The two tended their stall as the sun climbed higher and higher.

By noon, the water skin they’d refilled at the tea stall was empty once more.

All the duck eggs he had helped sell were gone. The remaining pound and a half of kidney grass was split evenly between two men who’d come together.

Considering the herb’s purported efficacy, Yan Qi couldn’t help wondering as he weighed it: What kind of kidney problems would drive someone to buy so much of this to drink? Would they even sleep at night?

He also couldn’t fathom the connection between that business in bed at night and the kidneys. Compared to kidneys, it seemed more like one should be fortifying one’s wrists.

Huo Ling, of course, couldn’t guess what his husband was pondering. He only saw him grab an old, worn-out broom from home and meticulously sweep away the remaining grass shavings from the mat, not even noticing when the grass had been brought in.

After watching for a few moments, he stepped forward to help with the cleaning, but Yan Qi waved him off.

“I can’t sit still. I just love wiping this and sweeping that. It’s not really dirty anyway.”

Huo Ling understood this was Yan Qi’s way of passing the time, so he stepped back.

He’d been thinking of buying a couple of snacks for lunch back at the stall, but luckily, before hunger struck, the remaining few pounds of mountain goods found a buyer.

“These pine pollen are two pounds and three ounces. I’m closing up shop soon, so I’ll sell them cheaply. They usually go for thirty coins per pound, but today it’s twenty-five. The extra three ounces are a bit broken, so consider them a gift. Old man, give me fifty coins and take them.”

With this offer, Huo Ling managed to lure back an old man who had initially complained about the price and walked away after asking. At least the stall was cleared out, leaving only two pairs of antlers. These were of poorer quality than the previous pair sold—smaller and riddled with flaws, clearly from two particularly aggressive stags.

He offered a discount on both, selling them for thirty-five wen. The two pairs weighed eight jin combined, netting him less than three wen per jin.

“Let’s go eat.”

Huo Ling rolled up the straw mat and tossed the empty egg basket into his backpack, feeling quite pleased.

With everything sold, he wouldn’t have to endure the afternoon market. Plus, Yan Qi was with him today—he could treat the ger to a proper meal and even visit the City God Temple.

“Owner, two bowls of fried sauce noodles with meat sauce.”

Huo Ling led Yan Qi to a small noodle shop he frequented. It could only fit five tables, and during mealtime, it was packed to the brim, a testament to its popularity.

Yan Qi stood with his hands clasped over his trouser legs, looking rather stiff.

The table next to them had arrived before them and now had their noodles served. Two large bowls overflowed with sauce, making the ger’s eyes widen.

“That much in one bowl?”

He raised a hand to point discreetly, leaning close to ask Huo Ling.

Huo Ling resisted the urge to ruffle his husband’s hair. “You’ll understand once you’ve spent more time outside the Pass. Food portions around here are like this—generous and filling. Everyone from inside the Pass says so.”

“Even locals wouldn’t splurge like this.”

Yan Qi didn’t ask how much this bowl cost. He figured Huo Ling must love eating here, and asking would make him seem like he was controlling his spending.

Regardless, the aroma was truly enticing—you could smell it even sitting here.

“But I’ve never been to a restaurant before. I only had plain noodles on the street once, and that cost eight wen.”

He made a gesture for “eight” and continued, “When disaster struck, a bowl of noodles first jumped to over ten wen. Later, that noodle stall closed down. Even those in the business couldn’t afford white flour anymore.”

That meal of noodles had been so fragrant. He’d even dreamt about it several times during his escape. It was one of the rare things he’d eaten while traveling in the past.

He forced himself to stop the recollection there. To dwell further would only bring more sorrow.

Huo Ling noticed the young ger’s melancholy. He gave the slender shoulders a light squeeze, then rose to go to the counter. When he returned, he held a plate of dried tofu.

“The noodles will take a moment longer. Their braised tofu is delicious too—try some.”

He then drew chopsticks from the holder on the table and naturally picked up a piece to feed Yan Qi.

The boy couldn’t dodge and opened his mouth to take a bite, immediately murmuring in mild surprise, “It’s sweet.”

He hadn’t known tofu skin could be braised like this.

Savoring it, he realized several different spices must have been used. At home, when braising, they rarely splurged on ingredients or sugar. Those spices were expensive—just a few grams each, but together they added up.

No wonder food tasted better outside—some profits were rightfully earned.

Huo Ling stuffed the remaining half into his own mouth. “Pretty good, huh?”

The tofu skin served as a side dish, cut into neat squares. Eight pieces filled the plate, and just as four remained, the fried sauce noodles finally arrived.

The marinade’s aroma wafted up, and beneath it lay not white noodles but golden ones—pulled from local cornmeal, gleaming like sunshine.

Since fresh cucumbers weren’t in season for garnish, they’d used tender bean sprouts from the kitchen instead. Surprisingly, they added a refreshing crunch.

Yan Qi swallowed hard. Seeing Huo Ling tuck in, he finally picked up his chopsticks and took a bite.

“Is it good?” Huo Ling asked only after he’d swallowed his first mouthful.

The ger nodded vigorously, lifting the corners of his mouth. “Delicious.”

Unfortunately, the bowl of noodles was simply too large. He ate for ages, feeling his stomach about to burst. Every time he spoke, a burp threatened to escape, yet still half the bowl remained untouched.

“Can’t eat anymore?”

Huo Ling had long finished his own bowl, saving two pieces of dried tofu for Yan Qi. Seeing the ger’s leftovers, he guessed the other was likely stuffed. Back home, Yan Qi never had a big appetite; eating just a little extra would give him indigestion.

Because of this, Huo Ling had even learned stomach-rubbing techniques from his sister-in-law—methods meant for children who couldn’t control their portions.

