The stove-head lit the charcoal, warming up the oven first.

Jiang Yun said she’d handle it, so Tang Xianling didn’t argue. He opened the shop door, and outside, Cui Dabao grinned, “I heard movement inside—is it baking already?”

“Just heating the oven,” Tang Xianling replied. Only when daylight came did he notice Cui Dabao was carrying a food basket. “Please wait a moment. I’ll wash my hands and start kneading the dough. What filling would you like? How many portions?”

Cui Dabao: “Four with pickled plum vegetables, four with red bean paste.”

That’s a lot.

Not only did Jiang Yun, tending the fire, glance over, but Tang Xianling also showed a slight surprise. Then he said, “Pot stickers taste best hot. If they cool down and you reheat them at home, they won’t be as flavorful as fresh out of the oven.”

“Rest assured, Mr. Tang. Look at this basket.” Cui Dabao held it up for the shopkeeper to see. “It’s woven bamboo with ventilation gaps. Inside is a thin layer of fine cotton padding, topped with gauze. Guaranteed airflow—no risk of the pot-sticker buns going limp.”

Tang Xianling: …Cui Dabao is truly a foodie genius!

He couldn’t help but laugh. “I was overthinking it. When it comes to eating, you’re the real expert.”

Cui Dabao beamed with delight—he loved being praised for his palate. “I’ll take eight,” he said. “I won’t keep these eight long—I’m taking them home for my father and husband to enjoy too. Yesterday’s pot-sticker buns with mutton offal soup were a bit rich. That soup was too heavy and overpowered the buns’ fragrance—a minor flaw. Today, my husband said he’d make a pot of corn porridge. I think it’ll pair perfectly.”

Tang Xianling listened to Cui Dabao’s foodie ramblings while kneading dough. He divided the large dough ball into smaller portions without weighing them—his grasp of food measurements seemed innate, each piece perfectly uniform.

“Master Tang’s technique is as polished as someone who’s been in the business for decades,” Cui Dabao praised.

But it wasn’t just that. Tang Xianling also instinctively knew the perfect timing for cooking. He mastered the exact amount of filling for each pancake, the precise time from when it went into the oven to when it came out.

He never messed up.

The buns slid into the oven.

At the pork shop at the end of the street, Zhu Si glanced up at the sky. By this time, his wife usually hadn’t left home yet; she’d probably arrive in half an hour.

“All because of Cui Dabao’s squatting—are they really that good?” Zhu Si muttered at his stall. “Don’t tell me they’ll sell out again.” He found himself unexpectedly anxious.

But Zhu Si couldn’t just close his shop to buy a bun.

Perhaps it was the power of shared purpose, for Zhou Xiangping left home earlier than usual. Thinking she was already quite early, she arrived at the main street to find customers already lining up outside the food stalls. Fried twisted sugar cakes and sugar-filled pancakes—those were Zhou Xiangping’s favorites, though pricey. But since sugar-filled pancakes used a lot of oil and were stuffed with sugar, she reasoned it was worth it.

Her thoughts drifted involuntarily to the pot-sticker buns sold by Wu-ger, also priced at five wen.

“Alright, I’ll buy the pot-sticker bun today and save the sugar-filled pancake for another day. After all, I promised Sister Tang I’d get her pot-sticker bun. My heart won’t be at ease if I don’t.” After muttering this to herself, Zhou Xiangping turned her steps decisively toward the Tang family shop.

Before she even reached it, she spotted someone waiting in front of the shop from a distance.

Zhou Xiangping: ?!

Startled, she quickened her pace.

They sold out fast yesterday, but why are there still so many people today? It’s barely morning!

“Wu-ger, how much longer for the red bean paste ones?”

“I’ll take two with preserved mustard greens and dried pork. I’ll wait, right? Alright, Sister Tang, take my money first.”

“Is his stuff really that good? I didn’t get any yesterday.” A latecomer, seeing the crowd waiting at Tang’s shop, couldn’t help but ask the people in line.

The customer who had just paid with money replied, “It’s delicious! The flavor is unique. You’ll see once you try it.”

“I came early and saw Old Man Cui already heading back with his basket. He was walking so fast! I tried to stop him for a word, but he hurriedly said, ‘Don’t block the way—if the pot-sticker buns cool, they won’t be crispy!’ Then he practically ran off with his basket, heading straight home.”

The customers buying pot-sticker buns all chuckled. It wasn’t exactly laughter at Cui Dabao’s expense; some even laughed with a touch of envy. Who could have such good fortune as Cui Dabao? At twenty-eight years old, he still acted like a child when it came to food.

Those who had initially joined the crowd out of curiosity, upon hearing that Old Man Cui had been waiting since dawn, immediately raised their voices: “I’ll have a plum-pickled vegetable and pork one too—five wen, right?”

