Three days before the New Year, Yuhuatai temporarily closed for the holidays. Before shutting down, the restaurant distributed goods to all the staff—several pigs had been specially purchased and slaughtered, with the meat divided among them. After all, they were in the food business; no matter what, you couldn’t let your own people go without.
When it came time to pick pork, it usually turned into a discreet scramble—everyone favored the fatty cuts. Fatty pork wasn’t just meat, it could also be rendered for cooking oil, and nothing flavored dishes like pork fat. It was cost-effective and delicious—a double benefit.
Gu Quanfou didn’t join the scramble, remaining calm and composed. But Chef Jiang came over with a generous cut of premium pork belly and half a pig’s head. “Master Gu, this was set aside specially for you and Shunhua. Please take it.”
Gu Quanfou raised his brows in surprise. “Isn’t this a bit much?”
Chef Huo, standing nearby, quickly chimed in, “It’s meant for two people, not too much at all. We’ve already weighed everything. Master Gu, no need to be polite—please take it.”
Several apprentices also nodded. “That’s right, we calculated everything down to the ounce. This is your rightful share—we haven’t broken any rules.”
Of course, what they had saved for Gu Quanfou was the best of the lot—the most coveted portions. The team had made a point of reserving them in advance just for him.
Gu Quanfou didn’t stand on ceremony. He cupped his hands in thanks. “Very well. I appreciate the gesture. We’re all colleagues in this line of work, all working at Yuhuatai. Let’s continue to learn from one another and improve together.”
Chef Jiang and Chef Huo understood this for what it was—a graceful gesture to let bygones be bygones. They were somewhat moved. At first, they’d indeed looked down on Gu Quanfou, thinking he was nothing special. Clearly, they’d been mistaken. And while they’d recently warmed to him, they still worried he might keep his distance.
But here he was, unassuming and sincere—not putting on airs at all. That reassured them.
Both men patted their chests with a hearty, “From now on, let’s look out for each other. If anything comes up, Master Gu, just say the word—we’d go through fire and water!”
Watching this, Gu Shunhua finally felt relieved.
Ever since the fried rice incident, the two chefs had clearly come to respect her father. Still, she’d worried they might harbor resentment. Now it seemed they weren’t bad people, just a bit flawed—like anyone. Their decision to set aside the best pork belly and pig head for her father showed real sincerity. This meant there was hope for a genuine camaraderie. That was good news for both her father and herself.
Hauling home the hefty slab of pork belly and the pig head, the entire household lit up with joy. Good meat paired with good cooking skills? That could only mean one thing: a feast!
With Gu Quanfou supervising and Gu Shunhua at the stove, they whipped up several rich dishes. As for the pig head meat, Gu Quanfou prepared that himself.
He had a signature technique known as a single straw. What did that mean? It meant not using regular firewood—just one stalk of wheat straw, lit and slowly replenished, feeding a gentle flame. With patience and skill, he braised the pig head meat over that subtle fire. To make this work, he built a small temporary stove and tended it with care.
The result? Meat so tender it fell apart at a touch—meltingly soft, rich without being greasy, utterly satisfying.
The children could finally eat to their hearts’ content. All throughout the holiday, they stuffed themselves happily until their little bellies were round and taut. Even Madam Ji said, “Just look at those little faces—all plump and glowing now. Just like their mother at that age. So sweet!”
They added some traditional accompaniments—ten-spice pickled vegetables, shrimp paste, and stir-fried pickled melon shreds. These were all classic New Year’s side dishes in Beijing—perfect for cutting the grease. From the first to the fifth day of the new year, families typically avoided lighting fires, opting instead for cold dishes like these to go with dumplings.
Now, most people only got three days off for the Spring Festival. After the third day, they had to go back to work—though no one’s heart was really in it. Most were just looking for a chance to visit relatives.
The two children were especially energetic, running all over with the neighborhood kids. These days, dressed in cotton jackets and new leather shoes, wearing either a little military cap or a red hair bow, their cheeks were round and rosy, full of life. They looked far more vibrant and presentable than before.
