Qi Jiao, grateful that Ye Yun had spoken up for her, slipped two silver ingots into his hand.
He was too slow. Pei Xia, who had moved in beside him, popped the ingots straight into Ye Yun’s silken pouch and cinched the drawstring for him.
Ye Yun laughed and protested, “You two are too polite. I only said a word — I didn’t do anything worth this.”
Qi Jiao and Pei Xia exchanged a look and smiled, teasingly, “Brother, you came to work at the shop and dropped everything at the carriage-house. Take this little money — you can at least take Miss Leng out for tea sometime.”
The words hit home. Ye Yun, all boyish awkwardness, flushed crimson. He glanced toward the lattice window, then at the fresh blooms on the table, and managed a stammered, “That’s not true.”
Qi Jiao shot him a knowing, mischievous glance.
She’d seen it often enough — whenever Ye Yun went next door to the bun shop, he never came back for less than a quarter hour. The bun-maker’s daughter was neat and pretty, quick with a smile and quicker with her hands. Everyone in the shop had already decided Ye Yun had a soft spot for Miss Leng.
Qi Jiao had once asked him about it, outwardly from concern for his future prospects. He’d denied it then — said he had no sweetheart and wasn’t in any hurry to marry. But now, following his eyes to the window, she saw the girl in a blue headscarf standing at the counter, handing a paper-wrapped bun to a customer with a bright laugh. Ye Yun’s gaze was glued to her as if he might melt into the lattice.
There was a chance.
Pei Xia chuckled. He remembered how he had been when he first met Jiao — unable to take his eyes off her. He patted Ye Yun on the shoulder, then followed Qi Jiao downstairs.
Qi Jiao had rearranged the restaurant’s bookings with Madam Hua — saving the days of the Shu family matriarch’s birthday feast exclusively. This banquet was no small neighborhood affair like the ones held at Silver Bay. To plan it — choosing kitchens, testing chefs, deciding menus — would take months of meticulous work.
Because of Shu Qingnian’s favor and Aunt Mei’s recommendation, Qi Jiao had been spared the earlier rounds of competition and had been named one of the main chefs for the banquet. But she wasn’t the only one. Five or six chefs in the county had longer reputations and deeper experience than she did — all men. Even Aunt Mei had been reassigned to the pastry bench.
The truth was that Qi Jiao’s place among the lead chefs owed more to Shu Qingnian’s face than anything else. The Shus were long-standing patrons, and those who managed the kitchens were keen to do them a good turn. The Shu household was large and influential: the matriarch had two legitimate sons and two younger half-brothers from other branches. Most of the estate’s heavy lifting had been left to the two elder sons and their wives — the First Madam and the Second Madam — and everyone wanted the banquet to shine. Whoever handled the main courses would be handsomely rewarded.
Pei Xia walked Qi Jiao to the side gate of the Shu residence. Once Ding Zhu led her inside, he turned back. Rules inside were strict; the big household already had plenty of assistant cooks. It wouldn’t do for him to keep going in and out with her. Looking uneasy, he pleaded with Aunt Mei and Ding Zhu to keep an eye on her. Qi Jiao smiled with confidence. “Don’t worry, Ah Xia. Wait for me at home — I’ll be back tomorrow.”
They wound through the Shu house’s many passages until they stopped at a wide outbuilding — the main kitchen. Ding Zhu went off to find Aunt Mei. She dropped her work, wiped flour from her apron, and came out with a smile.
The Shu household ran deep with servants and alliances. Among the visiting chefs that day, only a couple had proven their skills through actual trials. The rest represented different family factions. Before Qi Jiao had finished stepping into the kitchen, a rotund, middle-aged man began to boast loudly, “My Eight-Treasure Duck is my own creation. I’m doing it here publicly for the first time today. Have any of you seen or tasted it elsewhere?”
Those standing around him played along, treating him like the head cook. “Never in our lives, Master Lei. This is the first we’ve seen such a dish.”
“Look at its color, the duck plump and full, the juices rich, the aroma strong. Who else but Master Lei could make something like this?”
Praises tumbled out at him from every side. Qi Jiao listened and felt a chill of familiarity. Eight-Treasure Duck — glutinous rice-filled Eight-Treasure Duck. She’d only unveiled that new dish a few days ago, and had kept it limited. In Lingle County, fewer than twenty people would have had the chance to taste it.
She smiled inwardly. So this cook had tasted it — and copied it. She’d expected imitators once her little restaurant took off, but she hadn’t expected the theft to come this fast.
Besides the group clustered around the fat man, two other cooks worked quietly at their stations, utterly absorbed in their tasks. Aunt Mei rolled her eyes, pursed her lips, and pulled Qi Jiao into a side room. In a low voice she said, “See that? That fat one is Lei Biao. He’s Second Madam’s recommendation. Not sure about his skills, but he’s got a mouth like a cannon.”
Aunt Mei held a grudge against Lei Biao. He had never worked at the Shu house but had been pushed in by a powerful family ally. Everyone knew that the main chefs at a banquet took the biggest share of the spoils. Now Lei Biao’s arrival meant the old hands in the large kitchen would have to give up their places. If Lei Biao had genuinely been a master, Aunt Mei would have no complaint. But she knew his background too well.
He’d started out as a butcher at the East Gate. Then he’d married a good match — his father-in-law was a retired master chef from the renowned Zhenxiu Restaurant and had taught Lei Biao personally. The old man pulled strings for him, and Lei Biao rose to become a junior fireman there. As he gained a bit of fame, flatterers gathered. He even took a second wife — a singer — openly, flaunting the affair before his first wife until the poor woman, already frail, died of grief.
Shameless and unscrupulous, Aunt Mei thought. And yet, because the Second Madam had vouched for him — because her family had once held office — Lei Biao had been slipped into this banquet as one of the leading cooks. It rankled Aunt Mei that pedigree and connections could trump actual merit. The Second Madam, thin but proud, liked to stir the pot before the matriarch and act as if she were superior to everyone else.