“Yes, but you’ll have to wait a bit longer. Both batches are sold out now. If you want some, you’ll have to wait for the third batch,” Jiang Yun said.

Lu Sanniang, clutching her money, was too small to be let inside. Hearing about the third batch, she hurriedly called out, “Auntie Tang, I want some too! Three pickled plum vegetables and three red bean paste!”

Zhou Xiangping: …She actually felt nervous too.

She never imagined buying a bun would feel like scrambling for free rice. This pot-sticker bun costs five wen! The Lu family couple was always extremely frugal. For them to let Sanniang spend such a large sum on buns today…

It must be truly delicious.

Zhou Xiangping didn’t dare delay. Standing behind Lu Sanniang, she said, “Auntie Tang, I’ll take some too.”

“Mom, this batch is ready. I’ll pack them.”

Jiang Yun breathed a sigh of relief and quickly told Lu Sanniang and Zhou Xiangping, “It’s your turn. The next batch is yours.” Only then did she dare to collect money.

The customer who’d grabbed the pot-sticker bun earlier couldn’t resist taking a bite. Though he didn’t utter words like “delicious,” he kept munching away, one bite after another. Even though it was a bit hot, he’d puff out his cheeks and take another bite. His face radiated pure satisfaction as he walked out. Some even called out, “One more red bean paste one, please!”

This customer had bought too few—only one pickled plum vegetable with pork pot-sticker bun.

Jiang Yun said, “Please wait a moment, these are freshly baked.”

The customer, munching happily on a pickled plum vegetable pot-sticker bun, replied, “I’m happy to wait, no rush.”

As the front customers finished and left, Zhou Xiangping and Lu Sanniang moved to the front.

Watching Wu-ger work, Zhou Xiangping noticed his steady, unhurried movements—kneading dough, patting out flatbreads, sprinkling sesame seeds, and sliding them into the oven. What could that taste be? Curiosity piqued, she ordered both flavors when it was her turn to pay, totaling nine wen.

That was quite a bit of money.

Just by looking, Zhou Xiangping could tell the cost of these flatbreads wasn’t high. Yet customers kept coming—in no time, more people lined up behind her and Sanniang. She couldn’t help but think: Mrs. Tang truly had good fortune. Though Mr. Tang had gone out of business, Wu-ger had picked up the torch.

If this child were in any other family, the couple would cherish him dearly. But to Master Tang, he was just a ger—what difference did it make? He was their own child.

The line grew longer and longer, with more and more people wanting to offer money.

Jiang Yun counted and realized the buns were running low. She didn’t know how to turn away the customers behind her, afraid they might cause a scene. She wouldn’t know how to handle it. Before, the buns would last all day. Tang Xianling put the buns into the oven and went to the shop entrance to tell the last customer, “I’m sorry, but please don’t wait any longer. We’ve sold out for today.”

The latecomers: !!!

“How could it sell out so early?” “Wu-ger, you should make more pot-sticker buns!” “Yeah, yeah! We’re here to make money, not just eat a little!”

Tang Xianling offered an apologetic smile and explained, “I’m truly grateful for your patronage, but this is my first time running a business, and I lack experience. The preserved mustard greens I made earlier require considerable time and effort—at least six or seven days of preparation. My current stock will likely only last another two or three days.”

Customers: …!!!

Wu-ger spoke sincerely and explained everything. Since the customers were all local residents, they couldn’t really cause a scene—it just wasn’t done. If they started fussing over not getting buns, wouldn’t that make them look like thugs or local bullies?

So they had to let it go. Some said, “Then I’ll come earlier tomorrow.”

Some showed understanding: “It’s fine. You’re still young. Just make more next time.”

“Exactly.”

Tang Xianling smiled warmly: “Thank you all. I’m truly sorry.”

Another asked, “But then you won’t have any pot-sticker buns to sell for two or three days?”

The customers who were about to leave:? 

They turned back abruptly, staring at Young Master Tang with wide eyes. Every face screamed, ‘He’s only been selling for a few days and already giving up?’

Tang Xianling: …

The new batch of preserved mustard greens wasn’t ready yet. He sold breakfast every morning and still had to find time to prepare a new batch—three steams and three sun-dries. This evening was the steaming stage. Timing-wise, he really would have to close the shop for a few days.

But now, the way the customers looked at him, it felt like they thought he was running his business like a child’s game.

“Once the pickled plum vegetables aren’t fully available, I’ll make something else to sell. It’ll still be breakfast food.” Tang Xianling thought for a moment and decided to switch things up during the pickled plum vegetables’ hiatus. He hadn’t figured out what exactly he’d sell yet.

