Osmanthus Red Bean Porridge

Xia Jiao asked, “Did you just… pretend?”

The air conditioner was set to 24°C, which felt a bit too cold for Xia Jiao. Her arms and the back of her hands were chilled by the breeze. Wen Chongyue raised his hand and touched her cheek, as if he had discovered something precious. He gently pinched it and said in a low voice, “Just a little.”

Xia Jiao didn’t quite believe him.

After all, it was widely known that a truly drunk man could only fall helplessly. All the wild behavior after drinking was just an excuse to let loose and act out.

But it was also understandable. Work was work, and sometimes one had to attend social gatherings they couldn’t refuse. Xia Jiao had been through such situations herself. It seemed that pretending to be drunk was the only way to “escape” unscathed. Wen Chongyue had mentioned once that he didn’t like drinking alcohol for the sake of socializing. Xia Jiao rested her hand on his shoulder, and Wen Chongyue tilted his face to kiss the inside of her elbow. His breath was like cola after being shaken up, full of bubbles that rushed out with a fizzy sound.

The atmosphere was so intoxicating that Xia Jiao felt like she was about to be swept away. When Wen Chongyue’s lips lightly brushed her fingertip, she suddenly remembered something and asked him, “Does this count as a drunken indulgence?”

“Yes,” Wen Chongyue replied, “so please, Jiao Jiao, don’t make any sound.”

Even the surrounding air seemed to carry warmth, and only he could provide it. Wen Chongyue covered her lips and whispered, “Don’t let your parents find out. We need to be discreet.”

He had completely immersed himself in the role. His shirt was buttoned up to the top, his tie still on, perfectly neat and serious, with an expression that made him look like a refined, but perhaps slightly twisted teacher.

It was like being in a warm ocean. Xia Jiao couldn’t make a sound as Wen Chongyue gently led her into the hazy atmosphere of drunken teacher-student playfulness. She mumbled “Teacher Wen,” which only served to fuel the mood between them. Xia Jiao finally noticed that the phone on the table was still recording. What was originally meant to capture Wen Chongyue’s drunken state had now turned into a tool for teasing her. She reached up to grab the phone, but Wen Chongyue leaned over from behind and took her hand, pinching her cheek to make her look at the image on the screen.

“Very beautiful,” Wen Chongyue complimented. He moved one hand away, allowing her to breathe freely, and said thoughtfully, “Maybe we can add a mirror.”

Xia Jiao couldn’t imagine that scene. Just looking at the phone screen made her face turn hot. She saw herself in a pose that resembled a cat stretching, bent in an awkward position. Wen Chongyue, in his shirt and trousers, looked composed, except for his hands which were resting on her shoulders, long and bony, with veins faintly visible.

Xia Jiao said, “According to feng shui, it’s said that having mirrors in the bedroom is bad luck.”

Wen Chongyue responded with a soft hum, “Perhaps we could consult a master about that sometime. Have them make the decision for us.”

He steadied her, as if practicing calligraphy, holding his pen slowly and firmly on the paper, allowing the ink to seep into the fibers of the thin paper, gradually filling it.

Before Xia Jiao could say anything, Wen Chongyue covered her mouth and sighed, telling her, “Shh, keep your voice down.”

Xia Jiao was drawn into a dreamlike fantasy, step by step, walking into the scene he painted with his words, as if trapped in a humid and oppressive summer. In the room with Wen Chongyue, they secretly shared a chocolate candy wrapped in almonds. Wen Chongyue covered her lips, reminding her not to make any noise. Unable to control herself, Xia Jiao bit his hand. The mark on his finger, his brotherly charm, was swallowed whole.

In truth, the house was quiet. Xia Mi and Wen Quan were outside, playing on the windowsill, jumping up and down. There was no one else in the house, but Xia Jiao felt as if her parents were right outside, as usual—cooking, watching TV, chatting. Wen Chongyue’s breath by her ear felt like layers of ink being spread over her skin. Xia Jiao shivered, and Wen Chongyue softly comforted her, telling her to relax.

He always had this ability to easily stir up emotions in others. Xia Jiao was sure she hadn’t been drinking, but in this disorienting atmosphere, she felt as if she were drunk.

