Over the past few days, Xie Yushu felt that the two of them had grown a bit closer—at least Su Chi wasn’t giving her dirty looks anymore, and he was willing to talk and move around her without the same resistance as before.
Ever since that day Meng Dongxue had secretly gone to see Xie Yushu, he wasn’t as opposed to the idea when his mother brought up the subject.
He sat in his room embroidering a handkerchief, quietly listening to his mother and father’s voices drifting in from the hall, discussing his marriage prospects.
Meng Su was very satisfied with Xie Yushu and felt the match should be settled as soon as possible. She knew the Huang family also had their eyes on Xie Yushu, and others had similar ideas after seeing her face.
Cheng Fūlang wasn’t convinced. He hadn’t met this person, and his one wish was to marry his son into a good family in town.
His youngest son, Dongxue, had been pampered his whole life—he couldn’t work the land or endure hardship. Only marrying into town would set Cheng Fūlang’s mind at ease. That’s why he’d been shocked when his wife brought up Xie Yushu, and he was completely against it.
Meng Su had always known her husband’s hopes and strongly disagreed with them. She tried to reason with him: “Good families in town are wealthy households, but they’re not easy to get along with. Think about it—those big families have high thresholds, lots of schemes, and endless rules. Do you really think our Dongxue would have a good life marrying into one? He’s too innocent—he’d only end up being wronged.”
Meng Su went to town often to sell grain and poultry, unlike her husband, who’d only been a handful of times. She knew something about the messy affairs of the well-off families in town—big or small, that kind of fortune wasn’t something their farming folk could stomach.
Cheng Fūlang began to waver, though he still tried to find fault with Xie Yushu: “Xie Yushu is poor. No land, and that Zhai house—you know how tiny it is. If she marries into our family and we’re gone someday, how will she treat Dongxue? She’s a woman—would she really stay in her husband’s home and take all the gossip? She’d probably run off, leaving our son all alone.”
The more he imagined it, the more frightened he became, as if he could already see his poor Dongxue abandoned. His eyes reddened at the thought.
Usually, when a village family wanted a woman to marry into their home, it was because they had an only son. But the Meng family was different—they already had an eldest daughter, yet were still looking for a live-in wife for their son. That was practically unheard of.
Having a daughter and still needing a son-in-law to move in—any normal woman would feel slighted, as if she were beneath them. No wonder Cheng Fūlang worried.
Meng Su had considered that angle too but still countered: “What are you saying? Our daughter is still here, isn’t she? Miss Xie doesn’t strike me as that kind of person.”
Then she waved her hand dismissively: “The Zhai daughter has real skills—she can do arithmetic and writes beautifully. Someone like that won’t be out of work for long in town. Once she’s settled there, we can chip in some money to help them find a place, and then she can take Dongxue to town to live properly—that’s the real life.”
Meng Dongxue listened intently in his room, his embroidery needle gradually slowing.
Was she really that remarkable?
There were few literate people in the village, and even fewer who could write. Only a handful of young women from a few families had the chance to study in town—those with good grades and potential might even be selected to continue their studies in the county. He’d always held scholars in high regard.
Had this woman studied too?
His heart began to race, his fingers gripping the embroidery needle until they turned white, his mind churning with thoughts.
Cheng Fūlang, talked through by Meng Su, fell silent.
The next day, Meng Su went early to Tian Kang, carrying the two plumpest chickens from the coop as a gift. When asking a matchmaker to arrange a live-in marriage, a proper gift was a courtesy.
Tian Kang was still fretting over the Xie Yushu matter. Both the Huang and Meng families had come to him with proposals, and he’d accepted gifts from both. He planned to keep whichever one he could secure and return the other.
He’d also silently grumbled that the Huang family hadn’t given him anything to work with.
Last time, Xie Yushu had rebuffed him, and he’d been mulling over when to try again. With the Meng family’s gift in hand, after breakfast and finishing his chores, he smiled and headed over to Xie Yushu’s house.
Xie Yushu was just sweeping the yard, stirring up a cloud of dust, when she looked up and spotted Tian Fūlang waving through the haze.
“You again? Which family is it this time?” Xie Yushu had woken early and was still groggy, her voice flat and thick. She wasn’t particularly welcoming and kept sweeping.
She noticed he was carrying two plump chickens, neatly bound with red string—a gift for her?
It didn’t pique her interest.
After finishing her sweeping, she set the broom aside and brought out the basin of soaking river snails from the kitchen. She took a small stool and sat down to clip off their tails. The snails had been soaking at home for several days—she’d changed the water often, so they hadn’t gone bad. She planned to cook them soon.
Tian Fūlang followed her step by step, whispering in her ear: “This time, I’m proposing for the Meng family’s young man—the most handsome in our village. You must have heard of him.”
Now that it was out in the open, Tian Kang didn’t mince words. He tried to push the two fat chickens into Xie Yushu’s hands: “The Meng family wants you to marry in as a live-in wife for their youngest son. Miss Xie, what do you say…”
Xie Yushu pulled her hands away, refusing the gift.
She’d been about to let his words roll off her like wind, but the word “wife” made her reflexively glance at Tian Fūlang in confusion.
It took her a moment to realize—so that’s what he was after.
No wonder he’d torn apart her house and her character last time. He’d been laying the groundwork.
Criticizing her home was just to make another family’s house look better, so she’d agree to marry into it.
