Before he’d even finished eating, the man started shouting, “This… this braised meat dish, and the eggs too—bring me a serving of each! Wait, no—send one to my father-in-law too! Make it two servings!”

The small counter already had a pot of pork offal stew and a pot of braised pork simmering deliciously. Many people had been sniffing the aroma and craning their necks to peek. Whatever this shop put in their braised meat made it look especially tempting.

Hearing the man’s shouts again, some people couldn’t help but crowd closer. “Young man, how much is it? Is it expensive?”

Shen Linchuan listed each item’s price. The offal stew was affordable, and if the braised pork seemed pricey, customers could opt for the offal stew instead. There were also dried tofu and dried beans infused with meat flavor, priced even lower than the offal stew—something for every budget.

Many were tempted. “Give me a piece of dried tofu to try.”

That braised pork, though? Ten wen a slice. Not exactly cheap. If you went to a noodle shop and got a bowl of noodles with a piece of meat about this size, it’d cost ten wen too.

Shen Linchuan was busy scooping braised pork for that fellow when he suddenly slapped his forehead. “I completely forgot to bring some containers!”

How could he serve the pork now? He only had store-bought oil paper. His father used dried lotus leaves soaked in water, but it was April, too early for fresh leaves. They dried last year’s leaves for storage, rehydrating them with water when needed.

Customers buying a whole string of meat would simply carry it by the hemp rope. Those ordering minced meat or sliced meat would have it wrapped in damp lotus leaves—saving on the expensive oil-coated paper.

Shen Linchuan was momentarily stumped. How could he pack this properly? Offal could be wrapped in oil paper, but this braised pork was too soft and sticky. Wrapping it in paper would turn it into a mushy mess by the time customers got home.

Shen Linchuan called out, “Ning-ger, did we bring a bowl?”

With so many customers now, people were ordering this and that. Tofu skin, eggs, dried beans—those could be placed directly on oil-coated paper. But the shredded pork couldn’t be packed that way. Not only would the sauce leak, but it wouldn’t look appealing if you ordered too much.

Zhou Ning set down his butcher’s knife on the counter. “No, why?”

Shen Linchuan explained they couldn’t serve the braised pork in that state. “We rushed out this morning and forgot to bring bowls.”

Zhou Ning grabbed a sheet of oil-proof paper. “What’s the big deal?”

In no time, Zhou Ning folded a small square paper bowl. “The lady selling fried dough sticks across the street uses this exact method. It works just as well for our braised pork.”

Shen Linchuan saw it was merely a square version of a paper cup. In his haste, he’d forgotten you could fold bowls from greaseproof paper. He chuckled. “Ning-ger, you’re the clever one.”

Zhou Ning blushed at the praise, though he’d merely folded a paper tray on a whim. “What’s so clever about that? Lots of folks at the market use them.”

Pastry shops especially favored paper trays—they kept the treats from getting your hands dirty. Some used bamboo or wooden boxes, but those were for wealthy households. Ordinary vendors just wrapped things in paper; no need for all that fuss.

Shen Linchuan’s small stall was now surrounded by a crowd. While some women and Fulang turned up their noses at the offal, the braised pork belly was made with prime pork belly, mixed with affordable dried tofu. Many were curious to taste what the dried tofu would be like.

Amidst the clamor at his stall, Shen Linchuan quickly prepared two portions of braised pork for the man, ladled some broth over them, and tossed in two pieces of tofu skin. “Enjoy your meal!”

The man was quite pleased with the two pieces of tofu skin. This young fellow might be young, but he certainly knew how to do business.

For other orders, Shen Linchuan would simply wrap them in a piece of oil-proof paper. For the pork belly, he’d use a paper tray—oil-proof paper was expensive, so he used as little as possible.

Others would buy two scallion pancakes from the neighboring stall and have Shen Linchuan stuff the meat inside. Those with deeper pockets would order both braised pork and vegetables, while those on tighter budgets would just get tofu skin. Finally, a drizzle of that rich, oily sauce over the pancake made it incredibly fragrant.

Zhou Ning helped fold paper trays and collect coins nearby. The small stall was packed with people. Shen Linchuan hadn’t expected his new “Bazi Meat” to be so popular.

Someone called out loudly, “Hey, boss! Why do you call these meat slices ‘Bazi Meat’? They don’t look anything like a target!”

Shen Linchuan chuckled. “This ‘bazi’ isn’t that kind of target. In our rural dialect, when brothers swear brotherhood, we call it ‘bai bazi’—what you’d call a sworn brotherhood. So ‘bazi meat’ means ‘brother meat’.”

