“Mother, give this to me.”

Jiang Yun hesitated, fear in her voice. “Your father forbid me to touch it. If he wakes—”

“Can he even sit up straight to rummage through chests now?” Tang Xianling cut her off, then declared decisively, “If he really discovers it, just say I took it.”

“Alright, alright.”

Tang Xianling carried the wooden box to the west room. From the deepest recesses of his wardrobe, he retrieved the divorce letter. Unsealing it, he compared the words to the torn fragments in the box—they matched perfectly. This proved beyond doubt that Hu Kang had written it.

Evidence secured.

Tang Xianling slipped the divorce letter back into its envelope, tucking it away with the account books and other documents. Storing it in his own wardrobe, he felt a slight weight lift from his shoulders. Having proof was good—at least he wasn’t reporting this to the authorities without cause. Just then, the front gate rattled open.

“Coming, coming!” Jiang Yun answered from outside.

Tang Xianling tidied his things, closed the cabinet door, and stepped out as well. The visitor was a young carpenter apprentice delivering a plaque. Jiang Yun invited him into the shop to rest and have some water, but the apprentice waved it off. “No need, thank you. You’ve inspected the goods—no problem, I’ll be on my way. Still got work to do back at the shop.”

“Let me see.” Tang Xianling happened to be passing the shopfront. He stepped up to inspect it and couldn’t help but chuckle. “This calligraphy isn’t your master’s, is it?”

It was Tieniu’s handwriting.

“The customer who ordered the plaque wrote it. My master just carved the characters.”

Tang Xianling: “It’s fine. No problem.”

“Isn’t Wu-ger paying?” Jiang Yun asked as the young clerk pushed his wheelbarrow toward the exit.

Tang Xianling: “No need. Tieniu already covered it.” This shop offered free delivery; no errand fee was required.

Jiang Yun felt a bit awkward, continuing to escort the clerk out of the shop long after he’d passed the entrance.

Tang Xianling glanced at the sky. The sun hadn’t set yet, and today’s milk hadn’t been delivered. Though the shop was closed tomorrow and the day after, the Milk Shop was large. They only sold retail for in-store pickup; home delivery required a minimum order of one whole bucket. He’d ordered half a bucket and paid extra for delivery—how could he now pick and choose, demanding delivery in two days or a few days later?

Besides, once the milk arrived, he and Jiang Yun could just drink it themselves.

“Mom, I’m heading back to cook. I’ll leave the door open for you.” Seeing Jiang Yun chatting with the shopkeeper next door, Tang Xianling went ahead.

He still hadn’t finished cleaning the chicken.

“No, I’ll give you a hand.”

“No need, you chat.” Tang Xianling feared Jiang Yun might think he was rushing her, so he explained, “The milk should arrive around now. It’s their first delivery, and they don’t know our door. It’s perfect that you’re here to keep an eye out.”

Jiang Yun, given this “task,” didn’t mention leaving. She immediately nodded in agreement.

From her previous numbness and lifelessness—avoiding people, afraid they’d talk about her Wu-ger—to now being able to strike up conversations with others, occasionally even showing a hint of a smile on her face, these were all changes in Jiang Yun.

“What are you having for dinner, Sister-in-law?” Chen Qiaolian inquired. Business at their steamed bun shop was slow in the evenings; mornings were busy. In the evening, everyone cooked their own meals, rarely settling for buns.

Jiang Yun mentioned they were having chicken. “Wu-ger kept talking about it yesterday.”

The two chatted idly, talking about food, children, and whatever random topics came to mind.

After a while, the sky darkened. The steamed bun shops around the Lu family began tidying up to close for the day. Chen Qiaolian and Jiang Yun were still talking: ”Oh my, the milk delivery is late today.”

“Wu-ger said they’d deliver it just in time. Milk can be stored, but if it gets hot again, they’ll have to bring it in the morning.” Seeing the Lu family packing up to close shop, Jiang Yun wasn’t oblivious. She quickly said, “Never mind, I won’t wait. I’ll head home first. If they deliver, they can knock on the door.”

“I agree. No point waiting.”

Jiang Yun had indeed ‘waited in vain’ for quite a while, but upon returning home, her face was full of smiles. It had been ages since they’d chatted like this. “Wu-ger, the milk hasn’t arrived yet. I’m heading back first.”

