In 1982, Jiang He owns everything she has:
A chipped bowl, a handful of flour, and an old aluminum pot with a dented bottom that someone else threw away.
And a mind full of state banquet recipes.
"Brother, there's a dent in the bottom of this pot. The water won't cover the eggs."
"Should we toss it and get another one?"
"No. Put a piece of ginger underneath, turn a plate upside down over it, and weigh it down with a sharpening stone."
Gu Ye watches her crouch by the stove, working more deftly than Master Qian, who has spent ten years repairing stoves.
Tea eggs for three cents each. She sells thirty on her first day.
By the seventh day, everyone at the market knows her pot.
By the thirtieth day, Zhao Dafu can't sit still anymore.
"That girl earns more in a day than I do in a month!"
"Get it back from her, quick!"
Jiang He opens her ledger. Every penny is accounted for, and every egg has a source.
She's not afraid of the Zhao family making a scene.
She's afraid of something else:
The old, scorched signboard in the corner of the west room at Gu Ye's home, and the kerosene smell on it that just won't go away...