“Oh, that’s what it means! How novel.”

Early in the morning, women and Fulang sought the freshest meats and vegetables. Some families skipped cooking breakfast, opting instead for steamed buns or fried cakes at the market. The aroma of Shen Linchuan’s meat slices proved irresistible, so they bought a few flatbreads nearby, stuffed the meat inside, and made it their breakfast.

Laborers heading to the docks as porters or manual workers, who rose too early to cook at home, also grabbed quick bites at the market. Seeing Shen Linchuan’s cooked dishes priced at one wen, they settled for a scallion pancake and a piece of dried tofu; eggs were too expensive. For four wen, they could eat until half-full, and it even had a bit of meat flavor.

Not far away, Mr. Lu stood at his fabric shop entrance, craning his neck to peer out. Though that small stall sold pork offal, his mouth watered—how could it smell so enticing?

His Fulang had just cut meat, and he hadn’t eaten in two days. He craved that pork offal; the aroma was simply irresistible.

But his Fulang forbade him from eating offal, calling it something beneath their station. Now, seeing the crowd gathered around that small stall, Shopkeeper Lu’s desire to buy some grew even stronger.

He peeked furtively behind him. His Fulang was cooking porridge in the back. He’d just go taste a spoonful, then come right back!

Shopkeeper Lu slipped away like grease on his feet. Just then, his Fulang stepped out and caught sight of his retreating back. Seeing he was heading toward Zhou Da’s meat stall, he knew instantly: he was off to eat that pork offal!

Fuming, Lu the Fulang stamped his foot. “We’ve had plenty of meat at home, yet he’s fixated on that pork offal!”

He’d teach him a lesson when he got back!

Unbeknownst to Shopkeeper Lu, his fulang was already plotting his scolding. Squeezed outside, he craned his neck to peer inside. Wow, good meat today! Lots of people are buying!

“Me too! Me too!” The crowd was too dense, and Shopkeeper Lu paced anxiously, dreading they might sell out before his turn.

He noticed many people holding baked buns, waiting to stuff them with fillings. Some ordered every variety, finishing with a spoonful of sauce glistening with oil—the presentation was simply irresistible!

Shopkeeper Lu hurried to buy some baked buns. ”Three buns for me!”

Old Wang, the flatbread maker, was sweating buckets. “Mr. Lu, you’ll have to wait a bit. We can’t keep up with demand.”

Business was booming today. Many bought his flatbreads to pair with cooked dishes from Brother Shen. And there were still several people ahead of Mr. Lu in line!

Mr. Lu had been thinking about it for days. Today, they had not only offal but also prime cuts. He’d buy a portion for his Fulang and child—if he could make them happy, they wouldn’t say a word.

Uncle Zhou’s son-in-law was a master at cooking. The aroma was truly irresistible; he could smell it even in his dreams. He had to get some today.

Seeing the flatbread stall completely sold out, Shopkeeper Lu hurried to another vendor and bought several steamed buns instead. Others were still waiting for the flatbread master’s goods, but luckily, he’d been quick to grab those steamed buns—otherwise, he’d have missed out entirely!

Watching the pot’s contents dwindle, the dried tofu nearly gone—he’d wanted to try everything!

Finally, his turn came. Thankfully, some remained, though sadly, only one piece of dried tofu was left!

“One portion of each meat slice from that pot, please. Add some pork offal to mine. Do you still have pork head meat?” Shopkeeper Lu asked softly.

“No, the pork head meat was scarce and sold out early this morning.”

Disappointed, Shopkeeper Lu whispered again, “Will there be any tomorrow? Save me a bowl. Fulang won’t let me eat it, but I want to taste it.”

Shen Linchuan chuckled. “You’ll have to wait until the day after tomorrow. My father just slaughtered a pig yesterday, and it sold out today.”

Zhou Da sold pork in town year-round. Shopkeeper Lu knew when he set up his stall. From the sound of it, they’d have to wait two or three days—until Uncle Zhou slaughtered a pig—before they could eat it.

Shopkeeper Lu felt a pang of regret. “Then next time, secretly stash some pork head meat for me.”

“Sure thing.”

The stewed pork with preserved vegetables sold best, especially the tofu skin inside. He’d need to make more tomorrow. The tofu-skin eggs, six wen each, still had several left—they sold well too, mostly bought for children.

