Wuxi Soup Dumplings, Open Dried Shrimp Wontons

Wen Chongyue couldn’t quite figure out why his wife was suddenly so clingy.

She had come home early from work today and made tangyuan—authentic Four Joys Tangyuan from Yangzhou—stuffed with sesame, fresh meat, mustard greens, and red bean paste, symbolizing unity and happiness.

Initially, Wen Chongyue worried she had encountered difficulties at work, but that wasn’t the case. Xia Jiao wasn’t upset, just unusually affectionate. She even followed him around the kitchen like a shadow while he cooked, showing no resistance to having loofah for dinner.

She even volunteered to help by deheading and deveining the shrimp.

As Wen Chongyue peeled the loofah, its tender green flesh gave off a faint and distinctive aroma. He cut it into sections and hollowed out part of the pulp. Xia Jiao handed him the peeled shrimp as she stood by.

Their cat, Xia Mi, meowed greedily, while Wen Quan, the other cat, sat reservedly at the edge of the kitchen, its soft tail curled around its paws, gazing longingly at the shrimp. After seeking Wen Chongyue’s approval, Xia Jiao hurried over and gave one shrimp to each cat, treating them equally.

Wen Chongyue carefully slit the shrimp’s back, folded the tail inward to form a shrimp ball, and placed it into the hollowed loofah sections. As he worked, he asked, “Was work difficult today?”

Xia Jiao shook her head. “It went smoothly.”

He finely chopped red chili, mixed it with mashed garlic, added a spoonful of steamed fish soy sauce, and reached for sugar. Before he could, Xia Jiao handed him half a teaspoon—measured perfectly.

Wen Chongyue looked closely into her eyes and asked, “Did you cry?”

Xia Jiao denied it. “No.”

Drizzling some vegetable oil into the mixture, he prepared the ingredients for steaming. The loofah-stuffed shrimp sat in the pot, steaming gently. Under the heat, the shrimp turned a translucent white with hints of red, while the loofah softened into a vibrant green. The loofah juice seeped into the shrimp as they cooked.

As he finished, Xia Jiao hugged him again from behind, wrapping her arms around his waist.

Softly, she called, “Teacher Wen.”

Holding her hands, Wen Chongyue responded, “Yes.”

She leaned closer for a moment before letting go. Her eyes weren’t particularly red. Perhaps they were irritated by the scent of lilies.

To comfort her, Wen Chongyue fried some pumpkin flowers—a signature dish of Father Wen. He mixed eggs, corn starch, aluminum-free baking powder, salt, and flour into a batter. After removing the pumpkin flower stamens, he dipped them in the batter and fried them until crispy. The fried flowers came out golden like sunlight, with stems still tender and green. Fresh flowers don’t last long, so this was the perfect time to enjoy them.

Xia Jiao had never tried pumpkin flowers before. Wen Chongyue handed her the first crispy flower with chopsticks, supporting her chin lightly with his other hand as he watched her take small bites.

The pumpkin flowers were perfectly crispy. Knowing she didn’t like overly greasy food, he had patted them dry with oil-absorbing paper until they were just the right temperature to eat. She ate carefully and said, “So fresh.”

Wen Chongyue discovered a new hobby—he enjoyed making things she had never tried before and was curious about her reactions.

This “feeding” brought him immense satisfaction.

For the first time, Wen Chongyue realized how warm and proactive his wife could be. She even suggested eating navel oranges, which surprised him. Unlike before, she now seemed to crave physical closeness, as though only by staying near him could she feel at ease.

Although unsure what had caused this change, Wen Chongyue was happy to offer comfort. After they finished eating peaches, he held her trembling body in his arms.

Yet, Xia Jiao remained quietly melancholic for days, her thoughts seemingly tangled in something he didn’t know.

To help her relax, Wen Chongyue decided to take her out.

In early September, they visited Turtle Head Isle by Taihu Lake, famously called “the best scenic spot of Taihu.” This year’s algae control had been better than usual, and the air was fresh. The lotus flowers were in full bloom, stretching endlessly across the lake. From Sakura Valley to Changchun Bridge, the area was lush and shaded, creating a unique charm even though it wasn’t cherry blossom season.

“We should go out more often,” Wen Chongyue said. “Maybe we’ll find a way to help with your social anxieties.”

He said this as they left Lingshan Scenic Spot. Though not religious, they had still visited the temple to make offerings and donations.

Xia Jiao prayed earnestly and made her wish sincerely.

She turned to him and asked, “What did you wish for?”

Wen Chongyue hesitated before realizing she was referring to the temple visit.

“I don’t believe in that,” he replied.

Xia Jiao looked surprised. “Have you never made a wish in your life?”

He smiled. “Does wishing on birthdays count?”

“No way,” she interrupted. “If you say it out loud, it won’t come true.”

“Effort makes things happen,” Wen Chongyue said. “Praying won’t help.”

She pondered aloud, “What about someone who doesn’t believe suddenly choosing to pray?”

Looking up at the clear blue sky, Wen Chongyue mused, “Maybe they truly have something they desperately want.”

That evening, the two strolled leisurely along Nanchang Street, enjoying the night view. They stopped by the riverside to share a bowl of tofu pudding. The brick-carved gates, horse-head walls, and rusty door rings gave the old town a weathered charm. Xia Jiao gazed at the moss-covered rooftops and suddenly thought of old photos of Mrs. Tang. Lowering her head, she sighed softly.

 Wuxi cuisine leans towards sweetness. After much exploration, the couple finally discovered a delicious Yulan cake. It seems that Wuxi locals have a preference for meat, and their dishes are characteristically sweet. There’s even a saying here: “If it’s bland, it’s tasteless. If it’s salty, it’s not fresh.” Every dish is cooked with thick sauces and oil. Even their soup dumplings burst with rich and slightly sweet juices when bitten into.

