Tang Xianling ran back home, but halfway there, the rain started again. He got a little wet. The streets were deserted. He arrived home and locked up the shop.

Jiang Yun heard the commotion and came from the backyard. “Wu-ger, you’re soaked. Dry off quickly, don’t catch a chill.” Only then did she notice the basket in Wu-ger’s hands, filled to the brim with meat. “Why did you buy so much meat?”

“I’m making pork floss. Mother, have you forgotten? This isn’t even enough. I’ll buy more tomorrow.” Tang Xianling anticipated Jiang Yun’s question and answered first, “Pork floss keeps well. It doesn’t matter if it’s hot or raining.”

Together, they headed to the backyard.

Tang Xianling remarked, “Actually, it’s fortunate the rain came early. If I’d already steamed the preserved vegetables and it started raining, that would have been disastrous.”

Now the vegetables were still dry, untouched by rain, so they could be stored safely. Tomorrow or the day after, when the sun came out, he’d dry them thoroughly in the sun before steaming.

The sky darkened quickly.

Tang Xianling first went inside to fetch a dry cloth, wiping the rain from his hair and clothes. Changing into clean cotton garments, he headed to the kitchen. He planned to make the pork floss tonight as an experiment. Before starting, he brewed himself a bowl of ginger tea.

The kitchen housed a large stove and a small brazier. Normally, for a quick midday meal, he’d use the brazier to warm porridge, reheat rice, or toast buns, conserving charcoal. Now, a candle flickered in the room. Cold water filled the small pot atop the brazier. Tang Xianling sliced ginger, tossed in some dried red dates, and let the mixture simmer gently over the brazier.

Only then did he begin preparing the pork tenderloin.

Making pork floss is straightforward. Remove the membrane from the pork tenderloin, then slice it into pieces neither too thin nor too thick. Place them in cold water with scallions and ginger and begin boiling. Keep the lid off to allow the gamey smell to escape. Boil for a longer time at this stage. Skim off the scum, then remove the meat and let it cool. Use a rolling pin to pound and shred the meat into thin strips before frying.

No oil is needed; dry-fry directly to evaporate moisture.

Fry in two stages. The first stage shouldn’t dry out completely. Add salt and sugar in a 1:1 ratio, then a splash of soy sauce for color. Timing is crucial during frying, requiring constant stirring to prevent sticking and burning.

Tang Xianling worked methodically, oblivious to Jiang Yun entering once. Seeing him busy, she silently carried the soup and rice she had warmed to the east room. While the meat simmered, the ginger tea on the small stove finished brewing.

He poured himself a large bowl and set one aside for Jiang Yun.

When Jiang Yun came to the kitchen, Tang Xianling said, “Mother saved you a bowl too. Drink it while it’s hot—don’t catch a chill.”

“Yes,” Jiang Yun replied, blowing on her bowl of ginger tea as she drank. Even just the flavor of the ginger tea brewed by Wu-ger was delightful— The spicy heat of ginger mingled with the sweet aroma of red dates. These dried dates must have been stored for ages—probably bought last autumn. She’d never found them this sweet when she’d chewed them dry before.

Jiang Yun suspected Wu-ger must have added sugar to the ginger tea.

Wu-ger was still like a child, afraid of ginger’s spiciness.

At this thought, Jiang Yun’s eyes softened as she tidied the washing basin nearby. Tang Xianling began stir-frying pork floss. Outside, darkness deepened, and the rain grew heavier, thunder clapping and lightning flashing. After Jiang Yun finished washing and putting away the dishes, Tang Xianling called out for her to go to bed first.

“I’ll be done here soon.”

Jiang Yun agreed.

Deep into the night, the heavy rain made the candle flicker wildly. Alone in the kitchen, Tang Xianling felt no fear. His mind and eyes were filled with the bright yellow, fluffy strands of meat. To achieve the perfect fluffiness for pork floss, it was best to give it a rough stir with a mixer after the first stir-fry. This would create a fluffy, velvety texture.

Without a mixer, Tang Xianling kneaded it by hand and beat it with chopsticks. After a thorough beating, he stir-fried it a second time to completely dry out the moisture, then sprinkled white sesame seeds for fragrance. In the dim light, the kitchen filled with the irresistible aroma of meat floss.

The moment Tang Xianling caught the scent, he knew it was perfect. Pinching a handful, he popped it into his mouth. The floss was fluffy and salty, melting like fine velvet on his tongue, while the shredded meat offered a satisfying chew. The flavor was incredible.

It was even better than the pork floss bread he used to buy outside his university before the apocalypse!!!