Shopkeeper Lu’s two steamed buns were filled with braised pork, dried beans, and eggs. He’d secretly added some pork offal to his own, tucking it at the bottom to avoid his fulang’s scrutiny. He also ordered a separate piece of braised pork and an egg wrapped in paper for his mother.

His mother had lost all her teeth and could only eat steamed buns by pinching off tiny pieces at a time. He dared not let her bite into a whole bun. Even her regular meat was always pureed. Seeing this braised pork stewed to a tender pulp, practically falling apart at the touch, he knew it would be perfect for his mother.

“Sixty-seven wen total. The pork offal is on the house.”

Since Shopkeeper Lu had ordered so much, Shen Linchuan gave him a discount. Shopkeeper Lu beamed with delight. This was his first time speaking with Ning-ger’s man. Uncle Zhou sure knew how to find a son-in-law for Ning-ger—not only was he handsome, but he was also a smooth talker.

Lu Zhanggui carried his purchases home, both hands full. His husband stood waiting at the door. He glared but held back the scolding, afraid Zhou Da’s family might hear.

Lu Fulang whispered, “I told you not to eat that offal, but you insisted. What’s so special about it? And you bought so much!”

“No, no! It’s this meat—made from the finest pork belly. Try some! That’s what we’re having for breakfast today.”

Only upon hearing it wasn’t offal did his Fulang relax his stern expression. “But why so much? Did you even taste it first?”

Buying this much at once—it smelled delicious, but what if it wasn’t good?

Shopkeeper Lu choked on his words. He hadn’t actually tasted it yet; he’d been so eager to grab the meat he’d nearly missed out. He laughed awkwardly, “Tasted it, tasted it. Delicious, delicious.”

If everyone says it’s good, the flavor probably can’t be too bad.

Before even reaching the back courtyard, Shopkeeper Lu took a bite. The top layer was eggs and dried beans—delicious!

He grew even more eager for the pork belly underneath. It had to be good!

Lu Fulang had cooked a pot of millet porridge and served a bowl of pickled vegetables. He’d originally planned to send his husband out to buy a few steamed buns for breakfast, but in the blink of an eye, he’d returned with several meat-filled buns instead.

Lu Fulang called out to the side room, “Mother, dinner’s ready.”

A white-haired old woman, leaning on a cane, shuffled out. The little boy who’d been running around the courtyard came over too. Seeing the flatbread his father had bought, he puckered his lips. “Dad, you said you’d buy plum blossom buns today. Why did you get flatbread?”

Shopkeeper Lu sat down, handing one of the steamed buns to his son. “You’re such a picky eater. Who said I’d buy you plum blossom buns? You won’t even eat meat buns. How could your old man go buy you plum blossom buns?”

The town had a shop that made exceptionally good buns—their wrappers were paper-thin and translucent, revealing the filling inside. Delicate and petite, shaped like plum blossoms, they earned the name Plum Blossom Buns. They were popular, expensive, and hard to come by. This brat had to go and ask for Plum Blossom Buns—you’d have to wait an hour or so just to get them.

“Eat up. There’s meat inside—not a plain bun. It’s at the bottom.” Shopkeeper Lu then said to his mother, “Mother, this braised pork is tender enough for you to eat. Try some.”

Mother Lu trembled as she picked up the meat. It fell apart at the touch. “Oh my, it’s so soft and mushy.”

Lu Fulang served bowls of millet porridge. “Didn’t they advertise pork offal the other day? Why are they roasting pork belly today?”

“That’s why Ning-ger’s Fulang knows how to run a business. He noticed many wives and Fulangs dislike pork offal, so he came up with this braised pork. See how much better business is today?”

Lu Fulang picked up a flatbread and took a bite. Immediately, he encountered the meat. It had been braised for an unknown length of time, truly melting in the mouth. The fat burst open, rich yet not greasy, leaving an endless aftertaste.

“No wonder I saw so many people. Even though it’s just braised meat, how come theirs tastes so much better?”

Shopkeeper Lu’s young son was so engrossed in eating he nearly stumbled. “Dad, this is amazing! I want this roasted meat again tomorrow!”

Shopkeeper Lu nodded thoughtfully. He had no time to spare for his son now. This “braised pork”—whatever the secret was—smelled even better than the roasted meat served at the town’s finest restaurant, Moonview Pavilion!

He’d secretly mixed in some pork offal for a different texture. He’d definitely get another serving tomorrow!

