Bakkwa
It was Chinese New Year and Taichen Palace was giving off delicious aromas. One in particular drew crowds of immortals to the gates. It was the sweet smell of succulent meat strips being roasted over fire in the garden.
Feng Jiu stacked them on a plate and told her husband to leave those for Gun Gun while she went to check on the cakes steaming in the kitchen.
Feng Jiu: watch the fire for me.
It made a funny sight to see Dong Hua squatting and fanning the flames.
Gun Gun came over and saw his father in such a manner. “Father, are you making Bakkwa?”
Dong Hua: yes, come try the Bakkwa I cooked for you.
(Please. If Dong Hua tried to roast Bakkwa, it would be charcoal)
Gun Gun: your Bakkwa is as good as mother’s!
Dong Hua: oh. My cooking must have improved.
Gun Gun: father, let me warm the meat some more. Then we can eat it together.
The Bakkwa had indeed cooled down.
When Feng Jiu came back (she was delayed by servants bearing gifts), she saw her son taking Bakkwa off the fire and giving them to his father to try.
Feng Jiu: is my darling boy learning to cook?
Gun Gun smiled and lied as easily as his father does. “Yes, mother. I hope it meets your expectations.”
Dong Hua raised his brows. Did Gun Gun just claim credit for his stolen credit?
Feng Jiu chewed then pet her son’s head. “You have inherited my culinary genes!”