Through the haze, she remembered the later part of the evening. Xia Mi had bounced over to them, and it was probably the most helpless moment for Wen Chongyue. He had to go downstairs in his shirt to chase Xia Mi away. Once the cats were locked out, he half-sat, gently kissed Xia Jiao.

He smelled nice. His warm palm patted her back, comforting her as she trembled.

Xia Jiao, still in a daze, thought that Wen Chongyue’s good qualities were not limited to his drinking habits. He was also great in bed. He wasn’t the type of man who only cared about his own pleasure without considering his partner’s feelings. Excluding spicy main dishes, whether it was pre-dinner drinks or post-meal desserts, Wen Chongyue was always gentle and considerate. He made sure she had a pleasant experience and could fall asleep wrapped in warmth.

If we don’t talk about love, he was truly a qualified husband.

Xia Jiao liked this.

She was simply talking big, all talk and no action, but Wen Chongyue was different. He had patience. He never forced her to do anything but guided her gently. She was shy, but it didn’t matter. As long as someone took charge, it was always a great experience.

The video wasn’t saved. Later, Wen Chongyue played it for her so she could listen to his voice while working out. Xia Jiao was so embarrassed she deleted it immediately after.

She wiped it clean, even the recently deleted files.

The meat jelly in the kitchen had finally set after waiting for some time. Unlike other meat jellies made from pigskin, Wen Chongyue had used only pork shoulder, which wasn’t greasy. There was more meat and less jelly.

At the “brunch” the next day, there was the crystal-clear meat jelly, sliced into thick pieces. The meat was cold, and the jelly melted in your mouth, leaving behind a lingering fragrance. The meat itself was tender and flavorful, seasoned with a little ginger and vinegar, giving it a delicate and soft texture.

Wen Chongyue made Osmanthus Red Bean Porridge. Since it wasn’t Osmanthus season, these flowers were dried Osmanthus blossoms, collected and hand-dried by Aunt Yu Tan herself, who sent some over. It was perfect for making porridge.

In addition to the usual fruit and vegetable salad and the golden, pan-fried lotus root cakes, today’s table had an unexpected guest—round, plump, white glutinous rice dumplings filled with bamboo shoots, minced meat, black fungus, dried shrimp, and yellow flower vegetables. They looked refreshing and cute.

Xia Jiao turned around, confused. “What’s this?”

Wen Chongyue brought over a bowl filled with golden broth, signaling Xia Jiao to gently scoop some with a spoon, pouring it over the dumplings. “This is stir-fried meat-filled dumplings. It’s a summer dish, only eaten in this season.”

The broth was evenly poured into the dumplings from the top. Xia Jiao took a small bite—it was like eating soup-filled dumplings, but without worrying about burning her tongue. The broth had been tempered to a mild, suitable temperature. The translucent glutinous rice dumplings were chewy, and the filling wasn’t too meaty, but it was fresh and delicious with the fragrant vegetables. Xia Jiao swallowed one and let out a pleased sound. Wen Chongyue made six dumplings in total, five of them were already in her stomach.

The Osmanthus Red Bean Porridge was also delicious. Wen Chongyue didn’t add sugar, so the subtle fragrance of the Osmanthus, the soft sweetness of the red beans, and the pure, refreshing flavor of the long-grain rice all came through delicately. But after eating so many dumplings, Xia Jiao only drank a couple of sips of porridge before standing up and walking around a bit, then sitting down to continue drinking.

Wen Chongyue couldn’t help but chuckle and kindly suggested, “If you can’t drink any more, you can rest for a while. I’ll make more for you tomorrow morning.”

Xia Jiao asked, “Really?”

“Really.”

For the next three days, Xia Jiao happily drank Osmanthus Red Bean Porridge, and on the fourth day, a new treat appeared—sugar porridge. Suzhou-style sugar porridge is different from others. The red beans are cooked separately, and once the porridge is done, the sweet bean paste is poured over. Though it’s called porridge, it’s more like a dessert.

The sound of cicadas began to fill the air, and the lotus breeze crossed the pond. On summer nights, the retreat garden in Tongli opened for night tours, and the Master’s Garden began its show of The Peony Pavilion. For ten yuan, you could buy two large lotus pods. After finishing work, you could come and enjoy them. Xia Jiao worked hard to tear open the lotus pod, remove the seeds, carefully peel off the green skin, and remove the bitter heart, offering the lotus seeds to Wen Chongyue for him to taste.

