Su Chi’s household indeed didn’t have soybean oil. He usually kept lard and rapeseed oil for cooking.
The rapeseed oil had been pressed a few months ago when the villagers gathered together. Each household had contributed a corresponding amount of rapeseed for pressing, and the leftover residue—rapeseed cake, or oil meal—was used as feed for pigs and poultry.
He still had half a small jar left, not yet finished.
Seeing Xie Yushu had already disappeared into her own house, Su Chi couldn’t very well return the oil, so he resignedly took it and began cooking.
There happened to be a large block of tofu at home—perfect for making fish tofu soup, and he could also fry up some crispy little fish as she’d suggested.
When his mother was alive, his father used to make fish dishes often. His father was quite skilled at handling fish, and Su Chi had learned it all from him.
Even such tiny fish weren’t difficult for Su Chi.
These little fish were about the length of his index finger. No need to scale or gut them—just a quick rinse, a gentle squeeze at the gills, and the intestines slid out easily.
The innards and fish guts he couldn’t eat went into the compost pit along with other kitchen waste—excellent fertilizer.
Half of the cleaned fish went into the soup, the other half for frying. The bucket Xie Yushu had brought was more than enough.
He heated the wok and poured in a spoonful of rapeseed oil. When the oil was hot, he dropped in half the fish. With a satisfying sizzle, the whole kitchen filled with the aroma of pan-fried fish.
Once the fish were cooked through on one side and wouldn’t stick, Su Chi added sliced ginger and a few scallion whites, stir-frying gently. Then he carefully mashed the fish with his spatula. The fish flesh and bones, now fully cooked, yielded easily to pressure, turning into a fine paste.
He poured in boiling water from the clay pot. The hot water immediately dispersed the fish paste, turning the broth milky white and fragrant, with a hint of oil.
The pot bubbled and gurgled. When the time was right, Su Chi used a fine-mesh strainer to scoop out the broken bones and residue. The fish meat had dissolved into the soup, becoming the foundation of its rich, savory flavor.
Now it was time to add the tofu. Su Chi steadied the large block of tofu on his palm, sliced it horizontally and vertically, and quickly cut it into small cubes before dropping them into the milky white soup to simmer.
He’d paid for this large block of tofu the night before, asking the tofu-making household in the village to save a big piece for him. Liu Fūlang had also bought some and brought it home for him.
Whenever possible, Su Chi preferred to support local businesses—only buying from town what the village couldn’t supply.
When the soup was just right, Su Chi sprinkled in a pinch of coarse salt and some chopped water celery. He ladled it out into a large bowl and covered it with a plate to keep it warm.
Fish paste and tofu broth, seasoned only with salt, was exceptionally delicious—no other seasonings needed.
Next, he prepared the crispy fried fish.
Before making the soup, he’d already marinated the fish with salt, then coated them in a batter mixture until each one was covered in a thin, dripping layer of batter. Now that the prep work was done, the frying went smoothly.
He poured the soybean oil Xie Yushu had given him into the wok—not too much, just enough, since he was frugal—and stoked the fire in the stove.
When the oil was hot enough that a wooden chopstick dipped in produced fine, dense bubbles, Su Chi carefully slid each battered fish into the oil along the edge of the wok.
The moment the fish hit the hot oil, the pot erupted in a frenzy of sizzling. The white batter gradually turned golden, and the irresistible aroma of frying filled the air.
Using long chopsticks, he gently turned the now-crisp fish. Once they were golden all over, he scooped them out to drain. The fried fish piled up in the bamboo basket—the oil and fish aromas fully unleashed, wafting out of the Su house and all the way over to Xie Yushu’s.
Double-frying was the key to keeping fried food crispy and preventing it from going soft. Su Chi returned the fish to the hot oil for a second fry, counting silently in his head, then fished them out with a skimmer.
As he lifted the skimmer and shook it, the fried fish clinked together with a crisp, satisfying “crackle”—perfectly crispy.
He strained the remaining hot oil through the skimmer to remove the batter bits, leaving it clean. He poured it into a bowl for later use.
Su Chi’s cooking skills were genuinely excellent. His mother had taught him how to make buns and noodles; his father taught him stir-frying and seasoning—especially how to handle meat and fish, remove fishiness, enhance freshness, and coax the most tempting aroma from fats. He’d learned these skills well, inheriting the best of both parents.
But after his mother passed, the family’s standard of living plummeted, and meals became simpler. His father scrimped for him; after falling ill, there was hardly any meat at home. Even after Su Chi took over, he never indulged in food or clothing.
The fillings he prepared for his buns, fragrant enough to make people think his family ate meat every day, were just part of the business.
Su Chi set aside some of both dishes for his own family and brought the rest over to Xie Yushu’s.
When he arrived with the prepared fish soup and crispy fish, Xie Yushu was still in the yard, sitting on a small stool and patiently stripping sweet potato leaves. She didn’t seem in any hurry to eat.
When she wasn’t rushed, Xie Yushu moved slowly. The only time she’d picked up the pace was when the Sun family mistress and servant were over. On her own, she took her time.
Seeing Su Chi come to her with the cooked dishes, she was startled.
