When Tang Xianling returned home, Jiang Yun had already tidied up the shop’s oven and prepared the evening meal.

“Seeing you weren’t back yet, I made something myself. It probably doesn’t taste as good as yours,” Jiang Yun said. She hadn’t eaten yet, waiting for her Wu-ger to return so they could eat together. She added, “Oh, and I bought another twenty jin of pork tenderloin.”

Tang Xianling exclaimed, “That’s wonderful! I almost forgot about that.”

Jiang Yun smiled, and the two ate their meal in front of the shop. The evening breeze was brisk, but the afternoon had cleared up. As she served the food, Jiang Yun remarked, “It should be sunny tomorrow.”

“Then after finishing business tomorrow morning, we’ll move the vegetables out to the courtyard to dry,” Tang Xianling said.

This time, they’ll dry them thoroughly.

The evening meal was nothing special—mixed grain rice with stir-fried eggplant and diced pork. The texture was soft and greasy, not particularly appetizing. But Tang Xianling was hungry. He thought about stir-frying chicken cubes with peanuts to make Kung Pao chicken, and perhaps preparing a cold eggplant salad.

He craved chicken.

He would prepare tomorrow’s evening meal.

Tang Xianling said, “Mother, I’ve secured the milk. For the next ten days, it will be delivered at the end of the You hour.”

That would be around 7 PM.

Fengyuan City had no curfew—or rather, no curfew within the residential quarters. The twelve main streets prohibited civilians from lingering or gathering suspiciously after 10 PM. Patrols roamed these thoroughfares, and those caught after hours could stay at inns in the East or West Market.

The residential quarters and main streets had no curfew.

The city had eight gates, opening around 3 or 4 a.m. at the end of the Yin hour. Thus, the night soiling collection business within the city operated on a residential quarter basis, typically collecting around 2 a.m. After collection, they rushed to transport it out before the earliest gate opening to use as fertilizer in the villages. It was said that fertilizer could also be sold.

This night soot business reaps profits from both ends—though it’s stinky and backbreaking work.

The city gates close at the hour of Xu, around 7 PM.

Fengyuan City was a large metropolis with a dense population. Goods for daily necessities were supplied by merchant caravans from various prefectures and counties. While overall management was relatively strict, life remained easy and convenient for those who simply followed the rules.

The afternoon milk delivery was the final batch sent from the farming villages outside the city before the gates closed.

“Once it gets hotter, if the dough rises early enough, I’ll have the milk delivered in the morning.” That meant delivery around four or five a.m. Then he could start the dough first, sell the pot stickers early, and shift the bread sales to later in the day.

The weather was still cool now. While the city felt warm during the day, at night, people still needed blankets to sleep.

Jiang Yun: “I’ll follow your lead.” 

Wu-ger had planned it well.

“Right, the plaque deliverer comes tomorrow. Once it’s delivered, we’ll take two days off the day after.” Before Jiang Yun could say more, Tang Xianling added, “Resting doesn’t mean doing nothing. We need to restock supplies—charcoal, flour, spices, sugar, oil, and so on. I’ll also buy some vegetables and eggs, and make a trip to Jude Lane.”

Jiang Yun, unaware of Jude Lane, asked, “Why go there? Do you have friends—”

“No,” Tang Xianling replied. “I want to scout out some litigators first—learn more about them and their fees so I have a rough idea.”

Jiang Yun fell silent.

After eating, Jiang Yun cleared the pots and bowls. “You haven’t counted today’s bread sales yet. You do that first. I’ll tidy up. The meat is on the cutting board; I’ll cover it with a basin.”

Tang Xianling didn’t argue. He lit a candle in the shop and began counting the money.

Selling bread at seven wen definitely profitable. He estimated they could make a fifty-percent profit, but churning butter was exhausting. He recalled Tieniu’s dejected expression and thought: Even if Tieniu lived in town, it might be manageable for a day or two, but churning butter every single day? No matter how strong you are, your arms would give out.

Forget it.

Without butter, it was simpler and cheaper, costing almost the same as flatbread. The profit was actually quite good. Before, flatbread sold slowly, earning him three hundred wen in over an hour each morning. Once the pickled mustard greens were ready and added to the bread, he conservatively estimated he could earn six hundred wen a morning—eighteen taels of silver a month.

This was his projected net profit.

