December twenty-fourth. Snow.
In the Small Courtyard of the Wei Residence, snow fell soundlessly, as though heaven's artisan were scattering willow down with pale hands.
Jujube branches slanted across one another, bearing snow like ornaments; the blue stone of the well platform turned white beneath the frost.
Snow heaped like silver on the eaves and roof tiles.
Within moments, half the courtyard had turned white.
Fu Niang stood beneath the Corridor, sleeves rolled up, watching Qu Niang cure meat.
"Qu Niang, how much salt should I rub into this piece of pork belly?" Fu Niang crouched beside the jar, earnestly learning.
"Don't rush, madam." Qu Niang smiled as she rubbed in the salt. "Too little salt, and the meat will spoil. Too much, and it will turn bitter.
"It takes decades of practice to get the touch right. For your first attempt, madam, spreading it evenly will count as a success."
"Then let me try." Fu Niang rolled her cuffs higher, took the salt jar, and rubbed salt onto the meat, copying her.
After two pieces, she let out a little cry. "Oh! I put too much salt here!"
"No harm done." Qu Niang took it and spread out the excess for her. "For a first attempt, madam, this is already very good.
"The first time I cured meat, I ruined an entire jarful. Uncle Wei scolded me for half a month."
Just then, Qingluo ran over from the well platform, cradling a small white porcelain jar, and said with a smile:
"Madam, I collected a jar of snow from the plum branches. It's perfectly clean-not a single leaf in it!"
"What are you collecting snow for?" Fu Niang asked, puzzled.
"To store in the cellar," Qingluo said. "Didn't you say that when spring comes next year, you'd use