15. Deep-Fried Fresh Milk

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Wen Zhongxia grabbed some wontons and tossed them into the pot. The broth, simmered from a chicken carcass and large pork bones, was pale in color. The plump little wontons turned translucent after just a few seconds of blanching.

In her previous life, she had been especially fond of that bite of Qianlixiang wontons, even going so far as to apprentice herself to the shop owner to learn the craft.

At the bottom of the bowl, she placed seaweed, chopped scallions, and dried shrimp for seasoning—though regrettably, there was no pepper powder.

There was no choice; in this era, pepper was far too expensive—an extravagant spice only the nobility could afford. Small vendors simply couldn’t bear the cost.

The wonton wrappers were thin and the filling tender. After a brief boil, they were fully cooked. Hot broth was ladled into the bowl, the wontons scooped out with a strainer, and finally, a spoonful of black scallion oil was drizzled on top.

“Wontons are ready.”

Before the bowls even reached the table, the eager students, already unable to wait, caught a whiff of the rich, unique aroma and swallowed hard in unison.

“Smells incredible.”

The seaweed unfurled in the tea-colored broth, drifting like underwater grass. The little wontons gleamed like jade, their pink filling faintly visible beneath the translucent skin. Black specks and fresh green scallions dotted the edges, forming a picture as exquisite as a landscape painting.

Qin Qian was the first to sip the wonton broth. Slightly scalded, he found the soup clear yet flavorful. The richness of the bone broth and the freshness of the seafood complemented each other perfectly—delicious beyond compare.

“Madam Wen, what are those black specks?”

One guest asked.

Wen Zhongxia’s eyes curved into a smile. “That’s the secret soul of the recipe.”

Making black scallion oil was actually quite simple: chop scallions, ginger, and garlic finely, then slowly fry them in oil over low heat. Crushed pork cracklings, sesame powder, and star anise powder were added and fried further. After frying, the mixture was covered and left to steam briefly, turning the oil black.

This small spoonful of black scallion oil carried the combined aroma of scallions, garlic, pork cracklings, sesame, and star anise—a fragrance that could be smelled for miles.

Upon hearing it was a secret recipe, the guests stopped asking and eagerly tasted the wontons. The wrapper burst easily with a soft bite, releasing a hot, savory broth even richer than the base soup.

The filling was smooth and tender. Together with the delicate wrapper, the wontons slid swiftly down the throat in just a few bites.

Qin Qian, fond of spicy food, naturally added a spoonful of the fragrant chili sauce from the table, enriching the flavor further.

A bite of wonton, a sip of broth, then a nibble of the hand-grabbed flatbread.

The pain of the past two days spent suffering through the mess hall vanished like a breeze.

Life was still worth living!

Wen Zhongxia had initially thought business would be slower during the holiday, but to her surprise, the two tables scarcely emptied.

Some guests, after finishing their wonton broth, wanted to savor the moment seated, only to find fellow students eagerly clutching steaming white porcelain bowls and staring intently.

Hey, hurry up and make room!

Some couldn’t wait and ate while standing; others, clever students, brought their own bowls back to their dorms to enjoy slowly.

“Walk faster.”

Feng Yuan’s carriage stopped at a small alley corner on Cross Street. He lifted a corner of the curtain but did not peek out, instead waving repeatedly at the footman ahead.

The footman hurried along, carrying a food box carefully, afraid the wonton soup inside would spill.

Feng Yuan took the box and snapped, “Buying something, why dawdle so long?”

The footman looked a bit wronged. “Master, the food stall was crowded; I had to wait in line.”

Feng Yuan glared at him. He was no longer willing to hear the word “queue.”

“Madam Wen no longer sells green dumplings, but little wontons. I also ordered a roujiamo.” The footman pressed his lips together, clearly tempted—if not for the rush to report back, he would have eaten a bowl himself.

“No matter what she sells, as long as she poisons the food, I’ll catch her red-handed.”

He spent his precious holiday not wandering the teahouses but returning to Cross Street to confirm his suspicions.

He pulled out a small acupuncture kit, revealing a row of sharp silver needles—capable of detecting poison.

Confidently, Feng Yuan lifted the lid of the food box. A rich aroma immediately wafted out.

The footman thought he heard his master swallowing.

Feng Yuan was stunned. Did the woman’s poison come with fragrance? How could a simple bowl of wontons smell so divine?

The roujiamo beside it gleamed with glistening braised meat, juices slowly seeping out.

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It looked truly tempting.

“Master! Master!”

The footman’s calls snapped Feng Yuan back to reality, almost tricked by the fragrance.

“Test the poison quickly!”

He drew out the longest silver needle and dipped it into the wonton soup. After counting a dozen seconds, he pulled it out.

Hmm?

No change at all.

He tested the roujiamo next; same result.

The footman watched helplessly. Such delicious bread and wontons wasted on poking with needles—it was a shame to waste food.

“Master, could it be a mistake? I saw plenty of people eating at that stall. Doesn’t seem like there’s anything wrong.”

The footman, having served him for years, dared to speak up bravely.

“Impossible!” Feng Yuan snapped in frustration. “The poison must be too cunning for silver needles. We need a doctor to examine it.”

“Let’s go to the nearest clinic.”

The footman scratched his head, wondering if it was really necessary, but dared not disobey.

The carriage clattered forward, the food box resting on the small tea table inside.