Dishes like sweet and sour spare ribs, wine-braised gluten, plum-sauce chicken wings, crispy eel, and fried whitefish marinated in wine are all local specialties.

Among all these delicacies, Xia Jiao’s favorite is what the locals call “small steamed buns.”

In Wuxi, people don’t distinguish between buns and bread. Regardless of whether it has filling or not, everything is called a “mantou.” Plain ones are referred to as “white mantou,” meat-filled ones as “meat mantou,” vegetarian ones as “vegetable mantou,” and those with mixed fillings as “vegetable and meat mantou.”

Wuxi’s soup dumplings differ from others. They have exceptionally thin skins, with juicy and flavorful meat filling inside. They are delicate and can’t be picked up carelessly. When Xia Jiao first tried them, she used her chopsticks to lift one but ended up splashing the juice all over Wen Chongyue. Embarrassed, she kept apologizing.

Wen Chongyue didn’t mind at all. Casually wiping the juice from his clothes with a napkin, he patiently taught Xia Jiao the “low-risk” way of eating Wuxi soup dumplings.

He explained with a chuckle, “When eating Wuxi soup dumplings, you have to move gently and slowly. Pinch the dumpling about one-third of the way up, lift it carefully, and dip it in vinegar. Then, bring it close to your lips, take a small bite, and sip the juices inside. Once you’ve savored all the delicious and slightly sweet broth, take a big bite to enjoy the rest.”

Eating soup dumplings in a hurry, he warned, would only result in oily stains and unnecessary trouble.

Locals often pair their soup dumplings with wontons. They might take a bite of dumpling, sip some soup, and then enjoy a small wonton. The flavors blend in a sweet and savory harmony. The wonton filling typically includes dried shrimp and pickled vegetables, while the soup is made from seaweed, shredded egg, and thinly sliced dried tofu, giving it a refreshing taste. Handmade wontons, without any lye water added, must be eaten hot. Their firm yet tender wrappers are a delight to chew.

Unfortunately, it wasn’t the season for crab, so they couldn’t try the famous crab roe wontons or the crab roe dumplings featured in A Bite of China.

Finally, Xia Jiao felt her mood lighten a little.

Their last stop in Wuxi was Liyuan Garden, a place said to be where Fan Li and Xi Shi once lived. Built along the shores of Lihu Lake, it was small but exquisitely designed.

Like most Jiangnan gardens, Liyuan Garden was intricately crafted. It featured four seasonal pavilions, perfect for flower viewing throughout the year, as well as pine trees, willows, and sweet osmanthus. Xia Jiao walked onto a stone arch bridge, and Wen Chongyue’s voice drifted over, “Can you tell me now why you were unhappy the other day?”

Surrounded by rock gardens, flower-patterned windows, and the soft breeze from the lake, Xia Jiao stared at the stone slabs beneath her feet. She finally said, “I used to think that stories in books or on TV about people sacrificing their lives to protect their loved ones were unrealistic.”

Wen Chongyue listened quietly.

“I also thought spending a lifetime mourning a lost loved one was equally unrealistic,” Xia Jiao continued. “How can anyone endure such loneliness?”

“Does this have something to do with one of your clients?” Wen Chongyue asked.

Xia Jiao shook her head, then nodded. “But it turns out, such things really exist.”

Wen Chongyue took her hand and guided her down from the stone arch bridge. Beneath them, koi swam playfully in the water. He said, “Jiao Jiao, your thoughts aren’t wrong. Human nature is to fear death and loneliness. It’s precisely because of this that the sacrifices you see are so precious.”

Xia Jiao remained silent.

“Let’s talk about something more realistic,” Wen Chongyue said thoughtfully. “I’m older than you, so it’s likely I’ll leave before you. If that day comes, don’t worry about how others might view your mourning. I hope you’ll find another partner and be a little selfish.”

Xia Jiao abruptly looked up, her brows furrowed, her voice raised. “Another partner?”

Wen Chongyue nodded. “Someone to dance in the square with, or sit in the sun together.”

Xia Jiao was not pleased.

She felt something was amiss. Her chest felt tight—not the kind of discomfort from her period or the annoyance from an argument, but a sour and indescribable ache. It was as if the vinegar she’d dipped her dumplings in earlier had spilled all over her heart, soaking it in a soft, sour discomfort.

She couldn’t pinpoint the exact source of her frustration, but she wanted to shake off Wen Chongyue’s hand and call him an idiot.

Of course, that would be impolite, so she held back.

Wen Chongyue, ever rational and calm, discussed aging and death with his wife without avoiding the topic. Even though Xia Jiao was visibly upset, he earnestly hoped that if he were to leave first, she could live the rest of her life happily.

Suppressing his own unease, Wen Chongyue consoled himself that if death were inevitable, he’d rather Xia Jiao move on and live selfishly than be weighed down by his memory.

“Even if we both live to the same age,” he analyzed seriously, “I’ll likely pass eight years before you. Won’t you feel lonely being alone?”

As they passed a rock garden, Xia Jiao thought about pinning him against the stones and scolding him to stop.

“Considering women generally live longer than men,” Wen Chongyue continued rationally, “I’d suggest you find someone younger. Perhaps seven or eight years younger—”

“Wen Chongyue,” Xia Jiao interrupted.

“What is it?” he asked.

She raised her right hand and asked, “What do you see?”

“Your hand,” he replied.

“Yes,” Xia Jiao nodded. “If you keep talking, it’ll land on your face.”