Jiang Yun refused the money, insisting she didn’t want any.

Tang Xianling spoke decisively, meaning she should keep her allowance. As they argued, Jiang Yun’s eyes reddened and filled with tears. “…I’m your mother. Why must we be so formal with each other? You’ve grown distant from me. Wu-ger, you manage the money.”

He sensed Jiang Yun was genuinely hurt now—that mix of fear and sorrow. Tang Xianling grasped her meaning a bit better. After a moment, he said, “Then save the money, Mother. Don’t worry yet. Save it up. One day, I’ll hire a lawyer.”

Jiang Yun froze, tears welling in her eyes. She repeated, “A lawyer?”

“Once our shop reopens, I can earn money selling breakfast. The Hu family came, causing trouble demanding money last time. Where there’s a first, there’s a second. Even if there isn’t a second time, once I save enough money and get a firm footing, when the opportunity comes, I must get justice for Wu-ger.”

Tang Xianling’s expression was extremely serious. “The Hu family’s swindling of Wu-ger—we can’t just let that go.”

He had mentioned hiring a troupe of musicians to play and sing, to tarnish the Hu family’s reputation.

He wasn’t joking.

He left Jiang Yun no room to evade this matter. His gaze was clear and resolute as he looked at her and said, “This must be done. We’ll take it to court, to the magistrate’s office, and get justice for Wu-ger. Don’t be afraid. I’ll handle it.”

Jiang Yun froze under his gaze. Somehow, courage welled up within her, and she replied, “Yes.”

Wu-ger had gone to tidy the shop. She stood rooted to the spot. Only after a long while, when she touched her face, did she realize tears were streaming down uncontrollably.

Wu-ger… Wu-ger…

It was all her fault—her cowardice and timidity had failed to protect him.

Tang Xianling carried the basin, bowls, and dustpan into the kitchen. Soon after, Jiang Yun wiped her tears and entered, saying, “I’ll wash these. Didn’t you say yesterday you wanted to buy tofu? You’ve been talking about it all morning—go now.”

“Alright, Mother, I’ll leave it to you. We’ll have tofu balls for lunch. I’ll see what other seasonal dishes are available and bring those back too.” Tang Xianling wiped his hands, handed the finishing tasks in the kitchen to Jiang Yun, took the money, and headed out with the vegetable basket.

The main street was wide enough for four horse-drawn carriages side by side. In the center, vendors set up stalls selling vegetables, fish, and tofu—their wares ever-changing based on what the peddlers had to offer. Tang Xianling headed straight for the tofu stall, bought two wen of tofu, and strolled along while browsing. To his surprise, he spotted squash. The vendor, an auntie, kept praising how tender and well-grown hers were, yet few people were buying.

Tang Xianling imagined a squash and tofu meatball soup and asked the price.

Auntie: “Three wen for two pieces. Don’t think it’s too expensive. Look at my squash—planted early, few survived. They’re tender now.”

“I’ll take them.” Tang Xianling pulled out the coins and handed them over.

The woman visibly relaxed, her face lighting up as she packed the squash into his basket.

“I guess there’ll be more squash later?” Tang Xianling struck up a conversation. He actually didn’t know when the squash season truly began.

The woman chuckled, “It’ll be another month before they’re properly in season. I’m the only one selling them on this street.”

So squash is a summer crop, Tang Xianling thought. He picked up the basket and thanked her.

As he wandered along, he bought some cucumbers. Cucumbers were a spring crop, and outside Fengyuan City, farmers likely grew them in abundance. They weren’t particularly rare; three cost just one wen.

At the butcher shop near the street’s end, few customers came before noon, leaving the front quiet.

Zhou Xiangping spotted Tang Xianling and greeted him warmly, “Wu-ger, here to buy meat?” She praised, “Your pot-sticker buns are truly excellent! I brought some home this morning—my mother-in-law loved them, especially the red bean filling.”

Tang Xianling had been undecided about what meat to buy, but now he had settled on pork for today’s menu. Since she’d called out to him, he stepped forward with a smile.

“As long as the kids like it,” Tang Xianling replied, scanning the meat. He noticed the stall had mostly lean cuts. “How much for the lean meat?”

Zhou Xiangping said, “This pork tenderloin here? Four wen.”

