Wenwen got home, slammed the door, and sat down at the coffee table without even changing her shoes, opening the box of clam vermicelli that was still hot.
The moment she lifted the foil lid, the garlicky aroma trapped inside the whole way home came rushing out, instantly taking over the entire living room.
She picked up her chopsticks, grabbed a mouthful of vermicelli, and stuffed it into her mouth.
Then she froze.
Holy shit!!! The vermicelli had soaked up all that broth, the sharpness of the minced garlic blending perfectly with the sweet freshness of the clams, exploding on her tongue the instant it entered her mouth!
Unconvinced, she slurped up another huge mouthful. The clam meat was tender and springy, the shrimp were so fresh they tasted sweet, and even the enoki mushrooms at the very bottom were thoroughly infused with flavor.
Wait, had he put something in this? How else could it taste this good?
Even as she questioned it inwardly, she couldn't stop herself from taking several more bites.
By the time she came to her senses, the foil container was empty. She had even used the vermicelli to mop up the last mouthful of broth.
Was this really clam vermicelli? Had everything she'd eaten before been fake?
Still craving more, she licked the corners of her mouth and picked up her phone to message her coworker: "Have you eaten those clams yet?! I should've bought another portion. They smell so good!"
The reply came instantly, resentment oozing from every word: "I only got one bite!!! Then my little brother stole it!!! He and I cannot live under the same sky!!!"
Wenwen gleefully sent back a smiley face, then happily opened her tablet, ready to rewatch "Aspiration to Reach the Clouds."
She leaned back against the sofa, propped the tablet up on the coffee table, and grabbed a can of cola from the fridge. Everything was ready.
On-screen, the scene where the heir was attacked had just begun. Ying Qi flipped down from the corridor, dressed in fitted black clothes, a gold-thread mask covering the lower half of his face and leaving only his slightly lowered eyes visible.
The wind lifted the loose strands over his forehead, tangling his hair ribbon with his black hair and teasing them upward.
Ying Qi turned his head on-screen, and the camera pushed in toward the corner of his eye. A faint mole showed beside the edge of his gold-thread mask.
She stared at that mole for several seconds, then looked down at the now-empty foil container.
That night market vendor just now seemed to have a mole by his eye too, in exactly the same spot.
She abruptly sat upright, paused the video, then rewound to watch the scene where Ying Qi took off his mask again.
The moment the mask slipped away, the camera gave him a close-up. Apart from the blood spattered across his face, the faint mole at the corner of his eye was clearly visible.
How had she never noticed it all those times she'd watched before?
No, it wasn't just the corner of his eye. She remembered how the vendor had rolled up his sleeves while cooking the clams earlier, exposing his wrists. There had been a mole on the inside of his wrist too.
Wenwen put down her chopsticks, her brain beginning to race. The film studio was nearby, and "Aspiration to Reach the Clouds" had been filmed here.
That vendor was tall, and his build matched too. He was also a student at Jingchen University, and Jingchen wasn't far from here either.
The more she thought about it, the more the truth seemed ready to leap out.
She set the tablet facedown on the coffee table, picked up her phone, opened Weibo, and searched for Song Shi'an's Super Topic, digging up several high-resolution drama stills and on-set candid photos.
She zoomed in, then zoomed in again. The faint mole by his eye, the mole on the inside of his wrist-everything matched.
Wenwen stared at her phone screen. She had just spent fifteen yuan on clam vermicelli cooked by Shi'an himself!!
And she had only bought one portion!!!
Meanwhile, Song Shi'an was so busy his feet barely touched the ground.
He had no idea which wave of customers had started it, but a long line had suddenly formed in front of his stall.
He had to cook, pack orders, and collect payments all by himself, his hands moving so fast they were nearly leaving afterimages.
Clams into the pan, vermicelli lining the bottom, garlic sauce poured over them, broth added, lid on, bring to a boil, pack it up-he had streamlined the entire process into something like an assembly line, but the queue just kept growing.
Even the woman's grilled chicken drumstick stall next door benefited. People waiting for their clams bought a grilled drumstick to tide themselves over, and she smiled so broadly she couldn't close her mouth. The drumsticks were snapped up as soon as she put them on the grill.
