Lian turns to me and explains, “Small Wu is in charge of the bakery. He’s an expert at jiaozi, pastries, buns…”
Such food is not common in my province, as we eat mostly rice, but I am ready to experience it all.
“She does not believe you, girl. She thinks I am meant for chopping wood and stoking the fires.” Small Wu gives me a wink, then chuckles at my attempts to reassure him.
“I wake the dough.” He flexes the muscles in his arm. “I am up before the dawn gong. Not like those lazy workers of the Rice Department.” He looks at a woman who is walking by. She gives a snort, not even pausing to respond to his antics.
“Small Wu!” one of the women at the table barks at him. “The dough is not going to work itself!”
“Yes, yes, boss!” He stands up tall and salutes her, before turning to us again with a grin. “Some days I am not sure if I am in charge of the staff or if they are in charge of me. You two should make yourself useful as well.”
“Us?” I look at Lian, who smiles.
“When I was little, before I left for my apprenticeship, I used to sneak into the kitchen all the time. They give the best treats.” She pulls me to the table. “If we help, there will be food for us, too.”
We’re set to work on basic tasks. Small Wu pulls out a mound of dough almost the size of his torso from a basket and slams it on the table, releasing a cloud of flour into the air. Lian and I are given—thankfully—much smaller balls of dough to work with. We roll them into logs and then cut them into small pieces to be weighed on the scales. It reminds me of working in my father’s storeroom. Rolling, cutting, weighing, the familiarity of each step. I feel the pang of homesickness in my chest once more, but I force myself to swallow it away. Instead, I focus on making the best buns possible.
We cover the bottom of several wicker baskets with these dough balls, sending them down the line to be filled. At the end of the table, a great number of buns are placed on trays to rise, enough for a feast. After Small Wu deems that we’ve worked enough, we are able to try some for ourselves.
Rolling out our shoulders after having been hunched over for so long, we set up tables in the courtyard for the midday meal. We’re given buns with airy pockets inside them, a center of juicy pork, mixed with minced shallots and ginger. They taste even sweeter because we shaped these with our own hands. Small Wu introduces us to his husband, A’bing, who works in the Fish Department. He brings us a soup pot with an entire deep-fried fish head bobbing inside it, surrounded by cabbage, tofu, gold mushrooms, and bean curd. The soup is meant to be eaten with grilled radish cakes, for dipping into the broth.
The conversation flows as freely around the table as the wine that is constantly poured into our cups. I listen to Small Wu and Lian’s banter, reminiscing about funny moments they shared long ago. A’bing is subjected to Lian’s teasing about enduring Small Wu’s bad jokes and how she imagined herself their matchmaker when they first met. I’m content to sit there for a while, letting the sound of their voices wash over me. If I close my eyes, I can pretend I am back home again, listening to the melodic sound of my mother’s voice and my father’s responses.
“Boss! Boss!” A rapid patter of feet and a slam of a tray on the table. I jump, eyes snapping open. A boy leaps on top of a stool, shaking with excitement. Small Wu pulls him back before he lands face-first in the fish soup. “Have I got news for you!”
Small Wu sits him back down properly on the stool and gives him a small bun to munch on. “What did you hear, Qing’er?”
“Ruwan from the Meat Department has a cousin who is one of the chancellor’s maids,” Qing’er says through a mouthful of food. “When she came by to pick up the morning’s deliveries, she said she found out about the assassins. The princess’s handmaiden caught the ones who shot those arrows. Ruwan said they bit through their tongues to avoid interrogation!” I grimace at this grisly knowledge, but the boy doesn’t seem to be disturbed. He takes a huge bite of his bun and gulps it down quickly before exclaiming, “But that’s not the most exciting part!”
Without pausing for breath, he continues, “They found out who the warrior was. You know, the one who saved the princess last night?”
“Who?” Small Wu arches a brow. My heart starts to race, thinking about Bo. The way he stood in front of the arrows, unafraid, the sword an extension of himself. The echo of my own words ringing in my head: Who are you, Bo? Who are you really?