—
Chef Zhou Baoshi arrived in his kitchen at five forty-five every morning without exception.
He had done this for eleven years.
He liked the quiet of it.
The hour before the household woke up, when it was just him and his knives and the cold blue light coming through the kitchen windows.
He'd put the stock on, check his prep, plan the day's meals.It was, in his professional opinion, the best part of the job.
He pushed open the kitchen door at five forty-six.And found someone already in it.
He stopped.
A girl.Small. Young. Sitting on the counter next to the stove in a light jacket and pyjama pants, feet dangling, holding a cup of hot water she'd apparently made herself, looking out the window at the grey early morning garden with a perfectly content expression.
She turned when she heard him come in.
And Zhou Baoshi, who had worked in three Michelin-starred restaurants and had cooked for government officials and had generally seen enough of life to be surprised by very little
—Was briefly surprised.
She was, for lack of a more professional assessment, extraordinarily pretty.
The kind of pretty that was even more unreasonable at five forty-six in the morning in pyjamas.
She smiled at him."Good morning,"
she said. "You must be Chef Zhou.
I hope I'm not in the way
— I woke up early and didn't want to bother anyone so I just came down and helped myself to hot water. Is that okay?"
Zhou Baoshi looked at her.
In eleven years, not one member of the Yun family had ever come into his kitchen voluntarily.
Not once."It's fine," he said, moving to his station. "You're the new young miss."
"Yun Jiao."
She hopped off the counter — lightly, like a cat — and bowed her head politely.
"Sorry for intruding. Your kitchen is so clean. I can tell you're serious about your work."
Zhou Baoshi glanced at her sideways.
Serious about his work?
He put his apron on.
"Are you hungry?"
"I don't want to trouble—"
"You're not troubling me. I'm cooking anyway."
She hesitated. Then, with the expression of someone trying not to look too eager and failing slightly: "...Is there any chance there's leftover braised pork from last night?"
Zhou Baoshi stopped tying his apron.Turned to look at her fully.
"You want leftover braised pork," he said. "At five forty-six in the morning."
"I know it's strange—"
"It's not strange."
He turned back to the refrigerator. "Sit down."
She sat.
He plated the leftover pork — proper, heated through, with a small bowl of congee because no one should eat braised pork at dawn without congee, this was a professional opinion and set it in front of her.
She looked at it.
Then up at him."Thank you," she said.
And she meant it. Simply and completely, the way people meant things when they weren't performing for anyone.
Zhou Baoshi went back to his prep workShe ate.
He cooked.
The kitchen was quiet and warm and the grey morning light came through the windows and somewhere a bird started singing outside.
After a few minutes she said, without looking up from her bowl: "This pork is the best thing I've eaten in my entire life. Both of them."
Zhou Baoshi paused his chopping."Both of them?"
She looked up. Blinked. "Both of my... opinions about food. The one from before I tasted this and the one after."
He looked at her for a moment.Then he made a sound that, from Zhou Baoshi, was the equivalent of a standing ovation.He went back to chopping."Come back tomorrow," he said. "I'll make it fresh."
She smiled at her congee."I'll be here at five forty-five,"
he said."Five forty-six."
"Five forty-six,"
she agreed.
—Yunjinna came downstairs at eight thirty.
Her three friends arrived at eight forty-five
— Bai Mengqi, Shen Lulu, and Zhao Xinyi, all Jinhao girls, all perfectly put together, all carrying the comfortable confidence of people who knew exactly where they stood in every room they walked into.
Yunjinna met them in the entrance hall, hugged Mengqi, air-kissed Lulu and Xinyi, and led them toward the dining room."So she's really here?" Mengqi said, already looking around with open curiosity.
"She arrived yesterday."
"And? What's she like?"Yunjinna considered this for exactly one second.
"Fine," she said. "She's fine. Very sweet."
A pause. "Very quiet. You know how orphanage kids can be — a little overwhelmed by everything, a little out of their depth."
"Aww," said Lulu.
"Poor thing," said Xinyi.
Yunjinna smiled.This was going to go perfectly.
She pushed open the dining room door—And stopped.
Yun Jiao was already at the table.
Hair done. Dressed. Looking fresh and rested and not at all like someone who had been up since five AM mapping a house she was planning to dismantle.
In front of her was a plate of freshly made braised pork and congee that smelled so good Mengqi actually inhaled audibly from the doorway.
And next to her, standing slightly closer than strictly necessary and topping up her tea with the energy of a man who had decided unilaterally that this was now his favorite person in the household—Chef Zhou.
Yunjinna stared.
In eleven years.
Eleven years.
Zhou Baoshi had never once voluntarily served anyone outside of scheduled mealtimes.
He barely spoke to the family.
He cooked, he delivered, he left.
He was currently telling Yun Jiao something about the regional variations of red-braised pork across three provinces and she was listening with the focused, genuine interest of a culinary student being handed the secrets of the universe.
"—the Hunan style uses more dried chilies, which changes the whole profile, but the Shanghainese version with the rock sugar—"
"That's what this is," Yun Jiao said, eyes lighting up.
"The rock sugar. That's what makes the difference."
Zhou Baoshi pointed at her.
"Exactly."
Yunjinna stood in the doorway.
Her three friends stood behind her.
Nobody moved.
Then Yun Jiao looked up and saw them.
Her face opened into the most radiant, genuinely delighted smile any of them had ever been hit with at eight forty-five in the morning."Sister!" She stood up. "And friends! Come in, come in — Chef Zhou just made the most incredible pork, you have to try it—"
Mengqi was already walking toward the table.
Lulu was right behind her.
Xinyi looked at Yunjinna and then back at the table and then at Yunjinna again.
Yunjinna's smile was perfectly in place.
Her left eye twitched.
Once.
Very small.
She walked into the dining room.
Sat down.
Picked up her chopsticks.
And watched Yun Jiao charm her three best friends over braised pork and congee with the helpless feeling of someone who had set a very careful trap and arrived to find the other person had already moved in and redecorated.
Under the table her hand was a quiet fist.
Her face showed absolutely nothing.
—Across the table, hidden in Yun Jiao's jacket pocket, a tiny screen glowed.
Hawk's voice came through her earpiece, barely a whisper beneath the bright cheerful noise of breakfast conversation.
"Liang Boshen's security rotation changes at eleven PM," he said quietly.
"Eastern side goes unwatched for four minutes."
Yun Jiao laughed at something Mengqi said.
Bright.
Genuine-sounding.
Her whole face in it.
"Four minutes is enough," she murmured into her teacup.
"Thought you'd say that," Hawk said.
She set the cup down.
Smiled across the table at Yunjinna.
Yunjinna smiled back.
Both of them.
Perfectly warm.
Perfectly pleasant.
Perfectly aware.
Outside the window the morning was bright and clear and the koi pond caught the early sun and scattered it across the garden in small gold pieces.
A beautiful day.
Yun Jiao picked up her chopsticks.
Let's get to work, she thought.