Chapter 110
Chapter 110: Wrapping Wontons and Gossip
At first light the next day, Xiao Man was already on the move, heading straight for the manor’s main kitchen.
“Xiao Man? What brings you scurrying over here so early?”
The moment Matron Zhang—the woman in charge of the main kitchen—spotted her, her smile opened like a flower.
“Did Old Madam change the menu again?”
Matron Zhang and her son, Cook Liu, ran the vast kitchen together. Between them, they could handle everything from the stove to the storeroom.
“Matron Zhang, I came to beg for some ready-made wonton wrappers.”
Xiao Man slipped closer, all sweetness and good humor.
“The young misses are craving wontons. If I roll the wrappers myself, it’ll be dark before they get so much as a taste!”
“Wrappers? I’ve got plenty.”
Matron Zhang waved her into the back room.
“What filling are you making? Might as well prep everything here. Saves you running in circles.”
Xiao Man followed, her eyes sweeping the ingredients—then catching on a small basket of shepherd’s purse, fresh and tender, still dewy with life.
Her heart gave a quiet pull. Lin Qing Xuan ate vegetarian; shepherd’s purse wrapped into a vegetarian wonton would suit him perfectly. She just didn’t know when he’d be back today.
“Matron, could you spare me some of that shepherd’s purse?”
She pointed at the bright green basket.
“Take it, take it! It’s only a little anyway. The steward just brought it down—fresh as can be.”
Matron Zhang’s eyes crinkled. With a sly, knowing look, she teased, “For Eldest Young Master’s vegetarian wontons, hmm?”
Xiao Man’s face warmed at once.
“Oh, what is there to blush about?” Matron Zhang patted her hand, the way older women did when they’d lived long enough to read a girl’s thoughts before she spoke them. “But shepherd’s purse alone tastes too plain. Listen to me—dice some dried tofu into fine crumbs and mix it in, then pour in plenty of sesame oil. I swear it’ll taste so fresh you’ll forget your own name.”
That was the wisdom of an old kitchen—simple, sharp, and rarely wrong.
“And what do the young misses want?” Matron Zhang asked, already reaching for bowls.
“Shrimp and pork. Minced pork as the base, and a whole big shrimp tucked into each wonton.”
Xiao Man brightened as she spoke. She loved talking food with Matron Zhang.
“Good. Add a few sweet corn kernels too. Looks pretty.”
Matron Zhang offered it without hesitation.
“I’ve got corn here. Take it back and shuck it yourself. Just don’t overdo it—use a little for color and a hint of sweetness.”
Then she remembered something and slapped a hand to her thigh.
“Oh—and take this marrow bone. You need it for the soup base. Without it, wontons taste like they’ve lost their soul.”
“Thank you, Matron… it’s just…”
Xiao Man glanced at the growing pile and grimaced.
“That’s a lot. I’m not sure I can carry it all.”
“Little Tiger!”
Matron Zhang turned and bellowed out the door. “Come here! Get everything Sister Xiao Man asked for ready. Later, take it to the small kitchen at the Auspicious Cloud Residence!”
When she turned back, her smile softened.
“I knew you were the kind of maid whose hands were made for chopping scallions, not hauling baskets. But these wrappers you’ll have to carry yourself. They’re delicate—press them wrong and they’re ruined.”
“Matron, you’re my salvation.”
Xiao Man clasped her hands as if praying at a shrine.
Matron Zhang leaned closer, voice dropping until it was just a thread between them.
“Listen. The capable matron at First Madam’s side said something the other day. From now on, any rations in this manor—anything you ask for—you get first. Understand? You’re about to climb onto a high branch. You’d better grab your chance while it’s in your hands.”
Xiao Man’s fingers tightened around the stack of wrappers.
She left the main kitchen with a basket in her arms and something heavier lodged in her chest, like a wad of cotton blocking her breath.
What did First Madam mean by that?
Was she planning to make her relationship with Lin Qing Xuan public in the manor?
Her term contract ended next summer. When the time came, how was she supposed to ask Madam for her indenture papers back?
