Transmigrated into a minor official in a county government, with children at home waiting for rice t

Zhang Sanlang tucked the oil paper package into his coat pocket. "My two little ones at home have a sweet tooth. I'll take some back for them to try."

As he spoke, he picked up the white flour at his feet and handed it to Wu Yan, "Second Brother Wu, this is fine flour from the official granary, sifted through a fine sieve five times. Take it back and let Uncle Wu try it."

Wu Yan took the bag of flour and grinned. "This is a rare treat. My dad has been steaming buns for half his life, always using coarse flour. Let him try the fine flour from the official granary later, and the old man will be all smiles."

The next day, after finishing his shift, Zhang Sanlang entered the courtyard and found that He the carpenter was waiting for him.

It turned out that the work he had been given earlier was completely finished. The broken pieces of porcelain had been embedded in the wall, mixed with mortar, and inserted in a dense row. They gleamed coldly in the sunlight and looked prickly to the touch.

The courtyard gate was replaced with a thick jujube wood plank, making it heavy to close and requiring some effort to push. Two hidden bolts were added to the back of the gate, one end inserted into the wall and the other wedged into the gate panel, making them invisible from the outside.

Two horizontal beams were added to the window frame of the east wing, making it possible to jam it shut from the inside.

The metal latches are installed on the door frame and fit perfectly.

Carpenter He stood up, dusted off his knees, and tucked the chisel into his belt. "Zhang Qianxing, it's all done. You give it a try."

Zhang Sanlang walked to the courtyard gate, pushed it open, closed it again, and then bolted it shut and shook it. The door didn't budge.

He then walked to the window of the east wing, reached out and pushed the window shutter, "Brother He, your skills are indeed excellent."

Carpenter He grinned. "Any more work to do? I'll take care of it all at once while I'm on a roll these days."

Zhang Sanlang stood at the door of the east wing and glanced into the inner room. The room was empty, with a few pieces of dilapidated old furniture piled up, and a few bundles of dry straw in the corner. "Brother He, I'd like to have some furniture made in this inner room."

Carpenter He peeked out and asked, "What are you doing?"

"A small bed for Ximei to sleep in. A desk, the kind with two drawers. Two chairs, low enough for Qingge to reach the tabletop."

Carpenter He counted on his fingers, "A small bed, the hardwood material costs three hundred coins. A desk with drawers, two hundred coins. Two chairs, one hundred coins each. That's six hundred coins in total."

"Then let's make it eight hundred coins, the extra can be considered wages." Zhang Sanlang went back into the house, took out a string of coins, and handed it over.

Carpenter He took the money, put it in his pocket, and said, "Alright. I'll go get it tomorrow, and it should be finished by the end of the month."

As they were talking, Ximei came out of the house, her face pale and her lips chapped.

She walked to the stove, picked up the ladle to scoop water, but her hand trembled and the ladle hit the edge of the vat with a crisp sound.

Zhang Sanlang walked over and reached out to touch her forehead.

It's too hot to handle!

"happy Mei'er, do you have a fever?"

happy Mei shook her head. "Dad, it's nothing. A sip of water will do."

Zhang Sanlang ignored her, turned around, went back into the house to get the money, and took happy Mei'er's hand to walk outside.

He turned back at the door and called out, "Qing-ge'er, stay home and don't run around. Dad is taking your sister to see the doctor."

Turn east at the entrance of Kujing Alley, cross two streets, and you'll find a clinic.

Zhang Sanlang lifted the curtain and went inside.

Behind the counter sat an elderly doctor, around fifty years old, with a goatee, wearing an old turban, and ink stains on his fingers. He was writing a prescription, and when he heard footsteps, he looked up and said, "Sit."

Zhang Sanlang led Ximei to sit down on the bench in front of the counter.

The old doctor reached out and placed his hand on Xi Mei'er's wrist. After closing his eyes and checking for a moment, he opened them and looked at Zhang Sanlang. "Feel her forehead, is it hot?"

Zhang Sanlang had tried it at home and nodded immediately.

"You've caught a cold. It's not serious, a couple of doses of medicine should do the trick."

The old doctor picked up his pen, wrote a few lines on the paper, and pushed it over: "Consultation fee: ten coins; medicine fee: twenty-five coins; total: thirty-five coins."

