Chapter 12: The Overpowering Aroma

For dinner, Qiao Nian planned to make a pot of braised chicken with potatoes and serve it with a few cornmeal flatbreads. But the household had neither potatoes nor cornmeal. Hua Guixiang, ever supportive and doting on her granddaughter, immediately said she would go trade for some. Carrying a wild pheasant and tucking five wild pheasant eggs into her pouch, she headed off to the Village Chief’s house.

They hadn’t yet properly thanked the Village Chief for his help with yesterday’s separation of households, and they didn’t have anything particularly valuable to offer. Since they’d caught quite a few pheasants that afternoon, keeping one for dinner and gifting one to the Village Chief seemed like a fitting gesture of gratitude. The rest could be sold in town the next day.

Seeing how pleased the elderly woman was with her plan, Qiao Nian didn’t object. Selling the pheasants and rabbits was fine. She could always head back to the mountain for another round of trapping—surely she’d catch more.

Qiao Nian boiled some water to bleed and pluck the pheasant and remove its innards. Ping’an handled most of this work on his own with practiced ease. Back when Qiao Father brought back game, if it was something they planned to eat themselves, Ping’an was always called to help with the preparations. When he was younger, he just watched from the side; as he got older, he started taking care of the smaller game by himself.

Of course, Qiao Father had never hunted anything large. If he had, the family wouldn’t be in such dire straits.

Just as Qiao Nian finished blanching the pheasant, Hua Guixiang returned with a bowl of cornmeal and three potatoes, each roughly the size of a child’s fist.

“Nian’nian, let Grandma handle it. You sit and rest—you must be tired after climbing the mountain today.” Hua Guixiang placed the ingredients on the counter and was about to take over.

Qiao Nian quickly refused. If she let Hua Guixiang cook, how could she sneak in her little tricks? “I’m not tired, Grandma. You just rest. Did you go to the fields this afternoon?”

Seeing that her granddaughter didn’t look too worn out, Hua Guixiang didn’t insist. She told Ping’an to go inside and keep an eye on the rabbits so they wouldn’t escape. Then she sat in front of the stove to keep the fire going. Her voice slowed a little as she spoke, “Yes, I went to the fields. There’s been little rain this year. The wheat isn’t growing well. I’m afraid our one acre of dry land won’t yield much this time.” A trace of worry crept onto her face as she spoke.

Qiao Nian quickly rinsed the blanched chicken pieces, then scooped a spoonful of pork lard into the cleaned pot to melt. Without lifting her head, she replied, “Grandma, don’t worry too much. If the heavens don’t bring rain, there’s nothing we can do. Now that this household is in my hands, trust me to handle things. Your granddaughter will find a way to earn money. I won’t let our family go hungry.”

Even as she spoke, her hands didn’t pause. She noticed Hua Guixiang’s eyes were fixed on the fire in the stove and, taking advantage of the distraction, used her mind to summon soy sauce, oyster sauce, thirteen-spice blend, cinnamon sticks, bay leaves, Sichuan peppercorns, and dried chilies from her space and tossed them into the pot.

After a quick stir-fry, she added water and covered the pot to let it simmer. She also snuck in some spiritual spring water, then turned to prepare the potatoes—peeling, rinsing, chopping—and mixed the cornmeal dough to let it rest before making flatbreads.

Hua Guixiang’s lips curled into a faint smile. Looking at her granddaughter’s unusually slender figure, her heart ached with tenderness. Her voice remained as gentle as ever, “Just don’t overwork yourself. Now that the weather’s warming, there’s more edible stuff growing in the mountains. At worst, we can just make more trips. Wild herbs and mushrooms—we won’t starve.”

Qiao Nian knew this was how life had always been for the people here. She couldn’t argue with it, so she simply changed the subject.

The two chatted idly as the aroma of the braised chicken began to fill the room, rich and mouthwatering. It lured Ping’an from inside, nose twitching as he leaned over the pot. “A-Jie, it smells amazing! Why is today’s pheasant so fragrant?”

Hua Guixiang agreed—it did smell unusually good today. Her mouth was watering non-stop. She figured it was simply because it had been so long since they’d had meat, and everyone was craving it.