Pork belly was six wen, and the pure lard-rendering fat was even pricier at seven wen—the fattier the better. Lean cuts were cheap these days, especially since this tenderloin had not a shred of fat.

Tang Xianling’s mind raced: Sweet and sour pork tenderloin! Pot-roasted pork!

“Alright, thanks, boss lady.”

Zhou Xiangping chuckled at the nickname and called Wu-ger “Young Master Tang” in return. “What else would you like, Young Master Tang?”

Tang Xianling caught the playful tone and flushed with a shy smile.

He didn’t know what to call the other woman. She looked four or five years older than him. Earlier, when buying pot-sticker buns, she’d addressed Jiang Yun as “Sister-in-law Jiang Yun,” implying they were of the same generation. But this woman was younger—he couldn’t very well call him “Auntie,” could he?

“I’m all set, thank you, Madam.” Tang Xianling handed over the money.

Zhou Xiangping deftly took the payment, wrapped the meat, and handed it over.

“Xiao Wu-ger’s doing business now—he’s grown bolder and learned how to deal with people,” Zhou Xiangping remarked to the man as Xiao Wu-ger’s figure receded into the distance.

Zhu Si hummed in response, staring worriedly at the leftover pork loin on their stall.

When the weather turned hot, meat was harder to sell—lean cuts especially. When they placed orders, they couldn’t just pick the prime cuts. Those were reserved for half-carcasses or whole animals; small vendors like them couldn’t be choosy.

Looks like he’d have to take the lean cuts home and stir-fry them himself.

Zhu Si muttered, “Lean meat gets stuck in your teeth. Not even a bit of fat.”

…

It was still early afternoon. Tang Xianling planned to prepare the tofu balls first, frying them sooner so they’d keep better. Though it was hot outside, the room remained quite cool—summer hadn’t truly arrived yet.

“I’ll prepare the ingredients. For dinner, we’ll have squash and tofu ball soup with garlic-mashed cucumber. Then I’ll stir-fry either sweet-and-sour pork tenderloin or pot-roasted pork—both dishes.” Tang Xianling finalized today’s menu.

He placed the daily grocery money in an earthenware jar, keeping the reserve funds separate. This way, whatever remained after covering daily expenses could be saved up—enough to hire a lawyer when needed.

Jiang Yun called from the courtyard, “While your father sleeps, I’ll wash the clothes.”

“Got it, Mother,” Tang Xianling replied.

He began prepping the ingredients. He rinsed the tofu clean and placed it in a large bowl. He chopped the half jin of leftover pork belly from breakfast into mince, mixed it thoroughly with the tofu, and gradually added the soaked ginger and scallion water. He then sprinkled in a little flour, kneading until the mixture became sticky.

He sliced the pork tenderloin into strips for sweet and sour pork.

Thicker sections were cut into chopstick-thick slices, then lightly pounded with the flat side of the knife to tenderize them—these were for pot-shaken pork.

With no starch on hand and only half a basket of potatoes, Tang Xianling, ever the foodie, decided to grind a few potatoes into potato starch for lunch anyway.

While waiting for the starch to settle, he used leftover scraps from making pot-sticker buns that morning to whip up a few stuffed pancakes. These would be his and Jiang Yun’s makeshift lunch. The pancakes were already fried when Jiang Yun still hadn’t returned. Tang Xianling wiped his hands and headed out. Just as he stepped out of the kitchen, he glanced up and immediately knew something was wrong.

Jiang Yun’s hurried voice echoed from the shopfront: “Wu-ger! Is the sky darkening? I was washing clothes and noticed the weather changing—rushed back!”

Their eyes met.

Tang Xianling: “Put the preserved vegetables away in the shop first.”

They had planned to steam the vegetables this evening, but now the weather has changed. Tang Xianling grabbed a handful of vegetables drying on the table in the courtyard. The weather had been fine since yesterday, so they were fairly dry. But if it rained tomorrow—

That would be disastrous.

“Let’s carry them to the front shop for now,” Tang Xianling said.

Four tables. Together, they carried them to the front shop.

Jiang Yun bustled about, not the least bit tired, but solely preoccupied with these four tables of food. Her brow furrowed, and she sighed unconsciously: “You’ve only been in business for a couple of days, and already things are going so badly.”

Her face was etched with sorrow.

