Chapter 40

Treasure Bowl sat in the chair grinning as he flipped through his pocket. Qian Jianing was immensely curious about his belly pocket that could hold just about anything, and couldn’t help but crane her neck to peek. Treasure Bowl hastily clasped his belly pocket shut with a wary expression. “What are you looking at? Trying to steal my treasures, are you?”

Qian Jianing scratched her nose, offering an innocent smile. “No, I just want to know how much stuff you’ve got inside.”

Treasure Bowl chuckled upon hearing this question. “You couldn’t count them all even if you tried. I’m telling you, there’s nothing in the three realms that I can’t store in my pocket—only things you haven’t thought of.”

Qian Jianing blinked. “Then why don’t you take out a peach of immortality and show me something amazing?”

“No way,” Treasure Bowl rejected her flatly. “Taking it out would cause spiritual energy to leak. I’ve kept it for tens of thousands of years without eating it, so I’m certainly not showing it off.”

Qian Jianing cupped her hands in admiration. “I’ve noticed, you’re not just stingy with others—you’re pretty stingy with yourself too. If I had a peach of immortality, the first thing I’d do is take a big bite.” She sat down opposite Treasure Bowl, her expression gossip-driven. “Hey, did you irritate your God of Wealth with your stinginess so much that he booted you out?”

Treasure Bowl let out a long sigh, a trace of melancholy on his pudgy, bun-like face. “Too many tears to tell the tale…”

Qian Jianing’s eyes sparkled with excitement. “Oh? It’s okay, go on—I promise I won’t cry.”

“Ah…” Treasure Bowl shook his head, jumped off the chair, turned, and started walking away. Qian Jianing was dumbfounded. She rushed forward and grabbed his chubby arm. “Hey, why are you walking away before you even start talking? I still want to hear your tearjerker!”

Treasure Bowl turned his head, blinking. “Then trade me some virtual currency! One thousand virtual currency per episode. I’ll do my best to condense it—should wrap up in about a hundred episodes.”

Qian Jianing released his arm. “Now you’re doing serialized storytelling? I don’t believe you for a second. Paying to hear this would make me a fool.”

Treasure Bowl beat his chest in regret. “If I’d known this would happen, I wouldn’t have doubled your virtual currency. Who knows how many treasures you’ll swindle from me now…”

Qian Jianing watched Treasure Bowl’s chubby face puff up and couldn’t resist pinching his cheek. While he was still reacting, she grabbed her pulse case and ran out, dashing into the mist. When she reached the end of the fog, Qian Jianing woke from her dream. She rolled over and sat up in bed, faintly hearing voices outside—it sounded like Li Wanzhen’s voice.

She set the pulse case aside, stood up, and opened the door. “Mom… Oh my god!”

Two skeletons turned simultaneously to look at her. Qian Jianing’s hand froze on the door, her knees went weak, and she stumbled backward a few steps. With a loud crash, the door tore free and fell with her onto the floor.

Li Wanzhen looked terrified and hurried over with Qian Guosheng. They lifted the door to the side and helped the fallen Qian Jianing up. “Xiaomi, are you okay?” Li Wanzhen asked anxiously before turning to scold Qian Guosheng. “Why haven’t you been checking the doors at home regularly? Don’t even know it’s broken. Look at our poor Xiaomi—fell so badly!”

Qian Guosheng glanced at the hole in the door frame. This wasn’t a broken door—clearly, the screws had been yanked out. He stared at Qian Jianing’s slim arms and couldn’t fathom how she had so much strength. Was martial arts really that effective?

Still sitting on the ground, Qian Jianing looked helplessly at the skeleton swaying in front of her. No wonder Xingchen had grinned mischievously after she opened her spiritual eye and told her to keep practicing—it was all for this moment.

“Xiaomi, the neighbors told me you took Teacher Sun to the hospital this morning. Did something happen to her and now you’re feeling upset?” The skeleton that was “Li Wanzhen” crouched and looked at Qian Jianing, her voice full of concern.

At this question, Qian Jianing’s mood instantly darkened. “I ran into Teacher Sun this morning. Her skin and the whites of her eyes looked a bit yellow, and I sensed something wasn’t right. Luckily, a customer drove by and helped take her to the hospital. After a full examination, the doctor said Teacher Sun has liver cancer.”

“Liver cancer?” Li Wanzhen was shocked. “How could she get something like that? Is there any hope?”

“The doctor said surgery isn’t a good option,” Qian Jianing said, letting Li Wanzhen help her up from the floor. “But when I was in the Imperial Capital studying with a master of traditional Chinese medicine, I came across a similar case. I’ve prepared a prescription based on that. I don’t know if it’ll work, but it’s better than doing nothing.”

Li Wanzhen sighed heavily, her heart aching. “Teacher Sun is such a good person—why would she get that disease? Xiaomi, tell me the truth. Will your prescription help? If not, we should find a reliable doctor for her so she doesn’t get delayed.”

It wasn’t that Li Wanzhen didn’t trust Qian Jianing, but in her mind, one couldn’t learn much about traditional medicine in just a short period. It wasn’t possible to gain deep knowledge so quickly.

Qian Jianing understood. Medicine was not like cooking—at least with cooking, natural talent and following a recipe might get you somewhere. But learning medicine required methodical and practical study to become a true doctor. Although Qian Jianing’s medical skills now rivaled any traditional Chinese doctor in China, the source of her knowledge couldn’t withstand scrutiny. So she simply muddled through and said, “The doctor I learned from is incredibly skilled. No one could offer a better remedy than him.”

Li Wanzhen didn’t know much about this and simply nodded vaguely.

