Chapter 43: The Tofu Recipe: The Nan Family Can Use It

Chapter 43: Tofu Recipe for the Nan Family’s Use

After the meal, Bing Wengu took the dishes back. Soon, the rest of the Bing family would finish eating and wash them together. Bing Wengu paid no mind to this, nor did he feel guilty in the least—after all, the entire Bing family now relied on him for support. Did they really expect him to serve them too?

When he returned to the room, he didn’t fool around with Nan Jinping—not that he didn’t want to. What guy who’d been single for 250 years wouldn’t? It was simply that he didn’t have the time. So his husband could live freely in the future, free from mockery and scorn, he had to study and take the imperial exams.

Bing Wengu held the newly purchased book and read, while Nan Jinping sat beside him, copying calligraphy. After writing for a while, Nan Jinping put down the brush, slumped over the desk, motionless.

He had already learned and could write all the characters Bing Wengu had taught him. Practicing them again was tedious.

Though Bing Wengu was engrossed in his reading, he quickly noticed this and set the book aside.

"Did I disturb you?" Nan Jinping asked guiltily.

Even though Nan Jinping didn’t believe Bing Wengu could pass the exams, disturbing someone’s studies was still wrong.

"No," Bing Wengu said, getting up and sitting beside Nan Jinping. "Hand me the copybook. Let me check your work."

Nan Jinping handed over the characters he had written over the past few days. Bing Wengu praised, "Your writing’s coming along well."

Looking at Bing Wengu’s bold, elegant strokes and then at his own scrawled handwriting, Nan Jinping realized this man’s knack for lying straight-faced was getting stronger.

"When I first learned to write, my handwriting was worse than yours. You’re doing really well," Bing Wengu encouraged.

"Really?" Nan Jinping was skeptical.

"Of course. Why would I make this up?" Bing Wengu asked.

Nan Jinping said, "I’ve already learned these characters and don’t want to write them anymore. Show me some new ones."

Bing Wengu nodded. "Alright."

After thinking for a moment, he pulled out a copy of *Shuowen Jiezi* from his book chest.

*Shuowen Jiezi* had been compiled long ago by Xu Shen, a Confucian scholar and philologist of the Eastern Han Dynasty.

Bing Wengu explained the contents of the book to Nan Jinping one by one, patiently explaining anything Nan Jinping found confusing. He also elaborated on what words could be formed with each character and their meanings. He didn’t expect Nan Jinping to memorize all the extended content—just to have a general impression so that future learning would be easier.

When encountering four-character idioms, Bing Wengu worried Nan Jinping might not grasp them, so he’d improvise short stories. He had heard so many idiom stories as a child that even if he couldn’t recall them exactly, he could wing one.

Of course, he didn’t just improvise stories—he also explained the origins of the idioms.

Many idioms originated from the Spring and Autumn and Warring States periods, and Bing Wengu offhandedly shared the historical events related to them.

For example, *Hufu Qishe* (Adopting the Nomads’ Clothing and Mounted Archery):

During the Warring States period, King Wuling of Zhao was determined to reform and strengthen his state. Observing that the nomadic Hu people wore narrow-sleeved short jackets, rode horses, and shot arrows while galloping—making them swift and agile—he decided to learn from them. He reformed his soldiers’ uniforms and developed a cavalry. Within a year, Zhao possessed a powerful cavalry force. After numerous campaigns, Zhao became one of the strongest states of its time.

Nan Jinping was hooked on stories like these, and Bing Wengu noticed this—Nan Jinping loved listening to tales. He could base future lessons on all sorts of stories.

Since Bing Wengu also had his own studies, he limited the lesson to two hours.

Nan Jinping still craved more but knew he couldn’t keep pestering Bing Wengu. He was also a little worried. "Wengu, doesn’t teaching me cut into your study time?"

Bing Wengu shook his head. "Remember the phrase *Wengu Er Zhixin* (Reviewing the Old to Understand the New) I just taught you? That’s what my name stands for—an attitude toward learning. Teaching you also helps me consolidate my past knowledge. I see it as review—it won’t affect my own progress."

Only then did Nan Jinping finally relax. He took a sheet of rice paper and began copying Bing Wengu’s handwriting. Now that he had a thousand taels of silver, he didn’t sweat the cost of a few sheets of paper—before, he’d have balked. At the same time, he quietly went over the stories in his mind.

Bing Wengu realized Nan Jinping actually had a talent for learning. He had taught Nan Jinping over twenty characters in one go, and Nan Jinping remembered them all—he didn’t ask for help once while copying.

