🌸Chapter 22: Cooking with Skill
1149 Words
The aroma of boiling millet filled the small Lin household, warm steam curling into the air. Yet the smell was plain, lifeless—just as every meal had been for years. Thin porridge with barely a handful of grain, often stretched with wild greens or sweet potato vines.
Lin Xiaoyun stirred the pot, her eyes narrowing thoughtfully. Her siblings sat at the low table, their stomachs audibly growling.
“Jiejie,” Lin Yan whined softly, holding her bowl, “will it be enough? I’m still hungry even before eating.”
Lin Tao reached over to hush her. “Don’t make it harder for Jiejie. She’s already doing her best.”
Xiaoyun’s lips curved faintly. She didn’t mind their complaints. In fact, they gave her an idea.
In her past life, she had lived in abundance—lavish banquets, fine wines, delicate desserts. But before that, she had learned the art of cooking from necessity. Her rebirth had not taken away that knowledge. Now, with a few clever adjustments, even plain porridge could become something nourishing and delicious.
She lifted the lid and sprinkled in a pinch of salt—something Madam Lin guarded carefully. Next, she added wild herbs she had gathered earlier from the hillside, their fragrance subtle but refreshing. Finally, from a hidden pouch, she poured in a small handful of roasted peanuts she had bartered quietly with another villager.
The scent changed instantly. The once bland porridge now released a nutty, savory aroma that made the children’s eyes widen.
“Jiejie!” Lin Yan gasped, sniffing eagerly. “It smells so good!”
Madam Lin, who had been mending clothes by the doorway, frowned in surprise. “What did you put in there? Don’t waste our supplies!”
Xiaoyun stirred calmly. “It’s not waste, Mother. It’s nourishment. Our bodies need more than just grain to stay strong. Try it first—then judge.”
Her mother’s sharp retort died on her tongue. The aroma was already softening her skepticism.
When the porridge was served, the difference was clear. Lin Yan took the first sip, her eyes lighting up instantly. “Delicious! Jiejie, it tastes so good!”
Lin Tao, more reserved, took a cautious spoonful. His serious face broke into astonishment. “It… it really does.”
Even Madam Lin finally gave in, tasting the steaming porridge. The subtle saltiness, the crunch of peanuts, the gentle freshness of herbs—it wasn’t luxury, but it was comfort. Something more than survival.
For the first time in years, dinner in the Lin household was filled with genuine smiles.
The next morning, Xiaoyun woke earlier than usual. With a basket on her arm, she slipped out quietly to the nearby hills. She knew which wild plants were edible, which roots could be boiled for strength, which mushrooms were safe and which were deadly. These were lessons she had once learned out of curiosity but had now become survival tools.
By the time she returned, her basket was filled with wild greens, mushrooms, and even a few eggs she had traded with a kind neighbor by offering to help weed her field.
“Jiejie, did you steal these?” Lin Yan asked in awe, her eyes wide.
Xiaoyun laughed softly, flicking her sister’s forehead. “Of course not. These are gifts from nature and honest exchanges with others.”
She set to work. This time, she boiled the mushrooms into a fragrant broth, whisked the eggs into a soft golden ribbon, and tossed in wild greens for freshness. When she ladled the soup into bowls, the rich aroma filled the small home.
The children practically devoured it. Even Madam Lin, who usually scolded more than she praised, muttered under her breath, “I never thought soup could taste like this without meat…”
Word, of course, began to spread.
“Did you hear? The Lin family eats better than most, and they’re not any richer.”
“Nonsense. They’ve always been poor as dirt.”
“But I saw her cooking. The smell reached all the way to the path. Even my children asked what it was.”
Curiosity, envy, and admiration tangled together. Some neighbors scoffed that it was just luck. Others suspected she had found some secret source of food. But a few, quietly, began to respect the once-mocked girl.
One bold neighbor, Auntie Zhang, approached Xiaoyun one afternoon while she was rinsing wild herbs at the well.
“Girl,” the woman said, eyes narrowing, “how do you make plain porridge taste like a feast? My grandchildren complain about every meal. Teach me.”
Xiaoyun smiled politely, rinsing the herbs with care. “It’s nothing special, Auntie. Just a matter of balancing flavors. A little salt, some herbs, and knowing what to add at the right time.”
The woman snorted. “Sounds easy when you say it. If you’re so clever, you should cook for the whole village.”
Her words carried mockery, but also a hint of challenge. Xiaoyun only smiled. “Perhaps someday. But for now, I’ll cook for my family.”
That evening, as her siblings ate heartily, Xiaoyun watched them with quiet satisfaction. The hollowness in their cheeks was softening. Their energy was returning. Even Madam Lin moved with a little more strength.
Cooking wasn’t just about filling stomachs. It was about restoring hope, health, and dignity.
After the meal, Lin Tao lingered. His voice, usually quiet, held uncharacteristic determination. “Jiejie… when I grow up, I’ll make sure we never go hungry again. I’ll plant, I’ll work, I’ll—”
Xiaoyun touched his head gently, her eyes softening. “And I’ll teach you everything I know. Together, we’ll build a better future.”
Later that night, as the moonlight streamed through the window, Xiaoyun sat alone, threading wild vegetables onto a string to dry for storage. The rhythm soothed her thoughts.
Her mind wandered to her past life—lavish banquets where people toasted her genius, only to later betray her. Back then, food had been excess, indulgence. Here, every simple dish carried meaning. Every meal was an act of resilience.
This life, she thought firmly, she would use even the smallest skills to carve out stability. Farming, cooking, bartering—nothing was beneath her.
Because in this world, survival itself was the foundation of power.
The next morning, the Lin family woke not only with full stomachs but with renewed spirits. As they set out for the fields, the aroma of last night’s soup still lingered faintly in the house.
For the first time in many years, the Lin family no longer looked like the most pitiful in the village. Instead, they carried themselves with quiet pride—because hope had begun simmering in their humble kitchen.
And that hope, flavored with skill and determination, would only grow stronger.
✨ End of Chapter 22: Cooking with Skill
- Writer
