The three-day Winter Solstice holiday was quite a rollercoaster for Shen Shaoguang. She had one partnership meeting—transforming from a comfortably well-off woman with property and carriage into a mortgage slave paying in installments. She got drunk once—breaking up with her boyfriend, only for the breakup to fail, resulting in an oral marriage agreement instead. Additionally, she cried twice, exceeding this year's quota for emotional breakdowns. On the morning of the fourth day after Winter Solstice, Shen Shaoguang summarized all this while sipping porridge.
The porridge was golden millet, perfectly thick yet fluid. It was paired with tofu mixed with pickles, garnished with scallions and sesame oil, along with the Tang Dynasty favorite—vinegar celery. The main dishes were minced meat flower rolls and three-flour mini buns made from bean, chestnut, and wheat flour, accompanied by tender boiled eggs.
These eggs were unmistakably Princess Yu San's handiwork—soft yolks about the size of beans, perfectly cooked to be tender yet not overly runny (Shen Shaoguang particularly disliked undercooked eggs). Without precise timers at home, it was a mystery how the princess achieved such consistency every time.
The eggs reminded Shen Shaoguang of a novel she'd read many years ago. The female protagonist was in labor when her unreliable, unfaithful husband brought store-bought dumplings, while another woman in the ward complained about her own husband.
That woman's husband had brought hard-boiled eggs, rubbery in texture. Puzzled, the woman asked, and her husband insisted he'd followed her instructions exactly: "Put them in cold water, boil for forty-five minutes after it starts bubbling." The woman retorted, "I said four to five minutes! Forty-five minutes? Why not four to five hours?" She added that before giving birth, she'd had to walk her husband around the house pointing out where everything was, fearing he might starve to death after she returned with the baby.
Back then, Shen Shaoguang had been in her teens—too young and from too different a background to empathize with the novel's protagonist. The messy realities of married life hadn't concerned her, and she'd mostly forgotten the book. Yet for some reason, this "four to five minutes" detail stuck with her—perhaps a foodie's selective memory?
She also remembered another scene where the female protagonist made lard rice for the male lead but accidentally used sugar instead of MSG. The man ate the entire bowl of sweetened lard rice without complaint—yet due to their social differences, they ultimately missed their chance at love, a missed opportunity that lasted a lifetime.
Shen Shaoguang didn't know why such an old story resurfaced now. Maybe women in love were just more sentimental.
At least she hadn't missed her chance with Lin Yan. As for whether their true selves would emerge after marriage... Shen Shaoguang smiled and popped the egg into her mouth. They'd cross that bridge when they came to it. As he'd said, overthinking was pointless. Seeking perfection in everything? Life was like sailing—you never knew what storms you'd face. The only choice was who shared your boat.
Noticing her mistress's shifting expressions—now frowning, now smiling—A Yuan asked, "Is the food not to your liking?"
Shen Shaoguang chuckled. "I was thinking about lard rice."
A Yuan, who'd never eaten it with her previous master and now had access to far better food, imagined it and shook her head, unimpressed.
Shen Shaoguang hadn't tried it either. Mr. Cai Lan had listed lard rice as a must-eat-before-you-die dish, but she suspected nostalgia played a big role in that rating. A spoonful of lard, some soy sauce and scallions over plain rice—what kind of chemical reaction could that possibly create?The shop had ready-made lard, so at noon, Shen Shaoguang experimented with making a bowl of lard-mixed rice. Compared to the simple version with just soy sauce, lard, and scallions, her version could almost be called luxurious—it included cured sausage, shredded chicken, pickled bamboo shoot cubes, and shrimp. If nothing else, the vibrant reds and greens made it visually appealing, and the steaming hot rice released the rich aroma of the fats, making it utterly enticing.
A Yuan had absolutely no resistance when it came to food. Her initial skepticism vanished as she practically buried her face in the bowl.
Yu San had always been resistant to Shen Shaoguang’s unconventional dishes, but after tasting this lard-mixed rice, he ended up finishing a whole bowl.
Everyone else was equally enthusiastic, leaving Shen Shaoguang thoroughly satisfied—though whether Lord Lin ate it or not hardly mattered. She always suspected he had fewer taste buds, and his previous effusive praise of her cooking had likely just been strategic flattery.
After the Winter Solstice festival, Shen Shaoguang found fewer opportunities to tinker in the kitchen like this. Shao Jie had secured the East Market tavern and was busy renovating, arranging furnishings, and hiring staff, aiming to open before the New Year.
In addition to managing the existing four taverns, Shen Shaoguang was brainstorming how to turn the East Market location into Shen Ji’s flagship—she couldn’t waste such a prime location, and more importantly, she couldn’t let all that money go to waste!
The East Market was close to the imperial palace, surrounded by the residences of high-ranking officials and nobles. Nearby were Chongren Ward, known for its concentration of inns and guesthouses, and the famous red-light district of Pingkang Ward. Unlike the more commoner-oriented West Market, the East Market was the epitome of a high-end commercial hub.
To make this Shen Ji flagship stand out and make a splash, Shen Shaoguang and Shao Jie made several upgrades while maintaining the chain’s signature style.