Qian Jianing lowered her gaze to her fingers and said softly, “Mom, I want to apply to the Imperial Capital University of Traditional Chinese Medicine next year when I take the college entrance exam.”

When it came to Chinese universities, Li Wanzhen only knew two: Tsinghua University and Imperial Capital University. With Qian Jianing’s grades, getting into either school would be a sure thing. So to her, choosing the Imperial Capital University of Traditional Chinese Medicine seemed like a waste. She hesitated. “Jianing, are you sure about this? With your scores, isn’t it a pity to go there?”

Qian Jianing shook her head. “I don’t think it’s a pity. I quite like traditional Chinese medicine.” She slowly raised her eyes to meet Li Wanzhen’s. “Mom, do you think if I learn traditional medicine well, I’ll be able to save lots of kind people, like Teacher Sun?”

Li Wanzhen assumed that her motivation came from seeing Teacher Sun fall ill, and wasn’t sure what to say. “There’s still a year and a half to go. Think it over slowly. Once you’ve made up your mind, there’s no turning back.”

Qian Jianing nodded. This time, when her gaze once again landed on Li Wanzhen, she didn’t look away but observed intently. It was her first time seeing bones and organs this clearly. Taking the opportunity, she began inspecting Li Wanzhen’s internal condition, afraid of finding anything abnormal. However, ribs blocked much of her view, making it difficult to see the organs behind them. Just as she wondered how she could get a clearer look, the bones disappeared from view.

Qian Jianing seemed to grasp how the spiritual eye worked. She focused hard on the thought of closing it, and in that moment of intense concentration, she watched as Li Wanzhen’s skin and flesh slowly returned, finally restoring her human appearance.

She breathed a sigh of relief and wiped the sweat from her forehead. This ability was downright terrifying—if she were just a little more timid, that first glance could’ve knocked her out cold. But on the other hand, if she really became a doctor, this gift might let her see clearer than an X-ray.

***

After resting at home for a day, Qian Jianing got up at 5 a.m. the next morning. She took down the “temporarily closed” sign on the shop and replaced it with an “open for business” sign, then turned and went into the kitchen to start preparing breakfast.

It was a cold winter morning. In addition to the usual selection of breakfast items, Qian Jianing cooked a pot of rich, savory lamb soup. At exactly 6 a.m., she opened the courtyard gates and was startled by the line outside—the queue was at least twice as long as usual.

Bewildered by the unusually impressive crowd, Qian Jianing stood there unsure of what to do. A customer at the front of the line explained, “Some people used to eat at home, and some would stop by once in a while. On a regular day, we’d have around a hundred people for breakfast, so it never felt too crowded. But since you went to the Imperial Capital and were gone for over two weeks, everyone’s been craving your food like crazy. The moment we heard you were opening today, we all rushed over.”

Alarmed by the explanation, Qian Jianing quickly started handing out number cards. After distributing a hundred, she noticed many people still waiting. Feeling bad about turning them away, she grabbed some slips of paper to write numbers by hand and let the extras stay warm in the tent.

Since late autumn, the pergola in Qian Jianing’s courtyard had been replaced with a warm shelter, with two stoves inside. People waiting for a seat could sit there, shielded from the wind and kept warm. However, the courtyard was limited in size and could only accommodate a few dozen people at most. So Qian Jianing built a large tent outside the courtyard, fully equipped with tables and benches. Those who couldn’t fit inside would go there to stay warm.

After returning to the kitchen to wash her hands, Qian Jianing called number one to place an order. Customer number one was Grandpa Wang, a regular at the eatery. As soon as he heard Qian Jianing call his number, he rushed to the window and looked at the big pot inside. “Is there whole lamb soup? I can smell it! Give me a big bowl of that and two sesame flatbreads.”

Qian Jianing had started simmering the lamb soup the night before. Halved lamb leg bones rolled all night in the pot; the bone marrow fully dissolved into the broth. By morning, the soup was snow-white without the slightest gamy odor. The lamb meat and offal were cooked separately. When a customer ordered, slices of lamb were placed in a bowl, followed by a ladle or two of boiling hot soup. The moment the broth enveloped the meat, the aroma spread with the steam to every corner of the shop.

Grandpa Wang carried the whole lamb soup back to his seat, scooped two spoonfuls of chili oil from a small jar on the table, gave it a little stir, and eagerly took a sip. The lamb soup was rich and milky white, smooth on the palate, garnished with bright green cilantro that whetted the appetite. After two big gulps of the soup, he picked up a crispy, fragrant salt and pepper flatbread and took a bite—paired with the lamb soup, it was fresh and delicious beyond words.

After finishing a big bowl of steaming lamb soup, Grandpa Wang had beads of sweat on his forehead and felt warm all over. Pulling out a handkerchief to wipe the sweat from his head, he couldn’t help but sigh, “How are we supposed to get through these days? I feel like dining on delicacies elsewhere doesn’t compare to coming to Qian Xiaomi’s for a bowl of lamb soup.”

“Isn’t that the truth? Qian Xiaomi’s cooking is really something else,” another diner, Li Haisheng, chimed in. “I used to think food wasn’t something to fuss over—it’s just a matter of filling your stomach, whether it’s good or not. Now I know I only thought that way because I hadn’t tasted anything truly delicious. Eating at Qian Xiaomi’s is undoubtedly the pinnacle of enjoyment.”

Qian Jianing couldn’t help but laugh at his exaggerated praise. “Isn’t that a bit much?”

“It’s the truth,” said Li Haisheng, finishing the last mouthful of his soup. He couldn’t help but ask, “Boss Qian, have you finalized the lunch menu? I want to plan ahead what to eat.”

Qian Jianing smiled and replied cheerfully, “There’s no set menu for lunch today. Order whatever you like.”