Yanli doesn’t remember the first time she wandered into the kitchen. Nainai later tells her it was soon after the birth of the A-Cheng so she must’ve been three or four years old. She’d stood silently in the doorway, watching the hustle and bustle with wide, curious eyes, drawn to the stove and pots slowly bubbling away. Apparently, Nainai had given her a small, dull knife to chop cooked vegetables with and she’d concentrated on the task with seriousness rarely seen in such a small child.
Yanli doesn’t remember who came to get her (or if anyone did) or how she ended up returning again and again despite Father’s confusion and Mother’s sneering contempt. All she remembers is the warmth of the kitchen, the contained chaos, the way Nainai knew exactly what was happening even behind her back, the way everything smelled nice.
The way it made her feel when she made her first broth under Nainai’s careful guidance and she nodded her approval.
It was more than she’d ever gotten from her parents.
As she grows, it’s made clear that as her looks are plain and her cultivation weak, she isn’t worth much. Mother tries (and mostly fails) to hide her disappointment and Yanli, young as she is, doesn’t know how to make it better. She’s been betrothed to Mother’s dearest friend’s son since birth and sometimes it feels like it’s the only thing ever expected of her.
She keeps cooking because of the simple joy of it and the warm happiness that curls in her chest when A-Xian and A-Cheng fight over the last pieces of fat pork ribs and lick the soup bowls empty. She’ll never be the daughter her parents wished to have but she can—and will—be the best possible sister for her brothers.
”It is the duty of the Sect Leader’s daughter to marry well,” Nainai says gently and tucks a lock of hair behind her ear. ”But there’s still time before you’ll be carried away in a palanquin. In the meantime, why don’t you help me with the dumplings?”
Yanli swallows away her tears and nods, pushing away the hurt of yet another awkward meeting with her betrothed. ”Yes, Nainai,” she says.
She lets the familiar rhythm of filling the dumplings and seasoning the broth ease away the tension from her shoulders and the lingering ache in her temples. In no time, she’s humming a slow, swaying tune with a small smile on her lips.
Nainai gives her a sidelong look and nods as they work side by side, sharing space and love for cooking for the people they care about the most.