Chapter 1

Chapter 1: The Little Cook Born to a Cook The ninth day of the twelfth lunar month was the auspicious date for the wedding of the Marquis of Yongchang’s legitimate daughter and Prince An. On the eighth day, the residence had already begun hanging lanterns and decorating the grounds, while preparing to host guests from far and wide. The wedding had drawn extraordinary attention. Ever since the imperial edict granting the marriage three years ago, the marquis's residence had been making thorough preparations for this day. Cloud brocade purchased from Jiangnan filled three storerooms. Quilts embroidered day and night by renowned Suzhou artisans, each bearing a “Hundred Children and Thousand Grandchildren” design, had been piled into little mountains. They had prepared three phoenix crowns set with Eastern pearls alone, fearing that the slightest omission would make them unworthy of the status of a princely consort. Red silk stretched from the main gate all the way to the deepest inner courtyard, where the bride's chambers were located. Every moon gate held a newly papered gauze palace lantern. Candlelight shining through the gauze revealed the pattern of the character for “double happiness,” casting a warm, lustrous glow even in broad daylight. Under the covered walkways, a basin of plum blossoms in full bloom had been placed every five paces. Fine gold powder had been scattered over the golden petals, and whenever the wind passed, they shimmered with a dazzling radiance. Everything looked luxurious, dignified, grand, and festive. Yet the atmosphere in the residence was somewhat strange. That was because half a year earlier, Prince An had suffered severe injuries in a highly controversial battle, leaving him blind and lame. From then on, his temperament had changed drastically. He had become violent and unpredictable, and the powerful families had taken to privately calling him the “crippled Yama.” They had originally thought it would be a phoenix perching on a parasol tree, a match made in Heaven. Who could have expected it to become a luminous pearl cast into darkness, doomed to sink forever into the abyss? Who could help but sigh inwardly at the fickleness of fate? However, none of this had anything to do with Song Sanyuan. Today, she and Yun Niang had to make nine hundred and ninety-nine Eight-Treasure Fortune Pouches. The lady of the household, Feng-shi, had personally instructed them to do so the previous day; they were to be the crowning dessert served to the banquet guests. The separate kitchen in the northwest corner was filled with smoke and heat. The chicken soup simmering on the stove was bubbling away, its fragrance slipping through the cracks in the windows and making the chestnut horse in the nearby stable snort. Song Sanyuan lifted the glutinous rice that had been soaking overnight. Sweat slid down her forehead, dripping onto the edge of the stove, where it was instantly dried by the heat. “The water needs to be drained more thoroughly.” Yun Niang’s voice came from behind the stove, accompanied by a suppressed cough. “The greatest taboo when making Fortune Pouches is excessive moisture. If the fortune cannot be steamed through, it cannot be considered true fortune.” Song Sanyuan instinctively glanced around. Her eyes curved as she lowered her voice. “I know, Mother.” Although Yun Niang was her biological mother, in front of outsiders Song Sanyuan could only call her Concubine. Yun Niang looked at her daughter, her throat tightening. After the New Year, Sanyuan would turn sixteen, yet there was still no sign of a marriage arrangement. But she was only a concubine who had come from being a kitchen maid, and she did not even have the qualifications to show her face in the main hall. She had even less say in her daughter’s marriage. Fortunately, now that the legitimate daughter was getting married, Wei-shi no longer had any reason to keep putting it off. Once the wedding was over, she could go and plead again. With these thoughts in mind, Yun Niang worked even more quickly and carefully. Making Eight-Treasure Fortune Pouches was not difficult, but the process was laborious. The glutinous rice had to soak for an entire night. Then warm water was used to soften the fried tofu skins, which were spread out into palm-sized “pouches.” The soaked glutinous rice formed the main ingredient, mixed with diced winter bamboo shoots, scallops, shrimp, shiitake mushrooms, ham, green peas, chestnuts, and lotus seeds—exactly eight ingredients. The mouths of the pouches were tied tightly with fine strands of scallion, and they were steamed in a basket for a full hour. Once thoroughly steamed, they were covered with a thin gravy simmered from chicken broth, soy sauce, and rock sugar, then finished with a pinch of golden crab-roe powder. Every step had to be precise, and every Fortune Pouch had to be plump and evenly shaped. Because these were to be carried to the front hall for the honored guests to sample. They also carried blessings for the bride... Yet Yun Niang could not help feeling a pang in her heart. Both of them were daughters of the marquis’s residence. One wore gold and jade, surrounded by adoration. The other wore a coarse cloth apron and did not even have the right to deliver desserts to the front hall. No one understood a mother better than her daughter. Song Sanyuan called out in her clear voice once more, “Mother, tell me what the Eight-Treasure Fortune Pouches symbolize.” Yun Niang hurriedly wiped her eyes and forced a smile. “The eight auspicious ingredients represent eight wishes. Glutinous rice represents ‘binding together,’ expressing the hope that those who have been separated will reunite. Winter bamboo shoots represent ‘rising higher with every step.’ Scallops represent ‘wealth and treasure.’ Shrimp represent ‘laughing happily’...” Song Sanyuan deliberately pressed her, “Then what does the crab-roe powder represent?” Yun Niang looked at her daughter’s cheeks, reddened by the stove fire, and answered gently, “Crab roe is golden like gold, so it represents ‘a household filled with gold and jade.’ But the most important thing about this dish is...” “May all your wishes come true,” mother and daughter said in unison, then exchanged smiles. “The ingredients are all ordinary things, but once they’re gathered together, cooked, and steamed through, they produce an extraordinary flavor. Life is the same. If you keep living it one day at a time, good things will eventually happen.” Song Sanyuan took her mother’s hand, her voice soft and girlish. “I’ll remember everything you’ve said, Mother.” She had never envied blessings beyond her reach. She cherished only the happiness before her. It was true that Song Qingyao was the center of everyone’s attention, but Song Sanyuan was also the treasure in her mother’s palm. At that moment, footsteps sounded outside the door. The person who came was the steward at the marquis’s side. His manner was respectful yet distant as he said, “Third Miss, the marquis and madam request your presence at Furong Courtyard.” He had used the word “request.” Song Sanyuan’s heart jolted. In her sixteen years of life, her father had never summoned her of his own accord. She looked at Yun Niang, whose face appeared especially pale in the firelight. An ominous premonition enveloped her like steam. “I’ll go with you.” Yun Niang began untying her apron. The steward stopped her indifferently. “The marquis and madam only asked Third Miss to come.” ... Furong Courtyard was the main residence of Song Mingda, Marquis Yongchang, and Feng-shi. At that moment, guests were streaming endlessly through the front courtyard. By rights, the couple should have been busy receiving them. Instead, the two of them sat upright here, their brows—which had been tightly furrowed for months—finally relaxed, as though they had at last let out a long breath of relief. Song Sanyuan had never expected to have the chance to leave the northwest side courtyard on a day like this, nor had she had time to change her clothes. She wore an old lotus-colored jacket she often put on, so plain that it did not even have a single embroidered flower. Her hair was simply tied up, with the plainest wooden hairpin tucked into it. She looked so shabby that she was inferior even to the residence’s servant girls. Yet she happened to have a pretty face, with delicate features, bright eyes, and pearly teeth. Compared with the other children in the residence, she looked the most like Marquis Yongchang. The corners of Feng-shi’s lips twitched as she cast a meaningful look at Song Mingda. Song Mingda’s gaze darted away, and the lines between his brows deepened. He had once been a famously talented third-place palace graduate, handsome and dashing. He had married the daughter of the Grand Tutor and had a future as bright as brocade. Yet one night, drunk and carried away, he had let a kitchen maid take advantage of him, and she had borne him a daughter—a little cook who became an indelible stain on his life. On ordinary days, it was bearable as long as he did not see that mother and daughter. But whenever he did, he felt sick, as though he had swallowed a spoonful of lard. Song Mingda lifted his teacup, concealing his disgust beneath the rising steam. “Greetings to Father and Mother.” Song Sanyuan knelt and bowed, pressing her forehead against the cold floor tiles. No one told her to rise. Thus, she remained kneeling, listening to the unhurried sounds of Song Mingda drinking his tea, setting down the cup, and wiping the corner of his mouth with a handkerchief. Every movement was deliberately slow, making her heart grow increasingly uneasy. After a while, Feng-shi finally spoke. “Raise your head.” Song Sanyuan did as she was told. Feng-shi studied her for a moment, then smiled. “Sanyuan is sixteen this year, isn’t she? You’ve grown even more lovely. You look rather like Concubine Yun did when she was young.” Her tone was gentle, but Song Sanyuan’s back went cold. “I called you here today because there is a joyous matter...” Feng-shi stopped halfway through her sentence, and Song Sanyuan could not help holding her breath.