“It’s done!” Tang Xianling stood with his hands on his hips, basking in satisfaction for a moment. His eyes crinkled with delight as he packed the meat floss into a jar. His swollen index finger tapped the jar lightly as he declared, “Once I gather all the ingredients, I’ll have a huge meat floss bun by tomorrow night at the latest!”

Bread requires milk, yeast, eggs, and butter. Yeast could be fermented from sourdough starter—the steamed bun vendor next door surely had some. He’d ask tomorrow if they sold it. For milk and butter, he could try the East Market. With its large Hu population, he’d even seen cheese vendors there before.

But the people of Fengyuan City weren’t accustomed to cheese, so it didn’t sell well.

After tidying up, the candle on the windowsill nearly burned down. Tang Xianling finally washed up and climbed into bed, falling asleep the moment his head hit the pillow. Even as he drifted off, he thought of his meat floss bun—he’d need to prepare some salad dressing too, for a savory meat floss bun…

At this thought, Tang Xianling drifted off with a smile on his face.

Meanwhile, at the Cui residence in Third Alley.

Cui Dabao had bought pot stickers today and stayed home all day. He’d planned to go out for a stroll in the afternoon—he’d even gotten dressed and stepped outside—but soon turned back. Sun Douzi found this odd and asked what was wrong.

“Nothing.” Cui Dabao said nothing more, heading into the courtyard. After a while, he asked, “Douzi, did your stomach rumble after eating pot stickers this morning?”

Only then did Sun Douzi realize Dabao was worried he might get an upset stomach, since breakfast had included meat.

“No.” Sun Douzi felt a vague, indescribable joy, but also found the constant talk of stomach troubles a bit embarrassing.

Cui Dabao saw the look on Douzi’s face and felt a little pleased himself—Douzi was embarrassed.

So he said no more. He’d keep an eye on him at home; if Douzi’s stomach acted up again, he’d have to find a doctor.

“Do we still have the medicine the village doctor prescribed?” Cui Dabao asked.

Sun Douzi nodded shyly. “Yes.” He had originally planned to wash clothes, but since Dabao was home, he changed his mind and stayed indoors to sew shoe soles. Fortunately, he chose sewing over laundry, for by evening, rain began to fall.

Cui Dabao woke from his nap to find his husband washing his hands and heading to the kitchen to prepare supper. Glancing up at the drizzling sky, he paused and said, “Father left without an umbrella this morning. Douzi, I’ll go deliver one to him.”

“Alright.” Sun Douzi called out from the kitchen and came out. After Dabao left, he locked the courtyard gate.

Father Cui worked at the kiln factory, which was quite a distance from home. He usually rode a mule cart there. When he was younger, he could walk, but now his legs ached after long walks. Dabao said, “Father, I’ll eat a little less at work. You should still ride the mule cart.”

How filial! Father Cui was deeply moved, saying, “Father can do without anything, but I should not take a single bite of your food. You’re so sensible. Our family can’t go under.”

Dabao loved to eat, but he knew his limits. He only went to the fancy restaurants on the main street once or twice a month. Mostly, he ate at the small eateries on the main street and the east and west markets. The family could still afford it.

Cui Dabao headed toward the main street with his umbrella, just as he saw his father stepping down from the mule cart. He ran a few steps, held the umbrella over his father’s head, and the two shouted at each other through the downpour.

“Why did you come? In this downpour? Don’t catch a chill,” Father Cui worried.

Cui Dabao: “Father, I’m young and strong. You’re the one who shouldn’t get wet.”

“Then hurry back,” Father Cui said. Though he’d protested Dabao coming to fetch him, he was secretly pleased—even after marrying a husband, his son hadn’t forgotten to honor his father.

When they reached home, Sun Douzi opened the door. “Father, there’s hot water by the stove. Quickly wash yourselves off. Seeing the rain, I brewed a pot of ginger tea.”

Back in the village, when he got caught in the rain, no one cared—let alone offered ginger tea. Only after marrying into the Cui family did he gradually learn: if you get wet, they’d immediately boil water for a wash and serve ginger tea. If you fell ill, you didn’t have to tough it out or chew random herbs—you could go straight to the pharmacy for medicine and a proper checkup.

“Alright, Douzi, have some later too,” Father Cui said.

His son-in-law was perfect in every way, just as filial as his eldest son, though his health was too frail.

Once father and son were cleaned and dressed, candles lit the main hall. Sun Douzi brought the meal to the table—meat as usual. He’d stir-fried eggplant with pork, but it turned out dark and murky. In the dim light, Father Cui couldn’t even tell what the dish was at first glance.

