Courtyard House: Starting with a 28-inch motorcycle

As evening approached, hot dishes were served one after another.

In the dining room, a wealthy businessman in a dark blue Zhongshan suit had just picked up a piece of bird's nest with his chopsticks and put it in his mouth when his chopsticks stopped in mid-air, and his eyes widened suddenly: "This...could it be...clear broth bird's nest? I haven't tasted this in so many years!"

Lou's mother was also a descendant of the Tan family cuisine lineage, but she ultimately couldn't grasp the essence of it. She stared at He Yuzhu's technique and was shocked: How old is this young man? His knife skills are steady, his heat control is precise, his seasoning is thorough, and even the way the broth clings to the spoon is as measured as an old craftsman's—in the old days, he could probably enter the imperial kitchen as an "apprentice head chef" as soon as he turned twenty.

She quietly put her mind at ease: it turned out that Xiao He wasn't bragging after all; his claim of having his father He Daqing's skills was indeed true.

Director Yang has never been a fan of Tan Family Cuisine. He grew up attending banquets with his former boss, and his palate had long been spoiled by spicy and savory flavors; Sichuan cuisine was his true calling.

She picked up a piece of twice-cooked pork, its fat and lean meat perfectly balanced, glistening with oil; then she took a bite of the Dongpo pork knuckle, tender and not greasy, rich in collagen. Lou's mother's eyes lit up, her chopsticks paused, and she felt a little more favor towards He Yuzhu in her heart.

Being able to handle two major cuisines with ease and stability requires more than just diligence—it requires understanding the intricacies, knowing their nuances, and being able to immerse oneself in the unique flavor of each.

A cloth merchant from Chengdu slapped his thigh and exclaimed, "Amazing! So authentic! I haven't tasted anything this good in years!" He grabbed Lou's father's sleeve, "Old Lou, you have to introduce me to this master!"

Lou's father grinned, his eyes crinkling with laughter: "Leave it to me! Come on, let's eat!"

Hiring a good chef is not only a matter of prestige, but also a matter of connections—no family can hold a banquet without a skilled cook; otherwise, it's hard to speak properly with others.

Xu Damao sat in the corner, the movie had just ended, and he was chewing on a cold steamed bun, as if he were chewing on a piece of dry tree bark.

No one nodded at him, no one spoke to him, and no one even offered him a cup of hot tea.

All he could hear were the compliments from the next table praising Sha Zhu: "His control of the heat is more precise than a clock," "This soup is so clear you can see your reflection in it"... He dug his nails into his palms, his teeth aching with hatred, but he could only stare down at the tips of his shoes, not daring to utter a sound.

At this moment, Lou Xiao'e lifted the curtain and entered the kitchen, just as He Yuzhu was tossing the last spoonful of cabbage out of the pot.

Lou Xiao'e's eyes crinkled into a smile: "Silly Pillar? Who gave you that name? You really do look like a solid piece of wood!" She then burst out laughing.

He Yuzhu didn't even look up: "You silly moth, your mouth is stretched wider than the stove opening."

The laughter stopped abruptly: "Don't you dare call me 'Silly Moth'! My dad just called you over to identify people—call me that again, and I'll twist your ear!"

"Alright, you silly moth, got it, you silly moth," he replied in a drawn-out tone.

"You're so annoying! What kind of man calls a woman that? Humph!" She turned her face away, but her ears turned red.

"Don't you call him 'Silly Zhu' all the time too?" He raised an eyebrow. "I haven't minded a single word, and you're still so happy about it? Humph!"

"Can't you give way to a young lady? You're so stingy!" She glared at him, her tone softening slightly.

"This is a new society now. Women hold up half the sky. If I give way, you have to give way to me too." He smiled and wiped his sweat.

"I'm ignoring you! The last dish is just boiled cabbage? Who are you trying to fool!" She wrinkled her nose and leaned closer to take a look.

