“Should we go ask around?”

After selling over twenty buns—both meat-filled and vegetarian—the area in front of the stall fell briefly quiet. Yan Qi asked Huo Ling as he rolled out the dough and stuffed the fillings inside.

“We should find out, but not to stop others from selling buns. Anyone can run this business—we just can’t let them use our name.” The hardest part of running a business is “reputation.” Good products aren’t enough; a good reputation is essential for long-term success.

“We were the first in town to make a name for ourselves selling buns. But since we didn’t set up our stall very often at first, many people only know that the buns are delicious—they don’t know which specific shop makes them. If we let these people ruin our reputation, eventually people will just think that all bun sellers are dishonest.”

Yan Qi thought for a moment, then whispered, “Do you think that bald old man from before might be among them?”

Huo Ling shook his head decisively. “No need to guess—he definitely isn’t among them. If he’d truly wanted to make good buns, he wouldn’t have been selling those lumpy things for all these years. Besides, he’s so stingy he wouldn’t skimp on the filling. Even if a god had appeared in his dream and given him the recipe, his buns still wouldn’t be all that great.”

That seemed to make sense, and Yan Qi silently agreed with Huo Ling’s assessment.

Besides, they’d heard before that the only reason the bald old man had been able to run his stall in town for so many years with such terrible buns was that his family didn’t rely on this business for income. Behind the stall was his family’s spice shop, selling oil, salt, soy sauce, and vinegar. The profits weren’t much, but since he’d been there for so long, people in the nearby streets and alleys were used to buying from him, ensuring a steady income year-round.

Not only was the old man stingy, but he also couldn’t bear to leave the space in front of his shop empty; he’d rather set up his own stall to sell buns than let anyone else take it over.

“Then maybe I’ll go take a look later and buy some of their buns to try?”

Yan Qi had never done anything like this before; he felt nervous and couldn’t make up his mind.

“We don’t need to make an appearance just yet. Let’s scope things out first. Besides, the taste of the buns isn’t the point—whether they’re good or bad doesn’t matter.”

Huo Ling pondered for a moment, then asked Yan Qi to watch the stall while he pocketed a handful of copper coins and went to the street corner to find a street vendor squatting by the roadside, picking his teeth.

“What’s your name, brother?”

The informant wore a yellow hemp tunic and had a black mole on his forehead. Huo Ling had seen him before at the herbal shop where he sold his mountain produce; back then, he’d been running errands for the shopkeeper, and his talk had seemed quite reliable.

Seeing a potential client, the informant sprang to his feet. His legs had gone numb from crouching, so he grimaced and stamped his feet twice.

“Your humble servant, Sun Dazhi. What are your orders, boss? As long as it’s not against the law, just give me this, and I’ll handle anything for you!”

Sun Dazhi rubbed his fingertips together, his smile eager.

Upon hearing his name, Huo Ling couldn’t help but take a closer look at the mole on his forehead. Sun Dazhi, unfazed, let him scrutinize him.

However, Huo Ling quickly averted his gaze, ushered the man into an alley to avoid the passing crowd, and asked, “Have you noticed a few new bun stalls popping up in town lately?”

Sun Dazhi slapped his thigh. “Of course! You’ve come to the right person—in our line of work, we know everything.”

He paused to recall, then explained in detail: “At first, Old Jiang on Nanyang Street was the only one in town selling stuffed buns. Later, a stall popped up in front of the City God Temple, selling vegetarian stuffed buns with three kinds of seafood. Oh my, they smelled so good, and business was booming. Unfortunately, they only sold them twice a month—on the first and fifteenth—so many people who wanted to eat them went there only to find they were sold out. Some people saw the opportunity and started selling their own fried vegetarian buns too.”

He pointed in the direction of the stalls and said to Huo Ling, “Perhaps they were afraid the family at the City God Temple would find out, so the other three stalls are all quite far away—one on Daxing Street, one at Chaofengkou, and one at Bao’er Temple.”

Huo Ling, impressed by his detailed explanation, couldn’t help but ask, “Have you actually tasted the buns from the City God Temple shop? You’re praising them so highly.” If Sun Dazhi had been there, he would surely remember.

Sun Dazhi grinned. “In my line of work, we don’t take days off—whether it’s the first or fifteenth of the month. I’d love to try them, but I’ve never had the chance; I’ve only heard about them from others.”