“I know. Perfect timing. Mother, let’s eat first. Dinner’s ready.”

The two ate their evening meal in the courtyard.

Next door at the Lu residence.

“Mother, is Aunt Tang having chicken for dinner?” asked Lu Dalang.

Chen Qiaolian replied, “You already know? Sister Tang just told me that Wu-ger was craving chicken yesterday.”

“Mother, I’m craving it too,” Lu Sanniang added, swallowing hard. “That delicious aroma drifted over from Wu-ger’s house earlier.”

Lu Dalang chimed in, “And it was deep-fried! Fried chicken.”

“With all that oil and chicken, of course, it smells amazing,” Father Lu remarked. Any dish loaded with oil and sugar smells tempting, let alone one with meat.

Seeing the two gluttons, Chen Qiaolian said, “When Erlang comes back, we’ll buy a chicken too.”

Father Lu didn’t object. Their eldest son was too greedy—he needed to learn restraint. He couldn’t just eat whatever he wanted at his age. Now, Sanniang was following his example. Besides, Erlang was studying medicine hard away from home. Buying a whole chicken for them to eat alone wouldn’t be right.

Better to wait until the month’s end.

Lu Dalang and Lu Sanniang had grown accustomed to this arrangement. As a family, they couldn’t possibly eat alone without their second brother.

After the meal, Lu Sanniang cleared the tableware.

The heavy lifting for the family business fell to Father and Eldest Brother. Lu Sanniang handled cooking and laundry. In winter, washing froze her hands, and clothes soaked with water became heavy—that was Mother’s task. Now that the weather had warmed and clothes grew lighter, she took over the washing since Mother was already so tired.

The Lu couple was talking.

“Sanniang, you mustn’t follow your Eldest Brother’s example. Such greediness won’t do. When you marry into your in-laws’ home, they might not approve.” Father Lu voiced his concern. Such a greedy mouth simply wouldn’t do.

Chen Qiaolian: “I was thinking, since the child won’t be home for many more years, we could be a bit more generous. But you’re right. Should we still buy the chicken at the end of the month?”

“Buy it,” Father Lu said.

Chen Qiaolian chuckled softly. Her husband truly doted on their child.

But Father Lu added, “Before, both kids were greedy, but they never demanded food. They were sensible. Ever since Tang Wu started cooking, though—today it’s pot stickers, tomorrow it’s bread, and now they want chicken too.”

“You think our own kids are complaining about Brother Tang? He runs his own business and earns his own money. What he eats is none of our business, is it?” Chen Qiaolian countered.

Father Lu shook his head. “He’s not good at managing money. Old Tang is still sick, and money is tight everywhere.”

“Speaking of that, something occurred to me.” Chen Qiaolian didn’t argue with her husband about whether Wu-ger’s food business was thrifty. Instead, she changed the subject: “You know Old Zhao’s sugar-oil pancakes at the first shop on the street corner? His mother keeps asking me lately how Wu-ger’s business is doing.”

Sure enough, Father Lu’s attention had wandered. He didn’t seem to care much. “Wu-ger sells breakfast. His business took off in just a few days. There’s always a line out the door. Old Zhao’s family is probably just curious.”

“Curious? I don’t buy it. His mom’s been asking me directly, finding all sorts of ways to probe. How many four-wen bean paste pot cakes does he sell? Does he even hit a hundred? And that pork floss bread—first day out today. How many sold? Heard they’re five wen each, and customers are buying them three at a time.”

Father Lu: “She asked that specifically? Did you tell her?”

“I dodged the question, saying we were busy with our own shop this morning and hadn’t paid attention to the neighbors’ business. I brushed it off.” Chen Qiaolian considered one possibility, then dismissed it, shaking her head and muttering to herself, “Old Zhao did marry a wife.”

Old Zhao was in his thirties, with an eldest son already over ten. Though the couple bickered and argued from time to time, there was no talk of divorce—

In the lives of ordinary folk, divorce and remarriage were as rare as hen’s teeth.

Father Lu understood his wife’s suspicion at once. She was implying that Old Mrs. Zhao coveted Wu-ger’s skills, envious of his thriving business, scheming to have him work for the Zhao family without paying him a single tael.

