Though Guizhi was young, her eyes were sharp.
While her young mistress focused on diagnosing and prescribing, Guizhi quietly kept watch—a habit she’d developed since childhood.
The head of the household had taught her that healers were most vulnerable when treating patients. If the treatment didn’t satisfy the patient’s family, some unreasonable relatives might resort to violence without warning.
She’d scan the surroundings carefully. If she sensed trouble, she’d pull her young mistress away to safety.
That day at the Su house, Guizhi had done the same. But when she looked up, she noticed something different.
The way Miss Xie looked at that young man from the Su family was completely different from how she looked at her or at her young mistress. Her gaze kept drifting back to him—she only turned to her young mistress when asking about the patient’s condition. The rest of the time, her eyes were fixed on the Su family young man.
Miss Xie probably didn’t even realize it herself—watching that young man panic made her as nervous as anything. If she and her young mistress hadn’t been there, Guizhi had a feeling Miss Xie would have wanted to hold him and comfort him.
Just thinking about it made Guizhi smile secretly to herself. Then she caught herself—she was still a young girl, she shouldn’t be thinking about such improper things. She ducked her head and went back to eating.
After the meal, Xie Yushu said goodbye to the mistress and servant and returned to the village.
Seeing the plume of white smoke rising from the Su yard—the medicine pot was being boiled—she knew Su Chi had already come back with the herbs. She walked into his yard and found him fanning the flames under the medicine pot.
She figured he must have rushed back to make the medicine and hadn’t had time to eat. She’d bought some pastries to tide him over.
Xie Yushu walked over and pressed the pastries into his hands. “Eat first—I’ll fan.”
Su Chi saw her return and had so much he wanted to say. But before he could, she was already taking the fan from him. He instinctively tried to refuse. “No—”
“Be good. I’ve already eaten—you must be hungry.” She took the palm-leaf fan from his hands and began fanning the bubbling medicine pot.
Su Chi couldn’t refuse her—he never could. He gave in, took the pastries, and sat beside her, eating.
After a day of running around and emotional turmoil, he hadn’t felt hungry at all. But after two pastries, his hunger hit him full force, and he ate one after another. The pastries were delicious—before he knew it, he’d finished half of them.
Between fanning, Xie Yushu sneaked a glance at Su Chi beside her.
Watching him eat, his cheeks puffing out as he chewed, his usual serious demeanor replaced by something almost childlike—she found it endearing. A smile tugged at her lips. Something in her chest gave a soft squeeze, sending a warm, tingling feeling through her.
When Su Chi finished, Xie Yushu pulled out something meant for him and held it out.
She purposely kept him in suspense. “Hold out your hand—palm up.”
Su Chi was confused, but because it was Xie Yushu, he obeyed. “What is it?”
Then she placed the money pouch containing the eight guan of silver into his palm, careful not to touch his hand. “The medicine money that quack doctor refunded you.”
She briefly recounted how she and Sun Wuyou had made Doctor Li pay up, and why it was eight guan.
“This…”
Su Chi finally understood—she’d stayed in town to get his money back from Doctor Li.
She hadn’t even told him. She’d just gone and done it.
His eyes widened in disbelief.
The eight guan in his palm was heavy, warm, and solid. He felt a little guilty accepting it.
His actual medicine expenses hadn’t been that much—even with the other costs she’d mentioned, it didn’t add up to this.
What was even harder to believe was that he’d actually gotten the medicine money back. Doctor Li’s clinic never accepted returns or refunds—he’d never even thought of trying. He’d only ever hoped his father would get better.
She… she’d gone and gotten it back for him.
Su Chi stared blankly at Xie Yushu, overwhelmed with emotion. He couldn’t find the words.
She’d done so much for him—he had no idea how he could ever repay her.
Xie Yushu smiled at him, as if proudly showing off: “See? This time I didn’t touch your palm.”
Xie Yushu was naturally striking—with a smile, the corners of her almond-shaped eyes tilted up slightly, her gaze holding a glimmer of water-like light. The curve of her lips seemed to brighten the whole day, as if even the light favored her. She was dazzling.
Su Chi stared, entranced. His heart pounded erratically, as if it might leap out of his throat and fall into Xie Yushu’s hands, hers to do with as she pleased.
