After Zhao Mother left, Qian Chunhua checked the time in her space.

The buns steaming in the kitchen were almost ready.

She stored them into the space and immediately got busy again, preparing to steam another batch.

After finishing her chores at home, Qian Mother also came to the shop.

“Chunhua, I just saw your mother-in-law,” were the first words she said upon entering.

Qian Chunhua poked her head out of the kitchen and asked, “What did you say, Mom?”

The kitchen was a little far from the main hall, so she didn’t catch what her mother said.

Qian Mother waved her hand. “Finish what you’re doing. I’ll mind the shop.”

Qian Chunhua obediently turned back to continue wrapping the buns. Once she was done, she came out of the kitchen.

Now that her mother was present, she couldn’t keep making more buns. Otherwise, she’d have to explain where all the buns were going.

Luckily, Qian Mother hadn’t come into the kitchen and didn’t know how many buns Chunhua had already made.

Once she came out, Qian Mother picked up the earlier topic. “I saw your mother-in-law come by just now?”

Qian Chunhua nodded. “She came to see the children.”

She didn’t mention Zhao Mother’s real purpose—there was no need to make her own mother overthink.

After all, Chunhua had chosen to pay for Qian Xingshan’s education, while refusing to support anyone from the Zhao family, including Zhao Qingyun.

In this era, people still held strong familial values. A married daughter was considered as “poured-out water,” and her ties should be stronger with her husband’s family.

In her mother’s eyes, between Zhao Qingyun and Qian Xingshan, she might have felt Chunhua should have supported Zhao Qingyun instead.

So Chunhua kept quiet.

Less said, less trouble.

Qian Mother, hearing that Zhao Mother had only come to see the children, thought nothing of it.

No matter how things stood, Qingfeng and the others were still part of the Zhao family.

Zhao Mother visiting the children was natural.

After a bit of idle chatting, it was soon noon.

Qingsong and the others returned from school and headed straight to the shop.

Since her mother had already seen her steaming buns, Chunhua decided to just serve the family buns for lunch.

She also made a pot of rice porridge.

Fragrant rice porridge and large meat buns—everyone ate with satisfaction, mouths dripping with oil.

Originally, the buns were made for storage in Chunhua’s space, to be eaten later when cooking might be inconvenient.

They were meant for her own family.

So the buns were thin-skinned, packed with filling, heavy on meat, light on vegetables—rich and flavorful.

“Mom, these buns are so good!” Qingfeng said, hugging a big bun like a little hamster, nibbling bit by bit.

The rest of the family nodded in agreement.

These were way better than the ones Chunhua used to buy, where there was more veggie than meat.

Suddenly—Whoosh!—there was a loud commotion outside.

Qian Chunhua immediately put down her chopsticks, lifted the curtain, and stepped outside to check.

A row of carriages had pulled up outside—five in total.

Fifteen guards stood by the carriages, all tall and muscular, each armed with a blade.

From the frontmost carriage, a fifty-something noble-looking woman was helped down. Following behind was a woman in her thirties.

From the second and third carriages stepped down a boy of about four and a girl of around eight.

The last two carriages unloaded six maids, two older nursemaids, and one steward-looking person.

Everyone wore modest clothing, no jewelry to be seen—but their posture and demeanor hinted at high status.

Qian Chunhua understood immediately: these people were of great importance.

Given how dangerous the roads had become, even such people needed to travel in low profile.

She lifted the curtain and welcomed the group into the tea house.

Qian Mother, upon hearing the commotion, had already cleared the table of congee and buns, putting everything away and cleaning the tabletop.

The children were sent into the break room and told not to come out to avoid offending the guests.

Qian Mother then brought Qian Xingshan to help serve.

The elderly woman frowned almost imperceptibly when she saw the simple shop.

If they hadn’t been freezing and starving with no better place on the road, she never would have stopped at such a place.

Fortunately, the room had two small stoves, offering some warmth.

“Madam, how may I help you?” Chunhua asked politely, catching the hint of disdain on the older woman’s face—but she didn’t take it to heart.

It was what it was.

Take it or leave it.

Though a little irked, she kept her composure.

“What do you have? Introduce it,” the steward asked.

“We have Meat Buns, Steam Buns, Noodles, … For the cold, we have different kinds of tea, brown sugar ginger tea… etc”

The old woman looked up, surprised.

She hadn’t expected such a rundown tea house to offer such a variety of tea.

It just went to show—people shouldn’t be judged by appearances.

She inwardly retracted her earlier disdain.

“I’ll have a pot of Dahong Pao Tea,” she said.

She hadn’t tasted it in years—not since leaving her hometown in Kuaiji Prefecture for the capital.

That familiar tea she grew up with had become a rare treat.

The steward added, “A pot of Dahong Pao for the madam. The rest of us will have brown sugar ginger tea.”

“Certainly,” Qian Chunhua replied.

They hadn’t even asked for prices—clearly not lacking money.

Qian Mother and Qian Xingshan went to serve the ginger tea while Chunhua began preparing the Dahong Pao.

This time, she didn’t serve the tea ready-made.

Instead, she seized the opportunity to impress.

She went to the storage room, pulled from her space a full Yixing zisha tea set and a small pouch of premium Dahong Pao Tea.

This tea had been bought by a friend in Fujian before Chunhua transmigrated.

It was authentic, top-quality Da Hong Pao—only ten jin in total.

She had hoarded it as a survival luxury.

The old woman’s earlier disdain had irked her.

Now she wanted to show these noble folks what true good tea was.

Chunhua brought out a tray with a pot of hot water and the Yixing tea set, and headed to the main table.

After placing the tray, she gave a small bow and began her tea ceremony.

She wasn’t just serving tea—she was putting on a show.

Step one: Warming the cups. She poured hot water over the teapot and cups, letting the water run into the tray’s basin.

Step two: Washing the tea. She placed the Da Hong Pao leaves into the pot and quickly rinsed them.

Step three: Brewing. She added fresh boiling water into the pot, covered it, and steeped the tea for 4–5 minutes while continuously pouring hot water over the pot to maintain the heat.

After three pours, the rich aroma began to spread throughout the room.

The elderly woman inhaled deeply.

The fragrance enveloped her, instantly transporting her back in time—back to her childhood, before marriage, before duty.

She watched Chunhua’s refined technique, smelled the intoxicating tea scent, and felt an overwhelming sense of nostalgia and hope.

Step four: Pouring the tea. Chunhua gently poured the steeped tea into cups and carefully placed one in front of the elderly lady, and one before the younger woman.

“Madam, please enjoy.”

Her every movement was smooth and elegant—less a service, more a performance.