The newly purchased flatbed cart was parked in the courtyard. Last time they went to Old Man Mu’s place, with the autumn harvest approaching, many families had brought their saved silver to buy flatbed carts for gathering grain and food. All the ready-made carts had sold out, so they had to pay a deposit for a custom-made one, which Huo Feng later went to pick up.

When Huo Ying saw them coming down the mountain, the first thing she asked was whether she could sit on it and give it a try.

She had asked her father about it before, but in Huo Feng’s eyes, the cart was a precious possession; he had told Huo Ling and his husband not to let Huo Ying touch it.

“What’s the harm? Get on, and your uncle will push you around for a spin.”

He then turned to Yan Qi and said, “Do you want to ride too? Come on up.”

Yan Qi was sitting nearby with Ye Suping, sorting through the contents of the basket of mountain produce and setting aside what was for their own family. Upon hearing this, he looked up, glanced at the cart, and laughed, “I’m a grown man now—I don’t play with this stuff. Besides, if you add me to the mix, you won’t be able to push it.”

Huo Ling said, “How do you know you can’t push it unless you get on and try?”

Yan Qi, of course, still refused, urging him to take Huo Ying out to play instead.

Huo Ling smiled but said nothing more, knowing his husband was easily embarrassed.

If they were up in the mountains, just the two of them, they’d probably have been there since morning.

Huo Ling soon started running, pushing Huo Ying, who was cheering on the cart. The courtyard at home was large, and the ground was even, unlike the village roads outside, which occasionally had loose stones. After two laps, Huo Feng took over pushing the cart.

Huo Ying was absolutely wild with excitement, and even Dager and Huang Yae followed behind the stroller, shouting and panting, barking away, until they finally wore Huo Feng out completely.

Yan Qi watched the scene with a smile for a while, then brought out a bowl of wild eggplant fruits picked from the mountains. They had already been washed and looked plump and juicy; they tasted sweet and sour, as if even a bear would love them, which is why they’re also called “bear’s fruit.”

Huo Ling said he’d once seen the fruits left behind by a bear—plucked straight from the branches, some had fallen to the ground and been crushed under the bear’s paws.

Compared to a bear, people were much more refined when eating the fruit.

The group gathered around, each grabbing a handful to eat slowly.

Wild eggplant fruits are common on the mountains beyond the Pass; those at the mountain’s base are picked clean before they’re fully ripe, unlike those deep in the mountains, which can be left to ripen at their own leisurely pace.

Even if at least half are pecked by birds or snatched by fruit-eating beasts, the remaining half is still enough for people to eat.

As for the taste, though described as sweet and sour, most are actually slightly more sour than sweet; however, out of every four or five, there’s usually one that’s purely sweet.

Huo Feng and Huo Ling couldn’t stand the sourness and put theirs down after eating just a few, but Ye Suping loved them the most, eating one after another.

Yan Qi heard that many pregnant women crave sour foods, while others crave spicy ones—in any case, their tastes are quite different from usual.

Ye Suping said, “I’m actually doing pretty well this time. When I was pregnant with Ying-zi, for the first three or four months, I’d wake up feeling nauseous and couldn’t eat a thing. Your older brother used to make me plain noodles—just a bit of sauce and a splash of vinegar, with some shredded cucumber or blanched bean sprouts on top. I could barely manage a couple of bites. Other than that, I couldn’t touch a single trace of meat, grease, or anything fatty. I couldn’t even eat eggs. Things that were perfectly fine normally—back then, whenever I smelled them, they always gave me the impression of smelling like chicken butt.”

Yan Qi picked two fruits and popped them into his mouth, gently biting into them. Thankfully, they were both quite sweet.

“Being pregnant is indeed hard work, but when you think about a little baby popping out of your belly, it really is a miracle.”

Hearing his somewhat childish remark, Ye Suping sighed, “You’re absolutely right. Pregnancy is hard, childbirth is painful, and raising a child is exhausting—but once the baby is born, you feel it was all worth it.”

Having said that, she saw Huo Ying grimacing at the sourness of the fruit but still craving more. She stood up and said, “We still have some wild honey at home. I’ll make some honey water; you can dip them in it.”

Huo Ying happily followed her into the kitchen. A moment later, he came out and asked, “Father, Uncle, and Aunt, would you like some honey water?”