He glanced up and saw even his mother eating with satisfaction, her chopsticks constantly picking at the meat. Master Lu was a dutiful son—his mother couldn’t handle the chewier stir-fried or braised pork at home, so he always made it into minced meat for her. But that minced meat couldn’t compare to the flavor of this braised pork! He’d buy some for his mother tomorrow!

Shen Linchuan hadn’t expected his business to be this booming. During the morning market’s peak hours, the crowd around his stall was even larger than his father’s.

By the end of the morning market, both pots of meat were completely sold out. Even the broth from the minced pork was scooped clean. It seemed he hadn’t prepared enough. Tomorrow, he’d have to make more minced pork. The offal could be sold as needed, bringing in some extra copper coins.

In high spirits, Shen Linchuan and Zhou Ning packed up their little stall together. After standing so long, his legs ached. Shen Linchuan sat down at the back to rest, while Zhou Ning took the water bag off the wheelbarrow for him to drink.

Seeing Zhou Ning’s bright eyes fixed on him, Shen Linchuan smiled. “When we get home, let’s count how many coins we made today. The dried tofu sold best—we should ask them to give us more stock next time.”

Zhou Ning felt elated inside. He hadn’t expected their little business to do so well. Maybe this year, they could buy a mule for his father after all.

“Shen Linchuan, you’re really something.”

Shen Linchuan secretly hooked his fingers around his Fulang’s hand. “My Fulang is pretty amazing too.”

“Linchuan, you and Ning-ger should head home first.”

Zhou Ning, afraid his father might see, quickly pulled his hand away from Shen Linchuan’s. He felt embarrassed whenever his father saw them holding hands—he wasn’t a three-year-old child anymore.

Shen Linchuan’s lips curved upward as he agreed, “Alright, Father. I forgot to bring bowls today. That oil-proof paper is too expensive. I thought about buying some earthenware bowls. The braised pork is too sticky to wrap, and folding paper trays would waste too much paper.”

“True enough. But with so many customers, what if they don’t return our bowls?”

“Father, that’s easy. Just have them carve our mark on the bottom. Customers who want to use a bowl can leave one or two wen as a deposit. When they return the bowl, we refund the wen. Those unwilling to leave a deposit will naturally bring their own bowls next time.”

“That’s a clever solution.”

Shen Linchuan asked where to buy bowls. Zhou Da told him that while bowls were sold everywhere at the market, he needed to find a pottery kiln to engrave the marks.

Zhou Ning knew where to go and accompanied Shen Linchuan to find a pottery kiln.

Shen Linchuan asked Zhou Ning how much each earthenware bowl cost. Zhou Ning, who had been helping his father sell meat at the market for years, knew the answer: “Small ones cost one wen, and larger ones cost two wen.”

“Not expensive at all.”

They found the pottery kiln on the town’s outskirts. A pile of freshly fired earthenware bowls and delicate porcelain bowls sat by the entrance. Shen Linchuan asked if they could fire twenty earthenware bowls.

The potter didn’t even lift his head, gesturing toward the entrance. “Just take them yourselves. They’re all freshly fired. Why bother firing new ones?”

“We run a business,” Shen Linchuan explained. “We need to engrave our mark on the bottom to avoid mixing them with others’ bowls.”

“That’s a bit much,” the potter countered. “They’re just earthenware bowls, not fine porcelain. Inns and restaurants order custom designs by the dozen—you’re only ordering a few.”

The potter, annoyed by the request, looked up and spotted Zhou Ning standing behind him. His indifferent expression instantly softened into a smile. “Young Master Zhou is here! Whatever you want, just take it—I’ll give you a good price.”

Seeing the man’s face light up at the sight of her Fulang, Shen Linchuan felt a pang of jealousy and stepped forward to block him. “Ning-ger, do you know him?”

“Who in town doesn’t know Zhou Da? He’s been selling pork in Qinghe for over twenty years. When I was a kid, I helped my dad sell pottery, and Ning-ger helped his dad sell pork.”

The kiln-worker chuckled. Zhou Ning was quite well-known in town. No one had ever seen a young ger doing butcher’s work, especially one so tall and lanky. Everyone in town knew there was a young pork seller at the market.

Zhou Ning truly didn’t recall this man. When he helped his father sell pork, the stall was always bustling with customers.

The man was surnamed Zhao, Zhao Dazhu. He tilted his chin. “So he’s a family member? Why didn’t you say so earlier? Just twenty earthen bowls—I’ll engrave them for free, or two wen each.”