Qiao Nian inhaled the bold, heady aroma in the air and thought to herself that the spiritual spring water was surely the reason. She’d used even more spices in the past and never had it smell this heavenly. From now on, she’d have to be more careful—not to use too much at once, lest it draw suspicion.

“It really does smell good. We haven’t had any meat in months. It’s not just Ping’an craving it—even this old woman’s been longing for a taste,” said Hua Guixiang, the lines on her face easing slightly as she spoke.

“You’re right, Grandma. Ping’an, go wait outside for a bit. I’m about to stick the cornbread onto the pot. It’ll be ready soon.” Qiao Nian tried to get Ping’an to leave. If he kept hanging around the stove, he might discover the spices she had used.

Ping’an left reluctantly. A few moments later, Qiao Nian lifted the lid again. A cloud of white steam instantly billowed out. Once it cleared, she quickly stirred the pot with a spatula, then added the diced potatoes. Taking advantage of the motion, she used the spatula to push all the visible spices to one side and swiftly stored them back into her space.

Only then did she wet her hands and shape the mixed flour into palm-sized patties, sticking them neatly to the inner wall of the pot.

Once the patties were set, Hua Guixiang turned down the fire to a low heat. About fifteen minutes later, the cornbread was done, and the chicken had simmered to tender perfection. Ping’an didn’t even need to be called—he was already waiting by the doorway, eager for dinner.

The three of them ate in near silence, heads down, not a word wasted. One chicken, three potatoes, and six palm-sized cornbread cakes—astonishingly, they left behind only a bit of broth.

“A-Jie, your cooking just keeps getting better! This chicken was absolutely delicious!” Ping’an wanted to say he hoped they could keep the remaining chicken and the two rabbits to eat later, but he knew the family’s situation. He swallowed the thought. Tonight’s meal was the fullest he’d felt in months, and he didn’t want to seem greedy.

Hua Guixiang also praised her granddaughter’s cooking. She was stuffed herself but felt a twinge of guilt. Nearly a whole pot of chicken and potatoes, gone in one meal. They really shouldn’t eat like this next time.

Qiao Nian blushed at the compliments, though she knew the real credit belonged to the spiritual spring water. Still, she smiled openly and said, “I think it came out really well too. I’ll make it like this again next time—haha, you both have lots of good meals ahead of you!”

As soon as she said that, Hua Guixiang playfully tapped her on the forehead with a smile. Qiao Nian felt a warm rush in her heart. She was no longer a wandering soul without warmth or purpose. She had a home. She had family. And that meant everything.

After dinner, Hua Guixiang insisted on washing the dishes herself and pushed the siblings to bed early—they still had to get up before dawn to go to town.

Qiao Nian had been so absorbed in the delicious food and cozy atmosphere that she hadn’t noticed how dark it had gotten outside. It wasn’t until she stepped out of the kitchen that she saw night had fully fallen.

“A-Jie, go to bed first. I’ll shut the courtyard gate and go to sleep too,” said Ping’an.

Qiao Nian nodded, reminding him to rest early as well, then returned to her room.

After closing the gate, Ping’an thought he’d wait for Grandma to finish washing up before heading back inside. He turned toward the kitchen but suddenly saw a figure standing under the eaves of the west wing. The sight startled him.

He squinted and, by the faint light leaking from the main house in the west courtyard, finally made out who it was—Qiao Jiaojiao, who hadn’t shown her face in two days.

Her pitch-black eyes glinted coldly in the darkness, sending an inexplicable chill through him.

Ping’an noticed her staring in their direction, unsure what scheme she might be plotting this time. He cautiously called out, “Jiaojiao-Jie, what are you doing standing there?”

Qiao Jiaojiao had been drawn out of her room by the enticing aroma. She’d been feeling particularly nauseous these days and couldn’t stomach even a bite of their usual food. She had been lying in bed when that overpowering scent wafted straight to her nose. She couldn’t resist and stepped outside—only to discover the tantalizing aroma was coming from the east wing. She was so furious she nearly stomped her foot.

She immediately went to find her mother, only to be told that she had no idea how the main branch had managed to cook meat. Even she was tempted to drool at the smell. If Ping’shun were still around, they might have been able to ask for a bowl, but now it was just the two of them. She didn’t want to go and see the main branch basking in their good fortune. Her mother told her to endure it, promising that once she married into the Chen Family, she’d have all the meat she wanted.