Gu Shunhua even thought they’d grown taller.
By the second day of the New Year, she remembered that both Lei Yongquan and Wang Xinrui had helped her greatly, and that she’d already met their parents. It was only proper to visit them for the holiday.
She thought it over. Lei Yongquan’s family was well-off—during the holidays, they were sure to receive plenty of gifts. If she bought some Daoxiangcun pastries to bring over, they probably wouldn’t care for them. And Wang Xinrui’s father worked at the District Food Supply Bureau, so he wouldn’t be short on goods either.
After some thought, she decided to make something herself. She braised a pig’s trotter and steamed a jujube date cake (zǎogāo).
Jujube date cake was a staple of the season, often used as an offering. But whether it turned out well depended entirely on the cook’s skill.
When making jujube date cake, Shunhua selected only the best dates—tight skins, thick flesh, and small pits. The rest could be eaten fresh. The good ones she simmered gently in cool water until they were about 70–80% cooked. Then, while still warm, she peeled off the skins, removed the pits, and mashed the soft pulp into a paste.
She mixed it with egg, sugar, and glutinous rice flour, beat it until smooth, and poured the batter into a steamer. While making jujube date cake was a common skill among northern wives and daughters, making it truly delicious required real know-how.
Thanks to her father’s tutelage, Shunhua had the technique. Otherwise, she wouldn’t dare bring homemade jujube date cake as a gift—it’d be too embarrassing if it didn’t turn out.
Once the food was ready, she packed it into a bamboo basket. In it, she placed a large porcelain bowl of braised pig’s trotter and another bundle of the date cake wrapped in oil paper, sliced into small, bite-sized pieces for easy eating.
When she arrived at the Lei residence, she noticed a car parked outside. She didn’t know cars well, but that sleek black sedan clearly didn’t belong to an ordinary family.
Inside, several guests were smoking and chatting.
Madam Lei greeted her warmly, leading her to the east wing and bringing out a snack tray known as zábǎnr—a fancy assortment box containing peanuts, sunflower seeds, hazelnuts, preserved fruits, candied lotus root, and, in finer homes, even green plums and hawthorn candies. During New Year visits, hosts brought these out for guests to sample.
Lei Yongquan’s family had a particularly refined zábǎnr—it even included imported chocolates.
Shunhua presented her food. “Auntie, our family conditions are modest. I thought of buying something, but you’ve seen the world and probably wouldn’t care for the usual things. So I braised some pig trotter and steamed a red date cake myself. I hope you won’t mind tasting my humble cooking.”
Madam Lei wasn’t exactly impressed—she’d received many gifts and had no shortage of delicacies. But as a traditional woman, she remained gracious regardless. “You shouldn’t have—but what a thoughtful girl! You’re just like my own daughter. I love jujube date cake—you’ve brought me something straight to my heart!”
She unwrapped a piece and smiled. “It looks wonderful!”
She planned to just take a polite nibble—but one bite turned into another, and she soon finished the whole slice.
Madam Lei was surprised. “This is delicious!”
Though she came from wealth and had tasted all sorts of fine food, this jujube date cake was fragrant, silky, sweet, and tender—far better than any store-bought version.
Relieved, Shunhua smiled. “Homemade, real ingredients—I did put in the work. As long as you like it, that’s all that matters.”
“How did you make this?” Madam Lei asked.
Shunhua replied with a smile, “It’s a family recipe—handed down from the Imperial Kitchen. Empress Dowager Cixi herself was said to love this treat.”
Truth be told, she had no idea if Cixi had liked it or not—her father had never mentioned it. But the recipe did come from the Imperial Kitchen, and it sounded impressive. She’d learned this trick from that novel.
Madam Lei looked at the jujube date cake with fresh eyes. “This cake is a classic Beijing treat—you see it everywhere, and I’ve never cared for it. Always thought it looked too cloying. Now I know—it wasn’t the cake itself, it was their poor craftsmanship!”