The bumpy road made the carriage sway gently, causing the tea-colored wonton soup to rock side to side, nearly spilling several times.

Feng Yuan grew increasingly annoyed, finally lifting the bowl to steady it. The fragrant aroma teased his nostrils, making him restless.

He impulsively reached for the spoon. Should he... test the poison on himself?

About a quarter hour later, the carriage stopped before a clinic on Madao Street.

The footman pulled the reins. “Master, we’ve arrived.”

No response from inside the carriage, only the sound of “snoring.”

The footman called again before Feng Yuan cleared his throat and said, “Forget it. Not going in. Let’s head home.”

Not going? One moment he was set on it, the next, he changed his mind, leaving the servants to deal with the hassle.

Feng Yuan stared blankly at the empty bowl. He had eaten the wontons and broth clean—plus the roujiamo, leaving only a piece of greasy paper.

It was too delicious. He only meant to taste a bit but couldn’t stop.

“I told you to save it for me, not to eat it all,” still echoed in his ears.

Feng Yuan felt a strange ache in his face.

Oh no, he might be poisoned too.

...

Wen Zhongxia roughly calculated the earnings from selling fresh meat wontons over two days. Compared to before, she was making about a hundred more wen daily. Once all the students returned from holiday tomorrow, the income might increase even more.

The current weather was mild, perfect for vending outdoors. But in a month or two, as the Central Plains heated up, with sun and humidity, standing under the scorching sun would be unbearable.

She had to save more money quickly and aim to open a small eatery soon.

“Miss, one bowl of wontons and a roujiamo for me, please,” an elderly man with white hair said with interest at the food stall.

Recognizing the familiar face, the students were startled and stood to greet him respectfully. “Doctor Sun.” “Greetings, Doctor.”

Wen Zhongxia was slightly surprised but quickly composed herself. “Doctor, please have a seat and wait a moment; it will be ready shortly.”

“No rush.”

Doctor Sun moved toward the table. One student quickly finished the remaining two wontons, patted the bench, and offered the seat.

“Doctor, please sit.”

Doctor Sun did not decline. He lifted his robe and sat, then gestured for the standing students to sit as well.

He was a restless man, often wandering the streets alone to observe public affairs. Passing by the Imperial Academy’s gate, he recalled the green dumplings he had tasted the other day and decided to stop by.

With a doctor seated beside them, the students straightened up, no longer chatting noisily.

Doctor Sun smiled. “Today, I’m just a customer like you. Don’t treat me as a teacher; relax and eat however you like.”

At these words, the students’ tense backs eased slightly—until he added solemnly, “School starts tomorrow. Have you all finished your homework?”

The students froze mid-spoon.

Doctor, why bring that up now?

Can’t we just eat in peace?

Seeing this, Doctor Sun laughed. “You all need to toughen your mentality. No jumping at every little thing. Learn to remain calm even if Mount Tai collapses before you.”

The students grumbled silently—easy for him to say; if homework was unfinished, he was the one who punished them.

Wen Zhongxia listened quietly, inwardly amused. This old gentleman was not at all what she had imagined a doctor to be—he was a humorous fellow.

She swiftly brought the wontons and roujiamo to him.

Doctor Sun examined them for two seconds, then closed his eyes to smell the aroma, finally tasting the food. After a long savor, he said, “Not bad, not bad. Fresh, tender, and smooth. This trip was worthwhile.”

“To receive praise from Doctor Sun is my honor,” Wen Zhongxia smiled brightly.

Noticing her poised, confident demeanor—neither humble nor arrogant—he admired her quietly.

Wen Zhongxia returned to serve other customers. Doctor Sun ate half of his wontons, then glanced around and spotted a small boy sitting on a stool behind the counter, nodding his head while reciting from a book.

In front of the boy was a small pile of golden-yellow strips stacked like a little mountain.

He read a few lines, then picked up a piece, biting it open to reveal a white interior, eating with relish.

Some students noticed and teased, “Madam Wen, are you giving your little brother a special treat?”

“I only have one little brother. If not for him, who else would I make it for?” Wen Zhongxia replied with a smile, not turning her head.

Wen Mengdong had been weak since childhood, so she wanted to provide extra nourishment to strengthen him. The day before, she had bought a small jar of cow’s milk at the market and made fried milk pudding: milk cooked with sugar and starch into a thick paste, cooled and cut into strips.

Without breadcrumbs, she crushed dry steamed buns into fine crumbs instead.

The milk paste was dipped in egg, then rolled in the bun crumbs and fried, resulting in a golden, crispy coating.

Wen Mengdong didn’t like plain milk much, but loved this little snack.

Doctor Sun, eating wontons, eyed the fried milk longingly and asked, “Miss Wen, might I purchase a portion of that fried milk?”

Wen Zhongxia replied, “I’m sorry, I need fresh milk to make it, and I have no ingredients at the moment.”

Doctor Sun shook his head regretfully.

Wen Mengdong looked at the plate, then at the elderly gentleman, and lifted the plate toward him.

“Doctor, I am willing to share with you.”

Surprised, Doctor Sun asked, “You really want me to have some?”

Wen Mengdong suddenly felt shy, spreading open her book and blinking her big black-and-white eyes.

“Doctor, there’s a part of this poem I don’t understand. Could you teach me?”

Doctor Sun paused, then stroked his beard with a smile.

This pair of siblings was truly delightful.