Salted Boiled Green Peas

A broad mind is a good thing.

But when your wife’s mind is so broad that it could contain the entire ocean…

Wen Chongyue couldn’t decide if this was a good or bad thing. He didn’t want to think too deeply about it. All he knew was that it made him feel a bit uneasy—just a little, an odd sensation rising from his chest before being suppressed.

He didn’t dwell on it. Instead, he attributed it to the flaws of men and decided not to overthink it. Briefly, he pushed the discomfort aside and continued to focus on preparing this classic dish for his wife.

Authentic noodles require garlic on the side.

The simplest way is to peel a whole head of garlic, removing the snowflake-like skins, leaving the small, plump garlic cloves. You bite a clove of garlic with a bite of noodles.

However, most people from the South aren’t used to eating raw garlic or onions. Xia Jiao couldn’t handle strongly flavored foods. So, Wen Chongyue added only a little minced garlic to the noodles, just enough to give some flavor without overwhelming her.

Summer noodles need to be rinsed in cold water. The noodles must go through three rounds of cold water to remove the heat and wash off the starchy broth that clings to them. Wen Chongyue cut a watermelon in half and used a melon baller to scoop out the flesh, placing it in a small dish. He left the pale green rind behind. After rinsing the noodles with cold water, he placed them in the rind, evenly pouring the seasoning and side dishes over them.

Xia Jiao’s eyes lit up as she held the watermelon bowl with the noodles. “A watermelon bowl!”

She had tried this as a child, scooping out the watermelon with a spoon and hoping her grandparents would fill the hollow rind with rice.

However, her family had always said that eating hot and cold foods together wasn’t good for her stomach and had never indulged her wish.

Wen Chongyue chuckled. “When I was little, I even used an empty watermelon rind as a hat.”

Xia Jiao couldn’t imagine that kind of scene. The heat in her heart seemed to disappear, replaced by the refreshing coolness of an entire watermelon and the chilled noodles. The noodles, chilled with ice water, still had a chewy texture, no longer sticky. They were coated with the sesame sauce and seasonings that Wen Chongyue prepared, fragrant, cool, and refreshing. The bottom of the bowl, with the cool watermelon, added a unique freshness, as though the heat of the whole day had vanished.

Wen Chongyue said, “I’m not very good at making zhajiangmian. If you want to try it, I can make it for you another day.”

Xia Jiao bit into the noodles and swallowed.

Suddenly, something came to her mind. She asked, “By the way, what is ‘chong he chong mo gu duo er’? I heard some colleagues from Beijing mention it once, but I’ve never tried it. They said you need to add a lot of vinegar when eating it, it’s both sour and spicy.”

Wen Chongyue smiled. “It’s jelly, which is shaped like translucent tadpoles, so it’s called that. The seasoning is pretty much the same as the summer noodles, the only difference is that you add half a bowl of cooled boiled water, sesame paste, fried Sichuan pepper oil, small spring onions, and aromatic vinegar. It’s not really called eating, it’s called ‘drinking chong he chong mo gu duo er’…”

Xia Jiao’s hand rested beside the watermelon bowl as she listened intently to Wen Chongyue.

Actually, Xia Jiao rarely ate sauces.

This was likely a result of her upbringing—her mother didn’t like sauces, so there were fewer pickles and other condiments in their house. Wen Chongyue, being modest, said that he wasn’t very skilled with sauces but still followed the seasons to prepare small dishes with sauces to accompany meals.

In spring, there’s “stir-fried cucumber sauce,” in the summer heat, there’s “stir-fried pea sauce,” in the fall, “stir-fried carrot sauce,” and in the cold winter, “stir-fried hazelnut sauce.” According to the books, these four are called the “Four Great Sauces of the Palace,” but in reality, it’s just a gimmick. The names make them sound elegant, much like how snacks from various places claim to be “the Emperor Kangxi’s favorites” or “praised by Emperor Qianlong during his Southern tours.”

The truth of these claims is hard to verify. Fame like that is just a way to attract attention and promote, and whether something tastes good or not, whether it suits your tastes, can only be determined by trying it yourself.

What Xia Jiao lacked was the willingness to “try it.”

She was afraid of failure and hesitant to try new things. What if she didn’t like it after trying? Would it upset her stomach? Would it be a waste of money and mood? Most importantly, if she worked hard on something, but the result wasn’t what she hoped for, would she be even more disappointed?

It was like with radishes—Xia Jiao was strongly opposed to them, but after trying the dish Wen Chongyue made, she realized it wasn’t so bad and became more accepting of it. However, the salty soy milk with pork crumbles and fried dough strips just wasn’t for her. She took one sip and immediately rejected it, deciding she would never be able to enjoy this dish. Wen Chongyue gave her water to rinse her mouth, while he, with a strong tolerance, finished the whole bowl.

“Just try it.”

You lose nothing by trying. If you don’t try something, how will you know if you like it?

There’s an old saying: “The tail of a black carp and the head of a silver carp.”

July and August are ideal for fishing. Since fishing is banned in Taihu Lake, Wen Chongyue took Xia Jiao to Yangcheng Lake. There’s a 30-kilometer circular bike path along the lake, which Wen Chongyue had ridden several times before. This time, Xia Jiao, determined, decided to challenge her own limits. After only riding for about five kilometers, she began to pant heavily. Wen Chongyue stopped, took out some soda water from his backpack, opened the bottle, and handed it to her, reminding her to drink slowly.

Drinking too quickly after exercise isn’t good for the throat; swallowing too fast can hurt the throat.