Plenty of people simply took their foil containers over to the roadside steps, sat down, and dug in without even lifting their heads.
A few finished one portion and stood up to get back in line, earning a round of boos from the people behind them.
Zhu Tao was a food blogger with over two hundred thousand followers. He had originally planned to film another internet-famous grilled cold noodle stall that night, but halfway there, he caught a scent.
He followed the smell around a corner and saw a queue so long it nearly stretched onto the next street.
He tapped the man ahead of him on the shoulder. "Hey, man, is this place really that good? What's with this huge line?"
The man turned around and gave him a look that said, "Aren't you asking the obvious?" "No idea. I haven't tried it either, but it smells seriously good. Look at the people up front who've already got theirs. They're buying seconds already."
Zhu Tao craned his neck to look. Sure enough, several people were squatting by the roadside with foil containers, heads buried in their food. After finishing, they wiped their mouths, got up, and headed back to the end of the queue.
He thought this would make good content and quickly raised his phone, speaking to the camera. "I was supposed to film an internet-famous grilled cold noodle stall today, but this smell intercepted me halfway there. Look at the line behind me. It's so long I can't even see where the stall is."
The man ahead glanced back at him. "You're an influencer?"
Zhu Tao smiled modestly. "I'm just a food blogger. A small-time blogger, small-time."
The line inched forward, and that overpowering garlic aroma grew stronger and stronger.
Zhu Tao pointed the camera at himself and took an exaggerated deep breath. "This smell really gets your taste buds going. The garlic aroma is incredibly rich, but it isn't the kind that stings your nose. Mixed with that fresh seafood scent-absolutely amazing."
As he neared the stall, he switched cameras and aimed at the vendor ahead.
On-screen, a figure in a dark apron was busy at the stove, his movements flowing like clouds and water. When he tossed the pan with a flick of his wrist, the broth in the foil container rolled in a perfect circle without spilling a drop.
Although he wore a mask, his figure and bearing looked nothing like those of an ordinary night market vendor.
Song Shi'an was unbearably hot, his forehead covered in sweat, his mask so stuffy he could barely breathe.
While waiting for the next batch to cook, he took off his cap and tossed it onto the stool beside him, casually brushing aside the loose hair over his forehead.
Zhu Tao kept his phone raised and continued his commentary. "The vendor looks really young, and his pan-tossing technique is seriously professional. We've got to give his cooking a try."
At last, it was his turn. Zhu Tao held his phone steady and said to Song Shi'an, "I'm a food blogger. Would it be okay if I recorded a video?"
At the words "food blogger," Song Shi'an's hands paused.
Well, that would be great. If a food blogger filmed a video and posted it, it might bring him some traffic.
He nodded. "Sure. Would you like the regular or the one with extra toppings?"
Hearing that voice, Zhu Tao nearly dropped his phone into the clam pot with a shake of his hand.
The voice was low yet clear, its slightly rising final notes like a light scratch against his ears.
He darted a glance at Song Shi'an. The mask covered most of his face, leaving only a pair of slightly upturned eyes and the clean contours of his brow bones visible.
The impact of just that half of his face was already enough to make even a straight guy like him feel his heart race.
"Extra toppings. One with extra toppings." Zhu Tao worked hard to keep his voice normal.
Song Shi'an deftly packed the clam vermicelli into a foil container, sprinkled it with chopped scallions and chili flakes, put on the lid, and bagged it before handing it over. "Eat it while it's hot."
Zhu Tao took the bag and stepped aside, switching the camera back to himself, his control over his expression utterly gone. "Guys, let me tell you, this vendor's voice is incredible. And when he looked up at me just now, even a grown man like me froze for a second. Let me try a bite, but honestly, I feel like I don't even need to taste it to know it's going to be good."
He picked up a mouthful of vermicelli, put it in his mouth, and fell silent for three seconds.
"No joke." He gave the camera a thumbs-up. "In the year I've been filming at this night market street, this is the best clam vermicelli I've ever had. Nothing else comes close."