After covering his and Jiang Yun’s living expenses, Fengyuan City levied a poll tax. Old Tang had paid it alongside his shop tax at the start of the year: one hundred wen per year for males registered as scholars, farmers, or artisans; fifty wen for young ladies and ger; and no charge for children under seven.

Registering as a merchant doubled the fee.

All taxes were paid annually.

Calculating this way, his estimate was conservative. Setting aside ten taels of silver should be no problem.

Thinking this through, Tang Xianling decided that if the litigation fees didn’t exceed ten taels, he’d settle the Hu family case by month’s end or mid-May. Then, after tightening his belt for a few meals, he’d spend two taels to hire a troupe of musicians and performers—

And he meant to do just that.

A satisfied smile spread across Tang Xianling’s face as he thought this through. He clinked the coins into their respective piggy banks—the main savings jar remained untouched, reserved for restocking supplies in two days.

He carried the night bucket to the doorway, locked the shop, and carried the candlestick back to the rear courtyard.

Jiang Yun had boiled water and carried the basin back to the east room for washing. Tang Xianling first lathered his hands with soap, then scrubbed his face until it felt slightly cleaner and fresher. He began making pork floss—having been occupied with other tasks this afternoon, he’d have to work late tonight.

He could do it in the afternoon.

Tang Xianling spent the first half of the night making pork floss. He kneaded the dough last, careful not to let it rise too much or it would turn sour. He had a good sense of timing, getting it just right.

Once everything was done, he used the hot water simmering on the stove to scrub himself thoroughly once more. Returning to bed, he truly collapsed into sleep—

He truly needed two days of rest.

The next day, as usual, though exhausted, his body woke at the appointed hour. Tang Xianling: Waaah.

He lingered in bed for only a few minutes before dressing. Sounds were already coming from the east room—likely Jiang Yun. He listened; she was heading toward the front. probably taking the chamber pot to the outhouse and brushing the shopfront clean while she was at it.

Tang Xianling didn’t dawdle. He sprang up, thinking: Once the Hu family matter was settled, the Tang family would reclaim the courtyard they rented from the Li family—even if it meant paying a penalty for breaking the lease.

The Li family had paid three years’ rent upfront when they leased it, even building a wall down the middle of the courtyard. Their whole scheme was to wait until Old Tang passed away, leaving Jiang Yun and her Wu-ger struggling to manage daily life, constrained at every turn. Then they could easily buy or lease the shop from Jiang Yun.

Old Tang had never shared his secret recipes with Jiang Yun. Once he was gone, neither Jiang Yun nor her Wu-ger would know how to brew the soup for business. Sitting on an empty shop while paying annual commercial tax would be a burden—better to sell it and buy farmland outside the city to live off the land.

Or they could live in a village outside the city, rent out the shop, and live off the rent.

Either option would work.

Tang Xianling pondered this while dressing. For Jiang Yun and the Wu-ger, such a life wouldn’t be bad. But the Li family hadn’t approached them openly and honestly. They were clearly determined to take the shop and would likely resort to threats and bribes when the time came.

Troubles never ceased, and it all stemmed from Old Tang.

He finished dressing, lit a candle, and headed to the stove room. He struck a flint to heat water, then hoisted his water bucket to fetch water. As he opened the shop door—good heavens—

“Morning, Mr. Tang!” Cui Dabao nodded cheerfully.

Cui Dabao wasn’t alone at the door. By the moonlight, four or five familiar regular customers stood there too.

Tang Xianling: …

The power of foodies.

That’s funny.

“Good morning, everyone. Thank you for your support.”

“Mother, customers are here. Could you bring out a few stools?”

Customers: “Thank you, Mr. Tang, going to fetch water?” “Come back soon,” “Go ahead, don’t mind us.”

Tang Xianling: … 

He shouldered the pole and carried the water bucket out.

After two trips, the water in the large stove was hot. He and Jiang Yun brushed their teeth, washed up, and tidied everything.

“There’s some bread left from yesterday. Mother, have that for breakfast while I tidy up.” Tang Xianling, a piece of bread in his mouth, carried the large jar of pork floss to the front and began preparations.

Originally, he planned to bake bread in one oven and red bean paste pot stickers in another.

But with so many people outside the shop now—and even more since he returned—clearly all craving the new bread, Tang Xianling changed his mind. He decided to bake two batches of bread first today, then sell the red bean pot stickers later.

Everyone loves novelty, after all.

