“Until what day will you be open for business before the New Year?”

A man at the neighboring stall asked Huo Ling, who replied, “I’ll be here until the 28th of the 12th lunar month; I won’t be coming on the 29th. What about you?”

The man laughed and said, “Today’s the twenty-seventh—my last day here. My older brother works out of town and hasn’t been back for several years. He’ll be home tomorrow, so I want to spend as many days as possible with him during the New Year.”

“That’s wonderful. The New Year is all about family reunions.”

The two chatted for a while. After noon, when the pastries were all sold out, it was Huo Ling and Yan Qi who left first.

“Brother, I’ll wish you a Happy New Year early. See you later.”

Huo Ling bowed his hands slightly toward the other man.

Their stall was always in the same spot, but that wasn’t necessarily true for the others.

People came and went around them—some were acquaintances, others merely nodding acquaintances.

Take the man selling brooms earlier, for instance—his mother had been ill recently, so he hadn’t set up his stall for a while before the New Year. The man they chatted with today was a knife and scissors sharpener who’d been there for about ten days. They heard he usually went from street to street in town and the countryside, but only set up a fixed spot at the entrance to the City God Temple before the New Year so people from all over could find him easily.

Business for his trade is absolutely booming as the New Year approaches; even Huo Ling and Yan Qi have rounded up all the knives and scissors from their homes to have him give them a thorough sharpening.

The man returned the greeting and, with a smile, said, “See you later.”

Leaving Temple Street, the crowds thinned out a bit. The two didn’t rush to leave the city but instead went to buy the last few items for the New Year.

When it came to New Year’s shopping, whether in the far south or the far north, the items were much the same.

New clothes and shoes had long been sewn from fabric at home, so there was no need to buy them right before the New Year; instead, the focus was on assorted foods, as well as Spring Festival couplets, lanterns, firecrackers, and other such items.

When it came to food, having Huo Ling—a mountain trader—around meant they could save quite a bit of qian every year.

Other families had to buy nuts like walnuts, hazelnuts, and pine nuts to entertain guests, purchase pork and fish for New Year’s feasts, and even buy presentable mountain produce to take as gifts when visiting neighbors—but none of that was necessary for them.

They had more dried nuts than they could ever eat, and an endless supply of hazelgrouse chicken and rabbit meat brought down from the mountains. If they wanted chicken, they could simply slaughter one on the spot—after all, they raised plenty of them at home.

As for valuable items like wild ginseng, gastrodia, reishi mushrooms, schisandra berries, and dried tree frogs, while they sold quite a bit of them, Huo Ling always made sure to keep a portion at home.

The Huo family didn’t have many relatives or friends; those they needed to visit could be counted on one hand—namely, the Zhou family (the village chief’s), the Yang family, the Qi family, the Lin family (added this year), and their only blood relative—his uncle’s family in another village.

But whenever he visited each household, he always brought the very best gifts.

All things considered, there were very few items he needed to buy separately; most were things his family simply couldn’t produce on their own.

“Including the alcohol, we’ve bought everything we need. Today, we just need to pick up some pastries and candies.”

Yan Qi scanned the pastry shops along the road. They planned to buy everything today so that tomorrow—the last day before the New Year—they could set up their stall, pack up, enjoy a nice meal in town, and return to the village empty-handed, making for a much more relaxed journey.

His older brother and sister-in-law had also given them plenty of money; after all, when the whole family celebrates the New Year, it wouldn’t be right for just one branch of the family to foot the bill. Ye Suping had even specifically asked Huo Ling to buy some peach cookies to take with her when she visited her parents’ home to pay New Year’s respects.

“Let’s go back to that shop we visited before. We’ve run out of dried apricots and hawthorn cakes at home. Do you want some more?”

When one’s appetite is poor, one craves something sour. Yan Qi would hold a dried apricot in his mouth for ages without swallowing it; he had to savor the flavor bit by bit to keep from feeling nauseous.

While others might find the sourness so intense that it brings on both saliva and tears, he actually found himself getting a bit addicted to it after eating enough.

“Let’s buy some more. Yingzi loves hawthorn cakes, too.”

Huo Ling smiled and said, “No matter who’s buying during the New Year, we can’t let her go without something to eat.”

With four adults in the household and only this one child, how could they not dote on her?

Even if two more little ones were to join the family after the New Year, Huo Ying would still only be five—far from the age where she’d have to act grown-up—and she could continue playing carefree.

When they arrived at the pastry shop, it was so crowded inside it seemed as if the goods were nearly sold out.

