Chapter 13: Jasmine Flower Cake

Two days passed, and the courtyard walls were now fully built, with the butterfly tiles on the roof neatly laid out. Once a rainy day came, Wei Jinyun planned to check the shop carefully for any remaining leaks. After confirming none, she intended to settle the remaining labor fees at Zhou’s Brick and Tile Shop.

Shopkeeper Zhou merely smiled upon hearing this. Usually, payment was made immediately after repairing the courtyard, but Madam Wei’s thoughtful approach was truly clever.

Seeing the two brothers in the shop working so cheerfully for Madam Wei, constantly praising “Madam Wei” this and that, he often scolded them but still agreed with Wei Jinyun’s idea.

With the sound of wall-building gone, the four generations of the family tidied the courtyard clean early in the morning. The leftover bricks and tiles were neatly stacked in a corner, and the mud on the ground was swept thoroughly.

By afternoon, no dust lingered in the courtyard, and clusters of locust flowers filled the branches.

A long table, delivered along with the cart by Shopkeeper Wang, was polished to a shine. The whole family gathered around it, helping Wei Jinyun pick jasmine flowers.

She had bought two baskets of jasmine from street vendors, but only one basket remained; the other had been used up during her pastry experiments.

In the past two days, besides her two younger sisters, Meng from the right neighbor who often wandered into her shop, and Zhang Renbai from the left side, had eaten countless of Wei Jinyun’s trial pastries.

The three little ones’ bellies were round and full, yet they still praised each kind as delicious.

Zhang Renbai never wasted any food, but when he heard Meng say, “These taste even better than the lotus pastries Sister Wei brought a few days ago,” he frowned deeply and brooded all afternoon.

Yet at night, he came to understand.

Why was he tasting jasmine flower cakes? Why wasn’t it Uncle Li from the weaving shop, or Brother Wu from the gourd soup shop, or Brother Wang from the porcelain store?

Wei Jinyun was busy arranging her newly carved jasmine flower molds, when Zhang Renbai and Meng stepped inside again.

His family’s stationery shop had only one clerk—could he handle all this?

“Sister’s flower mold is so beautiful, just like a real flower,” Wei Fuling said, blowing the wood shavings off the mold, squinting one eye to examine it closely, then touching the delicate patterns inside.

“Indeed, Madam Wei has such skill,” Zhang Renbai also took one and praised, “Elegant, truly elegant!”

Wei Jinyun had carved these herself from several pieces of wood requested from Carpenter Wang. The floral patterns on the cart were too large for her strength, but the skill for making pastry molds was inherited from her grandfather and grandmother.

Her grandmother’s pastries and the molds were carved by her grandfather’s own hands; the patterns were drawn by her grandmother. As a child, she had learned much just by watching.

Nearby, a flat basket piled high with jasmine flowers had been cleaned of calyxes by several people, filling the air with jasmine’s fragrance.

Wei Jinyun carefully pounded the fresh jasmine petals into a paste, then filtered out the coarse residue with a cloth. She mixed this with two kinds of rice flour—glutinous and sticky—stir-fried the mixture in a pan, then kneaded it into a pale green dough.

In a large porcelain bowl sat soaked mung beans. She had tried red bean and date paste fillings but found mung beans paired best with jasmine.

Wang Qiulan boiled water under the steaming basket and spread a half-wet fine white cloth on top.

Steam rose in white mist from the boiling water beneath. The scent of mung beans steamed atop the cloth filled the small courtyard. Wei Jinyun timed it well, turning off the heat after about 45 minutes, then patiently waited for the steam to dissipate before lifting the lid.

The mung bean paste was soft and smooth, strained through a sieve, mixed with some brown sugar and lard, making it richly fragrant and delicious.

The sweet, mild flavor blended with a faint fragrance but was never cloying. Wei Jinyun carefully set it aside to cool.

She wrapped the round mung bean paste balls inside the dough, pressed them into molds lined with cooked rice flour, and popped them out—each a beautiful jasmine flower.

The aroma carried an even richer scent of jasmine. The pale green jasmine cakes quietly bloomed, soft and glutinous to the touch with chopsticks.

Previously, their test tasting was without molds; now holding these exquisitely shaped “flowers,” it was hard to bring themselves to bite.

“I’ll save this for now,” Wei Fuling said, holding the plate with a wide grin, “I want to look at it a while longer.”

“Then I’ll save mine too,” Zhang Renbai stared for a long moment, “Elegant, truly elegant!”

“If you like, Mr. Zhang, you can keep a few pieces in your shop as snacks,” Wei Jinyun offered with a light smile.

“Really?” Zhang Renbai felt a surge of joy.

“When I entertain guests, I serve Xu’s pastries. They always say it’s the same few kinds to eat over and over; sometimes they just drink tea without snacks.”

“Of course,” Wei Jinyun smiled even brighter, “Whenever I make new pastries, Mr. Zhang, you’re welcome to display them without paying me.”

His shop attracted many literati and scholars.

He had hearts full of admiration.

Wei Fuqu and Meng were less expressive. Meng carried the plate out to find his mother, while Wei Fuqu bit gently and gave Wei Jinyun a thumbs-up.

“If Madam Wei sells these flower cakes, what price will you set?” Zhang Renbai noticed the cart by the courtyard as he entered. Not only had he never seen such a design, but the cart was also carved with plum, orchid, bamboo, and chrysanthemum motifs.

Elegant, truly elegant.

“Six wen each,” Wei Jinyun replied.

Zhang Renbai nearly dropped the plate in surprise.

Even Xu’s famous begonia cakes only cost five wen. Was Madam Wei’s first business setting such a high price?

