After arranging a simple daily schedule with Grandpa Shao—when she would come each morning—Wen Yin returned to the kitchen.
Chef Li looked up, a flicker of surprise crossing his face. “Miss Wen, you’re back? Is there something else he wants to eat?”
Wen Yin waved him down and patted the stool beside her. “No. Grandpa told me I didn’t have to make breakfast, but I changed my mind. I want to pickle a few side dishes in advance.”
“You only need to cook a plain congee tomorrow morning,” she added, “and bring it with the pickles.”
She and Chef Li spoke briefly while she laid out the ingredients. Tonight she would keep it simple: one quick pickle of baby napa cabbage—the small, tender Chinese cabbages often used for pickles. By morning it would be tangy, crisp, and appetizing.
Wen Yin washed two heads clean and sliced them into uniform strips. Each strip was even and slender; her knife work spoke of long practice. Only someone experienced could cut every piece to the same pleasing size and shape. She rinsed the strips again, tossed them into a bowl, sprinkled a spoonful of salt, and left them to draw out water for half an hour.
She didn’t waste the waiting time. Patiently, she quizzed Chef Li about Grandpa’s dislikes and favorites. From their talk she learned something simple but important: despite his wealth and status, Grandpa’s tastes were modest. His favorite dish was plain white radish. He hadn’t grown picky like some wealthy patriarchs whose palates hunger for exotic, complicated fare.
Wen Yin took careful notes. She told Chef Li to have the mid-day ingredients ready half an hour earlier than usual, so when she came to the kitchen there’d be less to do and she could get Grandpa his meal as fast as possible.
Chef Li praised her gently. “Miss Wen, you really care about him, don’t you? With how attentive you are, I think his condition could improve under your care.”
Wen Yin blushed and waved him off. “I’m just doing what I think is right. Whether he gets better… I’m still taking a gamble.”
They chatted a while longer, and when the cabbage had finished sweating, she drained off the brine and added the seasonings. Because Grandpa’s stomach was fragile, she used only a touch of tiny hot chilis—just enough to brighten the flavor without overwhelming him. A splash of light soy, a dash of dark soy, a little oyster sauce, and the usual trio of scallion, ginger, and garlic. She poured a spoonful of hot oil over the mix to wake the aromatics; the kitchen filled with a warm, savory scent.
Gloved, she tossed the cabbage and seasonings until everything was evenly coated, then packed it into a plastic container and handed it to Chef Li. “Put this in the fridge. Tomorrow after you cook the congee, take some out and serve it with his bowl. If he likes it, give him a bit more.”
Chef Li nodded eagerly. “Yes, Miss Wen.”
Li Xiangwei watched Wen Yin drive away from the hotel and let out a soft sigh. “This can’t be a bad thing,” she murmured. “You and Grandpa get along so well, and he seems to approve of his new granddaughter-in-law…” She smiled as the car disappeared from sight. “Everything you’ve worked for won’t be wasted.”
Wen Yin hadn’t been alone on this path. Besides Shao Yinan, Li Xiangwei had been a steady presence—by her side when she was slandered, by her side when rumors swirled. Li Xiangwei had seen how much effort Wen Yin poured into everything, from the studio to the smallest detail of the pastry shop’s design. That kind of persistence deserved to be noticed.
The next morning Wen Yin greeted Shao Yinan briefly, then drove to the pastry shop. She finished her morning duties early and arrived at the Li family’s hotel by noon.
Li Xiangwei greeted her with a radiant smile and fell into step beside her. “You won’t believe this morning,” she said, eyes dancing. “The first bite Grandpa took of the cabbage—his face lit up. He immediately knew it wasn’t Chef Li’s work.”
“Even Chef Li praised you,” Li Xiangwei went on with a proud little nudge. “He’s a high-paid chef I personally hired—if he says your cooking’s good, that’s a real compliment. You’ve reached a level, I swear. The future looks bright, kiddo.”
“And after these few days, we’re starting to think you might be the only one who can ease his loss of appetite,” she added. “Not a single dish you serve has failed to interest him.”
Wen Yin felt a weight lift from her chest. The early attempts had been tests—her little salted vegetable yesterday was an experiment. If Grandpa had disliked it, she’d have to rethink everything. Instead, he had enjoyed it. The victory steadied her and added quiet confidence.
Li Xiangwei adopted Grandpa Shao’s own tone and teased, “He said your little pickle was tangy and appetizing—one of the best starter dishes he’s had. This morning he had two bowls of congee with those pickles.”
Wen Yin stepped into the kitchen and nodded at the prepped vegetables. From her notes, she’d noticed Grandpa preferred noodles to rice. Given his condition, slightly firmer rice was difficult to digest; soft noodles would be gentler and easier on his stomach. So she decided to focus on noodles going forward.
She would tackle his appetite first—no matter how delicious the main course, it wouldn’t matter if he had no appetite to begin with. Today she planned something with a bright, tangy broth that would whet the appetite: tomato-and-sour noodle soup.