As professional informants, they roamed the streets day in and day out, committing all sorts of details to memory. Those with poor memories couldn’t make a living in this trade—otherwise, how could they serve as advisors to the boss, able to chime in with a few words on any topic, no matter how trivial?

If they didn’t know the answer to every question, they wouldn’t be fit to be informants—they’d have starved to death long ago from not making any money.

“No problem. That stall is run by my husband and me. Once you’ve taken care of this matter, the two of us will treat you to a meal of stuffed buns.”

Now it was the informant’s turn to size up Huo Ling. After a moment, he slapped his forehead and said, “My apologies for not recognizing a great man when I saw one. With a build like yours, I’d have thought you were one of those mountain porters.”

Then he asked the same question as the man who’d bought buns earlier: “Do you two set up your stall on days other than the first and fifteenth of the month now?”

After Huo Ling gave a brief answer, he immediately added, “If you can help spread the word about our business, I’ll give you a one-wen discount on each bun you buy from us in the future. How does that sound?”

A bun cost only a few coins—five for the vegetarian ones and eight for the meat-filled ones—so a discount of one coin was already quite a bargain. Usually, one had to buy at least five before Huo Ling and Yan Qi would knock off a coin or two; after all, it was a small business with slim margins.

“That’s wonderful! I’ll definitely keep that in mind!”

Whether or not he ended up buying them in the future, now that the offer had been made, he felt he had to acknowledge the favor.

Then, getting back to the matter at hand, Huo Ling asked Sun Dazhi to investigate the backgrounds of those three bun stalls. Sun Dazhi’s eyes darted about as he tentatively asked:

“Come to think of it, those stalls are all stealing your business. If you want to teach them a lesson, I’ve got a way to handle it…”

Gossipmongers have wide-reaching connections—to put it bluntly, not all of them are above board. They know people on both sides of the law; it all depends on which path you choose to take.

It all comes down to the same thing: as long as the silver is on the table, nothing is impossible. As the saying goes, “Money makes the world go round”—and that’s no joke, but a reality laid bare before everyone.

Huo Ling didn’t take the bait. Nothing had even been decided yet, and he wasn’t about to give anyone ammunition.

“No need. We’re just ordinary folks—how could we stop others from doing business? It’s just that we’ve heard those few shops are selling their goods under our name. As a result, our regular customers end up with bad buns and come looking for trouble with us.”

Sun Dazhi immediately understood. “You’re absolutely right. That’s just underhanded of them. Everyone’s in business to serve customers and earn a living through their own skills; resorting to these petty tricks is truly beneath them.”

He asked Huo Ling for a hundred wen, taking fifty up front and promising to pay the remaining fifty once the matter was settled. Huo Ling gave him an extra twenty copper coins to buy the buns.

Once you’ve decided to hire someone to handle a job, you have to be generous. Otherwise, when dealing with these slick operators, being too stingy can easily backfire—they’ve got plenty of ways to trip you up.

After giving his instructions, he returned to his stall to wait for Sun Dazhi to report back.

“We’re a bit short on meat filling today. On our way back, stop by Sanjia village and buy an extra five jin of meat.”

Huo Ling used a long spoon to stir the remaining filling for Yan Qi, scraping down the bits stuck to the sides of the bowl.

It was just past breakfast time, and less than half the meat filling remained—they’d originally thought it would be enough to sell through both the morning and midday rushes.

That had been their original plan. In winter, darkness falls early; here beyond the Great Wall, it’s already dark by the middle of the afternoon. At night, aside from a few taverns, brothels, and restaurants that also serve alcohol, it’s hard to find anyone on the streets—even in the city.

In weather so bitter that a drunken man could freeze to death if he fell to the ground, street vendors simply couldn’t do business.

“The meat-filled ones are selling well, but the vegetarian ones are moving a bit slower.”

Yan Qi dropped a wrapped dumpling into the oil, hearing a sizzle—his favorite moment. He knew that soon the dumpling would begin to puff up and turn a beautiful golden brown.

He examined it with satisfaction for a moment, then turned to Huo Ling and said, “There’s a three-wen difference between the two. I thought that, no matter what, the cheaper ones would sell better.”

“As you said, it’s only three wen. People who can afford to buy food on the street aren’t going to quibble over such a small amount. Besides, many people eat two per meal—they like to have one meat and one vegetable to switch things up, otherwise it gets boring.”

Huo Ling had been doing business in the town for a long time and understood the habits of city folk better than Yan Qi.