Gu Shunhua recalled how Madam Lei had just claimed to love jujube date cake, yet moments later changed her tune. Still, she didn’t take it to heart—much less call her out on it. She merely smiled and said, “This one’s still cold. If you re-steam it before eating, it’ll bring out the sweet fragrance of the dates. Or you can rub a bit of peanut oil in a pan and lightly fry it on low heat—it’ll come out fluffy and soft, fragrant and sticky-smooth. That’s when it’s at its best.”
The description had Madam Lei practically salivating. “Just hearing you say that makes me crave it! You’re such a diligent girl—with amazing hands.”
In her heart, though, she was thinking, What a pity she’s already married with children. If only she could’ve married into our family. Cooking like this, entertaining guests—who wouldn’t sing her praises?
Gu Shunhua added, “Auntie, that pig trotter isn’t a formal gift either. But I felt a genuine connection with you, and I’m not one for hollow rituals. I just brought over something I made and thought was delicious—as a token of filial respect.”
By now, Madam Lei had been thoroughly impressed by the jujube date cake, and seeing the glossy, red pig trotter only deepened her fondness. Far from seeing it as an improper offering, she was thrilled.
“You’re such a sincere child. Look at all those things sitting in the spare room—I don’t even care for them. There’s too much, and I don’t enjoy them. But these things you made—now those I like. When you leave later, take a few boxes with you.”
As she was speaking, Lei Yongquan appeared, grinning widely. “Shunhua made something tasty? Let me try!”
He picked up a slice of jujube date cake, took a bite, and immediately nodded. “Delicious! Seriously!”
Then he blinked. “But hey—how come you never made this for us before?”
Gu Shunhua replied, “Well, don’t you need the right ingredients first?”
He could only shrug in defeat. “Fair point.”
Madam Lei kept chatting with Gu Shunhua, the conversation revolving entirely around jujube date cake. Shunhua caught the hint in her tone and responded, “If you really like it, I’ll make some again another time and bring it over. We don’t have to stand on ceremony between us.”
“Well, I’d truly appreciate that. We’ll be having guests in a few days, and these would look lovely on the table,” Madam Lei said with a smile.
Still, she wasn’t one to let others walk away with nothing in return. As Shunhua was getting ready to leave, she went into the spare room and came back with a few boxes—real Daoxiangcun pastries—and even two bottles of liquor. And not just any liquor—they were bottles of Maotai.
Shunhua instinctively refused. She didn’t feel right taking advantage, especially not such expensive gifts. But Madam Lei insisted.
“Shunhua, I’ll be honest with you. I’m the kind of person who has to feel right about things. I love what you made, and I’d like you to make more. I know you won’t take money, so take these instead. If you need anything, just use them as you wish. No need to be polite with me, and I won’t be polite with you either. If I need help hosting guests or anything else, I may call on you.”
Hearing that, Shunhua understood. Sure, accepting these might seem like taking advantage, but if she didn’t, Madam Lei would feel awkward asking her for help again. So she accepted the gesture with gratitude.
“I’m deeply honored by your kindness, Auntie.”
There was no denying—if someone were to marry into the Lei family, life under Madam Lei would be tough. She held high standards, both for herself and for others.
But as a younger acquaintance, it was actually quite pleasant to interact with her. These traditional Beijingers cared deeply about li—propriety. They would never let a guest walk away with less than what they brought, and always acted with integrity.
As she carried the items home, Shunhua felt a bit like a poor relative mooching off the rich. But the thought made her chuckle.
There was no need to overthink it. Madam Lei truly respected her, and this wasn’t some kind of condescension. In a house full of fine goods, these gifts meant little to her. Tossing a few your way was no big deal.
If she, a poor woman, tried to match such generosity one-for-one—giving back something of equal value like Maotai—it would only be a case of pretending to be rich.
Looking down at the bottle in her arms, she couldn’t help but feel a surge of joy.
In those days, the streets of Beijing were lined with liquor shops, but most people drank bulk alcohol. A few years ago, the “Eight Famous Liquors” had finally made their way into the capital, and only then did various branded liquors become more widely available. For ordinary families, even regular spirits required ration coupons—let alone something like Maotai, which was strictly rationed and hard to obtain.
