Jiang Mai resumed his seat by the stove.
Ye Li heard the brothers’ exchange but said nothing. He brought another batch of tofu cubes to the wok.
He needed more samples to show Jiang Fuzheng.
The household’s lard was nearly gone. After this batch, none would remain.
And he had only eight copper coins left.
He intended to use the tofu puffs to borrow more lard from Jiang Fuzheng.
Grinding soybeans was exhausting; he wanted to start selling as soon as possible.
Tofu puffs were versatile—good in hotpot, spicy broth, stews, stir-fries.
Soon, he had fried more than a jin of them.
He poured most of the remaining oil back into the jar, leaving just a spoonful in the wok for the garlic shoot tofu.
Garlic shoots had a domineering fragrance. A few quick tosses were enough to fill the kitchen with their scent.
And Ye Li’s cooking skills were not poor.
In his previous life, his family had run a rural guesthouse restaurant. He’d helped in the kitchen since childhood.
After graduating university, he had intended to stay in the city. Being attracted to men, returning to the village would have made relationships difficult.
But a car accident took his parents. He returned home to inherit the family business.
His cooking had sustained that livelihood in his former life. Here, it would be more than enough.
Yet the memory tightened his chest.
As he stirred the wok, he caught movement from the corner of his eye.
A small head peeked cautiously around the kitchen doorway.
Jiang Ya had come to return the chopsticks but dared not enter—only clinging to the doorframe and peering inside.
Without warning, Ye Li turned his head.
Startled, Jiang Ya withdrew instantly.
“… ”
Ye Li took a slow breath and resumed stirring.
It was over.
His parents were gone.
Everything began anew.
“Mai, I don’t need you here anymore. Go play with Ya-ge. I’ll call you when dinner’s ready.”
Jiang Mai blinked in surprise but did not move. “I’ll tend the fire.”
“Fine. You cook dinner, and I’ll go play with Ya-ge,” Ye Li replied evenly.
“!”
Jiang Mai leapt to his feet. “I’ll go play.”
Ye Li smiled. “Don’t go far. Dinner will be ready soon.”
“…All right.”
Scratching his head, Jiang Mai left, bewildered.
What scheme was the fool hiding…
Ye Li ignored the suspicion. He plated the garlic shoot tofu, then added water to the wok to prepare dinner.
The Jiang family was poor; their staple was cornmeal.
He had steamed corn cakes at noon. Now he would simply reheat them in the pot.
A pot of coarse corn porridge would complete the meal.
Jiang Mai stepped out of the kitchen and looked left.
Jiang Ya stood pressed against the kitchen wall, clutching a chopstick.
Seeing his brother, he raised a small hand.
“Ge.”
He walked over and pointed at the chopstick in Jiang Ya’s hand. “Where’s the other one?”
“I didn’t finish the tofu on that one. I saved it for you.” Jiang Ya beamed and tugged at his sleeve. “Ge, let’s go back to our room. You can eat it there.”
Jiang Mai rubbed his little brother’s head and followed him inside.
Two tofu puffs remained. One for each of them.
Jiang Ya sat cross-legged on the kang bed, taking careful little bites, his small face radiant with satisfaction.
Jiang Mai, by contrast, tossed the whole puff into his mouth and chewed in large bites.
“Ge, eat slower. When it’s gone, it’s gone,” Jiang Ya couldn’t help saying.
Jiang Mai paused mid-chew.
He thought of the strangeness of their “brother-in-law” today.
The man had said he would call them when dinner was ready.
If he truly did… perhaps there would be more of that peculiar fried tofu.
Jiang Ya swung his short legs, not quite reaching the floor, and added cheerfully, “Ge, we ate so many good things today. I’m not even afraid of getting beaten.”
Jiang Mai: “…”
True. They hadn’t been beaten today.
Stop fantasizing.
Yet amid Jiang Mai’s confusion and unease, Ye Li really did call them to dinner.
When the two entered the kitchen hesitantly, they saw the meal already laid out under the dim yellow light of the oil lamp.
