Small Lotus Leaves and Small Lotus Pods Soup

The breeze at the end of summer was slightly cool. Xia Jiao peeled a lotus seed and popped it into her mouth. The faint bitterness spread, and she let out a soft “Eh?” before realizing she had forgotten to remove the bitter core of the seed.

The bitter taste had completely masked the lotus seed’s fragrance.

Wen Chongyue finished his call and explained to Xia Jiao, “A new colleague.”

Xia Jiao lowered her head and continued peeling the lotus seeds. “Mm.”

Wen Chongyue added, “She’s the niece of my mother’s second husband.”

Xia Jiao raised an eyebrow. “Huh?”

She wasn’t very good at understanding family relationships and, after a moment of thinking, could only conclude that they had no blood relation and were probably of the same generation.

The rest didn’t matter much… right?

“I think I should tell you,” Wen Chongyue said slowly, “I was anxious to get married, and it had something to do with them.”

Xia Jiao understood immediately.

She let out an “ah” and the peeled lotus seeds fell from her hands. Wen Chongyue peeled a new one, picked out the core, and stuffed it into Xia Jiao’s mouth.

Xia Jiao chewed slowly.

She asked, “Did they want you two to be together?”

Wen Chongyue replied, “It was just something they wanted.”

Xia Jiao looked up, the light from the setting sun shining on his face. From across the small pond, the sound of soft, lilting singing came through hidden speakers. Wen Chongyue took her hand in his. “You don’t have to worry.”

Xia Jiao nodded with an “Oh.”

The bitterness from the lotus core lingered, but the fragrance of the seed gradually filled her senses.

If she were to say she was worried, it would probably be about the possible instability of their marriage.

If we were to evaluate Xia Jiao’s survival skills, she’d be in a state of “Schrödinger’s well-being,” constantly swinging between being “extremely capable” and “completely helpless.”

In fact, Xia Jiao didn’t like change. For example, if she had made plans to meet a friend for shopping at 10 a.m. the next day, she’d have everything meticulously planned: wake up at 8 a.m., wash up, get dressed and put on makeup, and aim to arrive either on time or 20 minutes early. If, during this process, the friend suddenly called to cancel, her mood would instantly plummet.

It could very well ruin her entire day.

She didn’t hold it against her friend, but the frustration and disappointment of having her plans abruptly changed bothered her.

Xia Jiao had gotten used to a steady life and absolutely hated frequent moving, job changes, or changes in her living environment. The mere thought of it made her feel resistant. But if she really had no choice and had to move or relocate, she could adapt quickly. She wouldn’t get sick or lose sleep over it.

She didn’t dislike difficulty, she simply didn’t like changes that carried an unknown outcome.

Like her current job, which she was quite satisfied with. While the pay wasn’t particularly high, she loved working with plants. She didn’t need to interact with too many people, nor did she have to participate in drinking events or social obligations.

Sometimes, it wasn’t the work itself that was tiring, but the sense of frustration and helplessness that came with it—like being forced to attend a drinking event or being pressured to drink.

Xia Jiao didn’t feel troubled now. The working environment was beautiful, and she loved floral design. If there was anything bothersome, it was her difficult relationship with Gao Chan and Yu Qingzhen.

Thankfully, they maintained basic politeness. Xia Jiao didn’t take sides. They both knew Xia Jiao’s temperament and occasionally vented about each other in front of her, but it wasn’t a big issue.

The old man still came every day to buy a single rose, preferring not to speak to others. But one day, he suddenly asked Xia Jiao, “Do you write cards here?”

Xia Jiao was tying a ribbon when she heard him. She immediately responded, “Yes, we can provide free cards for you to choose from, if you’d like.”

The old man asked her to bring out the free cards. He scrutinized them for a long time and, dissatisfied with their quality, asked if there were any paid options.

Xia Jiao went to the warehouse, brought out a large box, and patiently waited as the old man picked a card. She also explained the material, size, and recommended use for each one…

The old man, rarely interrupting her, finally chose a card made from pressed flowers of dried roses and pulp. He then told her to write something.

Leaning against the counter, the old man mumbled in a stiff voice, “Wishing my wife a happy mood.”

Xia Jiao waited quietly. Then the old man squeezed out another phrase from between his teeth, “Wishing her good health soon.”

That was it. Xia Jiao finished writing the card, the old man paid, took the rose, and left. His tall figure blended into the sunlight outside, the wind chimes on the glass door ringing. The sun shone brightly on the road, and his figure was bathed in light, his silhouette tinged with blue from the sunlight.

Xia Jiao turned around and carefully placed a Powder Snow Mountain rose into a vase for sale. She sighed in relief.

Yes, this was fine—simple and peaceful, no surprises, no shocks.

In contrast to her slow and “steady” nature, Wen Chongyue was someone who loved to try new things and encouraged Xia Jiao to join in. For instance, when he found out Xia Jiao had never been to a haunted house, he encouraged (or rather, persuaded) her to go with him. The result was dramatic: Xia Jiao practically clung to Wen Chongyue, screaming until her voice cracked.

Another time, Wen Chongyue rented a small yacht and took Xia Jiao out to sea—he had a yacht license. Xia Jiao spent the entire time anxiously worrying they’d fall off, encounter a storm, or be chased by sharks…

But none of these terrifying things happened. Instead, Xia Jiao had a fun, unexpected yacht adventure.

Yes, the experience was great.

And on some quiet holiday afternoons, Xia Jiao, who suffered from choice paralysis, would carefully consider what dishes to order for lunch.

Wen Chongyue pulled out a book and handed it to her. “Pick a page.”