“Stir-fried eggplant with pork,” Father Cui said, not commenting on its quality, as long as it was edible. He glanced at Dabao, who was using his chopsticks only for pickles and sliced cucumbers. Douzi was doing the same, avoiding the meat entirely.

That bowl of eggplant and pork was left for him alone.

Father Cui said, “…Dabao, eat some meat. Douzi can’t handle meat yet?”

“Father, I’m afraid to eat it,” Sun Douzi replied.

Father Cui was about to say something.

Dabao interjected, “I’ll eat it. What are you eating, Father? Hurry up and eat, have more.” He pushed the eggplant and pork dish toward his father. The dish looked unappetizing—he wasn’t about to eat it!

Father Cui: …

After the meal, Sun Douzi went to wash the dishes.

Father Cui stopped his son. “Your father isn’t being mean. It’s just that Douzi is frail. We’ve raised him for three years now. You’re no longer a child yourself, yet we still have no heir. If I were to die, how could I face your father in the afterlife?”

“But you can’t force Douzi to eat meat. It upsets his stomach and only harms his health.” Cui Dabao grumbled, then added, ”But today he ate Master Tang’s meat pot stickers, and his stomach didn’t rumble. He can handle eating these.“

Father Cui brightened. ”Really? Next time you buy pot stickers, bring some for Douzi too. I don’t mind whether I eat them or not. You two should eat well and grow strong.”

So the next day.

Tang Xianling rose at his usual hour to fetch water. As he opened the door, Old Man Cui was already waiting. Tang Xianling: …

He couldn’t help but chuckle.

“Old Man Cui, you know when I open the shop. Yesterday was rainy and damp—coming this early just means waiting around.”

“I slept all afternoon yesterday and didn’t catch any sleep.” Cui Dabao stepped back as he saw young Master Tang carrying two buckets on a pole. “Go fetch water. Just like yesterday—bring me a stool.”

Tang Xianling: “…” He carried a stool for the big customer.

Then he went to fetch water.

The morning sky was dark, the road wet and slippery, a cold wind blowing—though at least it had stopped raining. Tang Xianling made two trips. On his first return, besides Cui Dabao, another customer had appeared beside him. The face looked familiar—it was the customer who hadn’t gotten any buns yesterday.

The moment he spotted young Master Tang, the customer said, “I knew the pickled plum vegetables would spoil the moment it started raining. Will they be gone in a couple more days? I had to come today.” He hadn’t gotten any for two days straight; today, he absolutely had to get his fill.

“…” The customer knew the stock levels better than he did. Naturally, it was because he’d mentioned it yesterday.

Tang Xianling nodded, keen to promote his upcoming new product. He smiled and said, “Yes, but I’ve also come up with a new kind of baked bread—savory with pork floss. This technique is a bit more complicated.”

The customer wasn’t interested in new creations—he hadn’t even gotten his pot-sticker fix yet.

Cui Dabao, however, was curious. “Meat floss? What kind of meat is flossy?”

“Pork,” Tang Xianling explained simply. “I shred it myself. To say it tastes good would be a bit like bragging.” He added, “Come try the meat floss bread when it’s ready in a few days.”

Seeing it wasn’t available yet, Cui Dabao nodded, figuring it was pointless to keep chatting.

After Young Master Tang went off to fetch water again.

Cui Dabao wondered: I wonder if that pork floss tastes anything like the meat pot stickers.

When Tang Xianling returned from his second water-fetching trip, two more customers had gathered at the door. Tang Xianling: …

Wait, don’t chicken out on me!!!

With that thought racing through his mind, Tang Xianling hurried back to the kitchen to prepare. Fortunately, Jiang Yun had already boiled the beans and rinsed the preserved vegetables in warm water before wringing them dry. All he needed to do was mix the filling.

“Zhu Si delivered the meat. I took it and told him to save the pork tenderloin for you,” Jiang Yun called from the kitchen. She felt a bit uneasy, unsure if she’d conveyed the message correctly, since Wu-ger hadn’t told her to mention it.

Hearing this, Tang Xianling relaxed. “Thanks, Mom. I almost forgot to tell Mr. Zhu about this. Good thing you remembered.”

“That’s good. Glad I didn’t mess up your plans.” Jiang Yun’s unease faded, replaced by a smile.

That morning, Tang Wu-ger’s breakfast shop opened a little earlier than yesterday.

As Tang Xianling patted out dough, he wondered: Would customers start demanding he open even earlier?