Seeing the hesitation in Yan Qi’s eyes, he said, “Don’t force yourself if you can’t eat. You’ll only feel worse later.”

With that, he reached out to take the bowl. He knew what Yan Qi was worried about—those who’d known hunger couldn’t bear to see food go to waste.

“I’ll finish what’s left for you.”

The noodles was never served in a pristine bowl. The sauce and noodles were thoroughly mixed, creating a messy, tangled mess at the bottom.

“But this is what I left…”

Huo Ling replied calmly, “A married couple worrying about this?”

They’d already kissed. Was sharing a single noodle really such a big deal?

Besides, he had a hearty appetite. Not only could he finish Yan Qi’s leftovers, but he could easily handle another bowl.

At checkout, Yan Qi counted out thirty-five copper coins. A bowl of minced pork jajangmyeon costs fifteen coins, and a plate of dried tofu costs five coins. Not counting the noodles, the meat was plentiful—a bargain indeed for a restaurant.

But spending over thirty coins on a single meal? Yan Qi had never dared dream of such extravagance before—it was nearly the price of a dozen eggs.

“Come back again!”

The noodle shop’s young owner was warm and welcoming, a sweat towel draped over his shoulder as he escorted them to the door.

Past noon, the streets remained bustling. A group of sun-darkened, dust-covered travelers approached, each laden with large and small bundles strapped to their backs.

From a distance, Yan Qi had assumed they were migrant refugees. Up close, he realized otherwise—these men were robust and muscular, clearly laborers earning their living through physical strength.

Among them was a shorter figure, wrapped in a headscarf and dressed in brown, short-sleeved men’s clothing. His face, dark and sallow, gave him the appearance of a lean, dark-skinned man from afar.

Yan Qi followed Huo Ling forward, brushing past them. In passing, his gaze met that of the “man” for an instant.

His heart skipped a beat. He suddenly gripped Huo Ling’s sleeve tightly, only slowly releasing it once the group had moved far enough away.

Huo Ling saw his husband’s face darken abruptly, his brows furrowing. Instinctively shielding him behind him, he turned back and asked, ” What’s wrong?“

Yan Qi shook his head rapidly, motioning for Huo Ling to keep walking. Only when they reached the entrance of the City God Temple, where he could see the blue smoke curling skyward from within, did he lift his eyes to Huo Ling and whisper, ”Just now… I think I saw Tian-ger.”

“Tian-ger?”

Huo Ling paused before recalling, “You mean the one who went to the Shen household?”

Now his eyes widened too. “But wasn’t he…”

“I don’t know. But he looked like him. He had his face blackened, covering even his birthmark.”

Yan Qi grew increasingly baffled as he spoke, muttering to himself, “You must be mistaken. Probably just a lookalike.”

But men from beyond the pass were rarely that short.

Huo Ling recalled the scene and asked Yan Qi if he’d seen the man among that group of dark, burly figures.

“I know the one leading that group,” Yan Qi replied. “Townspeople call him Yan Laoda. He’s a big shot in the logging gang.”

Yan Qi was puzzled. “What’s a logging gang?”

Could it be carpenters?

Huo Ling explained to him that the logging gang referred to those who made their living beyond the pass by logging and transporting timber. They formed their own faction with their own trade rules. For instance, those who transported timber were called “rafters,” and the one who called the shots among them was the “boss.”

“When winter snows seal the mountains, everyone else hibernates indoors. Only they venture into private forests to fell trees. Once they’ve gathered enough logs, they haul them to the riverbank. Come spring thaw, they lash the timber into rafts and drift downstream—men and wood alike—to the eastern coast. There, they board ships and sail south to sell their cargo.”

“Whether that was Tian-ger or not, even if it was him, if he managed to infiltrate the rafters and keep his cover, the Shen family would never find him. Especially if it was Boss Yan’s raft.”

Rafting was a life-or-death business. On the great rivers, capsizing meant drowning without a trace. But if they returned safely, one trip earned what others made in two years.

Those in this trade feared neither death nor lack of money. Those who could become foremen possessed some skill, operating with a certain degree of influence across both legitimate and criminal spheres. Only then could they guard against river pirates who raided and robbed mid-journey.

Once they reached the East Coast, selling the timber required connections and the right contacts.

Yan Qi listened, utterly dumbfounded. He’d never imagined such a trade existed; it was completely new to him.

“How did they manage food and drink along the way?”

“The raft is like a large ship. They can build shelters on it and hire an extra cook. They eat, drink, and relieve themselves on board during the day. At night, they dock at inns along the shore that cater specifically to the logging gang.”

Huo Ling paused, then added thoughtfully, “If Tian-ger was indeed the cook on one of these rafts, it would make sense.”

Yan Qi pondered thoughtfully. “If it really is Tian-ger, then we’ve found a lead.”

Each person has their own destiny. Whether it was him or not, he wouldn’t go up to ask. Just as he could never know what truly happened within the Shen family’s inner quarters.

Upon entering the temple, they bought a bundle of incense together. Huo Ling took the incense, then turned to the old Taoist in charge of collecting offerings and requested two pieces of yellow paper. Once he had them in hand, he naturally handed one to Yan Qi.

“Take this. It’ll be useful later.”

Yan Qi held the yellow paper in surprise, inhaling its faint incense scent. Words formed on his lips but choked in his throat. He could only gaze at Huo Ling, his eyes flickering.

Huo Ling stepped forward, gently lifting the paper upward. His voice was deep and steady. ” As your son-in-law, I never had the chance to pay respects at your graves. Now that I’m here, I should at least express my heartfelt intentions.“

Yan Qi sniffed, lowering her head. After a long moment, she said, ”I thank you on behalf of my parents. If they could see you… They would surely be happy for me.”