"Silly moth, are you ignorant?" He scooped up a spoonful of soup and blew on it gently. "This cabbage of mine is the 'general of clear soup'—if anyone at the table can taste its flavor, I'll be calling you that from now on, okay?"

"What if...people say it's nothing special?" she asked, still somewhat doubtful.

"Then I'll come to your house every day and cook for you, for free, no money required."

"Pah! Dream on! Cooking every day? No way!" She stomped her foot, turned around, and her skirt swung up.

As soon as the dishes were placed on the table, Lou's mother and several discerning merchants were immediately stunned: This was no ordinary boiled cabbage; it was clearly clouds washed with snow water floating in amber soup!

This dish originated from a traditional recipe in the Qing Dynasty imperial kitchen. It was first created by Master Huang Jinglin and later refined by Mr. Luo Guorong, eventually becoming the grand finale of state banquets. The tenderest white cabbage hearts from northern China in late autumn are used, simmered for three days with old hen, fat duck, and pork bones. The broth is then repeatedly strained with chicken mince and minced meat until it is as clear as morning dew. Before serving, a few drops of golden chicken oil are added, resulting in a clear, watery broth that is rich and smooth on the palate, fresh without being fishy, ​​light without being bland, and moist without being oily.

Such elaborate dishes are usually only found within the confines of high walls and deep courtyards; ordinary people might not even have heard of their names. Who would have thought that this young man could actually serve them up?

Lou's father raised his glass and laughed heartily: "Master He, this meal was well worth it! We should have a few drinks!"

Lou's mother picked up a piece of bok choy and savored it carefully. Suddenly, she looked up and said, "Little He, this cooking skill... I don't think your father, Comrade He Daqing, taught you this, did he?"

She remembered clearly: He Daqing came to the Lou family to help with cooking, mainly specializing in Tan family cuisine, and occasionally stir-frying a couple of Sichuan-style dishes, but he had never touched such delicate work.

He Yuzhu smiled and said, "Auntie, this is taught by another teacher I have. My father only passed down the basics of Tan family cuisine to me."

—The original owner's culinary skills did indeed come from He Daqing, and he had learned some basics of Sichuan cuisine, but boiled cabbage in clear broth? He had never even seen a shadow of it. As for himself? In the 21st century, video tutorials were everywhere; he had watched, memorized, and pondered them. The original owner's muscle memory just happened to connect with those tricks—the so-called "one thing leads to everything" is nothing more than that.

Lou's father repeatedly said "good" and added, "I'm afraid I'll be bothering you quite often in the future!"

"You're too kind, Uncle," he said, standing up and speaking politely.

Xu Damao was so angry that his liver ached, but he couldn't retaliate.

As the guests gradually left, He Yuzhu was kept until the very end by Director Yang and Mr. Lou.

Mr. Lou pulled out a thick red envelope: "Xiao He, thank you for today. Don't think it's too little. Come visit often in the future."

"Thank you, Uncle. I will definitely come to learn from you often." He accepted the gift with both hands, his knuckles slightly warm.

As we were leaving, Director Yang was already standing by the car, calling to the driver, "Xiao Wei, take a detour around the courtyard first."

In the car, Director Yang lit a cigarette and slowly exhaled a puff: "Zhu Zi, I didn't expect your Sichuan cuisine to be so solid. Lately, the old boss has been craving Sichuan flavors a lot, and all the chefs in the factory are already fully staffed. State banquets aren't held every day—if it's convenient for you, could you lend a hand?"

He had only been at the steel rolling mill for a short time, and his impression of He Yuzhu was still based on rumors that he was "argumentative and sharp-tongued." But after meeting him today, he realized that the rumors were like fog, and the more he looked, the thinner they became.

He Yuzhu simply nodded: "I'll be at your service whenever the leader arranges it."

He jumped into the jeep, his trench coat billowing as the car drove into the night.

Xu Damao wasn't so lucky.