In Baojia Town, merchants flocked here for three out of every four seasons. You could make a living doing just about anything and still have enough to eat. With more money in their pockets, people were naturally willing to spend it.

“Luckily, the snow season here isn’t long; otherwise, this bun business wouldn’t last very long.”

Yan Qi said hopefully, “If I sell them for a month, who knows—I might even come up with another flavor.”

“So don’t worry about those copycats selling pies—they don’t have your craftsmanship, nor your passion.”

Huo Ling had long noticed that people only find work less tiring when they’re doing what they’re good at and enjoy.

Just as he enjoyed his work as a mountain guide—walking for hours in the mountains each day without growing weary—Yan Qi took delight in making food, happily wrapping over a hundred buns a day.

“If you keep complimenting me like this, I’ll forget my own name.”

Yan Qi glanced at Huo Ling with reddening ears. Spotting another person approaching, he asked if they were there to buy buns. Upon learning it was someone buying mountain produce, Huo Ling stepped forward to greet them.

The man asked if he had any black oil mushrooms from the birch forests; he wanted five pounds to give as gifts during the New Year.

“I’ve heard you’re quite skilled at hunting in the mountains—even your hunting dogs can track down black oil mushrooms. This year, if you can find some for me, I’ll buy every last one.”

At first, Huo Ling didn’t take the first part seriously, but when the man mentioned the dogs that could find black oil mushrooms, he couldn’t help but ask, “I wonder who told you that, sir?”

He only managed to find black oil mushrooms twice a year—the first time before Yan Qi had married into the family, and the second time in the spring when wild greens first sprouted.

Back then, it was Dager who had helped him sniff out the black oil mushrooms in a tree hollow. He’d only mentioned this to a handful of regular customers and to Hou Li, who regretted not having bought the black oil mushrooms himself.

The man replied, “I’m a business associate of Hou Li’s.” That made sense.

Huo Ling smiled. “So you’re Brother Hou’s friend. Thank you for supporting my business. During the snow season, I’ll definitely go into the mountains to gather birch mushrooms and pine cones, and I’ll do my best to find black oil mushrooms as well. I’ve already promised Brother Hou I’d set some aside for him. I just can’t guarantee how many pounds I’ll be able to gather.”

The man didn’t press the matter. If black oil mushrooms were a dime a dozen—if anyone venturing into the mountains could find them just by sticking their head in the bushes—they wouldn’t be considered a rare delicacy, and certainly wouldn’t be suitable as a respectable New Year’s gift.

“Alright, if you can pull this off for me this year, I’ll look out for your business next year.”

He then asked, “I heard from Hou Li that you also sell game. Why isn’t anyone in your stall?”

“I don’t sell them often. I’m a mountain traveler, not a professional hunter. Even if I happen to catch something alive, I usually keep it for my own family to eat.”

The man sighed with his hands behind his back, “You lot have a good life up in the mountains. Sometimes I really envy you.” Huo Ling smiled but said nothing more.

These people lived in three- or four-courtyard mansions in town, kept servants and slaves, and adorned themselves with gold and silver. If you were to make them live deep in the mountains and forests, who would be willing? He noted the man’s name—he learned the man’s surname was Cheng—and discovered he owned a porcelain shop and a lacquerware shop in town, both located on Liuhe Street.

“Is there a Yang’s Umbrella Shop on your street?”

He remarked offhandedly, “I thought the name of your shop sounded familiar. I must have seen it when I was visiting neighbors. The proprietor of Yang’s Umbrella Shop is a fellow villager of mine; we grew up together.”

“It’s right across the street from me—an old shop, too. So you two are from the same village?”

Mr. Cheng nodded. “The Yang family makes sturdy umbrellas. I buy a few every year, so I’m on fairly good terms with Mr. Yang.”

Having established a bit more rapport, Manager Cheng weighed out a pound of kidney grass and two pounds of wood ear mushrooms as he left, insisting they were of good quality, then bought ten stuffed buns.

“To feed the shophands back at the store. They’re all half-grown lads—they’d eat a man to death.”

“Mr. Cheng’s a decent fellow—he even remembered to bring back some food for his shop assistants.”

Once the man had left, Yan Qi remarked.

In the past, his impression of shopkeepers in the city had been that they were a bunch of snobs who looked down their noses at anyone dressed shabbily.

“You know Brother Hou well enough. Anyone who gets along with him isn’t the type to look down on others.”

The two exchanged a few casual remarks, and before long, Sun Dazhi arrived.