Being an emperor is not something he can do, so he can only rely on his connections.

evening.

The kitchen behind the county magistrate's residence was already bustling with activity.

Pots and pans clinked, the flames from the stove licked the bottom of the pot, and the steaming hot air mixed with the sweet aroma of flour and milk spread.

Zhang Jingwei stood at the stove, a large bag of fine white flour spread out before him. This flour, brought from the south by the military, was exceptionally fine and white, far superior to the more coarse wheat flour common in the north, making it ideal for making delicate pastries. Next to it was his "secret weapon": a small basin of plump corn kernels, soaked overnight in warm water and free of germ. Liang Dahai had now used his newly constructed hand-cranked grinder to grind the kernels into a thick, smooth corn starch. Zhang Jingwei carefully poured the corn starch into a shallow basin and set it aside in the shade to dry, waiting for the moisture to evaporate and release the precious natural corn starch (clarified cornstarch).

Wang Ergou and Liang Dahai were also busy. Each of them held a large ceramic basin, whipping it with all their might. Wang Ergou was tasked with a large basin of freshly separated egg whites. His arms flexed as he furiously whipped with a few bamboo chopsticks. The egg whites gradually turned from transparent to cloudy, and fine foam began to form. However, achieving the stiff peaks so firm that the chopsticks wouldn't fall over was clearly still a long way to go, and he grimaced with exhaustion. Liang Dahai, on the other hand, was in charge of another basin of freshly squeezed milk (goat's milk had been rejected by Zhang Jingwei due to its strong flavor). Following Zhang Jingwei's "secret recipe," he whipped the milk while carefully adding precious granulated sugar. The sugar gradually melted with repeated beating, and the milk seemed to expand slightly, becoming thicker and emitting an alluring sweet aroma—he was trying to make a simple "whipped cream."

Zhang Jingwei, on his part, began what he considered the most important step—kneading the dough. He mixed the dried cornstarch with the refined flour according to the proportions he memorized, added a small amount of melted honey (instead of yeast, providing fermentation power and sweetness), and then slowly poured in the egg white foam that Wang Ergou had painstakingly beaten and Liang Dahai's sweet milk. However, there's always a gap between theory and practice. At first, he hesitated to add water, resulting in a dry, hard dough that struggled to form a ball. Then, he fumbled with milk, and the dough suddenly became soggy and sticky, covering his fingers and the cutting board. He tried to salvage it, kneading and adding flour, but the dough only grew larger and tougher, threatening to become a solid lump, far from the soft, fluffy cake he'd envisioned. Flour stained the tip of his nose, sweat dripped from his forehead, and his brows knitted into a knot, looking a bit embarrassed.

Zhang Liu, the old butler who had been watching silently from the side, could no longer bear to watch. He stepped forward and gently advised, "Young Master, how about...letting this old servant do it? The young mistress certainly knows your intentions, but the skill of kneading the dough..."

Zhang Jingwei wiped the sweat from his forehead in embarrassment, looked at the shapeless piece of dough on the chopping board, and shook his head stubbornly: "No, Sixth Uncle. It's Lingmei's birthday, and I have to make this cake myself."

Zhang Liu sighed, pointing to the repeatedly tampered dough, and said tactfully, "Young Master is considerate of Young Madam, and we all see it, but...if you keep kneading it like this, the gluten will be killed. I'm afraid it will be a hard pancake when it's steamed. Such fine flour, and that precious milk and sugar...don't waste it." He paused and tentatively suggested, "How about...let's change our plan? Knead this dough until it's firm, and I'll roll it into thin longevity noodles for you? It's auspicious and appropriate, and Young Madam will definitely like it!"

Zhang Jingwei looked at the dough, feeling somewhat discouraged. He said to Zhang Liu, "Uncle Liu, let's prepare the longevity noodles first. Then, could you please buy me some small candles? The smaller the better, preferably around this size." He used his finger to indicate the size of his pinky tip. "We don't need too many, sixteen will be enough."

Although Zhang Liu didn't understand what he meant, he saw that the young master had a new idea, so he agreed and went.

At that moment, a small head popped in from the doorway. It was none other than the hungry Jiu'er. She wrinkled her nose, sniffed the aroma that filled the room, then glanced at the messy kitchen and the disheveled Zhang Jingwei. She put her hands on her hips and said, "Hey! Zhang! What the hell are you doing? You promised to invite me and my mother over for dinner, but it's almost dark, and there's not even a spit of steam coming out of the stove! All I can smell is something sweet. Where's the food?"

Zhang Jingwei was worrying about the failed dough. He looked up and responded hastily, "Don't worry."

Jiu'er came to the chopping board and poked the sticky, chewy dough with her slender fingers. She looked at Wang Ergou, who was still beating the egg whites in the basin beside her (the foam was still not firm enough), and Liang Dahai's basin, which was making sweet milk. She curled her lips and said, "Tsk, are you going to make 'Luo Gao'? I think you want to make 'Mian Dumplings'!"

Zhang Jingwei seemed to have grasped a life-saving straw: "Do you know how to do this? Give me some pointers!"

Jiu'er gave me a look that said, "You're so stupid!" and pointed out, "You've kneaded the dough too hard! Just adding flour and water isn't enough; you need oil! Even sesame oil or lard will work. That way the dough will be fluffy, allowing the heat to penetrate when steaming and cook through! Also, you've over-kneaded the dough; it's too gluten-rich. You need to let it 'rise' for a while! Just leave it alone to let the gluten loosen up!"

"Add oil? Let the dough rest?" Zhang Jingwei suddenly realized and slapped his forehead, "Yes, yes, yes! How could I forget this!" He quickly followed Jiuer's instructions and added a small spoonful of sesame oil to the poor dough. Then he carefully rolled the dough into a ball, placed it in an oiled basin, covered it with a clean wet cloth, and put it in a warm place (near the stove) to let it "rest".

Jiuer continued to instruct like an experienced young chef: "Also, the key is the heat when steaming! You have to use a low heat, that is, steam it slowly over a small fire! If the fire is too high, the outside will collapse immediately and become hard like a pot cake. You have to be patient!"

Zhang Jingwei nodded repeatedly, as if he had received a true teaching, and followed Jiuer's words with all his heart. He carefully watched the "rising" dough in the basin, occasionally lifting the damp cloth to check, and it seemed to be softer and looser than before. By the time Zhang Liu bought a large bag of tiny red candles, the dough was almost done.

Under Jiuer's supervision, Zhang Jingwei gently poured the risen dough into a shallow, wide-rimmed steaming bowl (similar to a cake mold) brushed with oil and dusted with dry flour, smoothing the surface. Then, Wang Ergou finally whipped the egg whites into a dense foam (though it was far from ideal). You then garnished it with a few red dates and raisins.

The water in the steamer had already boiled, but Zhang Jingwei, mindful of Jiuer's advice to cook over a slow fire, had removed most of the burning firewood, leaving only a lukewarm flame licking the bottom of the pot. He closed the lid and began a long, tense wait. Wisps of steam emanated from the edge of the lid, carrying an increasingly rich sweet aroma. Like a gambler awaiting the prize, Zhang Jingwei nervously circled the stove, occasionally listening to the sounds inside. Jiuer folded her arms, a scrutinizing expression on her face. Wang Ergou and Liang Dahai, exhausted, sat slumped to the side, staring intently at the steamer that would determine the success or failure of their afternoon's hard work.

The kitchen was filled with anticipation, tension, and a hint of sweet anxiety.

At this time, the sky outside the window had completely darkened.