By the time Li Ziqing stepped back into the house, it was already 4:25 in the afternoon. The bags in her hand, bulging with rare and exquisite ingredients—some wrapped in parchment, others tucked in insulated containers—hung heavily from her shoulder. Her pockets were nearly empty, but her heart pulsed with anticipation.
She placed the ingredients gently on the narrow kitchen counter. Her breath was labored, and sweat trickled down her temples. The ride back had been long, hot, and exhausting, with the late summer sun beating down relentlessly.
Just as she was sorting the spring onions and Chinese parsley that threatened to spill from the top of her bag, the main door creaked open. Footsteps followed, and then came her mother's familiar voice.
"You must be starving, A-Qing," said Li Jianfang, tying her apron as she stepped into the kitchen. "Mommy was late today. That old lady from next door caught me for a chat. I'll start cooking right away, just give me a minute."
She turned toward the stove but froze mid-step, her eyes narrowing as she finally took in the sight of the overflowing bag of supplies. Bok choy, lotus root, quail eggs, and a bundle of spring onions peeked out like eager witnesses. She blinked, confused.
"Why is there so much food here? Did… did you buy all this?"
Li Ziqing offered her mother a calm, composed smile. "Yes, Mom. I went to the Central Market to get these."
"The Central Market?" Li Jianfang echoed, her brow creasing in concern. "But why would you buy so much? We already have vegetables. This looks like a month's worth of groceries—and from there? It's expensive…"
Ziqing reached for her mother's hand, her expression softening. "Because, Mom, there's something I want to talk to you about. Something important. And… I want to say it over dinner. I'll be cooking tonight."
Li Jianfang blinked in disbelief. "You? Cooking?" Her gaze flicked to the stove, then back to her daughter. "A-Qing, you've never even cooked rice before. And if it's that serious, you can just tell me now."
Ziqing tightened her grip on her mother's hand, her voice gentle but resolute. "Please, just trust me this once. Let me cook. You've worked all day, and you need rest. I promise, everything will make sense soon. Let me show you—through dinner."
Her mother hesitated, torn between concern and confusion. But Ziqing had already turned her around and began gently ushering her toward the bedroom.
"Just lie down for a while. I'll call you when everything is ready."
"But what if you mess something up? What if the stove—"
"Mom," Ziqing said, her eyes sparkling with certainty, "just this once, don't worry about anything."
Finally, Li Jianfang relented with a long sigh and returned to her room, muttering to herself, If she really can't manage, I'll just whip up some instant noodles later...
---
The moment the bedroom door clicked shut, Li Ziqing tied her hair back and rolled up her sleeves. The narrow kitchen was clean but cramped.
She laid out the ingredients with reverence, like a surgeon preparing for delicate surgery.
Her knife work was swift and graceful. The cleaver moved like a dancer in her hand—slicing lotus root into paper-thin coins, deboning quail with effortless precision, and dicing carrots into uniform matchsticks without hesitation. Her cutting board remained immaculate, her movements fluid and controlled. There was no wasted motion, no hesitation. The training embedded in the scroll's techniques had become muscle memory.
As the first pot came to a boil, she adjusted the flame with a practiced flick of her wrist—keeping it steady at a low simmer to blanch the fish and preserve its tenderness. Another burner held a heavy clay pot, into which she carefully layered Chinese herbs and aged ginseng for the Imperial Chicken Soup.
She monitored everything with the eyes of a seasoned chef. The Eight-Treasure Duck had to be sealed just right before steaming. The Braised Abalone with Sea Cucumber required careful temperature control to achieve perfect tenderness. Meanwhile, she stir-fried the Tofu with Jade Mushroom Sauce over high heat, finishing it with a drizzle of sesame oil, exact to the final drop.
The air in the kitchen began to change.
At first, it was subtle—the warm, nutty fragrance of sesame oil, the rich steam rising from herbal chicken broth. Then it deepened into something more alluring: sweet, savory, earthy layers of scent dancing and mixing in perfect harmony.