Bing Wengu felt a small sense of pride—no wonder he had taken a liking to this person; they were just as outstanding as he was.

Nan Jinping practiced by herself while Bing Wengu picked up his book again.

He kept reading until noon when Liang Shi came to get them.

"Da Lang, Nan Da Lang just came by and asked you both to return to the Nan family. He said they’ve prepared a meal and are waiting for you to join them."

"Understood, Mother," Bing Wengu replied, then turned to Nan Jinping. "Yesterday, I ran into your elder brother on my way back and gave him a lift. Mother mentioned inviting us for a meal today, but I forgot."

"Let’s go now, then."

"Alright." Suddenly, Bing Wengu remembered something. "I almost forgot—I bought you a gold hairpin."

He took out the hairpin, and Nan Jinping cradled it in her hands, turning it over and over, completely fascinated.

Though she already had plenty of silver and gold, this was different.

This was her first real piece of jewelry. Before, the hairpins she wore were just wooden ones she'd whittled herself. But this one was gold.

"Let me put it on for you," Bing Wengu said.

"What if I lose it? I want to hide it away," Nan Jinping hesitated, not wanting to wear it.

"Hairpins are meant to be worn. Don’t worry—you have plenty of silver and gold, don’t you?"

Thinking of her wealth, Nan Jinping finally decided to wear it.

As they stepped out, Liang Shi happened to be feeding the ox in the courtyard and immediately spotted the gold hairpin in her daughter-in-law’s hair—so shiny it practically blinded her.

But Liang Shi said nothing and didn’t ask about it.

This time, it wasn’t that Bing Wengu had deliberately neglected to buy gifts for his parents—it was just bad timing.

The gold hairpin had been bought before the raid on Wolong Village, when money was tight. At the time, being able to afford even one gold hairpin was a big deal.

Later, when he had more money, he was too rushed to buy gifts along the way.

As for the rest of the Bing family, Bing Wengu hadn’t even considered bringing them anything.

Give an inch and they'll take a mile. He would have many opportunities to travel in the future—he couldn’t possibly bring gifts for the entire family every time he went out!

But buying something for his wife? That he was willing to do.

He wanted them to get used to it—they shouldn't expect the same as his wife. He owed them nothing.

As for supporting the Bing family, that was only a temporary arrangement. For Bing Wengu, this was a special period. Once the imperial exams were over, he would make sure the Bing family learned to stand on their own two feet.

On the way, Bing Wengu noticed Nan Jinping’s troubled look and asked, "What’s wrong? Aren’t you happy to go home?"

"It’s not that. Of course I’m happy to go back to my family," Nan Jinping sighed. "But my family is so poor. Every time I visit, my mother bends over backwards to prepare something special for me. Now that we’re both going back, they’ll surely make an even more lavish meal. Who knows how many months they’ll have to pinch pennies just to afford this one feast."

"You have money, don’t you? Give your mother some when we go," Bing Wengu suggested.

"You're okay with that?" Nan Jinping looked at him in surprise.

In their village, there wasn’t a single household that approved of a wife or husband dipping into their in-laws' money to support their birth family. If the support was too excessive, it could even start a fight between the two families.

Bing Wengu smiled. "It's fine by me. I trust you’ll be reasonable—you won’t clean me out."

Nan Jinping smiled and said, "Thank you, Wengu. I won't leave you penniless. I'll just give them the dowry money my mother gave me."

This money had been returned once before, but Miao Shi refused to take it. Now that Bing Wengu had earned so much, Nan Jinping naturally wanted to give this silver to the Nan family. Three taels of silver (about 150 grams) was a fortune for the Miao family.

"It's fine. That money counts as your own dowry—you can keep it for yourself as spending money. For your mother and father, you can take some from our savings."

Nan Jinping smiled. "This is more than enough."

As they talked, they arrived at the Nan household. In the village, apart from the newly built blue-brick tiled house of the Bing family, which had a proper gate, the other villagers only had fence gates that could be pushed open to enter.

Miao Shi came out as soon as she heard the commotion.

"You shouldn’t have brought anything!" Seeing Nan Jinping and Bing Wengu arrive, Miao Shi beamed with joy.

Though they lived in the same village, a married son returning home was always a big deal.

Bing Wengu handed the large goose to his sister-in-law, Gu Shi, who accepted it with a smile. "Come inside quickly—the food is already prepared."

This goose had been raised by Liang Shi earlier, and Bing Wengu had snatched it on the way.