“Come eat. The stir-fried tofu’s getting cold,” Ye Li said, gesturing for them to sit.
His gentle tone left both brothers bewildered.
Still, food was food. It would be foolish not to eat.
They sat down and picked up the cornmeal flatbreads.
“Have the stir-fried tofu. And the tofu puffs too,” Ye Li added.
The brothers exchanged a glance. Watching Ye Li’s expression carefully, they began eating the garlic shoot tofu and salted tofu puffs.
Ye Li ate heartily himself.
He had been busy all afternoon; hunger gnawed at him.
Though Jiang Mai and Jiang Ya had drunk a bowl of tofu pudding earlier, it had not been filling. The three of them together polished off six palm-sized cornmeal cakes, a large plate of garlic shoot tofu, and a good portion of tofu puffs.
Ye Li finished with a bowl of coarse corn porridge to fill the gaps.
The brothers’ bellies were round. They couldn’t swallow another sip.
“There’s warm water in the pot. Fetch some and wash up, then sleep,” Ye Li said between mouthfuls.
After ladling out the porridge, he had boiled extra water.
Jiang Mai blinked.
Not telling them to wash the pots? Not ordering them to scrub dishes? Instead urging them to bed?
And truly—no sign of a beating…
That was good.
Very good.
Best to leave quickly, before the fool changed his mind.
He answered at once, grabbed Jiang Ya’s hand, and hurried off to wash.
Ye Li sat at the table, unhurriedly finishing his porridge.
By the time he rose, Jiang Mai had already taken Jiang Ya back to their room.
The courtyard lay unusually quiet.
By the dim light of the oil lamp, Ye Li tidied the kitchen.
He set the ten jin of soybeans from Jiang Fuzheng’s house to soak before finally washing himself.
The original owner had been particular—boar-bristle toothbrush, tooth powder, scented bath beans for washing.
Ye Li brushed his teeth, washed his hands and feet, then returned to his room.
The Jiang house was also brick and tile.
Twenty years ago, the family had been prosperous.
Back then, a great drought struck two southern provinces. Crops failed. Refugees gradually turned into bandits and spilled into neighboring regions spared from disaster.
One group followed the Nantong Canal northward and occupied Baxian Town, twenty li away.
Baxian Town marked the canal’s southern origin—strategically important.
The magistrate of Beiyang County recruited locals familiar with the terrain to infiltrate the town and burn the bandits’ grain stores.
Among the villagers of Yezhaopo, only Jiang Father and Jiang Fuzheng volunteered. Twenty men entered Baxian Town. Only three survived.
Fortunately, Jiang Father and Jiang Fuzheng were among them.
Jiang Fuzheng had even slain several bandits.
After the suppression, the magistrate rewarded merit. Jiang Father received fifty taels of silver; Jiang Fuzheng was appointed village head.
With that silver, Jiang Father built three brick-and-tile rooms and married Jiang Mother.
When Jiang Ji turned seven, he was sent to the academy.
For a time, the family’s days were prosperous and harmonious.
But five summers ago, Jiang Mother died in childbirth while delivering Jiang Ya.
That autumn, while hauling goods in Baxian Town, Jiang Father’s coworker—Ye Daji, the original owner’s father—fell into the water.
Jiang Father died saving him.
The Jiang household was left with thirteen-year-old Jiang Ji, two-year-old Jiang Mai, and three-month-old Jiang Ya.
Fortunately, Jiang Father’s younger brother, Jiang Dahe, was kind. He took in Jiang Mai and Jiang Ya.
The Ye family was poor and unable to offer proper compensation. Ye Daji proposed betrothing his child to Jiang Ji.
In that way, the Ye family could devote themselves to supporting the three brothers.
Thirteen-year-old Jiang Ji had already passed the county exam and was handsome besides. Twelve-year-old Ye Li, dreaming of becoming the wife of a xiucai—perhaps even a juren—agreed eagerly.
After the betrothal, the Ye family paid half of Jiang Ji’s annual tuition—three taels of silver—and helped with farm work whenever they could.