Jiang Yun was nearly fifty. Decades of life had ground her into someone indecisive, timid, self-pitying, and prone to sighing at every setback—habits not easily shed.

At least Jiang Yun was fretful on his behalf.

Tang Xianling was also a bit troubled, but it wasn’t the end of the world. Even if it were, as long as he wasn’t dead, it was manageable. So he said, “It’s fine. We’re out of pickled plum vegetables, so we can’t sell the pickled plum vegetable pancakes. I’ll think of something else to sell.”

He’d already told customers this morning he’d be selling something else.

Earlier, he’d considered options like stuffed pancakes or egg-stuffed pancakes. Either would work—simple to prepare with basic ingredients. But selling those would require buying new equipment: stoves, griddles, and flat pans—iron cookware was expensive.

Now Tang Xianling has changed his mind. He’d stick to keeping costs low, avoiding new equipment purchases if possible, to save money, using the two existing grills to make some grilled snacks to sell.

Jiang Yun still looked worried.

“Mother, have some pancakes. I’ve got them ready,” Tang Xianling said casually. “After we eat, I’ll figure out what to sell. Besides, we still have enough preserved vegetables to last a couple more days. No rush.”

Jiang Yun’s frown eased slightly, infected by her Wu-ger’s lightheartedness. Then she remembered something. “Oh dear, my clothes are still by the well! I rushed back when the weather changed. I’ll go get them.”

“Take your time.”

At noon, the two ate pancakes—flat, palm-sized rounds made from unleavened dough. The filling combined leftover preserved plum and meat paste with red bean paste, all mixed with mashed potatoes. The result resembled vegetable spring rolls, crisp and greasy on the outside. The thicker texture from the potato mash gave them a chewy, sticky interior.

Surprisingly delicious.

Why not make vegetable spring rolls? No good—too much oil, and I’d have to dismantle the oven.

Bake, bake, bake—

Tang Xianling’s gaze fell on the prepared pork tenderloin on the cutting board. A flash of inspiration flickered and vanished before he could grasp it, but he knew he was close to figuring something out—something tongue-twister-like. Though he couldn’t quite recall it, it was connected to the pork tenderloin.

So he put it aside for now, feeling surprisingly lighthearted. He took a big bite of his bun and said to Jiang Yun, who was occasionally frowning, “I know what to make.”

“What?” Jiang Yun looked over.

Tang Xianling blew on his food and mumbled, “I need to buy pork tenderloin—it’s leaner and cheaper. It also needs to go in the oven. That means flour buns—”

“!!!”

“Pork floss bread!”

Tang Xianling blurted out, his eyes lighting up. He knew he’d had a real thought earlier! Even if it was just a fleeting inspiration, catching the tail end of an idea was still catching it.

Jiang Yun looked confused. “What kind of food is that? Never heard of it.”

“That’s exactly why it’ll make money.” Tang Xianling’s mind started racing. Pork floss was easy to make and store. Savory bread? He already had an oven. He’d whip up some salad dressing—though without an electric mixer, it’d be a manual slog. First test: the bread flour. No high-gluten flour available now, just the standard all-purpose kind.

No problem—he had his hack!

In high spirits, Tang Xianling hummed as he worked. First, he poured off the settled potato starch water, leaving only a layer of dry starch at the bottom of the bowl. This would be used to coat the meat slices. Then he began mixing the seasoning sauce. Next came frying the pork tenderloin, followed by the meatballs.

These fried items required two rounds of frying. The first fry brought them to about seventy percent done. The second fry, with higher oil temperature, ensured they turned crispy and crunchy.

Tang Xianling fried a whole bowl of tofu meatballs. He broke one open—it was large, crispy on the outside, and tender inside. The tofu’s softness blended with the savory meat flavor. He seasoned it lightly with salt, making it delicious even on its own.

The fried items could wait; he could clean up the oil pot. He poured the oil into a basin—it would be used for stir-frying later, not to be wasted.

Evening hadn’t yet arrived, but the sky outside looked gloomier than yesterday.

“Mother, let’s eat early today,” Tang Xianling said.

Jiang Yun, who was hanging the morning’s laundry under the eaves, responded.

The complicated part was done; the rest was simple. Steam the rice, peel and mash garlic, slice cucumbers, and dice the squash into chunks. Bring water to a rolling boil and add the fried tofu balls first—the oil made the broth slightly cloudy—then toss in the squash.