Zhang Sanlang took the prescription and glanced at it.

The handwriting was messy, but I could barely make out a few of the herbs: ephedra, cinnamon twig, apricot kernel, and licorice.

Zhang Sanlang counted out thirty-five coins from his sleeve and placed them on the counter.

The old doctor took the money, turned around and walked to the medicine cabinet. He opened a few small drawers, weighed the medicine with a scale, divided it into two packets, wrapped them in straw paper, and handed them over. "Boil one packet in one bowl of water. Bring it to a boil over high heat, then simmer over low heat for half an hour. Take it once in the morning and once in the evening."

Zhang Sanlang accepted the medicine packet, thanked her, and took happy Mei'er's hand as they left the clinic.

Back home, he poured the medicine into a ceramic pot, added two bowls of water, and placed it on the stove. He stuffed dry firewood into the stove, and the flames licked the bottom of the pot. Soon the water boiled. The aroma of the medicine wafted from the cracks in the pot lid, a bitter and pungent smell.

After simmering the medicine for half an hour, Zhang Sanlang poured it into a rough porcelain bowl, let it cool slightly, and then presented it to Ximei.

Xi Mei took the bowl, looked at the brownish-yellow medicine soup, took a deep breath, tilted her head back, and gulped it down. After finishing, she put the bowl on the table, her little face scrunched up.

Zhang Sanlang smiled slightly, took a piece of maltose from the jar, and put it into her mouth.

With a candy in her mouth, Xi Mei'er's brows slowly relaxed.

Qingge leaned over the edge of the table, looking at the medicine. "Sister, is the medicine bitter?"

happy Mei glared at him. "You'll know once you try it. Just say you want some candy!"

Qingge shrank back, chuckled awkwardly, and walked away.

Zhang Sanlang brought over a bowl of millet porridge, but she glanced at it and shook her head. "Father, I don't want to eat."

Zhang Sanlang nodded, knowing that she was sick and had no appetite.

He glanced at the bag of flour he had brought back that day, scooped half a bowl of flour into a basin, slowly added water with one hand, and quickly stirred with chopsticks in the other. The flour clumped together with the water, forming small lumps of varying sizes, some resembling soybeans and others like grains of rice.

Half a pot of water was boiled in the iron pot. After the water boiled, Zhang Sanlang used chopsticks to push the dough into the pot. The dough rolled around in the boiling water, and the soup gradually turned white.

He stirred it with a spoon, added a pinch of salt, two drops of vegetable oil, and then chopped a few scallions and sprinkled them in.

He ladled the dumpling soup into a bowl and brought it to Ximei'er's bedside. "Ximei'er, you won't get better if you don't eat. Get up and drink a bowl of noodle soup to help with your medicine."

happy Mei propped herself up, took the bowl, and took a sip. The soup slid down her throat, warm and comforting. Her eyes lit up, and she took another big gulp.

After finishing a bowl of dumpling soup, happy Mei'er's forehead was covered in a thin layer of sweat.

Zhang Sanlang took a cloth and wiped her face. "Cover yourself up and get some sleep."

happy Mei lay down, pulled the blanket up to her chin, and closed her eyes.

Silent all night.

The next morning, when Zhang Sanlang got up, the fire in the stove had not yet been lit.

He went to check on Ximei first. She was sleeping soundly, and her complexion was better than yesterday. He reached out and touched her forehead, and it was no longer feverish.

Zhang Sanlang breathed a sigh of relief and walked to the stove to start a fire.

This time, he scooped out two bowls of flour, added water to form a stiff dough, and kneaded it on the cutting board for a while. Once the dough was smooth, he rolled it out with a rolling pin, folded it into a large, thin sheet, and then cut it into thin strips with a kitchen knife.

The water in the iron pot boiled, and he loosened the noodles and put them in, stirring them with chopsticks. The noodles rolled in the boiling water, each thin, white noodle separate, neither sticking nor clumping together.

I boiled a bowl of vegetables, scooped it out, drizzled a spoonful of lard on it, added a few drops of soy sauce, and sprinkled it with chopped green onions.

When the soup was brought to the bedside, Qingge woke up first, his nostrils flaring. "Sister, Dad's soup dumplings smell so good!"