Cake Making Plan

As soon as the school bell rang on Friday, Wen Sheng didn't even tidy up the books on her desk. She grabbed her bag and was the first to rush out of the classroom.

Zhang Qin, who sat next to her, was startled by her movement. When she looked up, she only caught a glimpse of her swinging ponytail before hurriedly squeezing into the crowd in the corridor and disappearing completely in a short while.

You see, Wen Sheng was always calm and collected, always carefully stacking her textbooks, packing her water bottle into her bag, and then slowly leaving. Her impatient manner today was truly baffling.

Zhang Qin turned to look at the desk she had left behind and froze. The book was not closed, the kettle was not taken, and even her most cherished fountain pen was not capped; ink was slowly spreading across the paper.

Is this still the Wen Sheng she knows?

How could someone as meticulous as her be so forgetful and flustered?

Zhang Qin was staring blankly at the table when she suddenly heard someone call her from the window: "Classmate?"

"Classmate?" the voice called out again in a low voice.

She looked up and saw a tall boy standing by the window. Backlit, his expression was indifferent, his features were delicate, and his fingers rested casually on the window frame. He looked languid and aloof, completely different from the other boys in the class.

So there are such handsome guys in Cangzhong?

Zhang Qin was stunned for several seconds before she came to her senses, with only one thought in her mind: So handsome! It's a pity she didn't know him at all.

"Classmate?" The voice sounded again, lower than before, and somewhat impatient.

"Huh? Are you... are you calling me?" Zhang Qin stood up quickly, stammering uncontrollably.

The boy by the window hummed in response, but his gaze didn't fall on her. Instead, he looked directly at the empty seat next to him and asked in a low voice, "Where's Wen Sheng?"

Zhang Qin then realized that the person wasn't looking for her, and felt a strange sense of disappointment. She pointed towards the door and whispered, "She... ran off with her schoolbag as soon as the school bell rang."

Xu Jianing asked unhurriedly, "Did she say where she was going?"

Zhang Qin's heart raced as she was stared at by those cold, clear eyes. She hurriedly shook her head and said, "No, I didn't say anything."

Xu Jianing nodded and didn't ask any more questions. Then she went around to the front door, entered the classroom, and walked to Wen Sheng's desk.

Her desk still looked as if she had left in a hurry. The textbook from the last class was open, and the ink from the fountain pen that hadn't been capped was slowly spreading, staining the draft paper next to it black.

He reached out and closed the textbook, then put it in the drawer with habitually meticulous movements. He then pulled out the smudged draft paper, initially assuming it was just some casual scribbling or notes, but he paused slightly when he saw the drawing on it.

The paper showed a three-tiered cake outline, with a few small candles drawn crookedly around the edges and a thick frosting border at the bottom. In the corner, small words were written in her usual neat handwriting:

Strawberries? It's not in season yet, can wild berries from the roadside be used as a substitute?

What are butter and cream? Are they expensive?

Raisins? The supply and marketing cooperative sells them in bulk, can I add them? Does he eat them? I don't like them, so I won't add them.

Never mind, I'll add some if he likes it.

Eggs? Four? Or six?

White sugar? Is a pound too much?

Chocolate? Like those dark, hard candy pieces? Where can I buy them?

Next to the words, she drew a few crooked little patterns: the strawberry was drawn as a round one with a tuft of green leaves on top; the cream was just a series of wavy lines with a big question mark next to it; and as for the chocolate, she simply drew it as a square brick.

She wrote down everything she had heard, but she had hardly ever actually seen any of these ingredients and had no concept of them at all. The cake model was still the snow cake he had shown her last time.

These things, which might be everyday items for city kids, were as novel as treasures to her, and she wrote down each of these "strange gadgets" on paper.

Xu Jianing looked at the words and the crooked little patterns on it and couldn't help but laugh out loud.

She was genuinely preparing, genuinely thinking about doing something special for him.

