My Villainess Is Definitely Not a Black Lotus - Chapter 23

Fu Jianxu set the ladle down by the pot. Today, they had prepared two hundred portions of ingredients, and they had sold out early again.

Even more encouraging was the strong sales of the noodles they had tested on the first day. Thick noodles sold for two wen per portion, while thin noodles went for three wen per portion. They were only available as additions to the mala tang, not sold separately.

After closing up, Ji Xiaoyu, as usual, couldn’t rest. She pulled out the ledger and meticulously checked the accounts. Always unsure of her calculations, she insisted on verifying them multiple times. Even after returning home at night, she would softly plead with Fu Jianxu to help her double-check everything.

Fu Jianxu, of course, couldn’t resist the young girl’s gentle begging and readily agreed to help.

Having returned early that day, Ji Xiaoyu still crept over to Fu Jianxu with the ledger in hand. Fu Jianxu saw the look in her eyes and knew exactly what the girl was thinking. Amused, she moved two stools under the eaves.

Come, she said, naturally taking Ji Xiaoyu’s hand. Let’s sort through the accounts while the daylight’s good.

The moment their fingertips touched, Ji Xiaoyu froze. The woman’s palm was dry and warm, the heat transferring to her own. She stared stiffly at their clasped hands, her mind completely blank despite the ledger she was supposed to be focused on.

It wasn’t until Fu Jianxu released her hand to turn the page that Ji Xiaoyu snapped out of her daze, unconsciously rubbing the lingering warmth in her empty palm.

Ji Xiaoyu tilted her head to study Fu Jianxu’s face. Sunlight filtered through her long lashes, casting delicate dappled shadows across her cheeks, and her pupils seemed to glow with an inner light.

They were so close that Ji Xiaoyu could clearly see the fine downy hairs on Fu Jianxu’s cheeks. The woman’s already fair skin appeared particularly translucent in the sunlight, and Ji Xiaoyu could even discern the faint blush on her earlobes.

She’s so beautiful, Ji Xiaoyu thought. Has this woman always been so radiant?

Oblivious to the young girl’s thoughts, Fu Jianxu remained focused on calculating with her fingers.

Just then, Aunt Chunhao’s hearty voice rang through the courtyard, interrupting their thoughts. A’Xu, the sweet potato starch is dried!

The family had entrusted their sweet potato starch to Aunt Chunhao for drying, and today she was returning it.

Fu Jianxu accepted the starch, inspected its condition, and felt a surge of joy. We can make hot and sour noodles today!

She quickly thanked Aunt Chunhao. Thank you, Auntie! Don’t bother cooking tonight. I’ll bring you a bowl of the fresh noodles to try when I’m done.

Fu Chunhao didn’t stand on ceremony and readily accepted the offer with a smile.

The kitchen glowed warmly in the evening light. Fu Jianxu stood before a wooden basin, her sleeves loosely rolled to her elbows, her fingertips stirring the settled sweet potato starch at the bottom. Fine, white powder sifted through her fingers.

She scooped a ladle of warm water and slowly poured it into the starch. The wooden ladle swirled in the basin, gradually thickening the mixture into a smooth, viscous paste.

With a firm wrist, she kneaded the damp starch into a smooth dough. She pressed down with her palm, then gently lifted it, repeating the motion until the dough became pliable and elastic.

Sister Jianxu, the water’s boiling! Ji Xiaoyu called from beneath the stove.

Fu Jianxu nodded in response. She retrieved a perforated ladle, held the starch dough suspended above the pot, and gently patted it. Fine strands of starch paste dripped through the holes, sliding into the boiling water like silver threads. Upon contact with the heat, they solidified into translucent noodles that floated and sank in the bubbling water.

Ji Xiaoyu squatted beside her, watching the process with wide-eyed fascination.

Xiaoyu, keep an eye on them, Fu Jianxu instructed, holding up the ladle. Once they’re cooked through, you can scoop them out.

Ji Xiaoyu snapped back to attention, using long chopsticks to scoop the cooked noodles from the pot and immerse them in a nearby tub of cold water. The cold shock instantly transformed the noodles into smooth, springy strands.

Remember to stir them occasionally to prevent them from sticking together, Fu Jianxu instructed.

Ji Xiaoyu followed her instructions diligently.

Fu Jianxu poured in the remaining two or three pounds of sweet potato starch in one go, a task that required considerable effort. After finishing, she wiped her hands and smiled slightly. We can try some today. The rest, we’ll have to ask Aunt Chunhao to dry for later.

Fu Jianxu emptied the pot, washed it clean, and rolled up her sleeves. She scooped half a ladle of lard into the iron wok. Once the lard melted, she crushed two cloves of garlic, minced ginger, and added peppercorns to sizzle in the hot oil. The stove crackled, releasing a pungent aroma that made Ji Xiaoyu, who was feeding the fire, turn her head and sneeze.

Fu Jianxu couldn’t help but chuckle. Ji Xiaoyu’s cheeks flushed slightly as she turned away to poke at the firewood, avoiding her gaze.

But fate had a twist in store. The spicy fumes soon choked Fu Jianxu herself, causing her to cough and tear up.

Now it was Ji Xiaoyu’s turn to laugh, her eyes crinkling with amusement.

After recovering, Fu Jianxu retrieved the leftover bone broth from the counter. It was thanks to Ji Xiaoyu’s frugality—insisting on bringing back the remaining broth to make noodles—that they had bone broth for their sweet potato noodles tonight.

Freshly made sweet potato noodles didn’t need long to cook a quick swirl in boiling water turned them silky smooth. She scooped them into coarse porcelain bowls already seasoned with sauce, then poured the scalding broth over them, instantly giving the noodles an amber hue.