Alright, let’s do it.

It really made him live up to that old joke—customers urging him to open every single day.

Hearing this, folks weren’t exactly thrilled. They came for the pickled plum vegetable pot stickers; who knew if Wu-ger’s new stuff would be any good? But complaining now was useless—today’s batch was gone. Some thought quietly, these pot stickers are still hard to come by. Looks like we’ll have to get here early tomorrow.

Tang Xianling remained utterly unaware. His inexperience had led to insufficient stock, creating an effect akin to scarcity marketing. Each day, more customers arrived earlier to queue outside his shop—but that was a story for another time.

Zhou Xiangping and Lu Sanniang observed it all. When their turn came to grab a pot sticker bun, they cradled theirs in their hands, both feeling a sense of relief and gratitude: “Thank goodness we got one!”

Lu Sanniang, petite and lively, scampered home with her food basket, calling out, “Father! Mother! I was so lucky today—they let me buy some again!”

Her voice bubbled with cheerful excitement.

Lu Dalang, carrying the sack of wheat behind her, first emptied the grain into the stone mill. After patting it down, he asked, “How many did you get?”

“Six. I saved one for Second Brother,” Lu Sanniang replied.

Lu Dalang nodded. “We should share some with Father and Mother,” he said.

“Of course! I’m not some greedy little glutton,” Lu Sanniang replied with a smile. Then her elder brother grabbed her, giving her head a few whacks. It didn’t hurt much, but Lu Sanniang laughed and cried for mercy.

Lu Dalang scolded, “You little girl! Calling your elder brother a greedy glutton in front of him! I wouldn’t be afraid even if Father and Mother came!”

Then Chen Qiaolian entered, saying, “The shopkeepers up front heard you two squabbling. What’s the matter? I’ll settle your dispute.”

Lu Dalang dared not argue. Lu Sanniang, smiling cheerfully, didn’t bother with her brother. She told her mother they’d share the buns, even dragging her brother into it, claiming it was his idea.

Both she and her elder brother were devoted to their parents!

Chen Qiaolian beamed. She’d only been scaring them earlier. Seeing the children get along so well made her even happier. Though she’d said, “Mother won’t eat any,” Sanniang had already broken off a piece and held it to her lips.

“Mother, just try a bite. It’s truly delicious. My arms are getting tired holding it up.”

Chen Qiaolian took a bite and nodded repeatedly. “It is delicious. No wonder business is so brisk. I just heard they sold out again.”

“Yes, they sell out so quickly,” Lu Sanniang added.

Zhou Xiangping hurried to her family’s pork stall, two buns in hand.

Zhu Si spotted his wife’s figure, then noticed the buns in her hands—thin and large, surely the pot-sticker buns. He couldn’t help teasing her: “Well, well, my lady, you’re up early today. Not to see me, but to buy buns.”

“Go on, go on. Here, take them and eat.” Zhou Xiangping smiled as she handed him the buns, adding, “You wouldn’t believe it, but if I’d been even a little later, I wouldn’t have gotten any.”

Zhu Si replied, “When I delivered meat this morning and saw Old Man Cui squatting outside Tang’s shop, I knew these buns must be delicious.”

“Changing your tune again? Yesterday you said otherwise.” Zhou Xiangping raised an eyebrow, mimicking a man’s tone. “They sold out so fast—it must be because Wu-ger is timid and worried they wouldn’t sell, so he stocked too little.”

Zhu Si didn’t mind his wife’s teasing. He handed her half a pancake and took a bite of his own. With just one mouthful, he sighed, “Brother Tang must have burned incense at his ancestors’ graves.”

“If you’re going to praise Wu-ger, praise him properly. Why drag Mr. Tang into it?” Zhou Xiangping nibbled on the pancake—it was indeed fragrant—then took another bite of the red bean filling. Her eyes crinkled with delight as she said, “I’ll take this half back for Mother and the children to try.”

“Keep the half with the pickled plum vegetables too. Take them both back.” Zhu Si stopped eating.

The pot-sticker bun was delicious, and after tasting it, he thought of his elderly mother and young daughter at home, so he stopped eating.

Half an hour earlier, at the Cui family courtyard.

Cui Dabao raced home, afraid the pot-sticker bun would get cold. By the time he arrived, he was panting from the run, but the bun was still warm. Sun Douzi had already cooked the millet porridge. Since his husband had gotten up early that morning, he couldn’t go back to sleep either. He might as well get up, wash up, tidy things, and cook the porridge.

Da Bao had mentioned yesterday that the pot-sticker bun was a bit dry, so the porridge shouldn’t be thick—it needed to be thinner.

Sun Douzi also sliced some of his homemade pickled vegetables.