That was easily solved—just make Wu-ger part of the Zhao family. Then everything would fall into place.

“You don’t think the worst of people. Perhaps the old lady is just curious.”

“I don’t think so. Even if it’s not for her son, she’s probably looking for someone for her relatives. Think about it—with Wu-ger’s skills now, making money is as clear as day. If our eldest son were a bit older, or if Wu-ger hadn’t been married, I’d be tempted myself.” Chen Qiaolian reasoned with her husband.

Father Lu laughed heartily. “So in your estimation, Wu-ger has suddenly become a hot commodity? Just don’t mention this to our eldest son. I fear he might get greedy and start entertaining foolish notions.”

“I certainly wouldn’t,” Chen Qiaolian hastily assured him, spitting three times for good measure.

She did like Wu-ger—a decent, hardworking lad with a tragic story. But the idea of Wu-ger becoming her “eldest son-in-law”? That was another matter entirely.

Wu-ger was older, a widow who’d lost his husband—how could she possibly match the eldest son?

With that thought, Chen Qiaolian stopped worrying about Wu-ger. As for the Zhao family matriarch—whether she truly coveted Tang Wu-ger’s culinary skills, harbored ulterior motives, or was genuinely curious—it had nothing to do with her family.

Tang Xianling himself remained oblivious to these developments, thoroughly enjoying the moment.

The fried chicken was absolutely delicious. He’d even whipped up some mayonnaise—if only he had ketchup, it would have been perfect.

These free-range chickens, fed on insects and wheat bran, produced firm, resilient meat. Half-fried, each bite revealed a golden-brown, crispy shell encasing tender, juicy, springy chicken.

So fragrant.

Even the dry chicken breast meat was chopped into a paste, mixed with leftover steamed buns crumbled into crumbs, combined with egg batter, formed into square pieces the size of mahjong tiles, deep-fried, and turned into ‘Colonel’s Chicken Nuggets’. Sprinkled with a little pepper or dipped in mayonnaise, they were delicious either way.

Tang Xianling crunched away at the fried chicken, feeling like he’d returned to his college days.

“Delicious.”

Jiang Yun didn’t care for fried foods; she preferred Kung Pao chicken. She was scooping a spoonful to mix with her rice, nearly finishing her bowl.

Tang Xianling noticed Jiang Yun’s sweet-and-sour preference and asked, “Where are you from, Mom?”

“Me?” Jiang Yun seemed dazed for a moment before registering the question. “I’m from the same hometown as your father—Zhongdu Prefecture. My family lived in a village under Hualiang County. When the great flood came, it swept away our village. I got separated from my parents and siblings. I ended up traveling north with the displaced people, begging for food.”

Seeing Jiang Yun’s expression grow numb, Tang Xianling knew the pain of her past still lingered. Only after enduring it for so long, her face showed little emotion, appearing dull. “Mother, let’s eat.”

The journey north with the refugees was arduous. Back then, Jiang Yun had struggled through countless hardships just to survive.

Tang Xianling recalled the day the apocalypse struck. The night before, he’d been gaming in the dorm, eating takeout, fuming red-faced over his teammates’ terrible gameplay. When he woke the next morning, the entire campus lay deathly quiet.

Plants grew wildly, obscuring the sky. The sky was overcast, devoid of sunlight.

Immediately after, the weather turned bitterly cold, temperatures plummeted, and the school was occasionally filled with the sounds of chewing, wails for help, briefly piercing the sky before settling back into stillness. He didn’t know how he’d survived those days. When he finally staggered out, fleeing in disarray, his former classmates had become frozen corpses—some dangling from mutated branches, others devoured clean by monstrous beasts.

It was too horrific.

Tang Xianling shook his head, refusing to dwell on those days. “Mom, it’s all over now. We have food to eat. Try a bite of my fried chicken nuggets—they’re really good.”

“Alright.” Jiang Yun pushed the thoughts away, too.

Only food in the mouth felt real. Savoring the deliciousness, Tang Xianling’s spirits lifted again. Today was truly a good day—he’d cursed someone, found evidence, learned the lawyer’s fees weren’t as steep as he’d feared, and now he was eating tasty fried chicken.

What a relief.