Huo Feng and Huo Ling both declined, so in the end, only Yan Qi was forced to accept a bowl by Ye Suping.

“This is what the second son brought down from the mountain earlier.”

Yan Qi took a sip from the bowl; it was faintly sweet. He’d heard that genuine wild honey isn’t very sweet, and that the overly sweet honey sold in the market is adulterated with sugar by unscrupulous merchants.

Seeing Huo Ling enter the room, he carried the honey water over and offered him a taste.

Though it wasn’t anything particularly rare—Huo Ling had surely had it countless times before—people are just like that: when they come across something good, they never want to keep it all to themselves.

Huo Ling understood the ger’s feelings. He took the bowl and took a sip, but before the other could react, he lowered his head and quickly licked those soft lips, then gently bit down.

Yan Qi instinctively reached out and grabbed the front of his shirt, clenching it tightly. When they parted, one set of lips was bright red, while the other’s shirt front bore an extra crease.

━━ 🐈‍⬛ ━━

With everything they needed for the stall ready, the day arrived, and Huo Ling and Yan Qi set off for the market for the first time, pushing their handcart.

In addition to the mountain produce they intended to sell, along with a charcoal stove, an iron pot, and a jar of vegetable oil, there was also a tray of filling and a bowl of dough.

They had prepared all of this early that morning at home. When they got up, it wasn’t even light out—it was practically the middle of the night—but the thought of selling stuffed pancakes kept them wide awake. After splashing cold water on their faces, they were wide awake and ready to get to work.

With the flatbed cart, they no longer had to carry the load on their shoulders or in their hands, which seemed to make things much easier. However, since Huo Ling was tall, he had to walk hunched over while pushing the cart, and it looked like hard work.

“Why don’t I push it, and you hold it steady from the side?”

Yan Qi couldn’t help but suggest.

“No need. You’d still have to bend over, but it’s much easier than carrying them on your back like before.”

Huo Ling wiped the sweat from his forehead. Since there wasn’t much distance left, the two didn’t stop again and walked all the way to town in one go.

Upon reaching the vicinity of the City God Temple, they found a suitable open space and unloaded the items from the handcart one by one.

A familiar-looking man was nearby, selling cooking brushes and brooms—all made from sorghum stalks. Earlier, Yan Qi had noticed his sturdy craftsmanship and how durable the items looked, so he’d gone to his stall and picked out two.

One for scrubbing pots and one for sweeping the bed; both had been taken up the mountain and were still in use after more than two months.

When the man saw them unload a charcoal stove and set up an iron pot to start a fire, he asked in surprise, “Why have you two started a food business now?”

Huo Ling was wiping the flint with a sweat-drenched brow; sometimes it just wouldn’t spark, no matter how hard he rubbed it, which was quite frustrating.

Finally, after much effort, he got it lit. Yan Qi used a ball of dry grass to kindle the fire and tossed it into the charcoal stove’s firebox. Using charcoal for a street stall was better—it burned longer and produced less smoke.

Bailong Mountain produced plenty of timber, so charcoal wasn’t expensive here.

Once the charcoal stove was under control, Huo Ling finally had a moment to answer.

“My husband is skilled in the kitchen, so I thought we’d start a new business.”

A new business doesn’t necessarily turn a profit on the first day, but reputation is the most important thing; they had to find a way to let people know there was a new food stall in town.

Huo Ling then said, “When the first batch of stuffed buns comes out in a bit, I’ll pack two for you.”

“I couldn’t possibly accept that.”

The man said this with a smile, but he didn’t really refuse; it was clear he was quite hungry.

They had arrived early, and there weren’t many people at the market yet, so he strolled over to take a curious look.

“What kind of pastries are these? Meat or vegetarian?”

“It’s our first time selling them, so I only made chive and three-seafood ones.”

In contrast, the mountain produce they’d brought this time was still mainly lingzhi mushrooms and gastrodia tubers—items that sold easily without the need for hawking; customers would come to them on their own.

After the gastrodia tubers were dried, they were strung together with cotton thread; if someone wanted to buy them, they had to purchase at least one string.

For this reason, he focused his main efforts on the pastries. Although it was still the transition between summer and autumn, upon closer calculation, winter wasn’t far off. Before then, they would come to the market at most five or six times.

