Chapter 23: Five-Kernel Mooncake

                              

Steward Zhou rapped politely on the door of the small food shop.

Shen Shaoguang glanced up to find an elderly gentleman of perhaps fifty years, possessing a kindly countenance, accompanied by two young servants. She smiled warmly. "Please come in, Elder. Are you here to dine or to purchase something to take away?"

Steward Zhou returned her smile. "Young Miss, my master wishes to commission some Mid-Autumn Festival pastries from your establishment."

Absorbed as she'd been with introducing new dishes and overseeing shop renovations these past weeks, Shen Shaoguang hadn't noticed time's swift passage—the Mid-Autumn Festival was nearly upon them. Having earned considerable profit selling flower cakes during the Qixi Festival, she naturally had no intention of missing the lucrative opportunity mooncakes presented.

Though she called them "mooncakes" in her mind, this term didn't yet exist in the current dynasty's vocabulary. While people certainly gathered with family, climbed to elevated places to appreciate the moon's beauty, drank wine, and composed poetry on the fifteenth day of the eighth month, the Mid-Autumn Festival hadn't yet evolved into the mooncake-centric celebration of later eras. As for precisely when mooncakes acquired their name or became an indispensable household tradition, Shen Shaoguang couldn't say with certainty.

Feeling decidedly nostalgic, Shen Shaoguang had crafted both baked and snow-skin mooncakes according to future styles, offering fillings that included red bean paste, date paste, osmanthus, black sesame, salted egg yolk, and the infamous five-kernel filling that would be universally vilified by future internet users.

Since childhood, Shen Shaoguang had belonged firmly to the "five-kernel hater" camp, particularly despising those mooncakes containing lurid green and red candied fruit strips. She'd been convinced the ancestors created this abomination specifically to ruin children's festivals—truly a dark culinary creation darker than the hours before dawn.

That perspective shifted dramatically during junior high school after tasting a classmate's homemade five-kernel mooncake. Heaven above! The problem wasn't five-kernel itself—she simply had never tasted a well-made version! This one was moderately sweet, fragrant with quality pine nuts, walnuts, and peanuts, neither dry and choking nor sickeningly cloying, without any trace of rancid oil, and most crucially, completely free of those ghastly green and red candied strips.

Later, while reading "Dream of the Red Chamber," she'd encountered the passage describing "palace-made melon kernel and pine nut mooncakes," which made her realize that properly crafted five-kernel mooncakes must have existed according to imperial kitchen recipes. If Lady Jia, who'd lived her entire life surrounded by the finest luxuries, didn't disdain them, they must have been genuinely delicious—and almost certainly didn't contain those offensive candied strips.

Even later, perusing the extensive food writings of the great gourmand Yuan Mei, Shen Shaoguang completely abandoned her prejudice against five-kernel mooncakes, wishing only that she could sample a couple made according to his exacting standards.

Having never had the opportunity to make them in her previous life, she certainly wanted to attempt it now.

Actually, crafting five-kernel filling proved remarkably simple. Shen Shaoguang analyzed that the poor reputation of modern five-kernel mooncakes stemmed primarily from inferior or stale ingredients, especially those left sitting unsold for days—how could they possibly taste appealing under such conditions?

She paid meticulous attention to ingredient selection, personally choosing the finest pine nuts, walnuts, almonds, sesame seeds, and chestnuts from the Western Market's most reputable dried goods shops, then having them ground into fine powder. The remaining steps were straightforward: incorporate sugar and lard, encase the mixture in dough, press into decorative molds, and bake. After the first batch emerged from the oven, she sampled a piece and found it—acceptable, certainly, but not particularly revolutionary.

Then she experimented with the snow-skin wrapping method, and remarkably, the identical filling tasted exponentially better! Could this be what the great Yuan Zicai meant by his description "sweet without being cloying, loose-textured without being sticky"? Surely this must be it?