Though the flavor was excellent, the flower cakes were unknown, and not everyone might accept them.

“Six wen it is,” Wei Jinyun smiled calmly. “If you have time, could you kindly write a sign for my banner and wooden slips?”

“Certainly, certainly!”

Having studied for many years, Zhang Renbai’s handwriting was forceful and flowing, reminiscent of the styles of Yan Zhenqing and Liu Gongquan.

Wei Jinyun thanked him profusely, fetched two half-submerged ceramic pots from the well, dampened cloths, wrapped the pots in two layers, and placed them along with the flower cakes on the cart before setting out.

“Leaving already?” Zhang Renbai held his brush, feeling empty inside. He hadn’t even shown half his skill yet—he wanted to write more.

He turned to his two sisters staring at him, “Come, Brother Renbai will teach you how to write.”

Wei Jinyun bade farewell to her grandmother and sisters, pushed the cart through bustling streets, and headed toward the Pingjiang Prefecture School.

The Pingjiang Prefecture School was founded by the esteemed official Fan Wenzheng. Fan, a native of Wuxian in Pingjiang Prefecture, once served as prefect here before the name was changed.

During his period of mourning for his mother, he witnessed the old system’s requirement that only sons of nobility could succeed in education, making it difficult for commoners’ children to receive a good education. Thus, he established the prefectural school on the southern campus—one of the earliest official schools in the Song dynasty.

The school was majestic, its vermilion gates tightly shut. A wide road led up to it, lined with many camphor trees.

While shopping at the grass market, Wei Jinyun had inquired about vendors like the small jasmine flower stalls she bought from. Such petty trade was exempt from taxes—no need to worry about paying.

However, fixed stalls required a tax of about 130 wen.

As long as she honestly set up her stall in designated street areas, avoided disputes, littering, or disturbing the school, tax officers would collect the fees at specified times.

Near the school, some sold ordinary paper, brushes, and inkstones, others tea, drinks, fried snacks, and pancakes, but these were few.

After all, loud hawking was forbidden near the school to avoid disturbing studies.

Compared to here, markets at Changmen and Louhe had more people, better business for vendors.

But for Wei Jinyun, this was right at the school’s dismissal gate.

In modern times, setting up a stall at school gates selling ham sausages, spicy fried chicken noodles, and sushi requires securing a spot first.

Now, the scholars in Pingjiang Prefecture were different. Most appreciated refined things; loving fried food was one thing, but being interested in her pastries was another.

These were her target customers.

Wei Jinyun parked the cart beneath a large camphor tree diagonally opposite the school gate and quietly arranged her stall.

The two ceramic pots wrapped in damp cloth were placed at the bottom. The evaporating moisture cooled the pots, preventing the mint water she had boiled and soaked in the well since morning from warming.

“Oh, such a unique cart!” Nearby, Qian Niangzi, who sold pancakes, circled Wei Jinyun’s stall. “You’re so young—why set up a stall outside the school gate? Business here is tough.”

“I want to sell some homemade pastries to help support my family,” Wei Jinyun opened the top covering cloth. “Would you like to try one, madam?”

Qian Niangzi stared at the elegantly shaped pastries on the counter, surprised. “These look so good, no less than those in teahouses. Did you make them yourself?”

“Exactly.”

“With that skill, you should apply as a pastry chef at a famous teahouse. You’d earn several guan a month, and the work would be easier. Why bother setting up a stall and toiling?”

Qian Niangzi skillfully adjusted her pancake batter. “I won’t try, I don’t like sweets. Just call me Qian Niangzi.”

They chatted idly in the afternoon before school let out. Qian’s son studied at the school, so she could watch over him while selling snacks.

Pingjiang Prefecture School admitted children from common and merchant families, including poor students, as long as they were talented. The school rented farmland to farmers, using the rent as tuition—a very humane system.

At the early Shen hour, the school’s deep, resonant bell rang. The tightly closed gate slowly opened. The quiet street filled with students pouring out, laughter and chatter blending into the lively scene.

“Mother, did you finish the twelve egg pancakes I asked for at noon?” Wu Sheng called out, gathering friends and crowding around Qian Niangzi’s stall. He dumped 36 wen into her money jar all at once. “That’s the total—I counted it myself.”

“Of course, I’ve packed them all for you,” Qian Niangzi smiled as she handed over the greaseproof paper-wrapped egg pancakes. “What about dinner?”

“I love whatever you make,” Wu Sheng said, distributing pancakes to his classmates. Then he glanced over at Wei Jinyun.

She wore a pale moon-white ru skirt with a blue vest. A wooden hairpin adorned her twin spiral buns, a blooming jasmine tucked by her temples. The scent of pastries and flowers mingled gently in the breeze.

The cart was carved with plum, orchid, bamboo, and chrysanthemum motifs. A vase on the cart held several clusters of jasmine, and the banner bore the elegant inscription “Fragrance Comes with Clouds.”

When had such a uniquely styled, refined stall appeared here—and a jasmine maiden to match?

“Oh, jasmine flower cakes! Let me see… called ‘Exquisite Snow’—what a lovely name,” said one of Wu Sheng’s classmates, fanning himself with a folding fan and glancing at the stall and Wei Jinyun with a faint smile. “Wu brother, shall we buy some to try? Miss, how much per piece?”

The pale green flower cakes sat on the plain white cloth, exquisite as jade, with a captivating fragrance.

“Six wen each, with a bowl of tea.”

“Six wen for both cake and tea?”

The classmate snapped his fan shut crisply and said, “I’ll take one.”