The Farm Girl and the Executioner (Rebirth) 20

Chapter 20: Pickled Cabbage Buns

Ten catties of pork suet rendered a lot of lard residue. Lin Shuang mixed a large basin of dough, planning to make extra buns to have for breakfast the next morning.

After chopping the pickled cabbage and lard residue, she went to the vegetable garden to pick a few scallions, chopped them up, and mixed them into the filling. She crushed some coarse salt and sprinkled it in for seasoning.

“Huaizhen, next time we go to town, let’s buy some sauce. It’s good for stir-frying.”

“What kind of sauce?” To Jiang Huaizhen, the only seasoning in the kitchen was salt. Without a specific name, she really didn’t know what to buy.

“Soy sauce, five-spice powder, fermented soybeans, and vinegar—never mind, I’ll buy them next time I go.”

Country folk were used to simple meals and had a particular fondness for oily foods. The fried lard residue still contained a lot of oil, and with the salty and sour taste of the pickled cabbage and the pungent fragrance of the scallions, tonight’s buns didn’t need any other seasoning.

By the time she finished, the dough had risen. She rolled out the wrappers, found a stool, and sat down to make the buns.

Before Old Madam Jiang fell ill, she rarely made such things. Jiang Huaizhen found it novel and couldn’t help but watch her.

She watched as the wrappers and filling, in those nimble hands, were pulled, stretched, and kneaded, and in the blink of an eye, they turned into round, plump buns. She couldn’t take her eyes off them.

Before long, over twenty plump buns were neatly arranged on the cutting board.

With two people in the family skilled in carpentry, they had always had a steamer, which had already been used to steam the egg for the old woman.

Lin Shuang arranged the buns in two layers and steamed them in cold water.

“After dinner, I’m going to the village chief’s house to pay back the silver. Do you want to come with me?” Jiang Huaizhen asked.

“Do you want me to go with you?” Lin Shuang poked the flames in the stove with a piece of wood.

Jiang Huaizhen replied, “It’s up to you. If you want to take a walk, you can go out for a bit.”

Lin Shuang smiled. “Then I’ll go with you.”

Jiang Huaizhen grunted in agreement, inserted the last bamboo strip into the bottom of the winnowing basket to secure it, and finished another one.

Lin Shuang urged her, “You’ve been sitting there for a while. Get up and walk around. Your neck will get sore from looking down all the time.”

Jiang Huaizhen was arranging bamboo strips on the ground, preparing to weave a new one. Hearing her, she said “oh,” and put down what she was doing. “I’ll put some of the fangfeng out to dry first. Every little bit helps.”

Lin Shuang put a large, slow-burning log in the stove and followed her out to the main hall. She watched her grab several handfuls of fangfeng roots from the basket, spread them on the newly woven winnowing basket, and place it under the eaves.

“We can take it outside to dry during the day tomorrow. Even without sun, the wind will help.”

“In this weather, how long will it take to dry?”

“It’s autumn now, and the air is dry. It should be dry in six or seven days. The jiaogulan over there should be ready after about five days of wind. If the weather isn’t good, we’ll just dry it for a few more days.”

Fangfeng was a bit more troublesome. It had to be dried until it was half-dry, then the fine roots had to be removed. Then it had to be dried until it was ninety percent dry, tied into small bundles according to thickness and length, and then dried completely.

Jiang Huaizhen nodded in understanding. She stood outside for a while, then sat back down and continued to weave bamboo.

The Jiang family lived by the mountain, and the villagers rarely came to the valley. The back mountain was full of trees. Both father and daughter were skilled in carpentry, and to practice beheading, they had often used the trees for practice. As a result, they had plenty of firewood, all large, slow-burning logs that provided a strong fire and didn’t need much tending, unlike the Lin family, who used straw for firewood.

Before long, the pot began to bubble, and white steam rose from the steamer. Soon, the fragrance of the buns wafted to their noses. Although it wasn’t as overpowering as the smell of stir-fry, it was particularly long-lasting.

The buns were large, so Lin Shuang steamed them for a little longer. When they were almost done, she turned off the fire and moved the steamer to the table.

When she lifted the lid, a burst of hot steam and a rich aroma rushed out. The round, plump buns lay there as if frozen in time, exuding a tempting fragrance.

She tried one herself while it was still hot and, finding no problem, called out to the woman at the door, “Huaizhen, come and eat the buns.”

With that, she put two in a bowl and took them to the old woman’s room.

Old Madam Jiang knew she was steaming pickled cabbage and lard residue buns in the kitchen. She had been listening to the sounds outside, her heart itching with anticipation.

When Lin Shuang entered, she saw the thin little old lady sitting on the bed, looking eagerly toward the door.

Her expression couldn’t help but soften.

She set up the small table, brought over the buns, and poured a bowl of warm water in case her throat got dry.

The old woman was very satisfied with her arrangements and waved her hand. “Alright, alright, I can eat by myself. Go and eat yours.”

Lin Shuang reminded her, “They’re fresh out of the pot and very hot. Eat slowly.”

“I’m a grown woman. Do I need you to tell me?” the old woman said impatiently.

Seeing her leave, the old woman eagerly picked up a bun, held it to her nose, and sniffed. Satisfied with the smell, she gently broke it open, blew on it, and took a bite.

It was really hot, but the dough had risen well. The skin of the bun was soft and fluffy.

The pickled cabbage had only been pickled for a short time, so it wasn’t very sour. Paired with the crispy fragrance of the lard residue and the scallions, the sour and refreshing taste was appetizing and cut through the grease. It was truly addictive.

That stubborn girl, she really knows how to cook.

Lin Shuang returned to the kitchen and, seeing Jiang Huaizhen still sitting there, asked in confusion, “Why haven’t you eaten yet?”

“I was waiting for you to eat with me.” Jiang Huaizhen put down the bamboo strip in her hand and slowly stood up.

In her two lifetimes, this was the first time someone had waited for her to eat. In the past, at the Lin residence, if she was a little slow, the food would be gone. At the Qin residence, she could only eat after everyone else had had their fill.

But the person before her, although clearly craving it, had waited for her.

A warmth spread through her heart, and she urged, “Go and wash your hands.”

The old woman needed a bowl to eat her bun, but they could just use their hands.

Jiang Huaizhen washed her hands, dried them, and took the bun Lin Shuang handed her. She took a large bite, and the expression on her usually stoic face shifted slightly.

“It’s delicious,” she said.

The lard residue had seeped into the skin of the bun. As it went down her throat, mixed with her saliva, she made a distinct swallowing sound.

One only made such a sound when they really enjoyed their food.

Lin Shuang smiled at her. “If it’s good, eat more. When we earn some money, we can try other fillings.”

With that, she disregarded her table manners and wolfed down three large buns in one go.