Satisfied with both the five-kernel and all other fillings, Shen Shaoguang prepared to make another small fortune from mooncakes. Thanks to her previous triumph with Qixi flower cakes, many returning customers placed orders even before she'd begun advertising the new products.

Not knowing which household Steward Zhou represented, Shen Shaoguang simply smiled and inquired, "Elder, how many would you like to commission? What varieties interest you?" She gestured toward the display samples while introducing the various flavors and decorative patterns, which appeared even more numerous due to the different imprint designs available.

Steward Zhou, who'd long since been elevated beyond such minor purchasing responsibilities, felt surprised that such a modest establishment offered so many options. Being an experienced servant of a distinguished household, however, he contemplated briefly before responding, "Beyond those for our own household's consumption, we'll take these 'Prosperous Reunion Boxes' as gifts for others. The baked variety, as they'll be traveling and shouldn't risk falling apart during transport. For our household's personal enjoyment..."

Steward Zhou paused in consideration. "We'll take the delicate snow-skin variety, one box of each filling you offer. The Old Madam has sensitive teeth and much prefers soft textures. The decorative patterns are of no particular consequence—our master doesn't concern himself with such aesthetic details."

Shen Shaoguang nodded, observing that this master demonstrated proper filial devotion and possessed an agreeable temperament, as evidenced by the old servant considering exclusively the elderly lady's preferences. But for a festival celebration... Shen Shaoguang ventured a suggestion. "Our shop has just introduced a special set of fortune mooncakes, created specifically for distinguished households' Mid-Autumn banquets. Perhaps your master and mistress would find them entertaining?"

"Each pastry bears an auspicious ancient poem on its surface and a fortune explanation on the reverse, purely for amusement at banquets to delight the guests." Shen Shaoguang produced a sample for his inspection.

Being a well-educated servant from an established family, Steward Zhou posed several thoughtful questions, and finding all the messages appropriately auspicious, smiled with approval. "This is quite clever—we'll take a set." His young master maintained such a serious demeanor constantly, quite unlike other young people of his age, and could certainly benefit from some lighthearted entertainment.

Shen Shaoguang smiled and added the item to the order, inquiring while recording the customer's information, "May I ask, Elder, how should I properly address your master?"

"The order is for Assistant Magistrate Lin's household, here in this ward."

Shen Shaoguang's eyebrow arched slightly. She smiled, then lowered her head to write. "Very well, Elder."

Steward Zhou didn't understand why his young master had specifically requested pastries from this particular shop, assuming simply that the taste must be exceptional—their jade-tip buns had become especially favored by the Old Madam, even following that unfortunate incident of digestive upset.

Upon returning to the mansion, Steward Zhou reported the completed transaction to his master in the study.

Lin Yan nodded acknowledgment, murmured, "Thank you for handling this matter," and said nothing further.

After Steward Zhou withdrew, Liu Chang, the personal attendant standing behind Lin Yan, became increasingly thoughtful.

Liu Chang regularly accompanied his master on various outings. He'd begun to feel that his young master treated this Miss Shen with unusual interest. Not to mention that earlier incident when he'd been dispatched to purchase pancakes at the ward gate—the master had bought them but never consumed them...

Then, just two days ago while passing by Shen's shop, he'd been sent to purchase orchid beans and lion's head meatballs. His master rarely consumed food prepared outside their household—how had he even known what this establishment sold?

And when Liu Chang had reported witnessing the young miss "cleverly exposing the troublemakers," his master had immediately ordered him to locate the ward constables, and rather than departing, had waited by the roadside. Why such pronounced concern over what should have been a trivial matter?

Following the investigation of those two troublemakers, they'd discovered connections to the Yunlai Tavern, which operated under Prince Zhao's patronage. Subsequently, the master had instructed Steward Zhou to make a conspicuous public display of ordering Mid-Autumn Festival pastries from Miss Shen's shop...

Liu Chang felt certain something significant was developing here! Something decidedly noteworthy!

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