The Same

Even though Qiao Dongliang had already said that pickled ginger was simple to make and it did not cost him much to send it over, Qiao Nan did not want to trouble Qiao Dongliang all the time.

Pickled ginger had become a new favorite of Qiao Nan, and after their auntie tried making it once, Qiao Nan declared that it was not sour or fermented enough. The moment Miao Jing bit into it, she felt as though her denture had broken. Of course, no one in the Zhai family other than Qiao Nan dared to even touch it. Even the only other woman, Miao Jing, stayed away from it.

"It's good that Nan Nan likes to eat it." Miao Jing thought that it did not smell bad. Quite on the contrary, it was rather fragrant. But she could not understand why its taste did not reflect its fragrance. She could not even swallow the pickled ginger that the auntie had made, much less Qiao Dongliang's.