Chapter 63: Heavy Snow (III)

Coo-coo—
After hearing the rooster crow several times, Madam Ye wrestled herself awake from the depths of sleep. She opened her eyes and glanced toward the window; daylight had already arrived.

She rose, dressed herself, and looked at her two sleeping children. Despite her somewhat haggard face, she smiled gladly, her eyes shining with gentle affection.

Carefully opening the door, she gazed at the cold, snowy world outside, her expression returning to its usual strength.

Passing through the corridor, she paused to observe the snow wall half-pressed onto it. She kicked away an irregular snow block that obstructed the path, exhaled a puff of white breath—the air was frigid.

The snow chunk hit the stone wall and shattered into powder, scattering white crystals across the floor.

Madam Ye paid no mind to these snowflakes, letting her skirt brush over them as she entered the kitchen, where familiar voices were chatting.

She sighed; clearly, she wasn’t the earliest riser. Xiaochun always woke before her. She wondered when she herself had become so competitive.

Xiaochun was her role model—almost like a mentor—and also her rival. She envied Xiaochun and the others for being able to stay by the princess’s side.

The princess had not only saved her, but also her two sons. She had once wished to visit her homeland, but time had eased her longing. The ties here grew deeper and harder to break. The biting cold of the morning pulled her wandering thoughts back, and she continued listening to the voices inside.

“The sled the princess invented is so fun! It glides over the snow. I really want to sit on it and play.”

“Yes, Sister Xiaochun, can we ride the sled around the princess’s mansion? It’s so big—I love it.”

Madam Ye entered the kitchen, seeing Xiaochun pouring hot water into a basin, and glanced at the sisters Longan and Tangyuan. They had originally been refugees and were older women; if the princess’s mansion hadn’t recruited them, they might have ended up as brothel girls.

When they first met, the sisters talked about selling themselves to a brothel. They weren’t particularly attractive, so at best they’d be playthings for clients and ultimately relegated to menial work.

“I’m not sure. Ah—good morning, Sister Ye,” Xiaochun greeted her with a smile.

Madam Ye went inside to tidy up the tools used for boiling water. She remembered that Xiaochun wasn’t on duty today, but she’d still go to the princess. Perhaps she was simply used to being at her side. The more she thought about it, the more she found the princess enchanting.

She prepared hot water to wash faces and brush teeth, overhearing the sisters say that Xiaochun was a palace maid, her status different, and she had influence in front of the princess. Xiaochun agreed to ask the princess about their request.

Madam Ye chatted with them a bit, then carried a basin of steaming water back to her room, woke her two children, and had them wash and brush their teeth. She handed them the small booklets issued by the princess, then had them read and write.

She poured hot water onto the white snow wall outside, melting a large section and revealing a gap through which she could see the distant scenery.

She could also hear the soft swish of sled runners and the panting of dogs—symbols of a new day beginning at the princess’s mansion.

Knock, knock, knock, knock.

“Wake up! Time to start preparing breakfast!”

Madam Ye knocked from one end of the corridor to the other, then climbed to the second floor to knock on doors. This was where the kitchen helpers and cooks lived. Though they’d learned stir-frying from Xiaochun, none had true culinary skill. There were even some self-proclaimed royal chefs, boasting they could prepare delicacies, but in reality, their attempts at stir-frying were laughable.

Now, the princess had put her in charge of all the kitchen staff. Meeting so many people, her once timid character had changed. Having managed many affairs, she was gradually becoming a strong woman.

Waking people up in the morning was part of her duties. After all, dawn had just broken; not everyone was as diligent as herself.

Whenever she knocked, she heard some grumbling—people tired of her, calling her a wretched woman or widow. She used to get angry, but now, it didn’t matter. As long as she could stay at the princess’s mansion, she had no extravagant desires.

She boiled water, cooked meat broth, and steamed fragrant buns—these were the standard breakfast for the soldiers, a term the princess invented.

Sometimes, she’d add sweet rolls made with sugar and honey, delivering them with the buns to the twenty-five soldiers who trained daily. Soldier was the name Xiaochun said the princess had given.