But the arrangement strained the Ye household.
The original Ye Li, once pampered, now had to labor frequently in the fields and learn needlework.
He grew resentful—resentful of Jiang Ji, resentful of Jiang Mai and Jiang Ya.
Two years ago, Jiang Ji passed the prefectural exam.
The promise of becoming a scholar’s wife dangled before him like a carrot. Twenty days ago, the marriage was finally concluded.
Yet the years of pent-up resentment were vented upon Jiang Mai and Jiang Ya. Whenever Jiang Ji was away, the original owner beat the brothers under various pretexts.
Three days ago, Jiang Ji returned home and caught Ye Li striking Jiang Ya’s head. They quarreled bitterly and parted on bad terms.
Yesterday, Ye Daji had come to help with farm work and urged his child to mend his ways.
Already full of anger and irritated by his father’s nagging, the original Ye Li decided that very morning to sell Jiang Ya.
Instead, an accident occurred.
And Ye Li arrived.
By now, Ye Li no longer cared to judge the past.
The days ahead were his to live.
The main house had three rooms.
The east room had once belonged to Jiang Father and Jiang Mother, but the original owner considered it unlucky. When Jiang Mai and Jiang Ya grew older and moved back from Jiang Dahe’s house last winter, they were given that room.
The west room was the newlywed chamber.
Not large, but the age of the house lent it a distinct chill.
Against the left wall stood a newly made double-door wardrobe and a chest of drawers.
Opposite was the heated kang bed.
Under the window sat a new square poplar-wood table with tall legs.
There was little else.
Ye Li set the oil lamp on the table, removed his shoes, and climbed onto the kang.
His thoughts wandered.
At some point, he drifted into deep sleep.
He woke at the first rooster’s crow.
Darkness filled the room. The kang beneath him felt hard.
For a moment, he was disoriented.
Another rooster crowed outside.
He rolled over, intending to sleep again.
By his estimation, it was around three in the morning.
Too early.
When he woke again, daylight had broken.
Voices carried from the courtyard—Jiang Mai, Jiang Ya, and Jiang Fuzheng speaking.
Ye Li: “…”
Did ancient people truly rise this early?
He had only just declared he would reform.
He dressed quickly and stepped into the main hall, preparing an awkward smile to greet Jiang Fuzheng.
But Jiang Fuzheng spoke first.
“Ji boy’s wife, I heard from Mai that you fried tofu yesterday?”
“Ah… yes. It’s called tofu puffs.”
Ye Li blinked and walked toward the kitchen doorway where the three stood. “Mai, bring out the tofu puffs for Village Head to taste.”
Jiang Mai obeyed.
Jiang Ya edged behind Jiang Fuzheng before peeking out cautiously. “Li-ge, Second Brother already made breakfast.”
“Very capable!” Ye Li praised warmly, then turned to Jiang Fuzheng. “Uncle Jiang, have you eaten? If not, join us.”
“I’ve eaten. I came to supervise your tofu.”
He spoke plainly.
He had informed the villagers yesterday. Out of respect for him, they would surely come to buy.
But whether Ye Li would rise on time to make it—that was uncertain.
So after breakfast, he came personally.
As expected, Ji boy’s wife had just woken.
Yet the “candied hawthorn tofu” the boys described had piqued his interest.
Tofu could be fried soft and chewy?
Soon, Jiang Mai brought out a bowl.
After a night, the tofu puffs were no longer as round and swollen as when freshly fried—but clearly different from ordinary fried tofu.
Villagers sometimes fried tofu during the New Year to make cold shredded tofu dishes. By morning, those pieces would be firm and dense.
Nothing like these.
Had he not known beforehand, Jiang Fuzheng would not have recognized them as tofu at all.
As for taste—soft, with a slight resilience.
A distinctive texture.
“Uncle Jiang, these aren’t meant to be eaten plain. They can be stir-fried or stewed. Once they soak up broth—that’s when they’re truly delicious,” Ye Li explained.
Soak up broth?
Jiang Fuzheng imagined it.
With this texture—if stewed with meat…