After the meal, a cough echoed from the quiet east room. Tang Xianling pursed his lips. Could Old Man Tang still wake up? “I’ll go—”

The front door rattled.

“I’ll get it. Must be the milk delivery.” Tang Xianling changed his mind, pocketed the qian, and headed to the front.

Jiang Yun went to the east room to check on her husband.

Tang Xianling took the milk and paid three wen for delivery. “No need, give it to me. Wait a moment, I’ll fetch a bucket.”

“Alright, here you go.”

Tang Xianling carried the milk to the kitchen, first pouring it into a clean basin. He then took the empty bucket outside to return it, saying, “Same time tomorrow. Thanks.”

He closed the door.

Old Tang in the east room was cursing—the usual tirade. Tang Xianling couldn’t be bothered to listen. After a moment’s thought, he went into the kitchen, poured two ladles of milk into the small clay pot, and began simmering it slowly. Soon after, Jiang Yun came in looking for food. “Your father is hungry.”

“I saved some—” Tang Xianling hadn’t finished speaking when he saw Jiang Yun mixing Old Tang’s rice with the sauce from the Kung Pao chicken.

Tang Xianling: …

These are all leftovers.

“Your dad really enjoyed the sweet and sour pork sauce with rice last time,” Jiang Yun said as she worked. “I’ll mix some for him—it’s getting a bit dry.”

Tang Xianling saw in Jiang Yun’s expression that she genuinely thought this was a good idea, not that she was trying to manipulate Old Tang. Suddenly at a loss for words, he smiled and said, “I’m heating milk on the stove. Once it’s ready, I’ll bring it over to my father.”

Unprompted kindness—he was, of course, trying to probe Old Tang’s financial situation.

The back half of the yard had been leased to Madam Li’s family for three years. He’d seen the contract: breach of agreement meant five taels of silver in compensation per year, totaling fifteen taels for three years. Tang Xianling didn’t want to pay this out of his own pocket—it was his Father Tang’s doing anyway.

On top of that, the rent was forty-five taels. Deducting half a year’s payment, he’d have to repay at least fifty-two taels of silver.

Jiang Yun’s face lit up with a smile upon hearing this. “Fine, bring it over later.” Wu-ger still cared about his father, and that was what mattered.

In the east room, Jiang Yun fed her husband first. “Wu-ger is such a filial child. Don’t scold him. He truly wishes you well—”

“He doesn’t, he wishes me—” dead. Father Tang opened his mouth to speak, but the spoon pushed in, a mouthful of rice blocking his words.

Jiang Yun thought Wu-ger was a good boy and didn’t want Old Tang to keep scolding him. If outsiders heard it, they might say Wu-ger was unfilial, which would be bad. So she spooned rice into his mouth, one spoonful after another.

Father Tang was too busy eating to continue. In the end, he switched to cursing Jiang Yun for not feeding him properly.

“You’re trying to choke me to death.”

Jiang Yun: “Then I’ll slow down. You just said you were hungry, and I was afraid you’d starve.”

“Why isn’t he here? Oh, filial piety! He squandered the Tang family fortune and still dares to curse his own father!” Father Tang still remembered the day Wu-ger stormed in like a madman, brandishing a frying spatula as he yelled at him.

Jiang Yun: “He ordered some milk for you. Drink it to nourish your body.”

Father Tang muttered nothing but complaints.

Tang Xianling arrived carrying the milk, saying, “Mother, you do it. My hands aren’t steady, and the milk’s still a bit hot.” He feared he might not control his grip, causing the milk to pour into Old Tang’s nostrils.

Jiang Yun took the milk and continued feeding Old Tang.

“Father, haven’t you taken your medicine—” Tang Xianling began.

Old Tang ordered him to get lost again, implying he wouldn’t get a single copper coin from him. He wouldn’t even let him buy medicine—clearly, he was scheming to use the medicine money as an excuse to get his hands on Tang Xianling’s cash.

Tang Xianling: …What a bully at home. How could someone so clever be so obedient and trusting toward Hu Kang?

“If we don’t buy medicine, Father, you won’t have any to take. You’ll die.”

“Get out. Cough cough cough.”

“Wu-ger, step outside for now,” Jiang Yun intervened to smooth things over.

