After the chopsticks are pulled out, the five fingers holding the dough apply a little more force, and a wonton shaped like a lucky bag is wrapped.

At the beginning, Su Qingluan was not very fast at making wontons. Even Yang's movements were much more skillful than hers - after all, she was not an expert in making noodles in modern times.

But this was a skilled job after all, and as they gradually became familiar with the established process, their speed increased to varying degrees. Soon, the amount of meat filling was visibly reduced.

When there was only a little meat filling left at the bottom of the bowl, Su Qingluan stopped making wontons and turned to look at the "dry ingredients" in the pot.

Taking out the spice packet, Su Qingluan poked the larger pieces of chicken in the soup with chopsticks.

Because it has been stewed for a while, the chicken is stewed until it is tender and almost to the point where the meat and bones are falling apart.

The bacon, which was already cut as thin as a cicada's wing, could only be picked up with difficulty, and would break into pieces and fall into the broth with the slightest touch.

The soup is no longer as clear as it was at the beginning, but has turned into a light milky white with a layer of light yellow chicken oil floating on it, and it has a fragrant aroma.

Su Qingluan knew that the chicken was almost cooked, so she turned around, picked up the whole pot of broth, placed it on a slow cooker at the side, and then placed the iron pot and bamboo "lid curtain" on top.

The Su family has several of these "lid curtains", which are used to place dumplings and wontons when making them. The size is just right to fit halfway up the iron pot.

Su Qingluan put a little white sugar and the remaining tea leaves at the bottom of the pot, covered the middle of the pot with a "lid curtain", and while the chicken pieces were still hot, she took out all the chicken pieces and placed them on the lid curtain, then covered the iron pot with a lid.

"Mom, where is the rag we use to clean delicate objects?" Su Qingluan turned her head back and forth, changing her gaze to find the target she needed.

She went out in a flash and returned just as quickly, a towel in hand. Seeing her hurried look, Yang couldn't help but laugh: "Why are you in such a hurry? It won't hurt to eat later."

Su Qingluan shook her head: "I'm very anxious. If I don't come back soon, it will smoke!"

As he spoke, he covered the gaps around the pot lid with the towel that had just been soaked in water and wrung out, sealing the entire iron pot tightly to avoid any gaps.

After a while, white smoke slowly seeped out from the cracks in the cloth, and it became more and more. Yang couldn't help but be surprised: "What is this...?"

"Mother, do you still remember the 'Golden Silk Rolls' sold at Hongfulou?" Su Qingluan smiled reassuringly at her mother, telling her not to worry. "I made the smoked meat in it this way. We never made it at home before because I was afraid of burning the pot. And then I was always busy, so I didn't have time."

Today, there happened to be some leftover chicken from making chicken soup, and the chicken had become salty during the cooking process along with the pickled bacon, so Su Qingluan could just smoke and grill it directly on the outside.

Su Qingluan kept an eye on the pot, as smoking and grilling required precise timing. Too little time and the chicken wouldn't be browned or flavorful enough; too much time and it would become bitter, like traditional Chinese medicine, and contain a large amount of harmful substances, making it a painful and poisonous experience.

Seeing the smoke getting thicker, Su Qingluan held her breath, moved the iron pot away, and put the soup pot on the stove.

"Mother, I'll go wash the bok choy and bring up the smoked chicken."

"Go ahead!" Yang smiled and waved her hand. "As a mother, I can handle something as simple as cooking prawns."

"Don't say that, my mother's cooking is very good!" This wasn't Su Qingluan complimenting her family or having some sort of "daughter" filter. To be fair, Yang's cooking skills were indeed quite good when it came to "home cooking." At least in the "cooking rankings" of the hostesses in Huaxi Village, she was considered one of the top ones.

Unfortunately, Su Qingluan, her daughter with her own skills, was so amazing that Yang's cooking skills became mediocre.

By the time Su Qingluan finished washing the bok choy and returned, Yang's wontons were almost done. The wontons, tightly bound around the filling, were then spread out like a skirt. Combined with the dark shadows cast by the preserved egg in the filling, the wontons looked like a school of small white fish swimming in the broth.

Su Qingluan tasted the broth, added a little salt, cut the bok choy into several pieces, sprinkled them into the broth, and said to Yang with a smile, "Mother, our wontons are ready to be served!"