When Bing Wengu entered, he saw that the meal was indeed already laid out.

There were all meat dishes—no vegetable dishes. However, each dish had only a small amount of meat, acting more like a garnish.

Yet, for a farming family, this was already a feast. In other households at this time, the table would have at most a dish of pickles or overcooked cabbage stew.

In the cold north, by winter, fresh vegetables were almost nonexistent. Only the cabbage stored from autumn and a few other vegetables provided the limited variety available throughout the long winter.

In previous years, even cabbage and pickles were luxuries in the Bing household.

Only this year, after Bing Wengu had earned money, did the Bing family store a stockpile of winter vegetables in their cellar.

The Nan family sat at two separate tables—the men at one, the women and children at another. Bing Wengu noticed that the women and children’s table had far fewer dishes—just a large pot of stewed cabbage with some meat.

Though it didn’t look particularly appetizing, Gu Shi and Nan Xiaomei were already salivating, and the two-year-old niece of the Nan family was even licking broth off her fingers.

"Help yourselves—see how we cook here," Nan’s father urged warmly.

"Alright." Bing Wengu casually picked up a piece of chicken and nearly spat it out.

Frankly, the Nan family’s cooking skills were truly lacking—terrible, in fact. He had no idea how this chicken had been prepared, but it had a weird, unpleasant flavor.

Even he, who wasn’t picky, found it hard to swallow.

Bing Wengu glanced at the others at the table, who were all eating eagerly, seemingly oblivious. Then he looked at Nan Jinping and saw that he hadn’t touched the chicken either—instead, he was eating the stewed cabbage with pork belly.

Then, he too stopped chewing. The moment he looked up, his eyes met Bing Wengu’s.

With that look, they both understood each other’s thoughts. Neither said a word, silently lowering their heads again.

"Jin Geer, have some chicken. Didn’t you always love the way I stewed it before?" Miao Shi enthusiastically placed a large chicken leg in Nan Jinping’s bowl.

Though Nan Jinping had intended to eat less meat to leave more for the family, he couldn’t refuse Miao Shi now. So he smiled and said, "Thank you, Mother."

"Oh, you, no need to stand on ceremony with your own mother," Miao Shi chided affectionately.

In the past, the family might not kill a chicken all year—of course Nan Jinping had loved it then. But now, after one bite, he almost choked.

The Bings used to cook like this too, but ever since Nan Jinping married into the household, Bing Wengu had taught them better techniques. Compared to the villagers, who only knew how to stew dishes with a pinch of salt, the Nan family’s sautéing, frying, and spicing made their food seem like fine dining.

In stark contrast, what the Nan family cooked was barely fit for pigs. Within days, Nan Jinping could hardly swallow it anymore.

By the end of the meal, neither Bing Wengu nor Nan Jinping had eaten much of the dishes, only picking at plain rice.

After the meal, Nan Jinping found a chance to speak to Miao Shi alone and handed her the three taels.

Miao Shi was startled and leaned out to glance toward the outer room. Seeing that Bing Wengu wasn’t paying attention to them, she scolded in a hushed voice, “What’s this? Didn’t I tell you to keep it as your secret stash? Why did you bring it back again? If you keep doing this, Bing Dalang might think you’re still tied to us. What if he takes it out on you?”

Nan Jinping explained, “Mother, don’t worry. I didn’t steal it—Wengu agreed to it.”

“That still won’t do. You’ve just married, and he’s still smitten. But who’s to say he won’t resent it?” Miao Shi stuffed the silver back into Nan Jinping’s arms.

“Jin Geer, listen to your mother. I’ve lived longer than you’ve eaten rice. Once you’re married, don’t always think about sending money back home. Just focus on your own household. As for me, if one day our family truly faces hardship and comes to you for help, as long as you’re willing to lend some silver in an emergency, I’ll know I didn’t dote on you in vain.”

Nan Jinping said urgently, “Of course I would lend it.”

“I know you’re a good child.” Miao Shi smiled, her heart warmed, tears welling in her eyes. She quickly wiped them away. “Hurry outside now, your man’s waiting.”

Bing Wengu had been keeping an eye on Nan Jinping. When he saw him come out looking downcast, he immediately guessed what had happened.

Had the Nan family accepted the silver today, Bing Wengu wouldn’t have held it against them. But the fact that they refused it for Nan Jinping’s sake—

Just based on the Nan family’s care for Nan Jinping, Bing Wengu decided to put them to use.

He turned to Nan’s father, who had been fawning over him, and said, “Father-in-law, your family has always struggled financially. Have you ever considered starting a small business to improve things?”