“Hurry, hurry! It’ll get cold soon. Where’s Father?” Cui Da Bao was always the most eager at mealtimes.

Father Cui clearly knew what was coming. He emerged from the inner room into the main hall. “I’ve been waiting.”

The family sat around the octagonal table in the main hall for breakfast. Cui Dabao washed his hands, lifted the gauze covering the food basket, and first took a piece to offer his father. “Meat. Try some, Father.”

He then gave Douzi half a piece of preserved vegetable and pork.

Cui Dabao said, “I know you’re not used to meat, but try this first. Their preserved vegetables and pork have no gamey taste at all. If you can’t eat it, just give it back to me.”

Sun Douzi had endured a life of hardship before marriage, only tasting meat during festivals and New Year feasts. His body was chronically malnourished. After marrying into the Cui family, while other aspects remained unchanged, Cui Dabao was generous with food—the household ate meat every other day.

Logically, Sun Douzi, starved of fat and craving meat, should have loved it. Cui Dabao also wanted to fatten up his husband. But whenever Sun Douzi ate meat, his stomach would act up. It was worse right after they married—he’d be sick for over half a month, vomiting and having diarrhea, making him even thinner.

Cui Dabao summoned a physician to examine his husband. The doctor declared, “Years of digestive imbalance have made rich foods inadvisable. He must be nursed back to health gradually.”

Terrified by that ordeal, Sun Douzi developed a queasy reaction to anything too rich thereafter.

“Then I’ll just try a bite.” Seeing how Cui Dabao worked day and night for these pot-sticker buns—even murmuring about them at night—Sun Douzi didn’t want to dampen his spirits. He planned to take just one bite and stop. So he broke off a small piece, forced it into his mouth despite his fear. The expected nausea didn’t come; instead, he was immediately captivated by the taste.

He couldn’t describe it, but it was delicious and didn’t make him feel sick.

“Is there really meat in this?”

Cui Dabao watched Douzi eat, his heart in his mouth. Seeing Douzi neither gag nor frown, he knew it was fine. He couldn’t help but feel pleased and boastfully said, “I told you! It doesn’t taste meaty at all. This pancake has pickled vegetables and dried plum greens mixed in. The meat isn’t much—seven parts lean, three parts fat—so it’s not too greasy. You’ll definitely be able to eat it.”

“As long as Douzi can eat it, that’s what matters. You can’t build a strong body without some meat,” Father Cui chimed in happily. Dabao and Douzi weren’t kids anymore. If they were to have children, they’d need to build up their strength.

Meat builds strong bodies. Eating meat is good.

Cui Dabao gave Douzi the whole piece, nibbling on one himself while sipping congee. He soon looked like a god, exclaiming, “This is perfect! Better than yesterday’s mutton soup. Delicious, delicious!”

His husband Douzi couldn’t cook meat well, but he managed simple dishes like thin soups, plain congee, and pickled vegetables—occasionally, they tasted quite good.

“Try the red bean paste one too.”

Sun Douzi had only eaten half a meat pot-sticker bun, afraid it might upset his stomach and cause trouble later in the afternoon. So he reached for the bean paste pot-sticker bun instead, but he loved every bite. Without realizing it, his eyes lit up as he looked at Dabao.

“This is delicious too!”

Cui Dabao chewed on his pot-sticker bun, staring blankly at his husband. For the first time, he saw Douzi’s eyes—large, bright, and sparkling. He noticed nothing else but those eyes, and he loved them intensely.

It had been three years since Douzi had ever reacted like this.

“It is delicious. You love it, and I love it too. I’ll go buy more tomorrow!”

Brother Tang closed shop early again this morning, having sold for over half an hour longer than yesterday.

Tang Xianling did his daily accounting as usual. Today, he sold 171 pancakes. “…Total revenue: 784 wen. Yesterday was 542 wen. That makes a thousand—”

“…One tael, three hundred and twenty-six wen. Yesterday, we spent 132 wen on rice and 2 wen on vegetables. After deducting costs and expenses, and setting aside half, the disposable amount is—”

Tang Xianling wrote out the math on paper, using addition, subtraction, multiplication, and division. Finally, he brutally halved the costs, then halved that amount again as savings—596 divided by 2 equals 298.

The remaining 298 wen were for his and Jiang Yun’s daily expenses.

Tang Xianling looked at Jiang Yun: “Mother, take one hundred wen. I’ll handle the rest for groceries, household needs, and our personal expenses.”

This hundred wen was Jiang Yun’s discretionary spending money.

Of course, he had one hundred ninety-eight wen as well, but he was responsible for buying vegetables, meat, and meals.

Jiang Yun was stunned.

This much? All for her?