While the noodles boiled in the pot, Wu Shen, with a bit of free time, decided to start preparing the fried sauce.
But when he turned around, he found Wu Yi had somehow snuck into the kitchen and neatly arranged all the necessary seasonings and ingredients on the counter—dry yellow bean paste, green onions, ginger, star anise, and cooking wine. Everything he needed was right there.
"Wu Yi, you know how to make fried sauce?" Wu Shen asked in surprise.
"Of course! I always helped Dad when he cooked!"
Wu Yi placed her hands proudly on her hips, her little chin lifted high. Her eyes all but shouted: Hurry up and praise me!
"What a good daughter."
Wu Shen granted her wish, though in his mind he silently added: It'd be even better if she weren't so… dirty-minded.
Thanks to Wu Yi's preparations, he'd saved quite a bit of time. Without delay, he took a small bowl and began mixing the sauce.
First, he chopped the pork into small cubes, then minced the green onions and ginger. His hands moved with practiced ease. After that, he poured the dry yellow bean paste into a bowl, diluted it with water, and stirred until smooth.
When the wok was hot with a thin layer of oil, he motioned for Wu Yi to step back a few paces so she wouldn't be splashed.
Once the oil was ready, he dropped in the star anise. When its fragrance bloomed, Wu Yi precisely handed him the minced ginger. Their smooth cooperation almost made Wu Shen feel like they'd been cooking together for years.
At the right moment, Wu Shen gestured, and Wu Yi passed over the pork cubes. While stir-frying the meat, he added a splash of cooking wine. When the pork turned golden-brown, Wu Yi handed him the diluted bean paste. He poured it in, turned the heat to high, and stirred vigorously.
The sauce bubbled like hot magma. He lowered the heat, continuing to stir slowly so the flavors deepened.
"Dad, can we eat now?" Wu Yi's impatience finally broke through. She rubbed her belly with one hand while leaning forward to sniff the air, her mouth already watering.
"My little glutton, it's not ready yet. Just a little longer."
"'A little longer' again! Every time you say that, it ends up being ten minutes!" Wu Yi pouted, turning away dramatically.
Wu Shen could only smile wryly. Her expression reminded him of himself as a child—hovering in the kitchen, urging his mother to hurry, only to get the same calm reply: Just a little while.
Now, far from home, even the memory of his mother's cooking carried a lingering warmth. That must be what people called the taste of home.
The old clock ticked away the minutes. Finally, Wu Yi broke the quiet.
"Speaking of which, I remember Mom's first novel ended up being canceled. She's always regretted that," Wu Yi said suddenly, her voice tinged with sympathy.
"Canceled? After how many volumes?" Wu Shen asked, curious.
"If I remember right, it was supposed to end after three volumes… but Mom was so devastated that she rushed to finish it in just two."
"Canceled after three, finished in two… Sounds like the problem started from Volume One," Wu Shen analyzed.
He knew the light novel industry—if a work was canceled, the most likely reason was poor sales. It seemed Kasumigaoka Utaha's debut novel hadn't sold well.
"But is there really a book called Love Metronome? I couldn't find it in any bookstore," Wu Shen pressed.
"Maybe Mom's new book hasn't been released yet. Maybe it hasn't even entered the competition," Wu Yi guessed.
"So my bookstore trip was for nothing?" Wu Shen muttered.
Not that it had been a waste—he'd discovered Utaha shared his love for anime, gained a little secret between them, and their relationship had taken a big step forward.
"Oh, right! If Mom's new book hasn't been published yet, that's Dad's chance!" Wu Yi suddenly clapped her hands.
"As long as you help Mom improve her novel and prevent it from getting canceled, her affection for you will soar! Then dating, marriage—and I'll be born without a hitch!"
"…Not a bad idea," Wu Shen admitted. "But figuring out she's writing a novel in the first place will be tricky."
He couldn't exactly say: Our future daughter told me. Even he wouldn't buy that.
But he set the thought aside—now was the time to finish the sauce. He gave it one last stir, sprinkled in chopped green onions, and mixed everything together until the fragrance was irresistible.
Wu Yi didn't even wait for the noodles—she snatched up a cube of meat with her chopsticks, chewed, and raised a thumb in delight.
"It's still the familiar recipe… still the familiar taste!"