Main Street had grain shops. Both sides of this street were lined with stores, mostly food-related, sufficient to supply the daily needs of residents throughout the Baxing District and Dingyi District.

The Tang family’s shop was on the southern side. Behind it, a courtyard formed by a cluster of alleys constituted the Baxing District. Across the street, facing north, were the shops, with Dingyi District stretching behind them.

Tang Xianling stayed here for several days, occasionally wandering to the eastern and western markets, gaining a basic understanding of Fengyuan City. The city was composed of eighty-eight lanes. Some lanes contained only five or six households, akin to modern mansions for the wealthy.

A single household could occupy the area of two alleys.

Neighborhoods like Baxing District and Dingyi District each housed around four hundred households, totaling over eight hundred families between them. The food trade enjoyed a stable market, making shops along the main street highly valuable and sought-after.

Earlier, Tang Xianling had told Old Tang that the tenant’s “true intent lay elsewhere”—a wild guess, really. Yet after several days of observation, his wild guess turned out to be right.

“Young Master Tang, what are you buying? How is Master Tang feeling?”

Tang Xianling was called out. He looked over, the voice sounding somewhat familiar. His expression turned slightly distant as he asked, “Who are you?”

“My surname is Li. I rent the courtyard from Mr. Tang,” said Madam Li.

Tang Xianling immediately understood. “I remember, it comes back to me.” He feigned modesty again. “My father isn’t well. I haven’t been out much lately, so it slipped my mind. Please don’t take offense, Auntie.”

“Not at all,” Madam Li replied warmly. Noticing Young Tang carried only a basket, she continued, “Off to buy groceries?”

Tang Xianling: “The rice jar at home is empty. I’m getting some.”

“Perfect timing—I need beans.”

So Tang Xianling had no choice but to accompany the enthusiastic Madam Li to the grain shop at the end of the street. Naturally, they chatted all the way. Tang Xianling was determined to see what Madam Li would say—after all, buying rice wouldn’t take long, and he was quite curious.

Because Madam Li was also eager for Old Tang to kick the bucket sooner rather than later.

Of course, Madam Li phrased everything carefully, all in concern for Old Tang’s health.

Faced with Madam Li’s caring words, Tang Xianling could only shake his head from time to time, sighing sadly, occasionally frowning and gazing skyward at a forty-five-degree angle. Madam Li would naturally fill in the gaps for him.

“You’re such a dutiful son. Don’t be too sad.”

Tang Xianling: “Sigh.”

“I hear your father’s been unwell for nearly half a year? Haven’t you called a doctor? I know of a shaman’s clinic in the East Market. If the regular doctors can’t help, you could try the shaman.” Madam Li suggested.

Tang Xianling hesitated, took a breath, and said, “My father… sigh.” Then he fell silent again.

Madam Li’s curiosity piqued. “What about your father?”

“My father managed all the family’s money. Don’t laugh at me, Madam, but my mother and I barely scraped by. If it weren’t for my eldest sister’s husband’s recent visit and his leaving half a sack of flour, our rice jar would’ve been empty long ago.” Tang Xianling finished, feeling a bit embarrassed. He quickly added, ”It’s just family matters. My father doesn’t give me money because he’s afraid I’ll be too extravagant and get cheated out of it.”

People nowadays place great importance on filial piety. As a child, one must not speak ill of one’s parents.

Madam Li had already heard that Master Tang was the one calling the shots at home. His wife and ger were weak and incapable of making decisions, which is why she’d set her sights on renting the Tang family courtyard. Once Master Tang passed away, the shop at the front of the Tang residence—whether rented out or sold—would be within easy reach for her family.

“Indeed.” Madam Li nodded in agreement, then abruptly steered the conversation to her true concern. “No wonder running that breakfast stall has been such a struggle for you.”

Tang Xianling: Here it comes, just as expected—questions about the shop.

“What can I do? I couldn’t open a proper mutton soup and steamed bun shop, so I had to settle for a small-scale business to scrape by.”

Madam Li looked at Brother Tang, his brow furrowed with worry, and her face softened with concern. “Running a business is no easy task—it’s exhausting. Honestly, Mr. Tang should be enjoying his golden years by now. If he had some money, like Old Man Cui, life would be so much easier.”

“It’s not as comfortable as running a business. If you could find a good husband—”

How did this turn into marriage pressure aimed right at me? Tang Xianling tried to sense what Madam Li was up to, but didn’t expect it to involve him. He cut her off, “Auntie, I’m still in mourning. I’m not thinking about remarriage.”

