Chapter 15.1

The next morning was New Year’s Eve.

From every household came the sound of firecrackers, and groups of children were running wildly through the village.

Today was also the perfect day to put up Spring Festival couplets. Su Ying’s family still used the old-fashioned method—cooking glutinous rice paste to stick them up.

Making the paste themselves was eco-friendly and practical. They brought out the ladder from home. Ying’s dad climbed up the ladder, aligning the couplets while Su Ying directed from below.

“A little to the left, more… okay, that’s good.”

“This one needs to go higher… no, too high! A bit lower.”

After Su Ying gave instructions, her dad stuck the couplets in place. Meanwhile, her mom was brushing paste onto the horizontal scroll and passing it to her dad when he came down the ladder.

Next came the window decorations. By mixing dishwashing liquid with water and spraying it onto the window, they could easily stick on the static-cling window decals. A quick swipe with a glass scraper pressed them flat and neat.

This method was so convenient—even if the decals were a bit crooked, they could be adjusted. These new gadgets were really handy.

There were also all kinds of “Fu” (blessing) characters to hang on doors. These came with hooks, so they could simply stick and hang.

After this flurry of decorating, the house was filled with the festive air of the New Year. Ying’s dad also brought out firecrackers—a string of fifty. He hung them at the door, lit the fuse with a lighter, and quickly ran inside with his ears covered.

The whole family covered their ears, listening to the loud firecracker explosions. A new year was about to begin.

After that, there was still a mountain of things to do: preparing fried snacks, cooking dinner, and staying up late to wrap dumplings. New Year’s Eve was a full day of work.

The family went to the vegetable garden behind the shed and pulled up two plump white radishes, each weighing over a kilo. They also harvested a head of Chinese cabbage for the evening hotpot, plus a few eggplants and two cucumbers.

After harvesting the fresh vegetables, they went to the cellar to fetch potatoes, flour, and dried vermicelli.

The night before, they had already taken out a large piece of pork shoulder to thaw. Now the meat was in perfect condition and ready to be minced. They also had a tenderloin, which would be used to make Sweet and Sour Pork (Guobaorou) later.

From the fridge, they took out tofu to start making fried meatballs.

The radish was grated into short shreds. To remove its pungency, it was blanched briefly in boiling water, then cooled in cold water. Soaked vermicelli was cut into pieces and mixed with the radish, along with chopped scallions, flour, starch, salt, pepper, and the spice mix “Thirteen Fragrances.”

Two eggs were beaten in and mixed well. The batter couldn’t be too thin—the right consistency was when the mixture could form clumps when lifted with chopsticks.

They also prepared tofu meatballs. Wearing gloves, they crumbled tofu and mixed it with flour, starch, minced pork, salt, pepper, and Thirteen Fragrances.

With the ingredients ready, they heated plenty of oil in the wok until it was hot and smoking slightly. The meatballs were dropped in one by one and left alone until they firmed up, then gently separated as they naturally floated apart.

When making meatballs, they knew better than to chat idly—if the meatballs burned, it was always blamed on talking too much!

The family worked seamlessly together. Ying’s mom shaped the meatballs, Ying’s dad fried them, and Su Ying… tasted them.

Eating by the stove had its own special flavor.

The freshly fried meatballs were crispy on the outside, fragrant with the layered aroma of Thirteen Fragrances. The radish meatballs had a slight sweetness from the radish, while the tofu meatballs were more savory thanks to the pork.

Before long, they had filled two big basins.

Next came stuffed eggplant fritters. The eggplants were sliced almost all the way through so they stayed connected, then stuffed with the same pork filling used for dumplings.

Sweet potato starch was mixed with water and allowed to settle; the clear water was poured off, leaving the starch at the bottom—a thick, non-Newtonian batter. The stuffed eggplants were dipped into this batter and fried until golden brown. After the first fry, they were fried again for three minutes to make them even crispier.

Su Ying quickly grabbed one and popped it in her mouth, yelping at the heat but unable to hide her delight. The shell was incredibly crunchy, while the eggplant and meat juices burst with flavor.

Then they prepared the pork tenderloin for Sweet and Sour Pork. Each slice was pounded flat, marinated with scallion and ginger water, salt, and pepper, then dipped into the starch batter before being fried. Like the eggplants, the pieces were fried twice for extra crispiness. These would be coated in sweet-and-sour sauce later.

With most of the frying done, they strained the remaining oil and stored it in a jar to use later for cooking.

Next on the list was pork skin jelly. The pork skin came from the pig they had slaughtered for New Year. It was a large, intact piece, cleaned thoroughly of any hair.

They boiled it with scallions, ginger, and star anise, skimming off any foam, then took it out after five minutes to scrape off all the fat. The cleaned skin was sliced into thin strips, placed back in the pot with plenty of water, and simmered for thirty minutes until the gelatin was fully extracted. A bit of soy sauce was added for color, and the mixture was poured into a basin to cool.

New Year’s Eve lunch was spent snacking while cooking, without a proper meal. The whole family was busy preparing for the evening’s hotpot and dumplings.

The Sweet and Sour Pork was finished by making a tangy-sweet sauce, tossing in some scallion strips, and stir-frying the crispy pork pieces until coated. The sauce’s acidity balanced the richness of the fried food, making it irresistible.

The pork skin jelly had already solidified after twenty minutes outdoors in the cold. They flipped the basin to unmold it, sliced it into flower-shaped pieces, and served it with garlic and soy sauce.

The evening’s hotpot ingredients were abundant. They washed the cabbage and sliced the potatoes, soaking them in vinegar water to keep them crisp.

Frozen lamb rolls were sliced into full plates of thin slices—unlike the hotpot restaurants where the bottom was all ice and the meat barely covered the top, these plates were piled high with nothing but meat.

There were also various hotpot meatballs and shrimp paste scoops. Drinks were placed on the table, and they brought out a bottle of baijiu.

They even had a new dual-flavor hotpot pot: one side with Su Ying’s favorite brand of spicy Sichuan hotpot base bought online, and the other with a rich bone broth simmered with dried mushrooms.

Hotpot wouldn’t be complete without dipping sauces.

For lamb, sesame paste mixed with a bit of sugar was a must. They also prepared a fragrant oil dip with scallion, garlic, cilantro, and a splash of oyster sauce. Finally, they made a dry dipping mix of toasted sesame seeds, crushed peanuts, cumin powder, salt, and chili powder.

All kinds of dipping sauces were ready to satisfy every taste.