When the princess was alive, every summer she would make him this dish—”chilled watermelon with fine sugar.” The sugar had to be the third-milled powder from Lingnan tribute sugar; the watermelon had to be the sweetest heart picked at the third watch of dawn; and it had to be arranged in the pattern of seven stars surrounding the moon. Because the princess said: the seven stars of the Big Dipper accompanying the bright moon—it was like her by his side.
After the princess passed, the old prince never ate this dessert again.
Not because no one made it—but because no one made it right. The imperial chefs had tried; the famous chefs of the great restaurants had tried. Either the sugar was too coarse, or the watermelon wasn’t sweet enough, or the presentation was too elaborate and lost the simple essence.
He had come to Little Lin Manor that day because he’d heard there was a girl here who was an expert at growing melons. He carried a faint glimmer of hope, yet feared disappointment, so he deliberately made things difficult.
Unexpectedly, this girl hadn’t arranged the watermelon in seven stars around the moon as he’d demanded—yet she had recreated the flavor of his memory.
“The princess… in her later years, her hands shook and she couldn’t arrange the seven stars either,” the old prince said hoarsely. “She’d just pile it up like this, sprinkle sugar over it… she said, it’s the taste that matters, not the appearance.”
Lin Shuying listened quietly and handed him a cup of warm water.
After taking a sip, the old prince regained some composure. He pointed at the plate: “Your sugar is finely ground, but not too finely—you left a hint of graininess that you can feel when eating. And the watermelon is excellent—sweet without being cloying.”
“The sugar is tribute sugar; the watermelon is a variety I grew myself called ‘Red Jewel’—an improved cultivar,” Lin Shuying said honestly. “Actually, a watermelon picked at dawn isn’t necessarily better than one picked fresh. Once picked, respiration consumes sugar—the longer it sits, the more sweetness is lost…”
“I know,” the old prince interrupted. “The princess said the same thing later. She said the best watermelon is one fully ripe on the vine, picked and eaten fresh. But she loved to say those things in her youth, and I loved hearing her say them.”
He paused and looked at Lin Shuying: “Girl, how much for this plate?”
Lin Shuying thought for a moment: “A regular plate of chilled watermelon costs ten wen. Since we used tribute sugar here, let’s say twenty wen.”
The old prince blinked, then burst into laughter: “Twenty wen? Good! Very good, twenty wen!”
He pulled out a silver ingot from his chest—five taels at least—and set it on the table: “Keep the change. From now on, on the first and fifteenth of every month, have someone deliver a plate of this to the Prince Jing’s residence. When the sugar runs out, send someone to the palace to fetch more—the late Emperor’s gifts are still in the storeroom, enough to last.”
Lin Shuying didn’t decline: “Alright. But tribute sugar is precious—ordinary people can’t afford it. I also have rock sugar I make myself; ground fine, it’s quite good too. Would Your Highness like to try it?”
“Yes!” the old prince waved his hand. “You decide. As long as it has that flavor, however you make it is fine.”
He stayed a while longer, finishing the entire plate of watermelon, even licking up the sugar dust. As he left, he said to Lin Shuying: “Girl, this canteen of yours is good. Honest.”
The carriage drove off.
The queue erupted.
“My heavens! Prince Jing! That’s the man who led troops against the northern tribes!”
“Miss Lin is amazing—one plate of watermelon made a prince cry!”
“This canteen is going to be even more famous now…”
A Li held the silver ingot, still dazed: “Miss, that’s it… it’s over?”
“It’s over.” Lin Shuying washed her hands and rolled up her sleeves again. “Auntie Liu, keep serving. Everyone, stop staring—eat your meals.”
She was back to being the melon-growing girl, as if she’d just handled an ordinary little matter.
— —
But the matter wasn’t over.
The next day, the steward of Prince Jing’s household came in person, bringing ten jars of Lingnan tribute sugar and a list—thirty-seven people in the household would order lunch and dinner monthly from Little Lin Canteen. They had no preference on the dishes, with only one requirement: fresh, clean, and good flavor.
On the third day, several well-dressed men resembling household stewards came to eat, then found A Li afterward—from such-and-such marquis’s household, or such-and-such minister’s household—also wanting to order “work meals.”
On the fourth day, even the Imperial Academy’s Chancellor sent someone to ask if they could set up a “monthly meal package” for impoverished students at the Academy. Price was negotiable.
A Li’s abacus clicked furiously, her eyes growing brighter: “Miss, I think… we’re going to get rich?”
Lin Shuying was crouched in the greenhouse, grafting the newly arrived “milk watermelon” seedlings. Without looking up, she said: “Get rich? It’s just a few more mouths to feed. You arrange it, just make sure not to disrupt the daily operations.”
“But…” A Li hesitated, “those households have so many requirements—this one doesn’t want scallions, that one doesn’t want garlic—troublesome.”
“Troublesome is where the money is.” Lin Shuying clipped off excess shoots. “Keep a ledger—note down each household’s dietary restrictions and preferences. When delivering meals, include a little note: list the ingredients used and how they were prepared. This is called ‘customized service.’”