Fearing the crowd might jostle Yan Qi, Huo Ling had the ger wait in the carriage while he grabbed the money pouch and plunged into the throng. In addition to the items he’d planned to buy, he followed the shop assistant’s recommendation and picked up two or three trendy pastries he’d never tried before.

“I bought some ox-tongue cookies, cloud-flake cakes, and mung bean cakes. The ox-tongue cookies are savory—try them when you get home. If you like them, we’ll come back for more next time.”

Yan Qi was puzzled. “What kind of name is ‘ox tongue cookies’? Do they have meat in them?”

Huo Ling shook his head. “No, I think they’re just shaped like a cow’s tongue. Apparently, their shop recently hired a new pastry chef. They were worried no one would like them and they’d go to waste, so I bought these three items based on the number of people we have—five wen each.”

Yan Qi looked at the pile of oil-paper-wrapped pastries in front of him. Together, they weren’t exactly cheap, but after working so hard all year, wasn’t it all for the sake of having a good New Year? He smiled faintly and said, “I’ll brew some light tea when I get home. I can have a couple of cups myself. Then we’ll do as the city folk do and enjoy these pastries with our tea.”

Huo Ling’s lips curled into a smile. “Sounds good.”

Two days before New Year’s Eve, Huo Ling and Yan Qi could finally sleep in without having to get up early.

Though they called it a lie-in, they were both awake not long after dawn—once a habit is formed, it’s really not that easy to break.

Huo Ling looked at the ger with his hair tousled from sleep, leaned over, and fetched a comb to brush his hair.

But as he combed through the lower sections, he inevitably encountered some tangles; no matter how careful he was, he still pulled out a few strands.

Yan Qi yawned and, as he turned around, accidentally caught a glimpse of Huo Ling secretly tucking away the combed-out strands of hair. He couldn’t help but laugh and held out his hand, saying, “Give them to me—we’ll just throw them away later anyway.”

Huo Ling cleared his throat and said, looking a bit guilty, “It was an accident.”

“Who doesn’t lose a few strands of hair when combing? It happens to everyone.”

Yan Qi knew why Huo Ling was acting this way. Not long ago, he’d heard that some people lose their hair after having a baby, so he’d started paying extra attention to the top of his head. He always felt it was too thin and sparse—what if there wasn’t enough to lose? How terrible it would be if he went bald.

When he calmed down and thought about it, he realized he wasn’t usually such a worrier—but ever since he’d been carrying a little one in his belly, he’d become so out of sorts.

He rolled a few stray strands of hair into a small ball, rolling it back and forth between his fingertips, still feeling sluggish as he got out of bed.

Seeing this, Huo Ling couldn’t help but say, “Why the rush to get up? If you want to sleep, just go back to sleep.”

Yan Qi shook his head. “I still have to make the fried snacks today, and there’s a pile of chores at home. Besides, I like getting everything ready for the New Year.”

The latter part was indeed what he was thinking. Huo Ling paused for a moment before saying, “Then just have lunch and take a nap inside—it’ll be just the same.”

The ger nodded quickly. “Mm-hmm.”

When it came to making fried treats, it was definitely one of the major events of the New Year preparations.

Deep-fried foods use a lot of oil and flour, and many also require added sugar. On ordinary days, no one would splurge like that; it’s only during the New Year that people fry up a few treats to satisfy their cravings.

Once the treats were ready, they could last for several days in the cold weather. During the Lunar New Year when visiting relatives, whichever family could serve up a plate of these would show that they’d had a decent year—and it brought mutual pride to all involved.

“We also make fried treats for the New Year back in my hometown. It seems that many of the traditions are quite similar both inside and outside the Great Wall.”

Yan Qi sat next to Ye Suping, intently twisting the dough into braids.

Upon hearing this, Ye Suping laughed. “That’s exactly right. Our ancestors all fled from the regions inside the Great Wall. They might have had their own customs back then, but now that a hundred and eighty years have passed, it’s hard to tell who came from where. The New Year is all about enjoying good food—whatever tastes best, we just adopt it.”

“Take our family, for example—during the New Year, we fry three things: dried fruits, twisted dough sticks, and radish balls. Your sister-in-law Hongmei’s family likes to fry dates, and some families even fry sweet potato strips.”

Huo Ying, listening nearby, started to get hungry. She moved closer and asked, “Mom, when can I have some twisted dough sticks?”

“Not until after we’ve had a proper lunch—you’ll have to wait until the afternoon.”