Tang Xianling washed his hands and began kneading dough, mixing salad dressing, coating buns with scallion oil and sprinkling scallions, rolling them in pork floss, and feeding them into the oven. He worked nonstop without a break, not even stopping to take a sip of water. Only after the bread was in the oven did he take a drink. Light filtered through the cracks in the shop door.

Dawn had broken.

“Time to open up.”

Jiang Yun was about to say something beside him, but before she could, Tang Xianling swung the door wide open. Jiang Yun’s voice followed: “Wu-ger, there are so many people!”

“…” The place was packed.

A dense crowd of people stretched out before him, at least twenty or so. Tang Xianling on the steps: He forced a smile, then wondered, How could so many people be so quiet? He hadn’t heard a single voice earlier.

Then he thought, They must have been so absorbed in their work they didn’t notice.

Now it resembled a bustling market.

“Mr. Tang, is the pork floss bread five wen today?”

“Mr. Tang, I came early. I’ll take five.”

“You came early, but I didn’t! If you buy five, when will the rest of us get any?”

“Exactly!”

There were only two ovens. If the first few bought so many, what if they ran out by the time it was their turn?

“Mr. Tang, say something!”

Tang Xianling: “…I was going to say, I prepared more today—” He’d intended to boast about increased stock, but glancing at the crowd and their demands, he quietly amended: “Well, we’re all neighbors here. Harmony brings prosperity. Everyone should get a taste. Limit three per person.”

He really wasn’t doing scarcity marketing!!!

“My family only has my mother and me, so we can’t prepare too much. Please bear with us. Tang Xianling thanks all our customers for your support.”

“Three is fine, then I’ll take three!” Cui Dabao was the most compliant; he’d come early and already taken some home.

Tang Xianling smiled. In business, harmony brings prosperity—one must be approachable.

“The bread just went into the oven. Please wait a bit longer.”

Everyone had waited this long already, so a little more time wasn’t urgent. While waiting, a customer behind him suggested to Mr. Tang: “Mr. Tang, if you’re short-handed, you could hire some help.”

“I think that’s a good idea.”

“And that oven’s too small. You should get a bigger one.”

“One might not be enough. Get a couple more.”

“Mr. Tang, when will you have the preserved vegetable and pork pot stickers? The bread is great, but don’t tell me I can’t have pot stickers too.”

“I’ve never tried pot stickers myself. Mr. Tang’s place is crazy popular—every time I come, everything’s sold out. I finally decided to come extra early, only to find… wow, this many people waiting!”

The customer in front chuckled with a hint of smugness, while those behind nodded in agreement: “Yeah, we came too early. Who would’ve thought?”

Zhou Xiangping stood at the back of the line. Yesterday, after closing the shop, she and her husband returned home. Her mother-in-law said the bread was delicious and soft, but her father-in-law’s teeth were bad and hurting badly. “The bread you brought back this afternoon—your father ate half a loaf and didn’t feel any toothache. He asked where else it’s sold?”

Zhu Si was a filial son and didn’t mention the price. If he’d said seven wen each, his parents would surely have thought it too expensive and refused.

He simply said, “The one on Main Street. Father liked it, so I’ll go buy some more tomorrow.”

That night, before bed, Zhou Xiangping said, “Then I’ll get up early tomorrow to buy bread.”

Zhu Si nodded, a touch of emotion in his eyes. “Who would’ve thought? After Brother Tang’s place went under, his two huge shops were gathering dust. Just the annual trade tax alone was eight taels of silver! Yet in just a few days, not only has Wu-ger revived the business, but it’s become so popular you can’t even get any if you go too late.”

Zhou Xiangping echoed the sentiment, “That’s right. Sister Tang is fortunate to have such a good son in Wu-ger. She has hope now.”

She giggled again, catching her husband’s gaze. “When Sister Tang first mentioned Wu-ger making bread, I misunderstood,” she chuckled. “I thought she wanted me to support him by buying some. You even said, ‘That’s not how we do favors!’ We sold him meat at a discount. But now? Now we’re the ones lining up to buy his bread.”

Both husband and wife laughed, their smiles brimming with envy.

How times change—so swiftly.

Zhou Xiangping lingered at the back of the line. After a moment, an irresistible aroma wafted toward her, potent and heady, carrying far. Glancing ahead, she saw everyone at the front craning their necks to peer into the shop.