“Eh?” Nan’s father was momentarily stunned—the topic had shifted too abruptly.

After a moment, he replied, “We’re just plain farming folk with no special skills. How could we run a business?”

“I happen to have a recipe. It won’t make you rich, but it’s enough to support the family, earn some extra money during the off-season, and put meat on the table.”

“What?!” The Nans were floored.

Nan’s father snapped his gaze to Nan Jinping, Miao Shi turned to look at her son beside her, and the rest of the family also fixed their gazes on Nan Jinping.

Nan Jinping blinked in confusion—he was just as clueless.

“On our way here, Jin Geer kept worrying about the family, saying that hosting us with good wine and dishes must have cost you dearly, and you’d have to scrimp and save for who knows how long.” Bing Wengu said, “I couldn’t bear to see my husband always worrying about home, so I thought—if you’re willing, I’d like to offer you a recipe.”

“What recipe?” Nan Dalang asked eagerly.

Gu Shi was skeptical. If it was really such a good money-making recipe, why hadn’t the Bing family, who had been scraping by before, used it themselves?

But Gu Shi was shrewd enough to keep quiet, lowering her head and sneering.

“A tofu recipe,” Bing Wengu said calmly.

Little did he know, those words would hit like a bombshell in the Nan household.

It wasn’t that tofu was particularly rare or expensive—in fact, it was quite cheap, just two coins for a block. What shocked the Nan family was the craft of making tofu. This was a skill that could be passed down as a family trade!

In all the nearby villages, not a single household knew this craft. There were only one or two tofu shops in town, and in the eyes of the villagers, those families were rolling in money.

“Y-you know how?” Nan’s father stammered in disbelief.

“I do,” Bing Wengu replied with utter composure.

“Really?” Miao Shi asked again, still unable to believe it.

Bing Wengu didn't show impatience but said gently, "Do you have soybeans at home? Grab a handful, and I can make it right now."

"Tofu isn’t some high-skill craft—it’s easy to make." Bing Wengu spoke with calm confidence, like he was talking about the weather rather than a family heirloom skill.

Nan's father couldn’t help but blurt out without looking at Bing Wengu's assured expression, "Do you even know how to cook?"

Miao Shi glanced at Bing Wengu's expression and, seeing he wasn't offended, still worried he might mind Nan's father's bluntness, quickly smoothed things over. "What kind of dumb question is that? Of course our son-in-law can cook. Didn't Jin Geer come back and say Da Lang cooks for him?"

Nan's father caught himself and gave an awkward laugh.

It wasn't his fault—he hadn't taken his son's words seriously at all. Stories about Bing Wengu cooking for him, making dishes just for him while the rest of the Bing family went without—Nan's father thought it was nonsense. Not just scholars, who were particular about gentlemanly conduct and propriety, but even the most ordinary men in their village refused to cook or do laundry.

If word got out a man was cooking or doing laundry at home, he’d never hear the end of it, unable to hold his head up in the village. How could someone like Bing Dalang, a scholar who valued face so much, possibly do such things? Their boy was probably spinning tales to make them feel better.

Bing Wengu said, "Don’t worry, Ma—I’ve got this. If you're worried, just start with a handful of beans first. Though we’ll need Big Brother to run to town to buy some bittern."

Bittern had been around for a long time—after seawater or salt lake water was processed into salt, residual liquid remained. This mother liquor, when heated, evaporated, and cooled, crystallized into bittern lumps.

"Da Lang, go buy it," Nan's father said, glancing at Bing Wengu's earnest expression before signaling Miao Shi, who handed Nan Dalang a dozen or so copper coins.

Bing Wengu added, "Brother, come back with us—you can take our ox cart from our place."

Gu Shi jumped in, "Bing Dalang, are you leaving just like that? Not making the tofu now?"

Bing Wengu explained, "Beans need to soak four to six hours this time of year. Mother-in-law, Father-in-law, soak them tonight, and I'll come back tomorrow to make it."

After Bing Wengu left, the Nans started whispering.

Gu Shi was skeptical. "Mother, since when does Bing Dalang know how to make tofu? If he had such a skill, wouldn’t he have used it before? His family was starving not long ago."

Miao Shi shot her daughter-in-law a look. "I don't know."

Nan's father sighed. "Jin Geer is still in his household. If Bing Dalang wants to try, can we really stop him? It's just a bit of bittern and a few coins—let him do it."

Nan Erlang added, "If he flops, he’ll be too embarrassed to try again."