Xu Jianing carefully folded the draft paper neatly and stuffed it into the upper left pocket of his clothes, which was closest to his heart.

Zhang Qin, who was standing to the side, saw all of this.

She had been wondering why this aloof, unfamiliar, and handsome senior would insist on tidying up Wen Sheng's desk. Now, seeing him carefully putting a piece of draft paper into his pocket, his expression softened considerably.

These two...could they be what she's thinking?

Zhang Qin turned around to look at Li Qingmiao in the back row and saw her with her hands clasped in front of her eyes as if using binoculars, half of her body leaning on the table, squinting and peeking in their direction.

Xu Jianing turned to Zhang Qin and said calmly, "If Wen Sheng comes back and asks about this paper, please tell her that you threw away the draft paper when you were cleaning up her table."

Zhang Qin was stunned: "Huh? I threw it?"

"Well, don't mention that I was here." Xu Jianing glanced behind her and looked at someone.

Li Qingmiao, who had been half-lying on the table peeking, immediately straightened up after being glanced at by him, hurriedly made a "zipper shut" gesture, and then pretended to be seriously flipping through her homework.

After receiving the reply she wanted, Xu Jianing quickly regained her cool demeanor, turned around and left Class 1 of Grade 1, taking the water bottle that Wen Sheng had left behind with her.

Zhang Qin stood there dumbfounded beside her seat, unable to come to her senses for a long time. The scene just now was like something out of a dream: a handsome man descended from the sky, gently and carefully tidying up Wen Sheng's desk, then carefully folding a piece of draft paper and placing it close to his heart.

Oh no, what if Wen Sheng comes back and asks about the paper? She can't just say, "Oh, I threw it away," can she? That would be taking the blame for nothing! But the way Wen Sheng looked at her just now was so scary, she really didn't have the guts to disobey.

Zhang Qin lay on the table with a bitter face, praying: "My deskmate, please don't ask, and if you do ask, please don't ask too many questions!"

——

On the other side, Wen Sheng was wandering around the city with her schoolbag.

The sun hadn't completely set yet, and the streets were bustling with people. Fruit vendors were calling out their wares, and the clattering of foot-operated sewing machines could be heard from the sewing shops.

She came out secretly, and only she knew that she planned to make a cake for Xu Jianing.

This idea was actually a bit naive, because she had never seen a real cake before, only occasionally in books.

But when she actually went to look for it herself, she found that the streets she walked through were filled with supply and marketing cooperatives, cloth shops, rice shops, or grocery stores filled with the smell of cured meats. Further on, there were photo studios and watch repair shops. It didn't look like there would be any cakes at all.

Wen Sheng looked around, her heart sinking, and finally stopped in front of a small noodle shop. Inside the glass display case were fried dough sticks, steamed buns, and shumai, and the air was filled with the aroma of freshly made noodles.

She stood hesitating at the door, the familiar scent wafting to her nose, but what she truly longed for was not these things.

In her imagination, the "cake" should be snow-white, topped with circles of cream frosting, and perhaps decorated with bright red strawberries. But the steaming buns and fried dough in front of her looked nothing like what she had envisioned.

"Young lady, what would you like to buy?" The shopkeeper behind the counter was stirring the fried dough twists in the oil with long chopsticks. Seeing her standing at the door for a long time without coming in, he greeted her with a smile.

Wen Sheng was startled and quickly shook her head: "I was just looking around."

"Boss... can you bake cakes?"

The shop owner, busy flipping dough twists, paused for a moment upon hearing this, then looked up blankly and said, "Cake? You mean steamed cake? Of course I can make that."

When Wen Sheng heard this answer, her heart died.

Can cake and steamed cake be the same thing? The snow-white cream and red strawberry candles she had imagined all shattered into dust at that moment.

But wait, can steamed cake replace cake?

At least "cake" sounds like "high," which has an auspicious meaning.

"Boss! Can you teach me how to do it?" Wen Sheng rushed to the counter, her voice rising considerably.