Her thoughts tangled like thread. But a working girl could be drowning inside and still had to keep moving.
Today’s most important task was preparing wontons for the two masters.
Little Tiger delivered the ingredients quickly. When he set everything down, he stared at Xiao Man from head to toe, careful and lingering. The look crawled under her skin.
She shoved the discomfort aside and got to work.
She scooped minced pork—fat and lean balanced—into a basin, then added minced ginger, chopped white scallion, a pinch of salt, and a little sugar for brightness. Soy sauce followed, then a splash of yellow rice wine.
She stirred hard in one direction until the mixture turned glossy and clung together—thick, elastic, alive.
Next she cut most of the peeled shrimp into small pieces, keeping a portion whole for the final wrapping. She stripped sweet corn kernels and folded them in as well.
A ring of sesame oil, one more thorough mix, and the filling rose with a rich, savory fragrance that made the mouth water.
On the other side, she washed the shepherd’s purse carefully, blanched it in boiling water, then lifted it out and squeezed it dry. She chopped it fine as snow.
The dried tofu she diced finer still.
She mixed the greens with the tofu, seasoned with salt and a touch of ground white pepper, and then—remembering Matron Zhang’s advice—poured in a generous stream of sesame oil.
The aroma bloomed immediately, clean green scent and warm bean fragrance turning lush and inviting.
She blanched the marrow bone with ginger and a splash of rice wine, skimmed away the scum, then moved it into a clay pot to simmer low and slow until the broth turned deep and fragrant.
Only then did she open the wonton wrappers—thin as cicada wings. Fearing they’d dry out, she wet a clean hemp cloth, wrung it out, and laid it gently over the stack.
Wrapper in her palm, filling placed with chopsticks, a nimble pinch—one plump wonton with a neat fish-tail fold.
Her hands flowed like water. Soon the board was lined with rows of ingot-shaped wontons, squat and perfect.
Third Miss Lin Yu Ning arrived with her second sister, Second Miss Lin Yu Jiao. The sight of those neat rows made Yu Ning’s eyes light up.
“Sister Xiao Man, Cousin isn’t here, right? Can I try wrapping some?”
Xiao Man glanced at their ornate skirts and embroidered sleeves and hesitated.
“If your cloud brocade gets dirty, it’s hard to wash. It’s not worth it for two wontons.”
Lin Yu Jiao, far less eager than her sister, took one step back the moment clothes were mentioned.
But Yu Ning waved a hand like it was nothing.
“So what? It’s just clothes. If it gets dirty, I’ll buy new. I’ve got money now!”
Lin Yu Jiao hovered on the side, looking like she wanted to flick her sister’s forehead and couldn’t decide whether it would be rude.
Xiao Man sighed, then relented.
“If you really want to try, have Chun Cao help you take off your outer robe. The small kitchen isn’t cold. Then we’ll tie your sleeves up with a ribbon—loop it around your neck, hitch the cuffs up layer by layer, and bind them snug to your arms.”
Chun Cao moved at once. Xiao Man even pulled a rough cloth apron over Yu Ning’s front.
“There. You shouldn’t get dirty now.”
She handed Yu Ning a few wrappers and showed her how to place the filling and pinch the edges.
Yu Ning tried eagerly, but she couldn’t seal them tight. Each one ended up crooked, leaking, ugly enough to make even the wrappers look offended. Her shoulders sagged.
Yu Jiao scolded her, half laughing, half exasperated—impatient enough to want to take over, but she kept eyeing her own clothes like they were porcelain.
For a while, the small kitchen turned into a commotion of hands and voices.
Granny Chen heard the noise, washed her hands, and came in to help.
With Granny Chen there, the good wontons multiplied quickly. Yu Ning’s creations, however, remained a disaster—too loose, too torn, too hopeless to survive a pot.
And yet she still wanted to eat the ones she’d made.
Xiao Man held out as long as she could, then finally gave in.
“Fine, fine, my little Young Madam. We’ll eat the good ones first. Afterward, I’ll cook your… ‘artworks’ separately, all right?”