For some reason, Lou's driver was so drunk that he was slumped over the car door, groaning incoherently; other factory leaders were crammed into one car, and there were no seats left; the guests went their separate ways, and he couldn't even get a chance to exchange a few words; and Director Yang was nowhere to be seen.

He hurled insults as he moved toward the tram stop.

The wind was strong in the early autumn night in Beijing, but sweat beaded on his forehead—he was carrying over 100 pounds of machine tool parts on his shoulder, so heavy that it bent his back, and he dared not let go.

I waited for half an hour under the bus stop sign. My sweat-soaked shirt clung to my back, and when the cold wind blew in, my teeth chattered and my arms and legs trembled.

With the tram delayed, he had no choice but to grit his teeth, carry the machine, and move step by step, panting, toward the steel rolling mill.

The streetlights cast long, thin shadows, like snakes with their bones removed, slowly crawling along the empty streets.

……

He pushed open the door late at night and gently placed the food box on the table, pushing it towards He Yushui: "Have a bite while it's hot, keep the old lady company."

It's really not easy to eat meat these days.

He has eight taels of meat coupons per month, which, if he spends them sparingly, is only enough to stew a small pot.

This is already considered good; some workers only get two ounces of oil as their monthly ration.

No wonder the meat smelled so good, like something you'd only dare to smell during Chinese New Year.

He Yushui turned around and went to the backyard to keep the old lady company.

He took the opportunity to sneak into the space for a peek—he couldn't let those piglets starve to death; if they did, he wouldn't get his money's worth.

The green inside was so striking, so lush it was dazzling.

If it grew on a person's head, half of their hair would have turned white from worry long ago.

The piglets were rooting around the feeding trough, grunting and squealing.

He deftly poured in all the pig feed he had mixed that morning, and then casually scooped up a spoonful to feed the chickens—several fluffy little chicks immediately swarmed around, chirping and scrambling for it.

The fish in the pond also swam closer, looking stronger than they had a couple of days ago; however, things in the water always appear blurry, so it's hard to say for sure.

Anyway, I don't plan to make any money right now. I'll save it to give away in December. It's respectable and practical.

After walking around, He Yuzhu headed towards the backyard.

"Grandma, have you been eating well lately?" he asked with a smile.

"It smells good? They've even scraped the bottom of the pot clean, so they don't even have time to feed the dog!" The old lady waved her hand.

He sighed inwardly: This won't make sense, it's a waste of breath.

"Grandma, let's raise chickens together! The policy allows each family to raise two, so let's raise four together—one egg each day for the rainwater, and the rest can all be used to nourish your body!" He raised his voice clearly.

"Oh dear, grandson, I'm not deaf, why are you shouting so loudly?" the old lady said with a laugh.

"And you just said I fed dogs?"

"Weren't you stewing that chicken that Yan Laosan used to make at home yesterday? Hey!"

Well, so there was a foreshadowing here.

"After work tomorrow, I'll head straight to the market and pick out a plump old hen for you!"

The sky was just beginning to lighten—

"System check-in!"

"Sign-in successful, reward of one yuan."

He then pulled out the red envelope given to him by his father, a brand new ten-yuan note; adding his salary and the pocket money from the system, he had a total of forty-one yuan and fifty cents in his pocket.

We also need to give He Yushui seven yuan for living expenses this month, plus fifteen jin of grain coupons.

She doesn't go home for lunch, and he himself, wanting to save trouble, is too lazy to make the trip.

Besides, the original owner used to spend money like water, and never saved a penny.

I absolutely have to go to the early market today—old hens are more valuable than pork. Why? Because they lay eggs!

Which family would be willing to sell it? They rely on it to exchange for salt and vinegar, supplementing their household income.

They would only grit their teeth and part with something if they desperately needed money to save their lives.

So you have to leave in the dark at four o'clock. If you're late, you won't even be able to pick up a chicken feather.

It's even less likely to be sold on the black market—those small business owners are shrewd; why would they cut down their cash cow for money?