A new pastry chef from Jiangnan had arrived at the Imperial Kitchen. His surname was Shen, and reportedly, three generations of his family had made pastries for the Suzhou Imperial Textile Office. De'an personally went to taste his sweet osmanthus cakes and decided on the spot to keep him. That morning, as soon as Master Shen's first batch of seasonal pastries came out of the steamer, De'an brought a plate of sweet osmanthus cakes, a plate of chestnut cakes, and a plate of Yam and Jujube Paste Cakes, setting them steadily on the low table in the West Warm Pavilion of Xuanzheng Hall.
Qi Yu was hunched over the small desk beside the Imperial Desk, copying the Merit Assessment Register, when his nose suddenly twitched on the third page. He put down his brush and turned toward the sweet fragrance, spotting the three plates of still-steaming cakes on the low table. His eyes lit up.
"Father," he said.
"Mm." Qi Xiao did not even look up.
"The Imperial Kitchen has made fresh pastries."
"Mm."
"Can I-"
"Finish copying first."
Qi Yu shut his mouth, lowered his head, and copied another two lines. When he reached the words "Songjiang Prefecture," he finally could not resist. He set his brush on the inkstone, stood up, and walked over to the low table, looking down at the plate of sweet osmanthus cakes. The cakes had been cut into diamonds, their surfaces studded with a layer of golden candied osmanthus. When he picked one up, he could feel it trembling faintly against his fingers, so soft it was like holding a little piece of cloud. He took a bite, chewed twice, and narrowed his eyes.
"Father." He carried the plate of sweet osmanthus cakes over to the Imperial Desk, his cheeks bulging and his