“Is it ready yet?” “Oh my, I smell it!” “To me, it smells just like yesterday—”

Cui Dabao couldn’t resist. Like a dog with a keen nose, he sniffed again and declared with certainty, “Wrong! There’s a difference. Today’s milk flavor isn’t as rich as yesterday’s, and there’s that peculiar oily aroma. Master Tang must not have added butter.”

“You mean the milk essence?” Zhang Ming didn’t have a dog’s nose and couldn’t detect the difference, but if Cui Dabao said so, it must be true. He added, “Mr. Tang said it’s two wen cheaper without the butter.”

Cui Dabao muttered under his breath: “Two more wen would’ve been worth it.”

He sighed inwardly: “If only I’d known, I should’ve bought more yesterday. What a waste.”

After his lament, worry crept in. He wondered if the pork floss bread would taste significantly worse without the butter. If so, it would be a shame to waste such deliciousness. Having tasted perfection, missing out now felt like a huge loss. What a pity, what a pity.

Cui Dabao kept shaking his head and looking regretful. Zhang Ming couldn’t understand it. He couldn’t smell any difference, and as long as it smelled good—smelling that aroma, it couldn’t be bad—and it was two wen cheaper, how great was that?

Most customers shared Zhang Ming’s thoughts. Five wen each meant you could eat two!

Tang Xianling used tongs to pull out the bread. From the front row, the tray looked golden and gorgeous, bursting with fluffy pork floss dotted with bright green scallions—appealing to the eye and mouth. Though he hadn’t tasted it yet, that aroma… mmm, salivating already.

Master Tang dipped his brush in something, swiftly coating the freshly baked buns before returning them to the oven. He repeated this process for every bun in both ovens.

“Just a moment longer—let them brown.” When Tang Xianling turned after finishing, he was startled. Good heavens, the customers in front had their necks stretched out like they’d skipped three meals.

Truth be told, seeing everyone eagerly await his creations made him genuinely happy. It wasn’t just about the money—there was a real sense of fulfillment.

Finally, they were ready.

“Mom, take the money.”

Tang Xianling called out, and Jiang Yun was already ready. The customers in front lined up orderly, one by one approaching, handing money to Jiang Yun with one hand and taking bread from Boss Tang with the other.

“This time I used lard instead of butter and soybean oil. They’re both five wen each. Which would you like?” Tang Xianling asked Cui Dabao. This batch featured a uniform savory flavor with scallions and pork floss.

Cui Dabao examined them closely. The type of oil couldn’t be distinguished by appearance alone.

“Then I’ll take two soybean oil and one lard.” Soybean oil was gentler on his stomach than rich lard.

Tang Xianling deftly grabbed three with tongs.

After buying his share, Cui Dabao stepped aside instead of heading back. He held the basket to his nose and sniffed the aroma, confirming once more that it truly lacked the richness of butter. He took a lard-filled bun, broke it open, and compared it to yesterday’s. The texture felt just as soft and firm. He tore off a piece, popped it into his mouth, and chewed, chewed, chewed. The more he chewed, the slower he went.

“Savoring it like that? What’s wrong—doesn’t it taste good?” Zhang Ming asked, then took a bite of his own bread, chewing quickly before mumbling, “Nah, it’s delicious. Doesn’t taste much different to me—just like yesterday.”

“Hot, hot, hot—it’s just a bit too hot.”

Cui Dabao countered, “There is a difference. It’s still tasty, but that rich, buttery flavor is weaker.” He had initially thought that the absence of just one ingredient—butter—made the perfect taste fall short. Now, having finished it, he reassessed: without that perfection, it was only an eight out of ten.

It was still surprisingly delicious.

For those who dislike overly rich dairy flavors, this might actually be preferable. Taste is highly personal—what you consider a perfect ten might be an eight for someone else.

But most, like Zhang Ming, couldn’t detect any difference at all.

“I’ll take three.” “Three.” “Me too, three.”

Those who got their bread took a bite and immediately smiled brightly, relieved. “It’s still the same flavor, so good!” “I didn’t notice any difference either.” “Five wen is a good deal, worth it.” “Actually, I did notice—the milk flavor is a bit lighter today. You taste the scallion and meat floss first, especially the meat floss. The milk flavor doesn’t overpower it. So good!”

Cui Dabao placed the half-eaten bun back into the basket, covered it with gauze, and hurried home with the basket in hand.