Fu Jianxu ladled out four bowls, pushing one toward Ji Xiaoyu, who was watching eagerly. Try it.

The noodles, saturated with the tangy, spicy broth, trembled on Ji Xiaoyu’s chopsticks as she lifted them to her mouth. First came the fiery heat of Sichuan peppercorns, followed by the bright acidity of aged vinegar, and finally the subtle sweetness unique to sweet potato noodles. Ji Xiaoyu gasped from the heat but couldn’t bear to stop eating, beads of sweat forming on her forehead.

Eat slowly, don’t burn yourself, Fu Jianxu said with a smile. Ji Xiaoyu blushed at her teasing and quickly set down her chopsticks. I’ll deliver these to Aunt Chunhao’s house first.

She reached for two bowls of noodles.

Seeing her trying to carry both alone, Fu Jianxu quickly took one. I’ll come with you. Be careful not to burn your hands.

Fu Zhixiao took the bowl, her eyes widening as she examined the translucent vermicelli inside. What’s this?

Hot and Sour Vermicelli, made from sweet potato starch, Fu Jianxu replied, inwardly puzzled. Do they not even have vermicelli in this era?

Before she could finish speaking, Fu Chunhao eagerly snatched the bowl, ignoring the heat as she grabbed chopsticks and took a bite. The moment the vermicelli touched her tongue, her eyes lit up. So fragrant!

Seeing this, Fu Zhixiao quickly sat down and stuffed a mouthful into her mouth. After a long day of work, she was ravenously hungry, and after just one bite, she couldn’t help but nod repeatedly in approval.

Watching them devour the vermicelli with such gusto, Fu Jianxu’s stomach suddenly rumbled.

Ji Xiaoyu pursed her lips and giggled softly. Jianxu-jie, I’m hungry too. Let’s go back and eat as well.

In the following days, Fu Ji Food Stall’s business, though no longer as explosive as during its opening, remained steady. Many customers who had tried the novelty dishes became regulars, but daily sales inevitably declined. They adjusted their inventory accordingly, preparing only a hundred servings each day.

Ji Xiaoyu felt disheartened by the halved income. She squatted by the stove, counting copper coins, her small face creased in a frown.

Seeing her dejected expression, Fu Jianxu gently consoled her, This is for the best, Xiaoyu. At least we won’t be so busy we can’t catch our breath.

At that moment, Fu Zhixiao, who was clearing tables, paused. Recalling the Hot and Sour Vermicelli they had eaten recently, her eyes lit up. A’Xu, what if we started selling Hot and Sour Vermicelli? Would that work?

Fu Jianxu was momentarily taken aback. Hot and Sour Vermicelli was indeed a promising idea, but she was already stretched too thin. After a moment’s thought, she suggested, Why don’t we ask Aunt Chunhao to make the vermicelli? If she’s willing, I can teach her the recipe, and we can source it directly from her.

Fu Zhixiao stared in disbelief. Would she really share such a prized recipe so readily?

After returning home, Fu Zhixiao told Aunt Chunhao about the offer. Aunt Chunhao was initially stunned, but her face quickly lit up with joy. She muttered to herself, A’Xu is such a thoughtful child. If her mother were watching from above, she’d be so relieved…

As she spoke, tears welled in the corners of her eyes. All these years of doting on her haven’t been in vain.

Of course, she readily agreed. Since her legs had become weak, she could no longer do many chores and had been relying solely on growing vegetables to survive. Having an additional source of income was an opportunity she couldn’t refuse.

On the first day of the twelfth lunar month, market day, a long queue had formed in front of Fu Ji Food Stall before dawn.

Eager customers craned their necks, anticipating the new dish being launched that day—a type of vermicelli they had never seen before. Word had spread the previous day that the first ten customers would get a free taste, drawing many to line up before sunrise.

Travelers passing through town, unfamiliar with the newly opened stall, were intrigued by the crowd. They approached and asked, What’s the line for, everyone?

Have you tried Fu Ji Food Stall’s Mala Tang? a friendly auntie chimed in enthusiastically. Today, they’re introducing a new dish called Hot and Sour Vermicelli!

Mala Tang? The two passersby exchanged bewildered glances.

Oh my! You’ve never tried Mala Tang? Come, come, get in line and taste it! The auntie, realizing they were novices, pulled them into the queue without hesitation.

The regular customers chimed in, each praising Mala Tang’s exquisite flavors—how incredibly delicious, how remarkably affordable—insisting it was a culinary experience not to be missed. The two newcomers couldn’t help but swallow hard, their mouths watering at the descriptions.

At three-quarters past the hour of Mao 645 AM, the wooden doors of Fu Ji Food Stall creaked open. The iron pot was barely set on the stove when a rich, savory aroma filled the air. Fu Yunlai, standing in line, took a deep breath, her anticipation for the legendary Mala Tang growing.

As she leaned forward to peek, she suddenly recognized the person behind the stove, wielding the ladle. Fu Yunlai’s pupils contracted, and she urgently nudged Fu Xiayi beside her.

What is it? Fu Xiayi followed her gaze and gasped, Fu Jianxu?!

Who are you talking about? A tall, skinny thug picked at his ear, his face incredulous.

Fu Jianxu! The Fu Jianxu who lazes around all day! The short, stout man stamped his foot in frustration.

Bullshit! The skinny thug scoffed. That good-for-nothing spendthrift who only knows how to eat, drink, and play? Running a food stall? You must be seeing things!

It’s true! The stout man grabbed his arm. She’s been open for half a month already! She’s setting up her wok at the east street entrance right now! Come on, I’ll take you to see for yourself!

Without waiting for a response, he dragged the skinny thug toward the east street.