Zhou Ning thanked him but simply shook his head. “He’s not a family member. He’s my husband.”

Zhao Dazhu’s eyes widened in surprise as he scanned Shen Linchuan from head to toe. “Whoa! When did you two tie the knot? Congratulations!”

This man looked clean-shaven and fair-skinned, hardly like a country lad who’d spent years doing rough labor. They were about the same height, and standing together, they actually looked quite well-matched.

Townspeople had always said Ning-ger from the Zhou butcher’s family was unmarriageable, dragging on until nearly twenty with no suitors. Who would’ve thought he’d finally wed?

Zhao Dazhu called over a half-grown lad. “Go fetch twenty medium-sized earthen bowls. I’ll carve the characters later.”

Zhao Dazhu couldn’t contain his curiosity. “Brother, where are you from?”

“Shen Linchuan, from Xinghua Village. Now, I’m a resident of Dayangshu Village.” Shen Linchuan felt a twinge of jealousy when he heard the man mention having seen his Fulang as a child. “I’m a son-in-law by marriage. Ning-ger’s husband.”

The kiln worker was even more astonished—he never imagined Butcher Zhou would find a son-in-law for his son.

Though surprised, he smiled and offered congratulations. Butcher Zhou was clever—since his son couldn’t marry, he’d taken a son-in-law instead. Not a bad choice at all.

The group fell silent. Soon, the young man returned to call out, “Master, it’s ready!”

Zhao Dazhu wiped sweat from his face. “I can’t read. Is there a prepared note?”

Shen Linchuan picked up a shard of broken tile and began writing on the ground. “Just write ‘Zhou Ji’ on the bottom of the bowl.”

“You’re literate?”

“I studied for a few years.”

He had Dazhu trace the characters on the ground onto the bowl’s base. Since Dazhu couldn’t read, he carved them in the wrong order. Shen Linchuan thought this was perfect—a deterrent against counterfeits. If someone with ill intent brought fake bowls to return coins, he’d end up as a bowl collector.

Shen Linchuan watched him carve a few, then handed over forty copper coins—the engraving was free. “Will they be ready tomorrow?”

“Yes, I recognize them all. Tomorrow, my apprentice will deliver them to your stall. You’re busy in the morning; no need to make extra trips.”

“Thank you.”

Shen Linchuan fished a few more coins from his waistband and handed them to the young man who had just carved the bowls. “Bring them over early tomorrow. If no one’s there, leave them by the shop selling baked buns.”

The apprentice hadn’t expected to earn extra money just for running an errand—five copper coins! As an apprentice learning the trade, he never received coins; he worked for free for the master potter, getting only one meal a day. Yet many still wanted to learn the kiln-firing trade.

“Yes, I’ll definitely bring them over early!”

After handling their business, the two headed toward the meat stall. Shen Linchuan nudged Zhou Ning as they walked. “You actually know quite a few people.”

“Perhaps they know my father.”

“They know you? They know your name. Maybe they have feelings for you.”

Zhou Ning halted, eyeing her little husband with a subtle look. “They’re married. Don’t talk nonsense.”

“You just said you didn’t know them, yet now you know they’re married? You’re lying.”

“He has an embroidered handkerchief tucked at his waist. What man uses embroidered things?”

Shen Linchuan also noticed the embroidered handkerchief on the kiln worker’s waist. Seeing they truly didn’t know each other, he instantly perked up. Having heard they met as children, he feared the man might harbor feelings for his Fulang—his Fulang was so wonderful.

Shen Linchuan pressed close again, his voice sticky with affection. “What do you want to eat? I’ll make it for you when we get home.”

Zhou Ning couldn’t figure out why Shen Linchuan kept jumping from one topic to another, suddenly bringing up food. But remembering how delicious Shen Linchuan’s cooking was, he replied, “I’ve had a bit too much meat lately. I’m craving bottle gourd.”

“Got it! Come on, let’s go buy some bottle gourds right now. Eggs with bottle gourd, stir-fried bottle gourd, cold-dressed bottle gourd salad, bottle gourd pancakes—which one do you want? I’ll make them all for you.”

“Just two will do. Bottle gourds are a bit pricey.”

Shen Linchuan shrugged it off. “It’s just a bottle gourd. We can eat as many as we want. Buy it!”

Zhou Ning lowered his gaze slightly, blinking at Shen Linchuan. “My sister-in-law said you used to hang out with those rich town boys.”

Shen Linchuan flushed. Why bring that up again?!