Tang Xianling clicked his tongue and left. He really couldn’t stand fawning over Old Tang. So he headed to the kitchen to wash the pots and bowls, then called out to Jiang Yun before grabbing the carrying pole to fetch water.

Night had fallen, but Tang Xianling wasn’t afraid.

On his second trip for water, he encountered the family at the alley entrance. An old woman remarked, “Wu-ger fetching water again? You’re so diligent.”

“It’s fine. We need it at home,” Tang Xianling replied. He truly couldn’t recognize anyone.

The kind woman suggested, “It’s pitch black out. Why not take a lantern? Wait a moment.”

“No need. I can see by moonlight,” Tang Xianling began. Before he finished, the woman had already entered her courtyard. Tang Xianling hurriedly called out, “Auntie, I’ll fetch water now. Can’t chat—my mother’s waiting at home.”

As he drew water at the wellhead, an old woman carrying a red lantern approached from afar.

“There, it’s brighter now. Hurry up and draw. You weren’t afraid of falling in when it was pitch black earlier?” the old woman remarked.

By candlelight, Tang Xianling recognized the old woman’s face. She seemed to be the one who had offered him locust blossoms last time. Later, he learned from Jiang Yun that the blossoms belonged to the public. Any neighbor could pick them, but since the big locust tree stood at the lane entrance and the Zhao family lived closest, they claimed the right to harvest them each year.

Naturally, some influential households in the neighborhood paid no heed to the Zhaos’ wishes, picking flowers whenever they pleased. The Zhaos never protested or stopped them. Ordinary residents, preferring to avoid trouble, simply followed the Zhaos’ lead.

“Have you eaten? If not, I made some extra at home.”

Tang Xianling worked swiftly with his hands while replying, “I’ve eaten.” He now felt this old lady was the one being ‘unnecessarily attentive,’ and he grew a little wary.

Finish the chores early and leave early.

“Watch your step. I’ll head back once I’m done.” Tang Xianling balanced a pair of water buckets on his shoulder pole.

The old lady held up her lantern for him and said, “I still have some sugar-oil pancakes—”

“I had fried chicken for dinner. I ate too much greasy food and don’t want anything oily now,” Tang Xianling hurriedly explained.

The old lady sighed, “I see.” Then she added, “You go through all that trouble frying things. If you ever crave fried food, come to my place.”

Tang Xianling chuckled, “Sure thing. Next time I crave them, I’ll come buy some.”

He quickly took off running.

Back home, Tang Xianling saw Jiang Yun standing in the courtyard, her gaze fixed on the shop entrance. Seeing it was him, she relaxed. Tang Xianling filled the water tank with the buckets before saying, “Mother, is business slow at the Zhao’s?”

An old lady is soliciting customers this late at night.

Jiang Yun looked puzzled, thinking for a moment before replying, ”I don’t know. The sugar-oil cakes are pricey. Your father and I don’t eat them much. Why?“

”Nothing. I’ll try them another day,” Tang Xianling said.

Cui Dabao had mentioned these five-wen sugar-oil cakes—each bite packed with sweetness.

He was full now and not craving them, so he’d support the business next time.

“Mother, the water’s done. Wash up and get some rest. I’ll hang up the closed sign.” Tang Xianling headed to the front shop to hang the closed sign and lock the door.

When he returned, Jiang Yun was still in the courtyard. Tang Xianling:?

“Is there something you need to tell me?”

Jiang Yun nodded, stepping closer. She whispered, “I didn’t tell your father how much you earned. The money for hiring a lawyer is untouchable. If you go to the pharmacy tomorrow, take this prescription and have your father get five doses of medicine. He’ll pay for it.”

Then she pulled out a small silver coin.

Tang Xianling couldn’t estimate its value. “How much is this?”

“Five taels of silver. It should cover five doses.”

Tang Xianling: …

Old Tang really was stingy with money—didn’t want a single coin wasted.

“Your father… was worried we’d spend it all, leaving nothing to pay the shop’s annual taxes at year’s end,” Jiang Yun explained.

Tang Xianling couldn’t be bothered to argue. “Got it. I’ll run an errand tomorrow and pick up some supplies. Mother, is there anything you need?”

“I don’t need anything. You go. I’ll stay and guard the house.”

That night, she went to bed early.

The next day, before dawn.

