Chapter 3: Born in the Same Year, Month, and Day

After the rain, the air in Pingzhen, nestled by the mountain, was much fresher. Ji Shichu had just picked large, ripe peaches and gathered a good amount of wild mushrooms. For the impoverished Ji family, these were gifts from nature.

Back home, Ji Shichu didn’t ask Ji Nuan to lift a finger; he went to the humble kitchen to make some preserves himself. The process was simple: wash and peel the freshly picked peaches, cut them into pieces, simmer them with sugar on low heat until boiling, let them cool, then pack them into glass jars and store them in the fridge. But he couldn’t make too many at once—the longer they were stored, the worse the quality. So he made just two or three jars each time to enjoy the best taste, and once they were finished, he’d make more.

By the time he finished, evening had fallen. Ji Shichu looked at the small refrigerator, seeing there was still one jar of peach preserves left. He carefully placed the jar back, greeted Ji Nuan briefly, and then rode his tricycle to meet Ying Zhiyao.

Pingzhen lay against the mountain; even in the scorching summer, the temperature cooled refreshingly by evening. The boy sped along, riding against the cool mountain breeze.

Under a massive banyan tree, Ying Zhiyao lay motionless on a chair, her eyes covered with white gauze. Her complexion was pale, as if lifeless. Cicadas chirped continuously, and the gentle wind rustled the leaves softly.

When Ji Shichu arrived, he saw this scene and slowly placed his hand over his chest, where his heart throbbed faintly with pain. He stood quietly, careful not to disturb the girl—until Aunt He stepped outside.

“Shichu?”

“Aunt He,” Ji Shichu said, pulling out the jar of peach preserves he had guarded all the way. “I made these myself.”

Aunt He looked at the boy gratefully. Though she knew his goodwill might be in vain, she still went inside and returned with a small bowl. Ji Shichu gently poured the soft pink peaches into the bowl and placed it before Ying Zhiyao.

“These peaches grew on the mountain. Would you like to try?”

The boy’s gentle voice sounded, and Ying Zhiyao hesitated. She was kind and tender-hearted; although she couldn’t eat anything, she wouldn’t refuse someone’s kindness. She knew she had caused worry for those around her.

Then, Ji Shichu saw Ying Zhiyao part her small mouth slightly. Was she asking him to feed her? Understandable—she couldn’t see.

After Aunt He handed the bowl to him, she went back inside and hadn’t returned yet.

Looking at the girl’s soft, pale lips, Ji Shichu felt a flush rise to his ears. He scooped a moderate piece of fruit with a spoon and carefully brought it to her lips.

Feeling the coolness, Ying Zhiyao took the piece into her mouth, gently chewed, and swallowed.

The peach was soft and sweet with a slight crispness, cool and refreshing, causing no discomfort.

This surprised Ying Zhiyao. She opened her mouth again, waiting to be fed. Over and over.

When Aunt He returned, she saw the handsome boy patiently and tenderly feeding the girl preserves. The girl, who couldn’t eat anything before, was happily enjoying it.

Aunt He trembled, covering her mouth silently, tears streaming down uncontrollably.

Her young lady was finally able to eat.

Soon, Aunt He noticed that Ying Zhiyao could only eat what Ji Shichu prepared.

This reminded Ji Shichu of a brief childhood memory. Song Yushu once said the little girl was a picky eater but enjoyed his cooking immensely.

Aunt He also said that before Ying Zhiyao developed anorexia, she was indeed very picky. No matter the renowned chefs or cuisines, Ying Zhiyao barely ate more than a bite.

So when Aunt He saw her picky young lady finish all the wild vegetables Ji Shichu made and even say they were delicious, she was truly shocked.

Honestly, the wild vegetables did taste good, and Ji Shichu’s cooking was indeed delicious, but in her eyes, those expert chefs’ dishes were no worse. What was the root of the problem?

Ji Shichu concluded that from the moment Ying Zhiyao secretly tasted his food as a child, her palate seemed to recognize only his cooking.

Moreover, Ying Zhiyao had grown attached to him. Every day, she sat beneath that banyan tree, no longer lifeless but eagerly awaiting Ji Shichu’s arrival.

Gradually, she stopped confining herself at home and began following Ji Shichu.

Wherever Ji Shichu went, she wanted to go too.

Without her saying much, just by gently tugging on the boy’s clothing, Ji Shichu immediately understood her wishes.

Seeing her young lady brighten, Aunt He was overjoyed and naturally did not stop her; after all, she was always close by.

At the end of July, on the 30th, the Ji family courtyard was unusually lively.

This was because there were two little birthday stars today.

Ji Nuan had once accidentally discovered that Ji Shichu and Ying Zhiyao shared the same birthday—same year, same month, same day!

What a remarkable fate!

From early morning, Ji Shichu busied himself. Although it was his birthday, he personally prepared every dish.

There was only one reason: Ying Zhiyao only ate the food he made.

Ji Nuan and Aunt He only helped with minor tasks, like washing and chopping ingredients, then chatting off to the side.

As for Uncle Li, after settling everything, Ying Zhiyao had “sent him away” early.

So now, only Aunt He accompanied Ying Zhiyao, living in Pingzhen.

Ying Zhiyao clung to Ji Shichu’s side. Though she couldn’t see, she felt the warmth of life and could even smell it.

She caught a sweet fragrance.

“Chu Chu, is this Osmanthus Sugar Lotus Root?”

“Mm,” Ji Shichu replied, having just taken the Osmanthus Sugar Lotus Root from the pot to cool, preparing to slice and plate it.

Making Osmanthus Sugar Lotus Root required patience.

Ji Shichu’s method was to soak glutinous rice for three hours, wash and peel the lotus root, then cut off a small section at one end as a cap. Next, he stuffed the soaked rice into the lotus root’s large holes, using slender chopsticks to push the grains into every small cavity.

Then he filled the small cap with glutinous rice as well, secured the two parts with toothpicks to prevent leakage.

After preparation, he placed the lotus root in a pot, covered it with water, brought it to a boil, then simmered on low for one and a half hours.

Then he added rock sugar, brown sugar, dried osmanthus, and red dates, simmering for about two more hours on medium-low heat.

Finally, he increased the heat to reduce the syrup, pouring it over the lotus root as it thickened, until the syrup clung perfectly to the slices.

Once slightly cooled, he sliced and plated it.

He drizzled the red-hued syrup over the slices and sprinkled dried osmanthus to finish.

Ying Zhiyao had tried Osmanthus Sugar Lotus Root before but quickly found it cloying.

Yet Ji Shichu’s version was soft and glutinous, sweet and fragrant without being overwhelming—she loved it dearly.

As she thought this, the boy’s slightly husky voice whispered in her ear: “Open your mouth.”

Like a reflex, Ying Zhiyao instinctively parted her tender lips, ready to be fed.

A perfectly sized piece of lotus root entered her mouth—neither hot nor cold, just right.

“Mmm… so delicious…”

A smile blossomed across the boy’s face.