Huo Ying did the math and realized she wouldn’t be getting any anytime soon, so she immediately said, “Then I’ll go outside and see what Dad and my uncle are up to.”

“Your uncle and your father are waiting for the butcher to come. It’s all bloody and unsightly, and it’s cold outside. You’d be much better off staying inside.”

The fat pig raised by Huo Feng and Ye Suping had to be slaughtered before the New Year. The only butcher in the nearby villages was swamped with work; they were so backed up that the Huo family was told to choose a day between the 27th and the 29th.

Upon hearing this, Huo Feng simply chose the 29th, a day when Huo Ling would be home all day—that way, someone would always be there whenever the butcher arrived.

They weren’t worried the fat pig might get spooked and run away—it would take two people to hold it down, but with Huo Ling there, one person could handle the whole pig.

“If it doesn’t work out, I’ll come back.”

Despite her young age, Huo Ying was quite reasonable. Even when Ye Suping mentioned that she’d cried in fear watching a pig being slaughtered as a child, she insisted she didn’t remember it.

Ye Suping couldn’t do anything about it, so she let her go.

“Oh well, what farm kid isn’t used to seeing chickens and pigs slaughtered?”

She and Huo Feng weren’t particularly skilled people, but they hoped to raise their livestock well and build up some savings for the future.

Huo Ying was their child; she’d have to learn these things little by little as she grew up.

She looked up at Yan Qi and said, “Let’s wait until they’ve cleaned up outside before we go out; otherwise, the stench of blood will be unbearable.”

Guo Tuzi arrived earlier than expected—there was still quite a while before noon—and when he got there, he said the Huo family was one of the last three households.

“The other two households are relatives of mine. Since they’re easy to deal with and live nearby, I pushed their appointments back.”

Guo Tuzi took out his butcher’s knife, sharpened it a couple of times on the whetstone he carried with him, and went to the backyard, where the three of them worked together to restrain the pig.

The fat pig, sensing its impending doom, began ramming wildly around the pen; it took quite a while to pin it down and tie it up.

Huo Ying stood on the path leading from the front yard to the back yard, watched by her four dogs. When she saw Heidou and Mantou trying to rush forward, she pinned them down—one in each hand—just as the elders had pinned the pig.

They tied the pig to a stool, bled it out, and gutted it.

Guo Tuzi performed these tasks with great skill; Huo Feng and Huo Ling kept their eyes fixed on the pig and paid no attention to what was happening behind them.

It wasn’t until they were ready to divide the meat on the spot that Guo Tuzi looked up and noticed Huo Ying had been watching from a short distance away. He exclaimed in surprise, “Dafeng, is that your daughter? She’s incredibly bold—she’s not even afraid of slaughtering a pig!”

Huo Feng turned to look upon hearing this and was startled as well.

“Yingzi, what are you doing here?”

Huo Ying was standing some distance away, and with the wind blowing, she hadn’t quite caught what he said. Thinking her father was calling her, she happily ran a few steps forward.

As she got closer, she noticed a bucket of red liquid sitting by Huo Ling’s feet. She looked up and asked, “Uncle, what’s that?”

“It’s pig’s blood.”

“Can we eat it?”

Huo Ling replied patiently, “Of course you can eat it. We used to have it at home—it’s that stuff that looks like red tofu. Do you remember?”

Guo Tuzi couldn’t help but be surprised. He’d been a butcher for most of his life, and aside from a few naturally brave ones, most children—whether girls, boys, or ger—instinctively feared blood.

And Huo Ying was a very pretty little girl. The Huo family was well-off; the child before him was clearly well-nourished at a glance. He never expected her to dare watch a pig being slaughtered.

Not only did she watch, but she even dared to step closer.

Seeing that she had no intention of leaving, and since Guo Tuzi was in a hurry to get to his next customer, he didn’t bother to avoid her and continued cutting up the meat.

The butcher’s knife was so sharp it could cut through hair in an instant; the pointed blade glided over the pork with incredible ease and smoothness, as if he were cutting through tofu.

Noticing that Huo Ying was watching intently, he casually remarked,

“This is the tenderloin—the most tender cut on the pig.”

“This is lard; the pork fat you eat is rendered from this.”

“Draw a circle here—the piece you cut out is a whole rack of ribs. Have your dad stew it with green beans; it’s absolutely delicious.

