Outside, lightning cracked across the sky, followed by a rolling drum of thunder. Wind rattled the window frames, and raindrops, fat as beans, pelted the courtyard. Shen Shaoguang moved to close the window, then fetched a small folding stool to sit by the doorway. Rolling glutinous rice balls in her hands, she planned to add fermented rice and cook them for breakfast.
Being from the North, Shen Shaoguang had first encountered the subtleties of Southern cuisine during university. A girl from Jiangnan in her dormitory—with dewy skin and a soft, melodious voice—loved experimenting with dormitory cooking. Remarkably, she could conjure something close to an imperial feast from just a rice cooker, often skirting the dorm supervisor’s watchful eyes in a game of clever cat and mouse.
Shen Shaoguang had learned the art of fermented rice balls from that girl. At first, the flavor seemed simple, almost unremarkable, but over time she grew to savor the subtle sweetness. Unlike the bold, hearty tastes of Northern food, these gentle flavors were quietly comforting—perfect for a late-night snack after hours of studying.
Rainy days always invited reminiscence. As Shen Shaoguang watched puddles form in the courtyard, their surfaces dotted with bubbles, she tilted her head to judge the sky. It seemed to brighten—the rain would likely pass soon. Morning’s drum had marked the start of street vending, but today it had been entirely disrupted by the storm.
Since the Dragon Boat Festival, it seemed as if the heavens had suddenly decided to compensate for months of dry spells. Heavy rain came every three days, light rain every two, yet the humid summer heat remained relentless—a suffocating, relentless warmth that future generations would call sauna weather. Shen Shaoguang’s small street business had suffered, but her Dragon Boat Festival earnings were enough to steady her nerves. Anxiety would do no good; she reminded herself that pragmatism was worth more than worry.
As she ate glutinous rice balls and sipped fermented rice soup dotted with candied osmanthus, the rain finally eased. And with it came a visitor.
Tall, broad-shouldered, long-legged, and sun-kissed from outdoor service, he filled the brown round-necked robe he wore. Shen Shaoguang squinted—recognition flickered in her eyes. The military officer who had purchased all her sour plum drink that day!
Hopefully, he wasn’t here seeking relief from a stomach upset…
Jingci, the guest receptionist, peeked curiously. Shen Shaoguang smiled and asked politely, “What brings the General here?”
The officer, technically only an eighth-rank Xuanjie School Captain, felt a twinge of embarrassment at the elevated address. He didn’t correct her. “Your plum drink that day was exceptional. My fellow officers kept asking about it, eventually learning you lived here in Chongxian Ward. I happened to pass by and wished to purchase more.”
Jingci’s eyebrows arched in anticipation, then drooped slightly upon hearing it was just a drink. Shen Shaoguang, however, calmly directed the negotiation.
“General, that batch was specially brewed for the Dragon Boat Festival. It’s not normally available. If you’d like it for personal use, tell me in advance, and I can prepare it. But if it’s for sending to the military…” She shook her head politely. “…I’m afraid I cannot comply.”
The officer frowned. “Why not?”
“Judging by your uniform, you’re part of the Imperial Guard, protecting the Emperor and defending the capital. Your food regulations are strict. I’m just a commoner—I dare not overstep.” Shen Shaoguang’s caution was deliberate. Selling occasionally on the street was one thing; supplying the military was quite another.
The officer, taken aback by her prudence, studied her more closely. Shen Shaoguang returned his gaze with a serene smile.
“Since the young lady declines, I won’t insist. Farewell.” The officer donned his bamboo hat and turned to leave.
Shen Shaoguang tilted her head, a sly idea forming. “There might be a way,” she called softly.
The officer paused.
“Whether these plums are cooked in my pot or the Imperial Guard’s kitchen,” she continued, narrowing her eyes, “the result is the same. Let the official kitchen prepare it.”
The officer blinked. “You mean—”
“Yes. I can provide the recipe. The Imperial Guard can then produce it freely and safely, without worrying about responsibility.” Shen Shaoguang’s offer was clever—moving from retail to a recipe buyout.
The officer considered, then asked cautiously, “How much do you want for it?”
Shen Shaoguang pondered, then smiled. “Twenty taels of silver.”
A modest sum for the Imperial Guard, substantial for the common people, and a fair price for her ingenuity. The officer’s brows furrowed, but he understood the practicality. “Since it involves Imperial Guard provisions, I will need to confirm…”
The next afternoon, the deal was finalized. With superior approval, the officer paid twenty taels of silver and assigned a young servant to learn the recipe from Shen Shaoguang. She instructed him patiently, and by evening a small pot of sour plum juice was ready. After cooling in the temple’s well, they tasted it together.
“This is the flavor,” the officer confirmed, then checked the servant. “Have you learned it?”
The servant, barely twenty, nodded eagerly. “Don’t worry, School Captain. I’ve learned everything.”
Shen Shaoguang, cautious yet generous, refrained from writing down the recipe. “If anything is unclear, come ask me,” she said with a smile.
The officer left satisfied. Shen Shaoguang weighed the twenty taels in her hands, a bright smile spreading across her face.
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