Wen Chongyue lowered his head and unintentionally kissed her finger. Xia Jiao shuddered but didn’t pull away, continuing to watch the singing from the waterside pavilion.

People often say that “Wu Nong soft speech” is the softest of all dialects, especially Suzhou dialect, which is tender, sweet, and rhythmic, like a low song. Wen Chongyue found it interesting and asked Xia Jiao to say a few sentences. Xia Jiao, though from Yangzhou, also spoke some Suzhou dialect, but she only understood a little and couldn’t fully comprehend it.

For example, what does “滴灵滚圆” (dī líng gǔn yuán, round) or “触气” (chù qì, displeasing) mean? “弗” (fú) means “no,” and the tone particles “哉” (zāi) or “来哉” (lái zāi) are often used with a sing-song intonation.

In early summer, old ladies would walk around with little baskets selling tiny white flower wristlets: “Would you like to buy a flower?”

Yangzhou people don’t speak like that, so Xia Jiao couldn’t say it.

But there were some similarities in expressions. Things that were spicy weren’t just spicy, they were “辣嚯嚯” (là huō huō, spicy). Sweet wasn’t just sweet, it was “甜咪咪” (tián mī mī, sweet), and bitter was “苦哒哒” (kǔ dā dā, bitter). The frequent use of reduplication added a soft, gentle tone to everything, which Wen Chongyue found amusing, so he kept asking Xia Jiao to speak more.

After talking for a while, Xia Jiao realized something was wrong, turned her face away, and ate her lotus seeds in silence, not offering him any.

The crab roe soup dumplings on the table were all gone, and only half a bowl of sweet glutinous rice balls remained, but they weren’t as delicious as Wen Chongyue’s. Xia Jiao’s taste had been spoiled by him, so she just focused on peeling lotus seeds. Wen Chongyue tried to take some from her, but she grabbed the lotus pod and hugged it to her chest, refusing to give it to him.

Wen Chongyue thought for a moment and teased her. “What, are you mad?”

Xia Jiao giggled and deliberately pronounced each word clearly, “Repetitive words, so annoying.”

Wen Chongyue leaned in closer, and Xia Jiao mischievously shoved a half-peeled lotus seed into his mouth, leaving the bitter heart inside. It was bitter, but Wen Chongyue ate it without a change in expression. Xia Jiao was curious, so she ate one too and immediately had to drink several sips of water to wash away the bitterness.

Xia Jiao asked, “Do you like bitter things?”

Wen Chongyue replied, “A bit of bitterness is good for the body.”

Xia Jiao didn’t agree with this theory. She didn’t want to eat anything bitter.

He stood up to go to the bathroom and told Xia Jiao to sit still and not wander around. Xia Jiao nodded, still focused on peeling the lotus seeds. It was refreshing to eat them in summer, and since it was a weekday, there weren’t many people out. The night was pleasantly cool.

Wen Chongyue’s phone ringtone broke Xia Jiao’s concentration. She leaned over to glance at it. The contact name was simple: Testing Group. After hesitating for a moment, she picked up the call. A drunken female voice came through, slurred and unclear: “Director, I’ve had too much to drink. Can you come and—”

“Sorry,” Xia Jiao interrupted. “I’m Wen Chongyue’s wife. Is there something I can help you with?”

The line went silent.

Xia Jiao continued, “If there’s something urgent, you can tell me, and I’ll pass it along—”

She looked up and saw Wen Chongyue approaching. She fell silent, thinking for a moment.

Wen Chongyue sat next to Xia Jiao.

He wasn’t surprised to see his phone with her. Xia Jiao handed the phone over to him and quietly said, “It seems like one of your colleagues.”

Wen Chongyue remained calm. He answered the call. “Hello.”

Xia Jiao could only vaguely hear the voice on the other end.

“…I’ve had a lot to drink. I’m in the car. Can you come and help me, or I…”

The rest was unclear.

Wen Chongyue politely listened until she finished speaking.

He calmly asked, “What do you need me to do? Should I call 122 and have the traffic police help you with your drunk driving?”

The person on the other end called out, “Director.”

“Miss Song,” Wen Chongyue said, “If you can’t drive after drinking, please contact a designated driver, not make meaningless calls that could affect my wife and me.