A Li noted it down, half-understanding.
A few days later, another carriage arrived from Prince Jing’s residence.
This time, it wasn’t the old prince, but his grandson—a youth of sixteen or seventeen named Xiao Yan.
Xiao Yan was handsome and bright-faced, with a lively disposition. As soon as he entered, he called out: “Which one is Sister Lin? My grandfather sent me to bring you something!”
What he brought was a set of antique porcelain plates from a previous dynasty, said to have been treasured by a famous gourmet. The old prince’s message was: good food deserves good plates—use them as you see fit.
Lin Shuying accepted them and quietly handed them to A Li to store in the warehouse.
No way—using antique plates for canteen food? If one got broken, she couldn’t afford to replace it.
Xiao Yan didn’t mind. He wandered around the canteen, ordered two dishes and a bowl of rice, and ate with great relish.
After finishing, he even went to the back kitchen and insisted on seeing how the watermelons were grown.
Wei Fuyu happened to be practicing with her spear in the greenhouse—she said the warm temperature there was good for limbering up.
When Xiao Yan saw her, his eyes went wide: “This sister has amazing skills!”
Wei Fuyu glanced at him: “Kid, go play somewhere else.”
Xiao Yan wasn’t offended—if anything, he was more intrigued, peppering her with questions.
Wei Fuyu was so annoyed she nearly speared him out of the greenhouse.
Finally, Zhao Di’er came over, grabbed Xiao Yan by the collar, and hauled him out: “Sister Wei is busy—stop bothering her. Want to see the melons? I’ll take you to the real melon fields.”
That afternoon, Xiao Yan got covered in mud and insisted on picking a watermelon himself.
He ended up picking one that wasn’t fully ripe—when he cut it open, the flesh was still white.
Lin Shuying looked at it and sighed: “What a waste—if we’d waited five more days, it would’ve been ready.”
Xiao Yan scratched his head sheepishly: “I’ll pay for it.”
“No need.” Lin Shuying took the leftover melon. “The rind can be pickled into a small side dish, the seeds can be dried and roasted for snacking, and the flesh… feed it to the pigs.”
Xiao Yan burst out laughing: “Sister Lin, you’re really something.”
After that, Xiao Yan became a regular at the canteen, coming every few days—sometimes with friends, sometimes alone.
When the old prince found out, he didn’t stop him. He only said: “Let him go. It’s better than him wasting time with those wastrels in the capital.”
The canteen’s business grew even more prosperous.
A Li had no choice but to hire two more cooks and three more servers. Lin Shuying also rented out the empty shop next door and knocked through the wall, nearly doubling the seating.
Still, she went to the fields every day—tending her melons, caring for her seedlings.
She left the canteen entirely in A Li’s hands, only occasionally going to the kitchen to offer pointers when new dishes were introduced.
Occasionally, Prince Jing’s household would send rare ingredients, or gifts of thanks from some noble family.
Lin Shuying accepted everything without hesitation—using what could be used, selling what could be sold.
Once, A-Gua asked her: “Miss, aren’t you afraid people will say we’re currying favor with the powerful?”
Lin Shuying was pollinating watermelons at the time and didn’t even look up: “Currying favor? The business I earned with a plate of watermelon is called skill. If they’re not convinced, let them grow a melon that can make a prince cry and see.”
A-Gua thought about it—and realized she had a point.
— —
When the last batch of watermelons ripened before autumn, the old prince came again.
This time, he didn’t take a carriage—he walked with his cane, saying he was “digesting his food.”
Lin Shuying cut him a slice of her newly cultivated “Golden Thread Watermelon,” which had golden flesh and an intensely sweet flavor.
The old prince took a bite and nodded: “Sweet. But not as good as the red one.”
“Autumn is here—time to harvest.” Lin Shuying said. “Next year, I’ll grow the red ones for you again.”
The old prince watched her bustling about and suddenly said: “Girl, are you betrothed?”
Lin Shuying’s hand slipped, nearly cutting herself.
“Not yet.” She steadied herself. “No rush.”
“No rush, indeed.” The old prince smiled. “I have a grandson—about your age. A bit flighty, but a good heart…”
“Your Highness.” Lin Shuying interrupted him with a polite, distant smile. “The watermelons are almost out of season, but I’ve just pickled some watermelon-rind pickles—they’re quite good. Would you like to take some back to try?”
The old prince understood and didn’t press further. He nodded: “Fine. I’ll take some.”
That day, as the old prince left, Lin Shuying walked him to the gate.
The setting sun cast a long shadow, his figure a little stooped.
He suddenly turned back and said: “Girl, keep growing your melons. In this world, there aren’t many people who can focus on one thing.”
Lin Shuying stood at the gate and watched him go for a long time.
A Li came over and said quietly: “Miss, Prince Jing was…”
“A man who cherishes the past.” Lin Shuying turned and walked back inside. “Tomorrow, when you deliver the meal to the prince’s residence, add an extra scoop of braised pork. The old man is thin—he needs the nourishment.”
“Got it!”
Leave a Reply