And soon, the aroma escaped through the slightly open kitchen window.
---
On the street below, heads began to turn.
"Eh? What's that smell?"
"Smells like… sea cucumber? That can't be right—who's cooking banquet dishes in this neighborhood?"
"Is someone making duck stew? I swear, that's the scent of aged Shaoxing wine."
"It's too rich to be home food. Maybe that little restaurant on the corner upgraded their chef?"
A few curious passersby slowed their steps. One woman, carrying a sack of rice, paused under the window and closed her eyes as the scent curled around her like silk.
"This… this smells like something out of a palace feast," she murmured.
Even children passing by looked up in awe. "Mommy, is someone getting married today?" one asked, tugging at her mother's hand.
Inside the kitchen, unaware of the stir she was already causing, Li Ziqing remained focused, her expression calm but intense.
-----
In the quiet of her room, Li Jianfang sat cross-legged on the cushioned bench beside the window, the late afternoon sunlight casting a soft, golden hue across her face. She had changed into a loose, light lilac cotton dress after returning from the food stall—a simple outfit, but it accentuated her natural elegance. Her dark hair, loosely pinned, framed her gentle features. Though fatigue clung faintly to her posture, she radiated the quiet beauty of a woman who had weathered life with grace.
In her hands was a well-worn book, its spine soft from age. Reading was a luxury she rarely indulged in—life didn't leave room for that sort of stillness. But today, with her daughter insisting on taking over dinner, she allowed herself a rare moment of quiet.
Just as she turned a page, a strange sensation brushed across her senses—warm and heady, like silk laced with spice. She paused mid-sentence, lifting her head slightly. Then it came again, this time stronger: an aroma so rich and intricate that it seemed to reach into her memory and stir something long dormant.
She frowned, brows furrowing slightly. That smell... it wasn't just pleasant—it was divine.
Her stomach, quiet until now, gave a low, unexpected rumble. She placed a hand over it, amused and confused in equal measure.
What on earth is she cooking in there?
For a long moment, she hesitated. She didn't want to disturb A Qing after insisting she rest. But the scent was now growing stronger, wafting through the hallway like a beckoning whisper. It wasn't just the smell of food—it was the fragrance of something rare, sophisticated, almost ceremonial.
Unable to resist any longer, she rose from the bench and padded softly down the hallway. The closer she came to the kitchen, the more the aroma deepened—notes of ginseng, aged wine, fresh herbs, and simmering broth intertwined in the air like music. Her composure, usually unshaken, faltered. Her mouth watered.
She stopped just outside the kitchen doorway, hand lifting as if to call her daughter—but then froze.
What she saw inside left her utterly speechless.
Li Ziqing stood before the stove, sleeves rolled neatly to her elbows, her slender form framed by steam and golden light filtering in through the window. Her movements were fluid, deliberate—she sliced Chinese parsley with the ease of a seasoned chef, adjusted the flame beneath a clay pot with a precise flick, then used a pair of long chopsticks to lift a delicate fish and, with one graceful motion, deboned it without breaking the skin.
Every motion, every gesture held a kind of nobility. Even the simple act of adding crushed white pepper to a sauce or stirring the translucent broth had the elegance of ritual. She moved not like a novice fumbling through recipes, but like a mistress of the culinary arts—refined, composed, and utterly in control.
Jianfang stood rooted to the spot, her breath caught in her throat. She couldn't reconcile this image with the daughter she thought she knew—scatterbrained, dreamy, reluctant to even boil noodles. And yet here she was, cooking with such meticulous skill and otherworldly grace that she looked like a lady descended from a noble household, preparing a royal banquet.
Li Ziqing, who was fully immersed in preparing dinner, suddenly felt a presence at the kitchen door. When she looked up, she was surprised to find her mother standing there, staring at the simmering soup on the stove with dazed eyes and a slightly parted mouth, clearly entranced by the aroma.