When they got to the pork belly, Guo Tuzi praised him sincerely: “Your family has raised this pig well—look how thick and plump the fat is. Some people are too stingy to feed their pigs properly; after a year, the pig weighs barely over a hundred jin, and once you take the bones out, it’s not even a hundred jin left.”

Huo Feng seized the opportunity to say, “Once things settle down at home, I plan to raise a few more pigs. When that time comes, I’ll definitely need to trouble you to stop by more often.”

Most of the pork Tuzi sold came from households in nearby villages. He’d offer a fixed price, take the meat back to cut it up and sell it piece by piece, and make a profit on the markup.

Upon hearing this, Guo Tuzi realized that having more sources of pork in the future could only benefit him. Besides, the Huo family’s pigs were plump and well-fed—the kind of pork that sold best—so he agreed immediately.

After the pork was sorted and he received payment according to custom, he went to their home to slaughter the pigs. The rate was two taels of silver per pig, but with prices high before the New Year, it had risen to two and a half taels. In addition, he was to be given the pig’s blood.

But Guo Tuzi had no shortage of pig’s blood—he’d grown tired of eating it—and he had his eye on the fat pigs in the Huo family’s pen. After all, Huo Ling had extensive connections, and he feared the Huo family might end up selling them to the town’s other butchers. So he said, “I don’t want the pig’s blood. Both your wives and husbands are expecting—keep it for their nourishment.”

Two and a half tael was the hard-earned money he’d made running around before the New Year; every household charged this price, and there was no way to get around it. Leaving the pig’s blood behind was, in a way, a generous gesture.

After the butcher left, Huo Feng and Huo Ling carried the pork to the front yard, setting aside the pig’s blood and small intestines to make blood sausage, along with a few offal parts and some pork belly for tomorrow’s festive pig-slaughter feast—so they wouldn’t have to hunt for them later. The rest piled all into the ice chest to freeze.

At the same time, Huo Ling didn’t forget about the pig’s knuckles—there’s only one pair per pig.

He rinsed the pair of small white bones twice in water, grabbed a handful of stove ash to scrub off the outer grease, dried them off, and handed them to Huo Ying.

Huo Ying dashed into the house and handed the bones to Yan Qi.

“Uncle, here’s your ‘galah’!”

“Thanks, Yingzi.”

Yan Qi hadn’t expected the little girl to have such a good memory; she’d said earlier that she’d give him the galah from this year’s pig slaughter, and she’d actually kept her word.

“My hands are covered in flour right now; I’ll take it later.” He promised, “I’ll be home for the whole New Year holiday. Whenever you want to play, I’ll play with you for as long as you like.”

Slaughtering the pig took half a shichen; once that was done, the other fried dishes here were ready to go into the oil.

Fine bubbles rose from the vegetable oil. Soon after the dough was dropped into the pot, it puffed up, turned golden, and slowly floated to the surface. The oil was hot enough; he scooped them out just as they reached their most beautiful color. The sight of all that golden goodness was mesmerizing—it was just like seeing gold itself.

“Second brother, come quick and try the meatballs your husband fried.”

Huo Ling returned from fetching water; he had barely set down his shoulder pole when Ye Suping called him into the house.

Yan Qi was standing in front of the stove, tying on an apron, as he used a slotted spoon to scoop out the last dozen or so radish dumplings from the pot.

Seeing him approach, he set down what he was holding, picked up a bowl nearby, and handed him a pair of chopsticks. “They’re fresh out of the pot—eat them while they’re hot.”

Huo Ling reached out to take the chopsticks, but then noticed his hands were dusty.

Yan Qi noticed it too, so he quickly glanced at his older sister-in-law, then picked up a dumpling with his chopsticks, brought it to Huo Ling’s lips, and whispered, “This one isn’t too hot.”

Huo Ling, reassured, took a bite.

“Delicious.”

He mumbled his reply with his mouth full.

The family dogs, drawn by the aroma, had long since gathered at the door, drooling as they watched.

They were well-behaved and wouldn’t come right up to beg, but they were certainly hungry.

Yan Qi picked out a few misshapen, twisted doughnuts, let them cool, and fed them to the dogs. From Dager to the bun-sized ones, they swallowed them whole—who knows if they even tasted anything.

All three types of fried treats were taken out of the oil, piling up to fill half the stove. The leftover oil in the pot was scooped into a bowl; whenever oil was needed for cooking later, they’d simply use this—enough to last for several meals.

With these snacks to tide them over, the family wasn’t very hungry by evening. They had a simple meal of noodle soup and waited for the New Year’s feast on New Year’s Eve.