Seeing her bright eyes and eager expression, the proprietress couldn't help but tease, "What, you're not thinking of secretly learning the craft, are you? Little girl, do you want to open your own pastry shop and steal my business someday?"

"No, no, no, I want to learn one and give it to a friend. He is very important to me."

Just then, the owner scooped up the fried dough twists, shook the oil off his chopsticks, glanced at her sideways, and smiled meaningfully: "Okay, I'll teach you now."

Undeterred, Wen Sheng asked again, "Boss, you really don't know how to make cakes?"

"Cakes... are probably similar to what we bake here. Eggs, flour, sugar—everyone has those at home. But city people use ovens, where would my little shop get those?"

The owner, a woman, couldn't help but feel sorry for the young girl when she saw her dejected look. She coaxed her like a child, saying, "How about... we try a steamer? We don't have ovens like city people use, but we have steamers and iron pots. Actually, the ingredients are just the same: eggs, flour, and sugar. We can make it the same way. It might not look as good, but the thought is what counts, right?"

Wen Sheng's eyes lit up, and she quickly looked up: "Really? Is that okay?"

"I can't guarantee whether it will work or not, after all, this is the first time I've made this. How about we give it a try now?"

The two got right to work. The boss set the twisted dough sticks aside to cool, then took Wen Sheng to the back kitchen.

A bowl of flour, a few eggs, and a bag of sugar were quickly laid out on the cutting board. She took off her apron and handed it to her, saying, "Here you go, little girl, do it yourself, I'll watch."

Wen Sheng tied her apron, rolled up her sleeves, and focused intently. She usually cooked at home, and could easily chop vegetables and fry eggs, but this was the first time she had ever tried making "Western-style desserts."

"How many eggs do you want to crack?" she asked.

"We'll see, four is fine, six is ​​fine too." The boss himself didn't have a specific number.

Wen Sheng cracked three eggs into a bowl, and the yolks and whites were quickly whisked into a golden liquid. Then, she poured in the flour, scooping out several spoonfuls by feel.

She stirred very carefully, but she didn't get the ratio of eggs to flour right. The batter became thicker and thicker, and eventually, the chopsticks could barely turn it.

The shop owner couldn't help but remind him, "Isn't it a bit dry? Should we add some water?"

Wen Sheng nodded, added water and continued stirring, but this time it was too thin, like a bowl of porridge.

And so, sometimes they thought it was too dry, sometimes too thin, so the two of them kept adding flour and water. The final batter had a nice color, but the consistency was just wrong.

After pouring the batter into the steamer, lift the lid after twenty minutes. Amidst the wafting steam, you'll find a flat, collapsed "steamed cake," its surface damp and neither fluffy nor soft.

Wen Sheng stared at the lump of something and remained silent for a long time.

The boss grinned and comforted me, "Haha, it's your first time, you didn't quite get the heat and proportions right. Don't be discouraged, let's try again, you'll definitely succeed next time! I'll go ask him about it another day."

Wen Sheng glanced at the sky; the afterglow of the sunset had faded, and night was about to fall. She packed the collapsed "cake" into her bag. "I'll come again next time."

Before leaving, she looked up again and said earnestly, "Next time I will bring a whole carton of eggs, boss, I will pay you."

The boss was amused by her earnestness and waved his hand, saying, "Oh, no need to pay. We're just giving it a try. Besides, if it works out, I can sell it too."

Wen Sheng gave a muffled "hmm," and the shopkeeper, seeing this, found it even more amusing. "Alright, bring the eggs next time. I have sugar and flour here. If it really turns out well, consider it a masterpiece we both created together."

"Thank you, boss!"

Wen Sheng carried her bag and walked out. By the time she stepped outside, it was already completely dark, and the streetlights were on, casting a long shadow on the ground.

As she reached the school gate, she paused. Under the dim yellow light beside the iron gate stood a familiar figure.