Xia Jiao stared blankly at the hardcover Dream of the Red Chamber he had passed to her—a version with notes from the editor.

She asked, “What?”

“Pick a page,” Wen Chongyue said, “Let’s try cooking something from it.”

Xia Jiao was confused. “…Huh???”

She clearly remembered Wen Chongyue modestly claiming his cooking skills were limited and that he couldn’t cook complicated dishes—like the ones from Dream of the Red Chamber. But it was obvious that Wen Chongyue was never someone content with the status quo. He let Xia Jiao flip through the book, and she was somewhat vaguely drawn to a dish called “Eggplant and Fish” she had remembered from when she turned the page to the time when Grandma Liu visited the Grand View Garden. She flipped to that page.

She hadn’t turned the page yet, but when she did, she found that after Baoyu was punished, Fengjie had sent someone with a bowl of small lotus leaf and lotus seed soup for him.

“Oh?”

This sounded refreshing, and Xia Jiao looked eagerly at Wen Chongyue.

Wen Chongyue smiled and said, “It’s summer, so it’s easy to get fresh lotus leaves. This will do.”

He praised Xia Jiao, saying, “Jiao Jiao is really good at picking.”

Xia Jiao felt a bit embarrassed by his praise.

She didn’t think she had so many strengths. It was actually Wen Chongyue who was always praising her. Xia Jiao, who was originally just a small patch of moss growing quietly in a corner, now, with his constant compliments, was starting to feel a swelling of vanity and confidence. It was as if her body, like a hydrogen balloon being inflated, was gradually filling up with Wen Chongyue’s praise, lifting her up like a balloon. As it floated higher, she could almost feel her small, quiet self blooming in the sunlight.

Fresh lotus leaves were easy to find. Wen Chongyue drove to a farm that grew lotus roots, paid for some freshly picked lotus seedpods, and explained his request. The farmer generously offered the lotus leaves, saying they were free since they weren’t valuable—just a bonus.

Xia Jiao picked three tender lotus leaves, their color still light and fresh, like soft, warm green buds bathed in sunlight.

Lotus powder and chicken broth were easy to find, but the silver molds mentioned in the book were rare. The “small lotus leaf and lotus seed soup” was essentially just chicken dumplings, though it did take some time to prepare. But this didn’t stump Xia Jiao. She raised her hand and proudly declared, “I can make them—I won a prize for making clay figures in middle school!”

The tasks were clearly divided. She washed the tender lotus leaves and removed the stems, then pressed them in a juicer and strained the juice, leaving behind the clear, fragrant green liquid. She mixed the lotus juice with all-purpose flour to make the dough, letting it “rest and rise” on the side.

Wen Chongyue had researched recipes and cooking shows and decided that chicken broth would be the base. He simmered half a chicken for stock, then took the other half, hollowed out the cavity, and stuffed it with fresh glutinous rice and “fengyan guo” (also known as “pingpo”), a traditional ingredient in Cantonese cuisine that resembled chestnuts but tasted like ginkgo. The nut had to be peeled, then blanched and marinated with the chicken pieces. Afterward, he stuffed the rice and the fruit into the chicken, wrapped it in a large lotus leaf, and steamed it.

The task of shaping the “small lotus leaves and lotus seed pods” fell to Xia Jiao. She carefully shaped the light green dough, pinching and poking with a toothpick. Her work was meticulous: the edges of the small lotus leaves curved slightly, and she even made separate stems. The lotus pods weren’t just poked with holes—they were carefully made, with tiny “lotus seeds” added into the holes.

As she worked, she grew more excited and tried making small lotus flowers, though they proved too difficult and didn’t cook well, so she dismantled them and turned them into lotus petals instead.

The shaped dough wasn’t boiled, it needed to be steamed. Conveniently, it could be steamed together with the lotus leaf-wrapped chicken. The rich aromas of glutinous rice and chicken broth filled the small lotus leaves and lotus pods. Xia Jiao, while making a salad with bitter lettuce, corn, and cherry tomatoes, could barely resist drooling. Meanwhile, Wen Chongyue was preparing the pickled turnips he had made a few days before.

The pickled turnips were a light reddish color and simple to prepare. They were sprinkled with sesame seeds, finely chopped scallions, and a bit of sesame oil. Once mixed, it was ready to serve.

Xia Jiao had never tried this before and looked at the dish with curiosity. The pickled turnips didn’t look very different from the small salted vegetables sold in supermarkets, except for the color.

There was no chili oil or excessive seasonings. It had a natural, soft red color.

“Wow, this color looks so healthy,” Xia Jiao said, impressed.

Wen Chongyue asked, “Do you have a favorite color for food?”

“Of course,” Xia Jiao replied. “It’s not exactly my favorite color, but people are naturally drawn to warm-toned foods. For example, purple cabbage soup often turns purple, but it’s not as popular. And blue cola chicken wings can be off-putting.”

Wen Chongyue transferred the pickled turnips into a white porcelain dish with a small strawberry painted on it. “What about for non-food things? Xia Jiao, what’s your favorite color?”

Without hesitation, Xia Jiao answered, “Black, white, and gray. They’re versatile, won’t go wrong, and don’t attract too much attention.”

Curious, Xia Jiao asked, “Teacher Wen, your clothes seem to be in these basic colors too… Do you like them?”

Wen Chongyue didn’t answer directly. “What color do you think I like?” he asked.

Xia Jiao thought for a while and then answered seriously.

“I think you like sex.”

°.✩┈┈∘*┈˃̶୨୧˂̶┈*∘┈┈✩.°

T/N: Welp!! Aren’t you honest, Jiao Jiao 😂