Hadn’t she given him the fish for him and his father? Why was he bringing it to her?
And he’d made it so quickly?
She’d only had a drink of water and peeled a few cloves of garlic—how had Su Chi finished all that?
The wooden gate to Xie Yushu’s yard wasn’t closed. Su Chi didn’t want to be seen coming to her house, so he gave her a brief nod and hurried inside.
He returned the jar of soybean oil to her and placed the still-piping-hot fish soup and freshly fried crispy fish on the table in Xie Yushu’s main hall.
Not that he had much choice—he could only put them there, since Xie Yushu’s house had no other suitable surfaces.
It wasn’t his first time in Xie Yushu’s home. Being diagonally across, the Su and Zhai houses were very close. As a child, Su Chi had visited the Zhai house with his mother, and it looked the same as he remembered—empty, with hardly anything inside.
A flood of questions crossed his mind.
She… Xie Yushu didn’t seem like someone so hard up. Why was she living like this?
Xie Yushu stopped stripping the sweet potato leaves and unconsciously followed him into the hall. She was nearly overwhelmed by the aroma.
She’d smelled it while he was frying and secretly admired his skill. She hadn’t expected to get to taste it herself.
“The fish soup is best hot, and the fried fish is ready too—all made for you.”
Xie Yushu thought he’d misunderstood. She hadn’t meant for him to cook for her. She was about to explain, but he cut her off.
His expression softened more than usual, and he said slowly, “Thank you for the fish and the oil. Father will enjoy them. This portion is for you.”
“My cooking is passable—hope you don’t mind.”
Passable? This looked way better than anything she could make, and he’d done it so fast. He was a true little kitchen prodigy.
Instead of saying she didn’t mind, Xie Yushu picked up a golden fried fish from the plate. The crust felt firm and crisp under her fingertips, still hot. She blew on it and popped it into her mouth.
With one bite, a satisfying “crunch” rang out, and Xie Yushu’s eyes squinted in delight.
So delicious.
Freshly fried crispy fish were at their peak—aromas of oil, batter, and fish all mingling. They could be eaten with rice or as a snack.
The moment she bit down, that thin golden shell shattered with the gentlest pressure.
The coating was just the right thickness—not too thick to mask the fish’s natural taste, not too thin to fall off and fail to hold shape.
Chewing a few times, she didn’t feel any bones. For these small fish, the bones were already tiny, and the high heat had fried them thoroughly crisp. The bones crumbled like the fish meat itself, with no prickly bits—just a pleasant, crispy chew distinct from the tender flesh.
The outside was perfectly fried, and the inside—though there wasn’t much meat—was exceptionally tender, as if the juices had been locked in during frying.
“Delicious!” Xie Yushu looked up at Su Chi with sparkling eyes, sincere in her praise. Finishing one, she picked up another, blowing on it before taking a bite.
Seeing her enjoy it so much, Su Chi didn’t linger and went home.
Back home, he cooked a bowl of rice porridge for Wang Wen, serving it with the crispy fish and fish tofu soup. Wang Wen loved seafood and river fish, and he also loved fried fish.
But crispy fish were too oily for a frail patient. So Su Chi soaked them in the porridge for a while, letting them soften before feeding them to his father.
When mealtime came, Wang Wen looked at him with a hint of childish dissatisfaction.
“Why did you soak the crispy fish in the porridge? They’re not crunchy anymore.” Wang Wen had smelled the aroma long ago and had assumed his son would let him have them.
Su Chi smiled gently as he held the porridge bowl. “Father, you can’t have crispy foods right now. Once you’re better, I’ll make them for you every day, alright?”
Soaked in the hot porridge, the golden fried fish softened, losing their crispness but gaining the porridge’s subtle sweetness. The fish took on a slightly chewy texture, adding more bite. Wang Wen ate more than usual.
This dish satisfied Wang Wen’s craving without burdening his weak stomach—he could eat it happily and in greater quantity.
Su Chi ate last. As he bit into a crispy fish, his mind wandered to his father’s playful stubbornness over the fried fish… and also to Xie Yushu.
To Xie Yushu’s expression of pure satisfaction as she ate the fish—first reverent, then eyes bright and shining.
Did he really cook that well?
The image came suddenly, catching him completely off guard. He startled himself.
Instinctively flustered, he looked down at the dishes on the table and picked up a chopstickful of the sweet potato leaves Xie Yushu had just sent over.
The tender, crisp leaves, stir-fried with garlic that had been bloomed in hot oil, were so fragrant that Su Chi ate several mouthfuls in a row.
She really was a good cook too.
After Su Chi left, Xie Yushu was spurred into action by the speed of his delivery. She quickly stir-fried a plate of garlic sweet potato leaves and steamed some rice.
She was a hospitable neighbor—she sent half the plate to Su Chi as well.
Simple dishes like this she could make with confidence.
She was generous with garlic and sugar, which made everything extra fragrant.
With a mouthful of garlicky sweet potato leaves, a bite of crispy, bone-tender fish, a scoop of rice, and a sip of the rich, tender fish paste and tofu soup—Xie Yushu’s meal was pure bliss.
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