“Our imperial laws permit remarriage if a widow chooses not to observe the full mourning period,” Madam Li insisted warmly.

Tang Xianling: …Auntie, why can’t you grasp a polite refusal?

“That previous match scared me off. I’m not in the mood for it now.”

Auntie Li sighed, “Fair enough. There is no rush.”

Finally, they reached the grain shop.

Tang Xianling bought a dou of white rice. Tingjiang Prefecture, south of Xidu Province, was a major rice-growing region, so white rice wasn’t particularly expensive—eleven wen per jin. A dou held about twelve or thirteen jin, costing him one hundred and thirty wen. He also bought three jin of red beans. Handing over the cloth bag, the shopkeeper’s son weighed it in a few swift motions and asked if he needed delivery.

Delivery?

Tang Xianling brightened. “Then please deliver them to the Tang household.”

“Certainly.”

After completing his purchases, Tang Xianling pretended not to notice that Madam Li hadn’t bought anything. Smiling broadly, he said, “Well then, Auntie, I’ll be on my way.”

On the way back, he stopped at the vegetable stalls. The afternoon heat had wilted the greens, but they were cheap—a whole bunch for just one wen. Spotting a fish vendor nearby, he picked up a fish as well.

He craved tofu, but the hot weather meant it sold out by morning.

Tang Xianling planned to come buy groceries after closing the stall tomorrow morning.

Carrying the fish and a basket of vegetables, Tang Xianling returned to the shop. Jiang Yun opened the door and saw him empty-handed except for the vegetables. “Didn’t you say you were buying rice?”

“The shop owner said they can deliver,” Tang Xianling said as he entered.

Jiang Yun replied, “They do deliver, especially for large orders. But we’ve always fetched our own supplies to avoid inconveniencing others.”

“I don’t mind bothering the owner,” Tang Xianling said, looking at Jiang Yun. “Since he offers this delivery service, we should feel perfectly comfortable using it.”

Jiang Yun met Wu-ger’s gaze, remembering those words, and quickly looked away.

Wu-ger used to be the same as her—afraid of troubling others. He’d swallow every hardship, wipe away tears in private, never mention such things, and shoulder everything alone.

Just then, the shop door creaked open. Yu Sanlang, the grain shop’s youngest son, arrived with a delivery, pushing a two-wheeled cart loaded with grain for the Tang household and over a dozen small bundles. “Auntie Tang,” Yu Sanlang asked, “Should I leave the grain here or take it to the kitchen?”

“No need, just give it to me.” Jiang Yun took the bundles.

After delivering to the Tang household, Yu Sanlang didn’t linger for small talk, pushing his cart to the next customer.

Tang Xianling handed the vegetable basket to Jiang Yun and took the grain to the kitchen. As he walked, he said, “Tonight I’ll stir-fry some seasonal greens with garlic. The fish looks great—Mother, would you prefer it steamed or braised?”

The house had sugar, soy sauce, and pepper—though no chili.

“Braised. The sauce goes great with rice.”

Just thinking about braised fish made Tang Xianling swallow hard.

He first poured the rice into the rice bin and set the red beans aside. Clapping his hands, he began preparing the evening meal. As the rice steamed, Jiang Yun washed the vegetables while he stunned the fish and started cleaning it.

With the cleaver in hand, Tang Xianling moved with the fluid precision of someone who’d mastered the art without a teacher. His technique was sharp and elegant—where to strike, how much force to apply—as he slit the belly, removed the innards, and scraped off the scales.

Jiang Yun watched, unfamiliar with the process, and returned to picking vegetables.

“Mother, what does Old Man Cui do for a living?” Tang Xianling asked casually.

Jiang Yun answered first: “Cui Dabao is quite the foodie. His family doesn’t own a shop, but they rent out three courtyard houses in Third Alley. His father passed away early, so it’s just him and his dad living together. His dad spoils him rotten—he doesn’t work either. They get by on the rental income from the courtyards.”

Tang Xianling felt dizzy. “But wasn’t his father dead?”

“His father died, but his grandfather is still alive.” Jiang Yun was also confused—why was Wu-ger so muddled?

The two stared at each other for a moment, confusion etched on both their faces.

It was Tang Xianling who first hazily recalled that in this world, there were ger who could bear offspring. So, Cui Dabao’s father, who died, must be the ger?

Tang Xianling: …

“Why are you asking about this?” Jiang Yun noticed the awkward look on Wu-ger’s face and smiled, changing the subject to ease his embarrassment.

Tang Xianling continued working with his hands as he said, “I ran into our tenant, Madam Li, while buying vegetables earlier. She said running a business is exhausting for a husband and that he should enjoy a life of leisure like Old Man Cui.”