A crackle came from the clay stove as a small spark burst from the firewood. Xie Yushu quickly bent down and used the tongs to poke at the embers.
Su Chi snapped back to reality, remembering what she’d just said.
Was she… was she teasing him about that time he’d accidentally let slip about her touching his palm?
The tips of his ears burned. He turned his head away, not daring to look at her.
This person was a little bit wicked.
—
When the medicine was ready, Su Chi used a coarse cloth to protect his hands from the hot handle as he lifted the pot. The bottom was blackened from the fire, but the rest of the pot was clean and gleaming—well cared for by its owner.
He carefully poured out a small bowl of dark brown decoction, not spilling a single drop. After blowing on it to cool it slightly, he carried it in to Wang Wen.
When he came back out after his father had finished the medicine, Xie Yushu was still in the yard.
She sat there on the little stool, tall and broad-shouldered, yet somehow looking a little dejected.
The gate was shut tight. They sat side by side.
Su Chi felt the sunlight above them seemed brighter than usual.
“It’s my fault—I knew your father was sick all along, but I kept forgetting to have Doctor Sun come see him.”
Now that his father had finally found a good doctor and taken the right medicine, the weight that had been pressing on Su Chi’s heart had begun to ease.
Looking at Xie Yushu’s regretful expression—her furrowed brows, her sighs—as if it really were her fault, Su Chi couldn’t help but smile at her earnestness.
It had nothing to do with her, yet she was more worried about it than he was.
He quickly suppressed the smile at the corner of his mouth and said softly, “It’s not your fault at all. I’m the foolish one—I let that quack deceive me, and my father’s been bedridden for so long because of it. If I were as clever as you, this might never have happened.”
Xie Yushu couldn’t stand to see him blame himself for everything. She comforted him, “You’re an ordinary person, not a doctor. None of this is your fault—it’s all that Doctor Li’s doing.”
“Besides,” she paused, looking him in the eye, “you’re not stupid at all. You’re very clever.”
She thought to herself: Su Chi’s lack of confidence was something he needed to fix.
She thought he was wonderful in every way.
Su Chi didn’t speak. His eyes felt warm. After a long moment, he lifted his face. “Father’s illness, and those eight guan of silver… I’m truly grateful to you.”
His voice dropped lower. “But I can’t repay any of it…”
Xie Yushu cut him off. “You don’t have to repay me!”
She thought for a moment, then added, “Just cook for me sometimes—that’s enough.”
That was exactly what Su Chi had been about to offer.
His brows curved gently as he nodded.
—
After a few days of Sun Wuyou’s medicine, Wang Wen was already showing more improvement than he had in all the previous months of treatment. Today, he’d eaten more than half a bowl of rice, along with most of the sesame-oil-dressed bean sprouts, crisp sweet greens, and oil-slicked scrambled eggs.
Su Chi was overjoyed. He hoped his father could eat like this every day.
After clearing the dishes, he remembered his gratitude toward Doctor Sun, who’d come to see his father that day.
He’d been so panicked and flustered that he’d forgotten to give her the proper consultation fee. That was terribly rude.
Besides the fee, he also planned to prepare some food for Doctor Sun as thanks. He took down some meat from the wall, tied on a coarse apron, and got to work without a moment’s rest.
He went to the field and picked several bunches of scallions, chopping them into fine rings—green and white, piled up on the cutting board like a little triangular mountain of scallions.
Then he kneaded the dough. He used this year’s finely milled flour, pouring it into a basin with water and a pinch of salt, slowly working it into a smooth, elastic ball.
The meat was over three jin in weight. He minced it first, then seasoned it with salt, soy sauce, and a mixture of scallion and ginger water, mixing it in batches. He poured hot oil over the filling to seal in the juices.
Estimating the appetites of Doctor Sun and her attendant, he ended up kneading extra dough. He divided it into over a dozen long pieces, brushed each with oil, and covered them with a clean cloth to rest for half an hour.
While the dough rested, he dry-fried green and red Sichuan peppercorns until they turned yellow and released their aroma, then ground them into fine powder in the mortar.
In a small bowl, he mixed two spoonfuls of oil and two spoonfuls of flour to make a simple paste—the key to creating flaky layers.