In other words, he could only rely on these five or six visits to test whether the pastries sold well and, if not, how to improve them.

Huo Ling fetched some water and scrubbed the pan again with a cooking brush. After scooping out the water, he dried it over the fire.

Yan Qi had already washed his hands nearby and was preparing to make the pancakes. Since it was their first time, if they didn’t serve them hot, no one would buy them.

Huo Ling didn’t get his hands dirty; he just watched the fire. That way, if someone came to buy mountain produce, he could weigh it and collect payment. Otherwise, if the two tasks were mixed together, some particular customers might complain that the food wasn’t clean.

The damp, soft dough was shaped into flat cakes in Yan Qi’s hands. Two heaping spoonfuls of filling were wrapped in thin layers of dough, forming a floppy, raw pastry that felt as though it might fall apart at any moment.

The vendors who had set up their stalls nearby were mostly familiar with one another. Seeing them preparing these pastries here, they all craned their necks to watch the spectacle.

“Oh my, that’s not how you make pastries! They’ll fall apart the moment they hit the pan!”

“That dough is all soggy—I doubt it’ll even hold its shape. That ger doesn’t look like he knows how to cook at all.”

Where there are onlookers, there’s bound to be some chatter. Yan Qi remained focused on his task, seemingly oblivious to the comments. Huo Ling stood beside him, his gaze sweeping the area, effectively silencing the various murmurs.

They had seasoned this cast-iron skillet at home beforehand with pork skin and lard. Once a protective oil film had formed, as long as it was heated sufficiently, nothing would stick to it.

They placed five stuffed buns in the pan, and one side cooked quickly. Huo Ling picked up a long-handled wooden spatula and deftly flipped them one by one.

The man selling brooms next door—probably because he’d scored two free buns—was cheering them on enthusiastically from the sidelines.

“Look, look, look! Just by the way they look, you can tell they’re delicious!”

When Yan Qi was wrapping the new ones, he shouted just as loudly, “You really don’t skimp on the filling here! Unlike some vendors who sell buns and pastries that are nothing but dough lumps—they claim they’re meat-filled, but you can’t even find a scrap of meat when you bite into them!”

At this remark, quite a few people burst into laughter, and those who’d been cheated chimed in: “That’s right, that’s right! People in the food business have to be honest—how else can they get by?”

Others mentioned the dumplings sold by the bald old man, saying they could be eaten just like steamed buns, which showed that quite a few people had indeed been duped.

This did indeed attract passersby to ask about the price. They learned that the vegetarian buns sold for five wen each; with their thin crusts, generous fillings, and glistening, oil-slicked surfaces, they seemed like a fair deal.

Especially since the most valuable ingredient in this “Three Delicacies” vegetarian filling was the wood ear mushrooms. Some vendors, unwilling to spend money on quality, used only stale or broken pieces.

But seeing that the young man making the buns was a husband from the mountain community who had come down from the mountains, they knew—without needing to ask—that the wood ear mushrooms used in this batch were certainly of high quality.

Among the four or five people who gathered to ask, one had left home too early and was now famished. He pulled out his money and said, “Give me two.”

When the people behind him realized that four out of the five from the first batch had already been sold, and that they’d have to wait for the next batch to buy more, some grew impatient and bought the last one as well.

Soon, all five buns were ready. Huo Ling took out the oil paper he’d bought earlier, wrapped two of them up, and handed them to the man at the neighboring stall.

“Bro, these are for you. Go ahead and eat them.”

The man beamed with joy. Though the buns were so hot they made him hiss and laugh, he carefully blew on them anyway. He took the first bite, then the second and third, before declaring decisively, “I’ll tell you what, these really do taste great!”

That single remark sparked anticipation in the man who’d just paid for his own order. He couldn’t wait to get his hands on the two he’d bought; he didn’t even walk far, but stood right there and started eating.

The pastry crust was a bit different from what he’d imagined—it was slightly crispy. When he took a bite, the hot broth scalded his mouth, yet at the same time, he tasted the savory, fresh flavor of the filling.

He found a certain charm in the experience. He held the buns, which had been bitten into, for a moment to let it cool, and by the time he took another bite, it wasn’t nearly as hot. Before he knew it, he had finished both buns.