Three months passed in the blink of an eye after Xue Qinghe's visit. Life in the kitchen had taken on no second shape.
People still waited outside the courtyard for breakfast, and Fang Ming still arrived earlier than he himself said he would. After training, Shao Heng would sometimes be a quarter of an hour late, knocking the dirt off his boot soles at the door before coming in to find his bowl. Uncle Zhou tended the big pots in the front courtyard, with Chen Chuan helping stoke the fire; Chen An's little stove cooked just as much as it needed to.
They had made Twice-Cooked Pork many times, but Fang Ming still craved it every few days.
"Can you make it today?" He peered through the window at the worktop. "I smell Sichuan peppercorns."
"That's the pepper salt Uncle Zhou's frying." Chen An shook a basin of noodles loose into the boiling water. "You look for meat every time you come in. Even pigs ought to be afraid of you."
"Who told you to make so little last time?"
"You ate three slices last time, and you begged those off Shao Heng's plate."
"What about this time?"
"Scallion oil noodles."
Fang Ming set his bowl down, looking a little disappointed. But when Chen An poured a ladle of hot oil over the finely sliced scallions and their toasty fragrance spread along the stove, he turned back around.
"Noodles work too."
"Remember to say that again in a moment."
Rongrong, who was helping wash greens beside them, laughed aloud. She had come early today and arranged the washed leaves by size, with water still unwiped on the backs of her hands. Afraid she would tell Chen An about the face he had just made, Fang Ming hurried to find something