she paid the cart driver three copper coins and walked confidently toward the most luxurious restaurant in town.

And then—

“Go, go, go! Where’d this bumpkin come from? Not even here to eat and wants to see our manager?”

“Sorry, miss, our restaurant is doing just fine. We really don’t need any kind of illustrated menu.”

Song Miaomiao anxiously took out her samples, humbly begging them to at least have a look.

But without exception, she was thrown out of every place she tried.

From initial shame and anger, she spiraled into despair.

In the end, she sat helplessly by the street wall, silently crying.

She realized how useless she was. After a whole month back home, she still hadn’t even earned the few taels of silver needed to save her mother.

Suddenly, someone offered her a bowl of water.

It was a kind waiter with a white towel draped over his shoulder.

“Miss, it’s so hot—have some water, don’t cry.”

With teary eyes, Song Miaomiao looked up at him, sniffled, wiped her face, and choked out a soft:

“Thank you!”

The waiter was stunned for a moment—oh my, he thought, when she had her head down he didn’t notice, but now he saw—she was like a fairy.

After she drank the water, the waiter returned with the porcelain bowl to a nearby, modest-looking eatery.

Song Miaomiao thought about going in to try selling her menu again, but hesitated.

The place didn’t look like it had great business—would they really spend money on a menu?

“I don’t want to be kicked out again…”

She clutched the sack in her basket, then gathered her courage and stepped inside.

From around the corner of the street, someone who had been quietly watching quickly withdrew their foot, eyes glued to the doorway of the eatery.

Inside, the shopkeeper, upon hearing her purpose, didn’t immediately throw her out. Instead, while clicking his abacus, he said with a distracted tone:

“An illustrated menu? Sounds interesting—let me take a look.”

Song Miaomiao hurriedly brought out her work.

To prevent the edges of the bark from cutting her hands, Song Miaomiao had carefully sewn them with grass stems. Held in the hand, the menu looked like a little fan—quite charming, actually.

That afternoon, there wasn’t much business in the shop. The waiter stood nearby, watching the show, and exclaimed in surprise:

“This one’s braised pork? It looks so real!”

On the white bark, a large porcelain bowl was filled to the brim with braised pork—the meat glistened with color, practically making one’s mouth water at the sight.

The shopkeeper finally looked up, his gaze briefly scanning the menu. He let out a small “hm?”—as if something had caught his interest—and reached out to take the bark.

Pan-fried tofu, river fish sashimi, Yunmeng rice cakes, eight-treasure duck, tricolor crystal noodles, three-delicacy bone soup, roast chicken, roast goose, roast duck…

Thirty dishes in total, all common favorites known to the people of Daqian.

And with just one glance, the shopkeeper could identify each one—there was no guessing what the pictures meant.

He quickly realized how valuable this menu was.

This eatery had been passed down from his father. While it couldn’t compare to the upscale inns in town, it survived by offering authentic flavors and affordable prices.

Business wasn’t bad, but not great either—mostly reliant on regulars bringing in new customers.

Sometimes, if a newcomer ordered something they didn’t like, they wouldn’t return a second time.

But with this illustrated menu, that issue could be avoided entirely.

Not to mention, the menu’s artistic style was fresh and unique—it could even serve as a draw for new customers.

He finally gave a proper look to the delicate girl who had just been crying her eyes out by the door moments ago.

“How much are you selling this for?”

Song Miaomiao’s eyes lit up. “You want to buy it?”

The shopkeeper said, “I’m interested, but it depends on your price. This is just a small place—I can’t afford anything too expensive.”

Seeing his interest, Song Miaomiao timidly held up one finger.

The shopkeeper raised his eyebrows. “One tael?”

Song Miaomiao: “…”