A soft smile curved her lips.
"Mom, didn't I tell you to rest?" she called gently.
"Haa…" Li Jianfang blinked as if waking from a dream. It took her a moment to register her daughter's words. Then, with a hint of embarrassment, she admitted, "I was resting… but the smell coming from the kitchen was just too enticing. I couldn't help myself."
Li Ziqing was momentarily startled. Her mother had always been the picture of composure—calm, reserved, and elegant. Since childhood, Ziqing had never seen her mother flustered or visibly shaken. That steady poise was something she had admired and grown up with. And now, watching her mother's slightly awkward smile and sheepish expression, she couldn't help but laugh softly.
Unaware of the thoughts running through her daughter's mind, Li Jianfang stepped into the kitchen and glanced around. Some dishes were already prepared and beautifully plated, while others were still in progress. The air was filled with a rich medley of aromas—herbs, broth, delicate sauces—each scent distinct, yet harmoniously layered.
She turned toward her daughter, curiosity evident in her gaze.
"A'Qing," she asked, "why didn't I know you were so good at cooking?"
The question caught Li Ziqing off guard.
Of course her mother would notice. She had watched her grow up, after all. And in the past thirteen years, Ziqing had never so much as fried an egg, let alone orchestrated a banquet-level meal. She certainly couldn't tell her about the system that had awakened with her rebirth.
Clearing her throat, she offered a plausible excuse.
"Actually, Mom… I've been secretly learning these skills," she said with a nervous laugh. "You know how Gege—my brother—had his own interests outside of school. When I found out he was learning computer programming three years ago, I thought… maybe I should learn something too. So, I started learning how to cook."
Li Jianfang let out a soft sigh at the mention of her son. The twins had always been close and loving, but as a mother, she had seen the quiet shadows in her daughter's eyes—the silent pressure of living beside such a remarkable sibling. While Ziqing had always worked hard, it was no secret that Zian was extraordinary.
She still remembered the day Zian passed the grade-skipping exam in his first year of middle school, jumping ahead by two full years. Ziqing had smiled and clapped for him, but Jianfang could sense the sadness beneath the surface. After all, they were born together—but one seemed to soar while the other struggled just to keep pace.
Now, with Li Zian having topped the city in the high school entrance exams and preparing to enter Wuhan No. 1 High School after summer, Ziqing was still in her first year of middle school, only now moving into her second year.
"A'Qing… why did you keep it a secret?" her mother asked softly, reaching out to smooth her daughter's hair. "You've done such a good thing. I would've supported you wholeheartedly."
"I know, Mom," Ziqing replied, her voice light but sincere. "But I wanted to be perfect at it—just like Gege is with everything he does. I didn't want to tell anyone until I knew I could do it well. But don't worry… I've finally mastered it."
Li Jianfang nodded, pride and warmth swelling quietly in her chest. But before she could respond, another question slipped from her lips—one that made her daughter's smile falter.
"Then tell me… who taught you these skills? I'd like to meet your master."
Li Ziqing blinked. For a split second, panic flickered in her eyes. But she quickly composed herself and replied with a measured calm.
"I don't know where he is anymore," she said. "Three years ago, he taught me the basics—cooking techniques, knife skills, a few traditional recipes… After that, I started reading. I visited libraries, studied ancient culinary texts, and learned about traditional Chinese cuisine on my own."
She knew her story was thin and that the explanation sounded convenient, even rehearsed. But when she glanced at her mother and saw her nodding slowly in response, she breathed a quiet sigh of relief.
"Mom really is easy to fool," she thought to herself.
But was she truly fooled?
No.
Li Jianfang wasn't convinced. She could tell her daughter was hiding something—perhaps something important. But she also knew Ziqing well enough to trust her heart. She wasn't a reckless child. If she had her reasons to keep something hidden, they were likely justified.