Before the bike ride, Wen Chongyue checked the weather forecast and temperature. It was a rare cool day, as it had rained the previous day and the temperature hadn’t fully risen yet. The sunlight wasn’t harsh, and the temperature hovered around 30°C. Xia Jiao was sweating heavily, her body tightly wrapped. While she drank from the bottle, Wen Chongyue removed her sunglasses and carefully wiped the sweat from her cheeks and collarbones, then reapplied sunscreen for her.

“Wait for autumn,” Wen Chongyue said. “I’ll bring you to eat the Yangcheng Lake hairy crabs.”

Xia Jiao asked, “Bacheng in Kunshan?”

“Shanghai people usually go there,” Wen Chongyue said. “But Suzhou people tend to go to Weiting Town in the Industrial Park or to Lianhua Island in the Xiangcheng District.”

Xia Jiao nodded. After resting for a while, she ate an energy bar and then gathered her strength to continue riding.

It was the season for lotus flowers to bloom. The air near the lake was filled with a unique moistness, and the lotus fragrance mixed in the air, creating an almost ethereal beauty. Xia Jiao sweated a lot, and some of her worries and frustrations seemed to dissipate along with the sweat. She probably understood why Wen Chongyue enjoyed outdoor sports—it really helped release excess energy and reduce stress.

After the ride, they returned the bikes, and Wen Chongyue drove Xia Jiao to their final destination: a grassy area near Chongyuan Temple, where there were few tourists—just some locals. The lake was clear, and the clouds hung much lower than in Beijing, scattered across the blue sky. Not far away, they could see the red walls and dark roof tiles of the Chongyuan Temple, and the grass beneath their feet was soft. By the time they arrived, it was afternoon, and the distant sunset bathed the scene in golden light, shimmering on the lake.

Xia Jiao didn’t have much patience, so she leaned against Wen Chongyue’s shoulder, slowly closing her eyes to rest while he told her interesting little stories. He mentioned that Chongyuan Temple was originally called “Chongxuan Temple” but was renamed to avoid the name of Emperor Kangxi, whose personal name was “Xuanye.” He seemed to know every detail about the place. As for Xia Jiao, she didn’t know much—until today, she didn’t even know there was a Chongyuan Temple. While she was more familiar with the stories of Emperor Kangxi’s son and Concubine Chun Yuan, she found herself less knowledgeable about the temple’s history.

As the sky darkened, Wen Chongyue had caught a carp, about two kilograms, which he placed in a clean water bucket. In the evening, they didn’t drive back home but stayed at a rented courtyard near Dushu Lake. It wasn’t as famous as Jinji Lake, but it was peaceful and quiet, without any disturbances.

The place they stayed also had a kitchen, so Wen Chongyue had already bought the ingredients. While Xia Jiao took a shower, Wen Chongyue split the fish head in two and made a soup with it, adding straw mushrooms for flavor.

The silver carp meat wasn’t wasted either. It was ground into a paste, mixed with starch to make fish balls, which were then boiled with some vegetables. Alongside that, there was a plate of three-cup potatoes, a serving of raw marinated zucchini, and a dish of boiled salted green peas. After dinner, they could relax, chatting casually while peeling and eating at their leisure.

Wen Chongyue had simmered the fish head soup until it was a milky white, skimming off the floating oil. Inside the soup, the straw mushrooms were faintly visible. Wen Chongyue had a knack for cooking fish, as the meat was perfectly tender and free of any fishy odor. The fish head was cooked until it was soft and delicious, and even the bones absorbed the flavor. Xia Jiao ate happily, making sure to suck every bit of flavor off the bones before placing them on the bone plate.

The “three-cup” potatoes didn’t refer to the measurement of cups, but rather to sesame oil, rice wine, and soy sauce, along with ginger and basil. The basil was freshly picked from Wen Chongyue’s balcony, and a little sugar was added to enhance the flavor. Xia Jiao loved to eat tofu, so besides the potato slices, fried tofu pieces were also added, making the dish even tastier. The beauty of cooking didn’t lie in strictly following a recipe. Wen Chongyue enjoyed experimenting with different combinations, just like he enjoyed discovering new ways to surprise Xia Jiao.

Xia Jiao was very tired from cycling today. She repeatedly told Wen Chongyue in the evening that she would never ride again. Not to mention lacking the strength, she no longer had the heart for it. She just wanted to lie down and relax.

For someone who rarely went out, today’s island cycling had already been enough to cover her exercise for nearly a month. Wen Chongyue understood her exhaustion and didn’t push her too hard. Compared to usual, today’s kisses and caresses were far more frequent, until Xia Jiao was shivering and clung to him for warmth.

The moonlight outside was just right, filtering in through the window. The two of them embraced as they slept, and Xia Jiao’s mind was free from any worries, filled only with the gentle breeze and the bright moon.

The next morning, Xia Jiao woke up unusually early. The reason was that the oven here was a cute little pink one, and she loved its appearance. She volunteered to bake the bread.

Unfortunately, communication with the unfamiliar oven didn’t go well. She set the wrong time and temperature, and by the time Xia Jiao realized something was wrong, the bread inside had become rock-hard and charred.

She opened the oven door, and she and Wen Chongyue stared at each other in disbelief.

Wen Chongyue asked, “Jiao Jiao, is this your invention, the ‘Xia Jiao brand Black Forest bread’?”

Xia Jiao replied, “Uh… probably not.”

Wen Chongyue sniffed the bread and remarked, “If the Ministry of Justice still existed, I think you’d be appointed as the Minister of Justice right away.”

Xia Jiao:  “…”

She put on thick oven mitts and carefully removed the burnt, smoking bread. “It’s not great to waste it. Should we take it outside and feed the birds?”

Wen Chongyue grabbed a chopstick and poked at the bread shell.

He pondered, “It’s so hard that only a woodpecker could peck at it.”

Xia Jiao: “…”

“Also,” Wen Chongyue looked at his wife, “it’s illegal to poison wild birds.”