Carrying her things, Gu Shunhua cheerfully made her way home—only to bump into Chen Yaotang at the entrance of the hutong. He was swaggering along, humming a tune with his birdcage in hand.
The moment he caught sight of the Maotai in her hands, his eyes widened. “Shunhua, look at you! Maotai, huh? Where’d you get that?”
Gu Shunhua replied smoothly, “Uncle, it’s from one of my pen pals. Her family has more than they need and asked me to hold onto it—we’re planning a little gathering soon and she said it’d be used then.”
“Maotai for a pen pal gathering? Isn’t that a bit of a waste?” he said, still eyeing the bottle greedily.
“Uncle, what are you saying? My pen pals are all people of status—what else would they drink if not this? And besides, no matter who drinks it, it’s getting drunk anyway. It’s someone else’s property—if I had thoughts about it, what kind of person would that make me?”
Chen Yaotang opened his mouth to say more, but she didn’t give him the chance. “I’ve got the kids to look after, Uncle. I’ll come by and pay my New Year’s respects later!”
“Hey, hey, hey—what kind of attitude is that? No manners! Is that how a child’s supposed to speak to her elder?” he fumed behind her.
But his complaints were in vain—Shunhua had long disappeared. He was left stamping his feet in frustration, grumbling to every passerby. But the neighbors were all too familiar with his kind—they just nodded politely and moved along, knowing full well how he operated.
Back home, Shunhua slipped in quietly. Fortunately, most families were out visiting relatives, and the courtyard was full of children—no outsiders to witness her returning with such bounty.
As she entered, she found Madam Chen—her mother—brewing homemade rice wine in the kitchen.
Ordinary families in these shared courtyard compounds couldn’t afford branded liquor. At most, they’d splurge on something for hosting guests. Most relied on bulk wine or homemade brews, made from glutinous rice and rice wine yeast. The coal stove was burning hot, and the pot gave off a sweet aroma as the brew neared readiness.
Shunhua placed her items down and said, “Mom, these are all quality treats—we can bring them when we visit relatives. And keep the Maotai bottles; save them for when we really need them. Now that the kids’ dad is stationed in Langfang, there might be times he needs to give gifts.”
After all, in this era, connections were everything. Whether it was for Ren Jingnian settling in, for her own potential job confirmation, or for when her brother and sister-in-law returned and needed resettling—gifts were essential. One never visited with empty hands.
When Madam Chen caught sight of the Maotai, she was startled. “Where on earth did this come from? How did you get your hands on this?”
So Shunhua told her about the visit to Lei Yongquan’s family. She casually added, “I ran into my uncle on the way back—he saw it.”
Madam Chen’s face immediately darkened. “You let him see? He’ll definitely start scheming. Better be careful!”
That comment warmed Shunhua’s heart.
Her mother’s personality had changed so much lately that she sometimes found it hard to believe. Truth be told, she’d mentioned the uncle just to test her. Hearing this now put her completely at ease.
She laughed. “It’s fine—I made up a whole story.”
She told her mother the tale she’d spun, which made Madam Chen laugh. “You clever little fox!”
Then she added, “Yuehua’s in the outer room playing with the kids and helping them with schoolwork. Go take a look—dinner will be ready soon. Once the rice wine’s done, we’ll boil dumplings.”
Shunhua nodded. “Alright.”
Just as she stood up to head out, a voice called from outside—it was Auntie Huo.
“Shunhua! You’ve got a visitor!”
Then she could hear her directing someone: “This way—this way, to Shunhua’s place.”
Startled, Shunhua peeked her head out—and was shocked.
Ren Jingnian had arrived!
Author’s note:
The male lead: Crossed a thousand mountains and rivers, bribed the author with seven pounds of pig head meat, and finally made his entrance!
Yes, some pressure here—he only showed his face for a moment. I swear I didn’t mean to drag it out… but hey, he parachuted in just after the New Year, didn’t he?