Chapter 100: Milky Little Steamed Bun, Zhou Sinian's Fear!

After a restful night’s sleep, Mingdai luxuriated in a few lazy rolls across the wide bed before finally getting up. After washing up, she headed downstairs and saw Zhou Sinian already seated at the dining table, eating breakfast.

They’d run out of stir-fried noodles at home, and Mingdai hadn’t had time to make more. Zhou Sinian had taken it upon himself to mix up some powdered milk, ending up with a frothy white mustache. When he saw Mingdai come down, he got up and poured her a bowl as well.

The quality of the powdered milk in those days was truly excellent; before long, a creamy skin had formed atop the bowl. Mingdai didn’t care for it and picked it off for Zhou Sinian, who accepted it gladly.

The boiled eggs were also Zhou Sinian’s doing—already peeled and arranged neatly on a plate. Mingdai dipped an egg into sesame salt, munching as she eyed the bowl of milk, thinking she could make some fragrant steamed buns with it.

After breakfast, she took Zhou Sinian out to tend to the sweet potato vines. When the vines had first sprouted, the two of them had propagated the rooted cuttings; now, a dense carpet of leaves covered a large patch of earth.

Together, they turned the vines all in one direction, preventing them from rooting endlessly, which would result in abundant foliage but little actual harvest. Where the growth was too exuberant, they cut the tips and gathered them to feed the little goats and the silly deer.

Zhou Sinian worked with earnest diligence—unlike Mingdai’s amateur efforts. He even grumbled behind her, correcting her work as they went. Mingdai looked at her own crookedly arranged vines, then at his neat rows, feeling a bit embarrassed.

Zhou Sinian, almost obsessive, not only arranged the vines meticulously, but even braided them into tidy green plaits, using a herringbone stitch he’d learned from knitting.

Mingdai stood up and instructed him, “I’m going to knead dough for steamed buns. Finish turning the vines and feed the cuttings to the goats and the silly deer, but don’t give it all at once—we’ll save some to stir-fry later.”

Without pausing, Zhou Sinian kept braiding as he watched the silly deer frolicking. “Got it. I still want to eat that silly deer one day.”

Mingdai thought for a moment. “Then I’ll make braised venison as well.”

Zhou Sinian nodded, delighted.

In the kitchen, Mingdai poured flour into the mixer, added half a bag of powdered milk, a few spoons of sugar, and a spoonful of yeast, then water, before switching the machine on to knead.

While the dough mixed, she fetched two bags of sweet red bean paste from the storeroom, planning to make some bean paste buns as well.

The mixer was truly a brilliant invention; before long, the dough was ready. Mingdai divided it into small portions, rolled them into balls, and placed half into the steamer to proof. The other half she filled with bean paste, marking them with a dot of red from red yeast powder.

Even before the first batch of milk buns had finished steaming, their rich, creamy aroma wafted throughout the house. Zhou Sinian followed the scent into the kitchen, too impatient to put on his shoes, dashing in barefoot and peering into the steamer, eager to sneak a look.

Mingdai, busy wrapping bean paste buns, quickly stopped him: “No, you’ll burn yourself. Wait five more minutes before opening it, and go put your shoes on first.”

Zhou Sinian reluctantly backed away, touching the steamer and pulling his hand back when he got burned, then his attention shifted to the bean paste Mingdai was working with.

“What’s that?” he asked.

Mingdai was charmed by his curious demeanor. “It’s sweet bean paste. Go put on your shoes and wash your hands. Bring your bowl over, and I’ll give you a taste—it’s sweet and delicious.”

Stars lit up in Zhou Sinian’s eyes. He scampered off to put on slippers, washed his hands, and came back with his special bowl.

Mingdai scooped him two generous spoonfuls of bean paste, added some powdered milk, and poured in hot water to mix. “Have this first—the buns will be ready soon.”

One sip and Zhou Sinian was instantly captivated by the novel taste. Seeing him so engrossed, Mingdai poured herself a bowl as well.

Stirring gently, she tasted it—the creamy, sweet milk blended with the fine, dense bean paste, creating a flavor reminiscent of red bean milk tea. Mingdai found herself missing the milk teas of her previous life, especially the taro bubble drinks—what a joy it was to have one in winter!

She muttered her thoughts aloud, and Zhou Sinian caught every word.