The idea was for her to move into another man’s home as a live-in wife—that was the plan.
The Meng family? Xie Yushu didn’t know them—she had no impression at all.
But she did recall that the strange young man who’d come to talk to her out of the blue was also surnamed Meng. She’d forgotten his name though.
Something with “snow”? Meng Baixue?
Xie Yushu nodded in response to Tian Fūlang’s last comment—not because she’d heard it from the villagers, but because that person had come to her himself.
Tian Kang, seeing her nod, felt a surge of hope and launched into a litany of Meng Dongxue’s virtues and his family’s circumstances.
He said the Meng family were good-natured people who wouldn’t look down on Xie Yushu even if she married in, but would treat her like their own daughter. He went on about how their house was much larger than this one, how they had plenty of land, and how they had more grain than they could eat.
Xie Yushu didn’t argue. She treated his rambling like white noise to work by, finishing clipping all the snail tails as he chattered on.
“I’m done. You can go now,” Xie Yushu said, ready to shoo him away after using his chatter as background noise.
Tian Fūlang immediately realized this was a lost cause. Frustrated, he pressed on: “Don’t be like that, Miss Xie! Meng Dongxue is the kind of young man half the village women dream of—why don’t you appreciate him?”
“Let whoever wants him go get him. Don’t come to me—I’m not interested.”
Seeing he still wouldn’t leave, Xie Yushu asked, “Are you planning to stay for dinner, Tian Fūlang?”
At that, Tian Kang quickly switched tactics: “Fine, no Meng family—what about the Huang family? They’re honest folks, not as well-off as the Mengs, but a solid household to settle down with. Miss Xie—”
Before he could finish, Xie Yushu cut him off impatiently: “If they’re so solid, you marry them yourself. I have no interest in being a live-in wife for anyone.”
Xie Yushu’s blunt, harsh words drained the color from Tian Fūlang’s face.
Him marry into a family? What was she saying?
Determined to close this deal, Tian Kang hardened his resolve and sat down on the small stool Xie Yushu had left in the yard, refusing to budge.
Xie Yushu couldn’t very well physically drag a man out, so she treated him as if he didn’t exist and went about her own business.
She was going to make spicy stir-fried river snails with perilla. She’d been craving this dish for ages and finally had time to make it.
The cooking wasn’t the trouble—it was the tedious washing that took multiple rounds. Exhausting.
Thankfully, she’d soaked the snails for days, so most of the sand had been purged, making them much easier to handle.
First, she scrubbed the snails several times with water and salt until the runoff ran clear.
She put them in a pot of cold water with a few slices of ginger and a splash of rice wine.
The rice wine was from a neighbor’s homemade batch. She’d smelled it last time and thought it was decent, so she’d bought a small jar for ten wen—perfect for cooking to remove fishiness and enhance freshness.
When the water boiled, she let it go for about two minutes until the opercula—the little “doors” of the snails—had all fallen off. She counted to one hundred and twenty in her head.
She still wasn’t used to the local timekeeping and secretly measured in her previous world’s units.
The operculum, the thin horny lid on the snail’s opening, would drop off when the snail meat shrank from the heat. She fished out the blanched snails and scrubbed them twice more.
In the wok, she poured in a moderate amount of oil. When it was hot, she added a spoonful of lard, letting it melt and blend with the oil. Then came a generous amount of minced garlic, minced ginger, fresh chilies, and dried chili segments, all stir-fried together.
She added two star anise and two bay leaves, stir-frying until fragrant.
Then she added a spoonful of bean paste, cooking until its fermented aroma bloomed and the oil took on the paste’s color.
The bean paste was homemade by Su Chi. Last time, after Xie Yushu lent him the soybean oil, he’d given her a freshly made jar of bean paste in return.
Xie Yushu thought he was being too polite—always settling accounts down to the last detail. They were neighbors; it felt too formal. She was a little put out by it.
Drained of water, the snails went into the wok, stir-fried quickly until each shell was coated in a glossy, red sauce. She added dark soy sauce and light soy sauce, and the heat sent a burst of steam upward. Then she added a spoonful each of salt and sugar, continuing to stir.
Next, she poured in enough water to cover the snails, put the lid on, and let it simmer so the snails could absorb the rich, spicy flavor.
Midway, she opened her chili powder jar and spooned some in, then covered it again.
The chili powder was homemade—she’d ground dried chilies with a mortar a few days ago. Her method was simple, the result a bit coarse, not finely powdered, but good enough for her.
Lifting the lid, she saw the snails had simmered just right—the sauce had thickened to the perfect consistency, clinging to every shell.
She tossed in freshly chopped perilla, stir-fried briefly, and the moment the perilla’s unique fragrance bloomed, she plated the dish.
Xie Yushu couldn’t wait. She picked up a snail with her chopsticks—still hot—blew on it twice, and first sucked the glossy, rich sauce off the shell. The taste was so good it made her whole face light up, every feature pleased by the deliciousness.
Most of the opercula had fallen off during blanching, so she could suck directly.
With a gentle pull, the springy, juicy snail meat slid into her mouth—fresh, spicy, and complex in flavor, with layered notes that built on each other. She couldn’t stop, downing several in one go.
Her seasoning was just right—not too light, not too salty. The bean paste and perilla were the finishing touches, undoubtedly the soul of the dish.
Of course, pickled bamboo shoots would make it even better—she’d get to that when she had time.
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