For example, they added private dining rooms. A large section of the second floor was partitioned into several private rooms for guests seeking a quieter experience. These rooms were indeed "elegant"—adorned with paintings ranging from opulent to serene, wooden floors furnished with large dining tables or small individual trays, complemented by sandalwood couches, incense stands, silver mud screens, and Shu brocade bolsters. Potted wintersweet and burning incense completed the ambiance—dining here, even a bowl of noodles costing a thousand coins wouldn’t feel overpriced!
While the private rooms for "noble guests" were meticulously designed, the "entertainment" for the general patrons was no less thoughtfully planned. Shen Shaoguang and Shao Jie discussed setting aside a space on the first floor to build a stage where their own Zhang Erlang and others could perform "Dish Reporting" and "Being Helped Out of Shen's Restaurant."
Shao Jie clapped his hands. "Absolutely! Our 'amusement' is one-of-a-kind in both the East and West Markets. Nothing like those places that hire a couple of singing girls to warble away with hardly anyone listening..."
This kind of theatrical skit-style performance wasn’t unheard of at the time, but it was mostly reserved for banquets hosted by the wealthy and powerful. Taverns in the East and West Markets sometimes hired Pingkang singing girls to attract customers, which was what Shao Jie was referring to.
Shao Jie added, "The other day, I accompanied my grandfather to a banquet at Zhou Jia’s residence. They had 'amusement' during the feast—apparently, those two performers used to serve in a prince’s household. Honestly, they weren’t anything special. The main issue was—their material was too old." He scoffed, clearly borrowing the term "material" from Shen Shaoguang.
Shen Ji’s "material" was indeed fresh, but not because Shen Shaoguang was wildly creative or had an encyclopedic memory of jokes. Instead, she had mobilized the masses.Shen Shaoguang had long believed that the "script" was the soul of such performances. Just like dishes, constant innovation was needed to maintain vitality and appeal.
However, without creating original material, she hadn't realized how lacking her humor cells were. Relying solely on joke books like "Forest of Laughs" from her past life couldn't sustain them for long. Remembering the anecdote about Liaozhai's scholar exchanging tea for stories, Shen decided to add a similar interactive element—inviting diners to submit stories with themes limited to dining, requiring them to be humorous and amusing. Contributors would receive a plate of Seasonal Flower Cake as a token.
This initiative had been implemented across Shen Ji's four established shops, and indeed, the power of the masses proved limitless—they collected numerous amusing anecdotes. Shen compiled and adapted these stories, adding not only the popular series about the stingy gourmand Zhang Erlang but also refined jokes favored by scholars, slightly risqué boudoir tales, and the widely beloved foolishness series—most stories related to food.
While Shen lacked creativity in writing, her editing skills were competent. She excluded anything with improper themes, overly vulgar content, or political references, selecting only material suitable for "family dinner table viewing"—after all, their goal was simply to entertain.
Diners who could tell such humorous stories were naturally fans of this style. Seeing their jokes performed filled them with pride. Some narcissistic contributors would confirm performance schedules and return repeatedly to watch, not alone but with friends and family in tow. Shen Ji inadvertently gained another wave of revenue and fans.
Shao Jie was one such "Amusement" enthusiast, often listening to segments in his free time, which made him particularly critical of others—his tastes had simply become too refined.
Shen Shaoguang then proposed, "Relying solely on Amusement is too monotonous. Why not sign contracts with performers from the East Market—those who stage Hundred Entertainments or perform the Whirling Dance? They could come once or twice every ten days, keeping audience tips while we pay them an additional fee."
"Even better!"
She didn't suggest inviting courtesans from Pingkang Ward—not out of moral purity but because they were unaffordable. The famous, beautiful, and musically talented ones were too expensive per appearance, while the mediocre ones—what would be the point?
When the twelfth lunar month arrived, Shen Ji's new tavern opened in the East Market.
Standing by the second-floor railing, watching the stream of diners and listening to Xu Silang's classic opening "Dish Reporting," Shen asked Lin Yan, who had come specifically to show support: "Not bad, right?"
"Not just 'not bad'—it's excellent," Lin Yan laughed. "Exceptionally good."
A sense of fulfillment washed over Shen, her eyes crinkling with a smile.
"At least it makes up for all that tea I drank waiting in vain at your place."
Shen turned to look at him. Lin Yan's eyes curved slightly, his expression carrying three parts teasing and two parts grievance.
Between the new tavern's opening, seasonal menu changes at the old establishments, and New Year preparations, Shen had indeed been extremely busy—sometimes even staying overnight elsewhere. Lin Yan was also occupied, but when he found time to visit her, she was often absent...
Shen licked her lips, adopting a rogue's tone as she sidelong glanced at him: "Feeling some 'regret teaching my husband to seek titled nobility'?"
Lin Yan couldn't help laughing.
Shen assumed he wouldn't respond, but he nodded with a smile: "Immense regret."
Author's Note:
① Wang Hailing's "The Colonel's Daughter," a book from many years ago.
② At the time, this type of performance was called "Amusement."
Another chapter of Shaoguang busy with both career and flirtation.
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