He’d sensed something off from the start, and now that he knew what Cui Dabao did, the Li family’s intentions were crystal clear—Young Tang-ger, quit the trade! Vacate the shop early, collect rent, and live off that. How much better would that be?

As for the Tang family shop ceasing operations, that naturally meant selling or leasing it out.

Jiang Yun reacted calmly to this, showing no anger. She even found some truth in Madam Li’s words, though—

“The shop is your father’s lifeline. We can’t make that decision.”

“That’s why the Li family keeps inquiring about Father’s health,” Tang Xianling replied.

Jiang Yun paused before asking, “Wu-ger, do you wish to run the shop?”

“Of course,” Tang Xianling nodded. “I’m young and skilled—better to rely on myself than anyone else. But whether the shop stays open depends on Father. We’ll never starve, wherever we go.”

Jiang Yun nodded. She finished picking the vegetables, took them outside to wash, and then carried them to the kitchen. Wiping her hands, she said, “Wu-ger, I’ll go check on your father.”

“Got it.”

Jiang Yun left the kitchen and headed straight for the east room. Father Tang was still asleep. She sat beside him, lost in thought. She thought about how Wu-ger seemed different after his high fever, but she dared not dwell on it. Every time she did, she would escape her thoughts. Then she thought about the Li family’s interest in the shop. She was so deep in thought that she didn’t notice Father Tang waking up.

Father Tang scolded Jiang Yun, “You’re sitting here, but your mind’s wandering where?”

“I was thinking about the shop.” Jiang Yun, accustomed to his scolding, helped her husband sit up and lean against the wall. Her expression was blank as she said, “Wu-ger ran into Madam Li while buying groceries. She said Wu-ger works so hard running the breakfast stall and should live comfortably like Old Man Cui.”

Though grumbling, Father Tang reacted sharply at this remark, flaring up instantly. “That oil seller has no good intentions!” he snapped. His anger tugged at his chest, triggering a coughing fit.

“Don’t get so worked up, mind your health,” Jiang Yun soothed her husband as she helped him catch his breath. “The shop is still here. Don’t worry.”

The shop was Father Tang’s lifeblood—earned over a lifetime to leave for a son. Now an outsider coveted it. Selling or leasing? Out of the question. He wasn’t dead yet.

Dusk hadn’t fallen yet.

Smoke curled from the Tang family’s kitchen chimney.

Next door, Lu Dalang’s appetite stirred again. “Is the family next door frying fish? It smells so good.”

“Your nose is sharper than a dog’s,” scolded Father Lu.

Lu Sanniang couldn’t help but chuckle, earning a light tap on the forehead from her older brother. She gave a coy little grunt. Chen Qiaolian said, “Enough, eat properly. No more fooling around.”

Lu Dalang stopped teasing his sister. Smelling the aroma drifting over while eating his own family’s meal, he remarked, “Father, Mother, I’m not as greedy as I was when I was little. But even the food at Aunt Tang’s house back then never smelled this good.”

“Back when their shop was thriving, they’d just have mutton soup for meals. But after what happened these past few months, I doubt Sister Tang and Wu-ger have had the heart to cook,” Chen Qiaolian remarked casually.

Father Lu then asked, “Did Wu-ger come to the shop for steamed buns again today?”

“Yes, he bought quite a few,” Lu Dalang nodded.

In all his years, Lu Dalang had never seen Aunt Tang come to buy steamed buns. Back when her first, second, and third aunts were still at home before marriage, they would only sneak in to buy buns, never daring to take them home to eat. When questioned, all three would just mumble and stammer.

Father Lu nodded with a complicated expression, unsure what to say.

“Father, what’s wrong? I’ve always wanted to ask—is Uncle Tang really at odds with our family? But sometimes when I run into him, Aunt Tang chats with me casually, asking a few questions. It doesn’t seem like they’re fighting.” Lu Dalang was curious.

Chen Qiaolian replied, “You were too young then, and it’s my fault for speaking too freely.” This wasn’t something she couldn’t share—the whole neighborhood knew, and it had been a laughingstock for ages. She just avoided mentioning it around children.

“Back then, the midwife mistakenly identified Wu-ger as a boy. It was your mother who discovered the birthmark hidden at the tail of his eyebrow during the full-moon banquet…”

Lu Dalang suddenly understood. So that was it.

“Then it’s not your fault, Mother. Whether Wu-ger was born a ger or a boy was decided at birth. Uncle Tang shouldn’t have blamed anyone else.”