Nan Sanlang said, "A few coins in exchange for Jin Geer's peace at the Bing household—worth it."

Nan Little Sister chimed in, "Scholars’ll cut off their nose to spite their face. If we don't let him mess around today, who knows how he'll take it out on Jin Geer later. No way I’m marrying a scholar—they’re so full of themselves."

Miao Shi glared at her. "Watch your mouth, young lady! Talking about husbands like that—such words shouldn’t come from a young lady’s mouth."

Gu Shi grumbled, "This Bing Dalang—always something with him. Finally scrounges up some cash, blows it on books in town, and now comes here to stir up trouble. Never-ending."

Miao Shi scolded, "Zip it—not another word of griping. If it doesn’t work out tomorrow, you’re not to show any displeasure, understand?"

Gu Shi reluctantly muttered, "Understood."

Nan Dalang, Nan Erlang, Nan Sanlang, and Nan Little Sister all echoed their agreement.

"But the Bing family’s situation must have genuinely improved," Miao Shi observed. "At dinner, I noticed Bing Dalang and Jin Geer barely picked at the food—not to be polite, but ’cause they didn’t need to. Jin Geer told me they often have meat dishes at home, and I didn’t believe it. Now I can relax."

Nan's father said, "We never figured Jin Geer would land a rich husband. Now that the Bings' fortunes have turned, their life is among the better ones. So he’s a little odd—big deal. At least he has no other vices. We couldn’t have hoped for a better match for Jin Geer before."

Compared to the men in the village who were lazy, ignored their families, and even demanded money from their wives and daughters to spend on gambling and drinking, Bing Dalang’s a saint by comparison.

"Did you see that gold hairpin on Jin Geer's head when he came? I bet Bing Dalang bought it for him during this trip to the city. I asked Jin Geer, and he said Bing Dalang only bought it for him, not for anyone else in the Bing family. Wonder if the rest of the Bings are pissed?" said Miao Shi.

"I ain’t worried about the Bing brothers having any thoughts—Bing Dalang can keep 'em in line. I’m just afraid Gu Shi might be unhappy," said Nan Dalang.

"When they were leaving, I already reminded Jin Geer to take off the hairpin when he got back and not rub it in Gu Shi’s face," Miao Shi said, still concerned. "But I suppose Gu Shi isn’t that petty. Before, Jin Geer didn’t even do any work in the Bing household, and she never said boo about it."

"In the end, it all depends on Bing Dalang’s attitude."

The Nans went their separate ways, and Gu Shi and Nan Dalang returned to their room. Gu Shi asked Nan Dalang, "Back then, Mother gave the dowry of over three taels of silver to Jin Geer to take back. Now that the Bing family is doing so well, I wonder if Jin Geer has returned it to Mother?"

Nan Dalang immediately glared at her. "Don’t you dare bring that up in front of Mother, or she’ll surely scold you."

"I’m not stupid," Gu Shi rolled her eyes. "Just shootin’ the breeze. When Jin Geer got married, the Bing family had already built a house with blue bricks and tiles. I didn’t object back then, and I certainly wouldn’t now."

Nan Dalang said, "Let’s be real, Jin Geer is filial. If our family ever falls into real hardship, he wouldn’t stand by and do nothing. There’s no need to push him away now over chump change."

Gu Shi nodded. "I agree with that. I really look down on Qian Shi. She always acts so shrewd, unwilling to suffer the slightest loss, but now she’s getting the short end of the stick. Just look at her—now that the Bing family is doing well, what’s her damn problem? If I were Qian Shi, with a big tiled house and an ox, I wouldn’t mind taking care of a divorced sister-in-law. What’s the point of pride when real benefits are at stake?"

Nan Dalang gave his wife a helpless look. Though she was a bit greedy for money, she was actually a good person. As for her focus on money—well, who could blame her when the family was poor? If they were wealthy, anyone could afford to be generous.

Gu Shi added, "Do you really believe Bing Dalang knows how to make tofu?"

"No," Nan Dalang said firmly.

"If Bing Dalang had this skill, he would’ve used it long ago. The Bing family was practically starving before. He probably read some unreliable book and took nonsense seriously," Nan Dalang replied casually. "Anyway, let him try once. If he fails this time, Mother and Father won’t let him get away with it again. Enough talk—I’m off to buy the bittern."

"Go on, come back soon."

Neither Gu Shi nor the rest of the Nan family took Bing Wengu’s claim of knowing how to make tofu seriously. After all, how could a farmer—one who had nearly starved before—possibly have such a skill?