At the Cui’s residence.

Cui Dabao, sleeping soundly, suddenly shot awake. Sun Douzi, roused beside him, mumbled, “Dabao, you’re off for breakfast?”

“You bet. That pork floss bread you raved about—I was craving it before bed. Wonder how Mr. Tang does it. That pork floss just gets more addictive the more you eat!”

Sun Douzi sat up, fetching clothes for the man. “Shall I make the usual millet porridge?”

“Perfect. That’ll pair just right.”

So Cui Dabao carried his food basket out into the darkness, heading straight for Brother Tang’s breakfast shop. It was still dark when Cui Dabao arrived. He tucked himself into a corner and waited, but he didn’t see the “Closed” sign hanging on the door.

He waited for a while. Normally, Mr. Tang would be opening up and fetching water by now. But today, why was it so empty? Not a single person had come? Could it be that no one liked the pork floss bread anymore?

No, no.

Cui Dabao thought of something, twisted his own arm hard, and grimaced in pain. This wasn’t a dream, nor was he sleepwalking.

Then why was there no one here?

Tang Xianling had been sleeping soundly but woke up right on schedule—damn biological clocks. He wrapped himself in the quilt, intending to go back to sleep, when he heard knocking at the door. After a three-second hesitation, he pulled on his clothes and went out to investigate.

Probably a regular customer—

Yesterday, Old Man Cui seemed to have left quickly and early; he hadn’t heard about the shop closing for two days.

Tang Xianling stepped outside and saw Jiang Yun coming out of the east room. “Probably Old Cui Dabao knocking,” he said. “You go back to sleep, Mom.” When he reached the shopfront, he heard Cui Dabao’s anxious mutterings through the door: “Could something have happened? Mr. Tang, what’s wrong?”

“I’m fine,” Tang Xianling answered first, opening a door. “You left early yesterday and forgot I’d close today and tomorrow.”

Cui Dabao’s words—‘If you’re fine, why aren’t you preparing today?’—got stuck in his throat, replaced by a bewildered “Ah?”

“Well, um—oh dear! My husband loves pork floss bread. He’s waiting at home, and I’ve already cooked the millet porridge. Sigh, it’s my fault for saying yesterday we’d have it again today. My fault, my fault! We’ve been craving it all night. His eyes were shining bright when he walked me out this morning.”

Tang Xianling: …

After you said all that, how could I possibly let you go back empty-handed?

“If you don’t mind, I still have some of the pork floss I prepared earlier. I’ll bring it all back for you. This can be used as a porridge topping.”

Cui Dabao: !!!

“Really? Boss Tang, you’re such a kind soul.”

Tang Xianling chuckled. Cui Dabao was a longtime customer and one of his most loyal patrons. “Hold on a moment. Oh, and milk? I ordered extra yesterday. If you want some, I’ll pack a can for you. This milk should be boiled before drinking—it’s good for your health.”

Then he remembered some people might be lactose intolerant and added, “Some people can’t handle milk well and might get an upset stomach. If you don’t want it, that’s fine—no need for payment.”

His family couldn’t finish it all, and it was too early to deliver to the neighbors. Cui Dabao happened to drop by—a customer, perfect for a gift.

“I’ll take some, but just a little.” Cui Dabao was tempted by the “good for your health” part, but the “upset stomach” warning made him hesitate. In the end, he decided to take a small amount. If it didn’t agree with him, he was strong enough to handle it.

Tang Xianling: “Just a moment, please.”

He entered the kitchen, lit a candle, retrieved two jars, and stuffed wax paper inside. He poured the remaining pork floss into one—there wasn’t much left from the batch he’d made earlier, so he gave it all. For the other jar, he poured in milk powder, filling it more than halfway before stopping.

Cui Dabao could carry it back without spilling a drop.

Tang Xianling carried both items over and presented them to Cui Dabao.

“No need for payment—they’re yours. When we reopen the day after tomorrow, just drop the jars back by on your way,” Tang Xianling said.

Cui Dabao nodded cheerfully. “Alright.” He’d been a bit annoyed at coming up empty-handed, but Mr. Tang was such a kind soul. Receiving these gifts now, he could only feel happy.

He was heading home for porridge!

He wondered how pork floss would taste with millet congee.