“No more talking during meals. It’s all in the past,” Father Lu said sternly.

His family had once been quite close with Old Tang. After that incident, Old Tang ignored them for half a year. Later, when they met, he’d offer a forced smile. Eventually, he stopped visiting altogether.

At the Tang residence, dawn was breaking.

Tang Xianling called for breakfast. Jiang Yun emerged after washing her hands.

On the square table lay three dishes: a plate of garlic-infused leafy greens, a plate of vinegar-tossed shredded potatoes, and a large platter of braised fish, all accompanied by a steaming pot of fragrant rice.

The leafy greens were a vibrant green, not a hint of the wilted look they’d had when bought. Somehow, they’d been stir-fried to retain a fresh, tender, and beautiful color.

The potato shreds were stir-fried with garlic shoots. Tang Xianling added a few Sichuan peppercorns to season the wok. The finely sliced potatoes were blanched for ten seconds, then drained and rinsed under cold water. Lard was heated in the wok, garlic shoots and Sichuan peppercorns into the hot lard, then added the potato shreds and a splash of vinegar. The whole process had to be done quickly. The result was not only visually appealing but also tangy with a hint of numbing Sichuan pepper, making it incredibly appetizing.

It’s incredibly satisfying with rice.

Before the apocalypse, Tang Xianling had a roommate in the dorm who was into weightlifting. He’d argue that potato shreds with rice were just empty carbs, unhealthy. But Tang Xianling loved his stir-fried potato shreds—tangy, spicy, with a hint of Sichuan pepper. He could polish off half a bowl of rice with them, needing another dish to finish the other half.

Even now, without chili peppers, that plate of shredded potatoes still smelled amazing.

The star dish, of course, was that plate of fish. The fish weighed three jin. He poured in peanut oil—no lard this time. For meat dishes, he used vegetable oil; for vegetable dishes, he used animal fat.

First, he seared the fish over high heat until it set, both sides golden brown. The spatula scraped against the fish with a sizzling sound. He lifted it out, didn’t drain the oil, and immediately added the prepared seasonings: homemade five-spice powder, Sichuan peppercorns, shredded ginger, garlic, soybean paste, and a pinch of sugar for flavor. He stir-fried it until fragrant, then added hot water and placed the fish back in, bringing it to a bubbling boil.

The broth becomes rich and thick, the fish skin turns golden and crisp, and the flesh stays tender—perfectly cooked.

Father Tang in the east room smelled the aroma and got impatient, calling out that he was hungry.

Tang Xianling: …

He continued to eat, pretending not to hear.

“Eat up, Wu-ger. I’ll serve some for your father,” Jiang Yun says.

Tang Xianling: Failed to play deaf. 

So he rolled up his sleeves and headed to the east room. Jiang Yun panicked, fearing Wu-ger might beat her husband. She didn’t know why she thought this, but she followed right behind him.

“Mother, give me a hand. Let’s carry him out to the courtyard and eat together.”

Jiang Yun exhaled sharply at this, “Oh, it’s like that.”

Tang Xianling: ??? What else?

Father Tang, lying on the bed, had just moments before stubbornly shouted, “What do you think you’re doing?” His eyes, however, betrayed fear—fear that Wu-ger might lose his temper and beat him. The next second, he fell silent.

Tang Xianling met Father Tang’s gaze and clicked his tongue.

“For Wu-ger’s sake, otherwise—”

Take this!

Tang Xianling operated on a “take the money and run” mentality. He’d taken over Wu-ger’s body, and even though he disliked Old Tang, as long as Old Tang didn’t provoke him or scheme against him, he could tolerate looking after him.

But making him serve Father Tang meals and play the dutiful son? Impossible.

Father Tang could sit up, but he’d slide down after a moment, his body weak. Jiang Yun had stuffed a quilt around him beside the chair. To Tang Xianling, it seemed like they could just tie him down with a rope—clearly, Jiang Yun didn’t dare.

At the table, Tang Xianling, the champion of eating, picked up his chopsticks first.

Father Tang glared, signaling he hadn’t eaten yet—

“If you’re not hungry, go back to bed,” Tang Xianling snapped, intolerant of such quirks. “I’m in charge here now. Eat!”

Jiang Yun trembled, yet her hands moved boldly. She spooned rice into her husband’s mouth, her voice timid as she tried to smooth things over: “Stop arguing, Old Tang. Let’s eat.”

With his mouth full of sticky rice, Father Tang could only grunt incoherently.

Tang Xianling was already immersed in devouring his meal.

So fragrant!

He really was a little genius in the kitchen, hehe.