Once the dough had rested, he rolled each piece into a thin, palm-wide strip, brushed the entire surface with the paste, and placed a generous heap of meat filling on the far right, topped with plenty of scallions. Then he sprinkled the ground Sichuan pepper powder evenly over the remaining dough.
Then he rolled the filled dough from the right side, wrapping the filling tightly. This step ensured the pancake would have multiple thin, flaky layers. He rolled each piece into a ball, pinched the edges closed like a bun, and gently pressed it flat into a thin pancake.
Once the oil in the pan was hot, he placed the filled pancakes in one by one. He deliberately pulled out a few pieces of firewood—the pancakes needed a gentler heat.
With a light press of the wooden spatula, he fried them until both sides turned golden and crispy, releasing a rich aroma of meat, Sichuan pepper, and scallions.
He made two flavors: spicy-scallion meat pancakes, and preserved mustard green (mei cai) meat pancakes.
The preserved mustard greens came from his pickling jar—a labor-intensive process involving three rounds of steaming and drying, followed by dicing and curing. The result was a small jar of deep, savory-sweet dried mustard greens that he and his father both loved.
The preparation was similar, but the mustard green pancakes were rolled even thinner—this variety was meant to be crisp and thin, to better release the unique fragrance of the preserved greens.
To cut the richness, he also prepared a small jar of shredded lettuce salad, tossed with sesame oil for a sweet and sour kick.
He set aside a small portion of everything for himself.
These were humble offerings—Su Chi just hoped Doctor Sun wouldn’t find them beneath her.
He wrapped over twenty pancakes in oil paper, added the small jar of salad to a bamboo basket, and headed to the inn where Sun Wuyou was staying.
He’d asked Xie Yushu for the location beforehand. She’d told him not to bother—she could just relay his father’s condition herself.
—
Guizhi now held a small bamboo basket packed with food, along with fifty wen in consultation fees. She wanted to call after Su Chi, but he’d already disappeared.
Oh no—it was all her fault! She’d been so entranced by the smell of the pancakes that she’d been caught off guard and accepted the young man’s payment before she could stop herself.
He was Miss Xie’s neighbor, and Miss Xie was her young mistress’s friend—she really shouldn’t have taken the money.
But she couldn’t really be blamed—that delicious aroma had stolen her senses.
In the room.
The mistress and servant couldn’t wait to dig in.
Sun Wuyou picked up a spicy-scallion meat pancake, its skin golden and crisp. It was still piping hot, so she passed it from hand to hand.
With one bite, the hot, savory juices ran down her palm. Even though it burned, she couldn’t bear to let go—she huffed and puffed and swallowed half of it down.
The crisp crust shattered with a light crunch, sending flakes scattering. Without the barrier of the dough, the abundant filling was revealed—a fragrant burst of meat, scallion, and Sichuan pepper hitting her all at once.
The marinated filling was tender and flavorful, melting in her mouth with barely any chewing. The whole pancake was crisp and tingling with just the right amount of numbing spice, juicy and savory. She polished it off in just a few bites.
At home, she never lacked good food, but it wasn’t until she came to Songwan Town that she realized how bland her family’s cooking really was.
The shredded lettuce was crisp, tender, and smooth, tossed with sesame seeds. Eaten alongside the pancakes, it cut through the richness perfectly—making her want more and more.
Sun Wuyou let out a contented sigh.
Guizhi, silent as always, was equally covered in meaty goodness.
Both mistress and servant had greasy mouths, alternating between the hearty, savory pancakes and the tangy, refreshing lettuce salad—pure bliss.
A knock came at the door. Sun Wuyou wiped her mouth and called out.
She knew who it was—the innkeeper would have called her by name, but Xie Yushu just knocked quietly.
When Xie Yushu stepped in, Sun Wuyou handed her a pancake. “Xie Da, perfect timing—here.”
The pancake Sun Wuyou offered was greasy, and Xie Yushu hesitated for a moment. Spotting the oil paper on the table, she tore off a small piece and used it to hold the pancake. She took a bite—and was immediately impressed.
The preserved mustard green pancake had a dry, aromatic crispness. The dark brown preserved greens carried the depth of a long-dried ingredient, with a savory-sweet aftertaste. The finely minced pork released its rich oiliness alongside the dried greens—each bite more flavorful than the last.
Xie Yushu was satisfied. She asked, “Did you buy this from the shop?”
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