“Taro bubble? Is that your uncle? What a peculiar name.”

Mingdai was surprised. “You know what ‘uncle’ means?”

Zhou Sinian swirled his bowl, watching the bean paste rise and fall. “I’m not crazy, you know, just a bit muddled.”

Mingdai stood up, excitement in her voice. “Have you remembered anything?”

Zhou Sinian shook his head. “No, just that I’m having more clear moments—like now.”

Mingdai studied him. He had seemed odd even when they were in town. She asked him to extend his hand and took his pulse once more.

“Not bad! The medicine these past months hasn’t been for nothing—we’re finally seeing results. I’ll adjust your prescription, and once your body can handle it, we’ll start acupuncture.”

Zhou Sinian edged back, gripping his bowl. “Acupuncture? With needles?”

Mingdai rolled her eyes. “Of course—with needles. It’s acupuncture.”

Zhou Sinian eyed her warily, like she was the big bad wolf. “Does it hurt?”

Mingdai teased, “That depends on whether you behave. If you do, it won’t hurt; if you don’t, it will.”

He stared at her a moment, then sat back down, hugging his bowl. “You’re lying.”

Ah, he wasn’t so easy to fool anymore!

Mingdai asked curiously, “How do you feel now? You really don’t remember anything from before?”

Zhou Sinian shook his head, perplexed. “Nothing at all. If I try to remember, it really hurts.” He pointed to a dent on his head, his face going pale.

Mingdai stopped him. “Don’t force it if it hurts. Take it slow.”

Zhou Sinian sniffed. “Five minutes are up.”

Mingdai checked the time—he was right. She opened the steamer, and a wave of creamy, wheaty fragrance filled the room. Both of them inhaled deeply.

She took out the fluffy, milk-white buns and set them to cool in a basket. Zhou Sinian snatched one, juggling it between his hands because it was hot, but unwilling to let go.

Once it cooled a bit, he split it in half, popped one piece into his mouth, and handed the other to Mingdai.

Mingdai looked at him with approval. He was thoughtful now, willing to share. If it were before, he’d have stuffed the whole thing into his mouth.

She took the bun, squeezing it gently—it was springy and soft. After blowing on it, she took a bite, closing her eyes in delight. Delicious!

She put the second batch of bean paste buns in to steam; the basket was already missing a corner.

These buns were small—Zhou Sinian could easily eat one in a bite, or half in a bite at most.

“Don’t eat too many; the next batch has bean paste, and if you’re full, you won’t have room.”

Zhou Sinian swallowed and shook his head seriously. “No, I’ve saved space just for those!”

Mingdai joked, “Good thing I’m the one feeding you. Anywhere else, you’d eat your hosts to tears.”

Zhou Sinian froze, bun in hand, his whole body tensing. He forced a nervous smile. “I can eat less.”

Mingdai was startled by the intense anxiety in his eyes and stood still, speechless.

Misunderstanding her silence, Zhou Sinian gently put the bun back and looked at her beseechingly. “I won’t eat anymore. Please don’t be mad, Mingdai.”

Now that his mind was clearer, he understood how hard times were—how rare a full stomach was. If not for Mingdai, he’d still be lying on a cold kang bed, enduring hunger and weakness, waiting for spring as in years past.

Tears welled in Mingdai’s eyes. She shook her head, thrusting the whole basket into his arms. “I’m not angry. Eat as much as you like—we have plenty!”

Zhou Sinian looked at the basket, a little bashful. He squeezed one of the soft little buns and gave Mingdai a sincere smile. “You’re so good to me, Mingdai.”

Mingdai sniffled. “And you’re good to me. You’ve helped me so much.”

Zhou Sinian puffed out his chest with pride. “I know how to work—lots of work! The old man said if I work, I get food. If I do more, we both eat.”

Seeing his proud demeanor, Mingdai’s heart melted. She nodded solemnly. “Alright!”

Only then did Zhou Sinian relax, popping another bun into his mouth and savoring it. So delicious!

Watching his contented, squinting eyes, Mingdai thought that in this strange, bookish world, having someone who looked at her like that, who accompanied her through everything, was a blessing.

In her past life and this one, she’d never had anyone like that. To be relied upon and trusted felt wonderful.

Although, right now, she supposed she was more like a caretaker for a child—but Zhou Sinian was certainly the most thoughtful, endearing big baby!