Those who had just received their bread began eating, while the line behind them, drawn by the aroma, found it even more enticing.

“Is there a difference?”

“Yes, but it’s still delicious. Really tasty.”

“Come back tomorrow.”

“Alright, we will.”

Tang Xianling was placing bread into the oven when he faintly heard these words. He slammed on the brakes and hurriedly called out, “The shop is closed tomorrow and the day after. Please spread the word so folks don’t make a wasted trip.”

“!!!”

“Ah!”

“Then I’ll buy two more!”

“Me too, me too.”

Tang Xianling: “If you’re going to wait in line again, wouldn’t it be better to come the day after tomorrow?”

“No problem, Mr. Tang. I’m free in the mornings anyway. I’ll just treat it as a walk to help my digestion.”

Tang Xianling: …

Zhou Xiangping ran her business alongside her husband on Main Street. Honestly, even during Old Tang’s peak winter lamb roti season, she’d never witnessed anything like this—customers buying, eating, then turning around to rejoin the end of the line.

Truthfully, this scene was a first for her.

Originally, Zhou Xiangping only intended to buy two. But when her turn finally came, she said, “Sister-in-law, I’ll take three.” She smiled and flattered, “Your bread is really popular. It tastes great—truly delicious.”

Jiang Yun immediately smiled and exchanged pleasantries with Zhou Xiangping.

━━ 🐈‍⬛ ━━

By the sixth batch of bread, Tang Xianling told those behind not to queue for bread anymore, saying only red bean paste pot-sticker buns were left.

Hearing this, someone exclaimed, “What pot-stickers? What bread is sold out? I haven’t been to the main street in days—what new delicacy has appeared?”

This was a customer who hadn’t visited the main street in ages. Seeing the line outside Old Tang’s shop, he’d come out of curiosity to join the commotion. He’d just stepped to the back of the line when he heard Wu-ger say this, leaving him utterly confused.

A kind customer in front explained the situation.

“Oh, so Lao Tang isn’t doing well. His Wu-ger is selling breakfast instead. What’s this bread?”

“I can’t keep up with you, but it’s incredibly tasty and popular. They sold out today.”

Someone chimed in: “I couldn’t get a pot sticker before, but now that the bread’s out, I snagged a pot sticker instead.”

“Too bad they don’t have the pickled mustard greens and pork kind. I still prefer savory.”

“Just make do. The red bean paste is pretty good too.”

The new customer found this amusing and decided to stick around. “Well then, I’ll grab a lucky break too. I’ll try one of these red bean-filled pot stickers for now, and come back tomorrow morning for the bread.”

“We won’t be selling tomorrow.”

New Customer:?

“Mr. Tang said we’re taking two days off.”

The newcomer frowned and shook his head. “How can a business close for two days? Aren’t they afraid of losing all their customers?”

The two regulars exchanged glances and smiled.

Newcomer: “Huh? Are you laughing at me for saying that?”

“It’s not that it’s wrong, and we’re not laughing at you. You’ll understand once you try Brother Tang’s pot stickers.”

“Yes, don’t get upset, don’t get upset.”

The newcomer: What a mysterious fellow. 

Just breakfast, he couldn’t be bothered with the main street, usually shopping at the eastern or western markets for food.

Still, the new customer waited for his turn.

“Just one red bean pot cake.” He’ll settle for one.

Tang Xianling retrieved it from the oven, deftly folded it in half, and handed it over wrapped in oil paper at the bottom.

The new customer took it, his gaze scrutinizing the flatbread. It was large, but thin. He saw the layer of red bean paste inside and smelled the brown sugar aroma—nothing special. The vendor asked for four wen. 

No wonder the others had said, “Just make do.” It must be mediocre. He popped it into his mouth and took a crunchy bite. His critical gaze froze, then his jaws started working furiously.

Different. Truly extraordinary.

This flavor—clearly just ordinary brown sugar and red bean paste—yet why was it so delicious? Not overly sweet or cloying, the bean paste was grainy yet velvety smooth, the brown sugar taste neither overpowering nor sickly. The dough itself carried a fragrant flour aroma—

“Owner, one more please!”

Those two had just said it was “just okay.” If something this delicious was merely “just okay,” then what must the sold-out bread taste like?!

The new customer dared not imagine.

Tang Xianling chuckled as he packed another one. This customer looked unfamiliar.