To shorten breakfast preparation time, Madam Ye kept a record of each person’s tasks. She’d learned this method from the wife of a chubby man. That couple had been favored by the princess and sent out to manage a restaurant. Such luck—many envied them.

Besides the soldiers’ meals, which needed to be ready early, there were also meals for hundreds of children. Their dormitories had small cafeterias—not here—but she still needed to inspect their cooking standards. The princess said proper nutrition was vital for growing youths and provided a dietary chart.

This was something the princess valued, and Madam Ye took it to heart. Many of those children were orphans, lacking parental care; only dorm managers could look after them.

The job title was odd—dorm manager, overseeing residents of a building. She thought they had to love children and be women. She’d never heard of such a profession.

But whatever the princess decided was surely right, she supposed. In this regard, she admitted her ignorance, considering herself a simple woman of limited experience.

Following the dietary chart, she made sure that in the seven-day cycle, five mornings her sons, Ye Mang and Ye Menjing, ate boiled tea eggs, and every ten days they had to eat a whole chicken, though this was impossible. Fortunately, as the kitchen manager, she could indulge a little—she’d secretly stew a chicken leg for soup for her children, then use the leg for stir-frying.

The kitchen staff all knew about this, but discreetly. Madam Ye was the princess’s appointed supervisor, and with her two children, she deserved a bit of care.

Finally, there were the scholars and elders who hadn’t become teachers. They lived in the princess’s mansion and were considered the least valuable, though these were just rumors. The princess had once shown her intent to put a stop to such talk.

Later, they approached the princess, declaring that though old, they could still help manage the mansion’s affairs. Those with some education became half-teachers.

Madam Ye thought that, given their inability to recite even half of the Analects, “half-teacher” was generous.

Luckily, the princess didn’t have them teach deep classics like the Analects or Great Learning. Instead, she sent them to another school building to teach burly men to read and write.

She found this amusing—perhaps because she’d been married, a bunch of old men teaching grown men seemed comical.

After finishing breakfast preparations, she sent people to deliver meals by sled, finally gaining a moment of leisure.

Regarding meal deliveries, she suspected Longan and Tangyuan had their eyes on one of the twenty-five men. She could recognize a young woman’s budding affections—after all, she’d been there herself.

After a while, Madam Ye used hot water to scald a freshly slaughtered chicken, then plucked feathers with Wu Xiaoqi. This chicken was for the princess’s lunch.

Recently, the princess preferred roasting food in an iron box rather than over an open flame, forbidding servants from eating flame-roasted food, saying it caused cancer.

Madam Ye didn’t understand the princess’s warnings, but as kitchen manager, she knew a mouse could not appear—this was the minimum requirement.

Once the chicken was plucked, she split it in half, skewered one half with a long thin iron rod, turning and roasting it while brushing honey over it. This dish, named Honey Roasted Chicken by the princess, was aptly titled.

The other half she gave to Wu Xiaoqi, the skinny, dark-skinned youth, who knew what to do.

The princess liked soup, not stew; the entire kitchen knew this. She only ate stir-fried dishes and showed no preference for pastries. Madam Ye brushed honey five times, set the iron box over a gentle fire to roast, racking her brain for a dessert the princess might like, but soon gave up—it was too difficult. Anything sweet, the princess would taste, never picky.

At noon, she prepared soup and roasted chicken, packed them in layered food containers for warmth, rode the sled, and quickly arrived at Heavenly Gift Pavilion. At the princess’s bedroom door, she heard Xiaochun urging the princess to rise, and the princess making all kinds of excuses.

Madam Ye entered, apologized, and set the food containers on the table, hearing the princess claim to have “lazy cancer.” What was lazy cancer? She recalled the princess mentioning the strange disease called cancer—her first thought was that the princess was ill.

Upon inquiry, she learned it was just a metaphor, meaning extreme laziness. Very well, Madam Ye stood by, listening to the princess’s antics. She saw a big lump rise under the covers, then the princess toss aside the quilt and make a silly face at Xiaochun. The white tiger and lynx in the princess’s arms also meowed mischievously. Madam Ye burst out laughing; so the princess had such an amusing side.

In the end, the princess, with much reluctance and under their service, left her bed to eat brunch.