Madam Zhu's daughter was born healthy, with rosy cheeks and strong arms. She gave the girl a name that rang wi…
Madam Zhu's daughter was born healthy, with rosy cheeks and strong arms. She gave the girl a name that rang with pride and promise: Fengying.
While other girls learned to stitch and spin silk, Fengying never learned. Give her a needle and she would jab wildly at the cloth a few times, crooked and useless, until even she lost patience.
Madam Zhu never scolded her. She simply waved her daughter into the kitchen.
"Strong hands are wasted on thread," she said. "Come knead the dough for me." Fengying's eyes lit up at once. One push, two pushes—the girl barely reached the stove, but she had plenty of strength.
Under her palms, the dough turned pale and soft. Watching her, Madam Zhu thought: my girl could be the best dough-maker under heaven.
Neighbors passing by liked to tease Fengying as she sat on the doorstep.
Flour dusted her collar. She clutched a huge steamed bun, grinning from ear to ear as she gnawed on it.
"Who would ever marry a girl like that?"
Whenever Madam Zhu heard such words, she would stride out, rolling pin in hand, and send the gossips scattering.
"Mum, I ain't ever getting married,” Fengying mumbled, mouth full of fresh bun. The bun in her hands was the best she had ever made.
Madam Zhu didn't answer right away. She gently pulled apart the warm bun in her hands. "Then what do you want to do?"
"I want to make dough. The best kind there is. Steamed buns, flatbreads..." Fengying scrunched her nose. "Anything, just not marriage."
Madam Zhu laughed, "Then you'll be the finest maker of wheat and flour this world has ever known."