Within days—just two days later—the new customer was already a regular, coming daily for breakfast with just those two red bean pot stickers.

Today’s supply was larger, and baking took longer, so business didn’t wrap up until nearly eleven in the morning. Tang Xianling made a profit, deeply grateful for the customers’ patience and support. He thought about preparing some small gifts to give them later.

After closing up, he gulped down three bowls of water. Tang Xianling hadn’t felt hungry despite working all morning, but once he rested, the hunger hit. He told Jiang Yun, “Mom, let’s skip lunch today. I’ll grab two bowls of wontons—we’ll eat out.”

“Two bowls? Your dad…”

Tang Xianling replied with righteous indignation, “I completely forgot about him. Those wontons taste best fresh—if they sit too long, they turn mushy—”

Then he amended, “Actually, I thought about it. A bit mushy might be easier for Father to chew and digest. I’ll grab an extra bowl on my way back. That way, when he wakes up, you won’t have to make another trip.”

Jiang Yun sensed something odd. Was Wu-ger suggesting Old Tang eat mushy, soggy food?

“Alright… fine then.”

Tang Xianling took the money, carried the family bowl to the street dumpling shop, ordered three servings of wontons, then went next door to the Lu family to buy two plain-filled buns. Seeing him carrying the large bowl, Auntie Lu called over Sanniang to help carry the buns back.

“Thank you.”

“No need to thank me. It’s just a short trip for Sanniang,” Chen Qiaolian said warmly. If it were any other family, she wouldn’t have sent Sanniang to run errands—she was grown now. But the Tang family next door was different.

With Father Tang bedridden, only Sister Tang and Wu-ger remained in the Tang household—no cause for worry.

Chen Qiaolian praised again, “Wu-ger is truly devoted. He’s been bustling about all morning without a moment’s rest.”

“I’ll take two days off after tomorrow,” Tang Xianling interjected.

He went to buy wontons. Everyone who saw him praised his competence and filial piety, inquiring about Old Master Tang’s health. At home, Tang Xianling’s true nature surfaced—he gave Old Master Tang the cold shoulder. But when speaking to outsiders, he put on a show: “Father’s health remains the same. He needs to eat lightly. Buying chicken soup wontons lets him sip nourishing broth.”

Thus, everyone praised his filial piety.

Tang Xianling: …Keeping up appearances works just fine.

Lu Sanniang delivered the oil-paper-wrapped vegetarian buns to the Tang family courtyard, then politely greeted Aunt Tang before leaving.

Tang Xianling realized they had no snacks at home; otherwise, he would have offered Sanniang something to eat. He felt bad for troubling the young girl.

By noon, Old Tang still hadn’t woken up.

It wasn’t Tang Xianling’s imagination. Ever since they’d moved Old Tang out to the courtyard to eat, his condition seemed to have worsened. Tang Xianling hadn’t paid much attention, leaving Jiang Yun to care for him. Now, he thought about it—but didn’t ask.

He pretended nothing had happened.

“Mother, after lunch, I’ll head out to Jude Lane this afternoon. Tomorrow I’ll go shopping.”

Jiang Yun nodded. “Thank you for your hard work. Once you leave, I’ll lock the door and stay home to watch over things.”

…That wasn’t what he meant. It was just that after so long alone in the apocalypse, he’d developed the habit of making lists and talking to himself about every little task.

Let’s eat.

A pot of chicken soup wontons was divided into three bowls.

Tang Xianling had been craving chicken since yesterday. Since he hadn’t gotten his hands on Kung Pao Chicken, he’d settle for chicken soup wontons for now. These were plump-bellied wontons—thin skins revealing the filling inside: shepherd’s purse and chicken.

The broth was crystal clear, likely skimmed of fat. Taking a sip, the chicken flavor was light yet fresh. Then I ate a dumpling—the chicken inside wasn’t dry, and paired with the shepherd’s purse, it created a juicy, satisfying texture where the broth seeped into the filling.

Delicious, delicious.

Really good.

The shops on the main street paid an annual business tax at the start of each year—four taels of silver per shop. Those who could afford to run a food business here either operated like the place next door, relying on low margins and high volume for daily sales, or truly had something special—food that was genuinely worth trying.

“Delicious. I should’ve bought a couple more bowls,” Tang Xianling muttered.

Of course, he and Jiang Yun each had two bowls!