The squash was tender and needed little cooking.

Just a pinch of pepper and salt in the broth would suffice.

The sweet-and-sour pork tenderloin and pot-roasted pork were easier to prepare. The sweet-and-sour sauce was already mixed; now it was just a matter of tossing them in the pan to coat them in the sauce—

“Dinner’s ready!”

Outside, rain had begun to fall, a light, steady drizzle.

Jiang Yun said, “Your father hasn’t woken up yet. I’ll save some dishes for him.”

“The sweet and sour pork won’t taste good cold. Don’t save those two. Save some soup and the cucumber,” Tang Xianling said flatly.

Jiang Yun hesitated.

“With my father’s condition, lying in bed all day, eating too much meat is hard on his digestion,” Tang Xianling bluffed.

Jiang Yun believed him, so she followed Wu-ger’s lead.

The shop was spacious, with two large rooms. Even with half occupied by tables for sun-drying vegetables, the area near the oven remained quite open. The two carried the dishes out. The sweet-and-sour pork belly and sweet-and-sour pork tenderloin were truly appetizing, perfect for rice. The tangy-sweet flavors were mouthwatering, and the meat slices were crispy and not greasy.

Jiang Yun took a bite and froze, speechless. She couldn’t describe how delicious it was, only managing to say dryly, “Wu-ger, you’re such a good cook.”

“Of course,” Tang Xianling replied, taking a sip of the squash and tofu ball soup. It felt so comforting in his stomach. “Right now, we’re just doing breakfast business. Once we have some money, we can hire help and open a proper restaurant or inn.”

Life was simple and fulfilling. Being able to savor good food made Tang Xianling deeply content.

After finishing the meal, the plates were completely clean. The rain had stopped outside, though the sky remained overcast and the wind carried a chill. Tang Xianling wanted to go out and buy some pork tenderloin, wondering if he could get a better price now. Jiang Yun offered to tidy up.

“I’ll run out for a bit, Mom. I’ll be back soon.” Tang Xianling grabbed a basket and some money before heading out.

As soon as Tang Xianling left, Jiang Yun noticed the leftover sweet and sour sauce at the bottom of the dish. It seemed a waste. Thinking her husband might have trouble digesting meat, she wondered if mixing the sauce with some rice would work.

So, for Old Tang’s portion, she mixed the remaining sauce with rice.

Unaware of Jiang Yun’s actions, Tang Xianling hurried to the butcher shop. The rain had just stopped, leaving the streets damp. Fengyuan City’s roads were paved with stone slabs, preventing muddy conditions. Few pedestrians walked the main street, and the vendors in the middle had long since gone home.

Zhu Si and Zhou Xiangping, the husband-and-wife team, were just about to pack up. At this hour, with the rain having fallen again, no one would come to buy meat today.

“Little Tang?” Zhou Xiangping asked in surprise. “What’s wrong? Was the meat you bought this morning no good? That can’t be—it was all fresh, from pigs slaughtered today.”

Tang Xianling hurriedly explained, “No, I already cooked some meat at home. I just came to buy some more tenderloin—” His gaze fell on the meat display. The same amount he’d seen in the morning remained untouched, not a single piece sold.

Hearing this, Zhu Si froze. “You want tenderloin?” He offered kindly, “This cut is too lean. If you slice it thin and stir-fry it, it’ll get stuck in your teeth.”

“I have other uses for it.” Tang Xianling, wanting to bargain, smiled and said, “Mr. Zhu, I’ll take all of this. Could you give me a discount? Make it a bit cheaper.”

Zhou Xiangping’s eyes widened. “All of it?”

“Yes.”

The couple exchanged glances. Neither wanted to make an unconscionable deal—they were neighbors after all. But Wu-ger spoke with such finality. Buying this pork tenderloin would solve their problem—it hadn’t sold today, and they’d just been thinking of taking it home to eat themselves.

If he could make money off it, why would he eat tough meat himself?

“Are you sure?” Zhou Xiangping hesitated, torn between selling and not wanting to shortchange Wu-ger.

Zhu Si was decisive. “If you take it, I’ll give you three wen per jin. I’ll weigh it out for you.”

“Deal!” Tang Xianling flashed a mouthful of white teeth. “Thanks.”

Costs saved again!