Tang Xianling devoured a bowl of noodles with relish, paying no mind to whether Father Tang or Jiang Yun were eating. Had he heard Father Tang push his bowl aside, he would’ve simply muttered, “Eat it or not, you’re spoiled!”

He wasn’t like Wu-ger—he felt little familial affection toward Father Tang.

After finishing his noodles, Tang Xianling went to tidy up the kitchen. Jiang Yun emerged from the east room carrying a tray—the bowls of porridge, medicine, and noodles were all empty. She offered to clean up, and after a moment’s thought, Tang Xianling agreed. “The water barrel is almost empty, Mother. I’ll fetch water.”

Jiang Yun watched Wu-ger’s retreating figure carrying the bucket, her expression complex. Her eyes reddened—it was her failure to protect the child that made her heart ache. Tears welled up, and she wept for a while.

Huaihua Lane had a well. The row of courtyards facing the main street commanded higher rents because their storefronts allowed for business. The rear alleys were cheaper, but the presence of the well meant residents didn’t have to buy water, making both sides of the alley more expensive than other alleys in the neighborhood.

Previously, the Tang family had accessed water by walking through the small courtyard gate.

Not long after the New Year, in the second month, Father Tang fell gravely ill and could no longer rise. The tenant family approached Jiang Yun, saying, “Our household is large with many children, and it can get quite noisy. We fear it might disturb Master Tang’s convalescence. Why not erect a wall dividing the courtyard in half? That way, both our households could enjoy some peace and quiet.”

“Sister-in-law, rest assured. I’ll handle all the wall-building myself. You won’t have to pay a thing.”

Jiang Yun had no objections and left everything to the tenants.

From then on, the Tang family could no longer fetch water through the small courtyard gate. They had to exit through the shopfront and make a detour. Carrying the water bucket, Tang Xianling pondered matters concerning the Tang household. As Wu-ger lay dying, his body retained fragments of memory—only those deeply etched in his Wu-ger’s mind or those filled with regret and resentment. Other neighbors, tenants, and their affairs remained hazy.

These details, Tang Xianling would have to piece together gradually.

As he walked down the street, several shop owners and neighbors watched him pass. Few spoke to him, offering at most a muttered, “Wu-ger fetching water, I see.”

Tang Xianling hummed in acknowledgment, then nodded.

Not many words were spoken. Wu-ger never spoke much either. Tang Xianling thought.

Behind him, neighbors murmured at his retreating back. Faint voices drifted over: “Poor thing, Wu-ger’s so thin now. Old Tang’s gone too. Will the Tang family shop still be open?” 

“With Old Tang like that, how could he get up to boil mutton soup? That new tenant is really something, blocking the door and not letting the owner through. Wu-ger has to take detours every day just to fetch water.”

“You can’t blame the newcomer. The newcomer said the price for renting the courtyard is this much.” The neighbor made a gesture.

The dumpling shop owner’s wife’s eyes widened in shock: “Forty-five taels of silver?!” That’s an exorbitant price.

“Three years’ rent.”

“I knew it. That amount isn’t excessive, but paying forty-five taels outright for Old Tang’s courtyard… I suspect Old Tang wants to leave some savings for Yunniang and Wu-ger.”

Since the tenant was paying handsomely for a long-term lease, neighbors didn’t find it stingy that he’d built a wall blocking the main gate to prevent the landlords from fetching water through the small courtyard entrance.

━━ 🐈‍⬛ ━━

Tang Xianling remained unaware of the Tang family’s circumstances, though the neighbors all knew. When he reached the well, someone was already drawing water, so he queued up to wait his turn.

The alley was called Huaishu Lane, named for the massive locust tree beside the well. It stood thick and tall. The alley itself wasn’t narrow, about three or four meters wide, and children would run around the tree playing.

Having witnessed man-eating trees during the apocalypse, Tang Xianling instinctively guarded against such towering specimens. Seeing the children darting about unscathed by branches, he lifted his gaze to scrutinize the tree.

Evening approached, the sun not yet fully set, the sky still tinged with reddish light.

The locust tree was lush with foliage, its tender green buds already bearing small, pearly-white flowers.

“I think locust flowers are edible, right?” Tang Xianling murmured a recipe to the blossoms. He recalled a classmate from his university days whose family hailed from a northern rural village. That classmate had mentioned how the elders back home adored eating locust flower wheat porridge.

An auntie overheard him and chimed in with a smile, “Wu-ger must be craving locust flower barley rice! Wait a few more days, and I’ll pick some for you.”

Tang Xianling turned his gaze to the woman, though he couldn’t recall who she was. He nodded vaguely and said, “Alright, thank you, Auntie. I’ll go fetch water now.”

“Alright, go ahead.”

As Tang Xianling walked back with the water, he pondered: Fengyuan City also had the custom of eating locust flower wheat porridge. Was its geographical location similar to his roommate’s home in modern northern China?

Today, his sister’s husband sold grain—wheat, specifically—though their household also ate rice.

He remembered mutton soup with noodles—the noodles were thin slices of dough. The Tang family’s business was boiling noodles in mutton broth, one of the most typical local dishes. Every household ate this for their daily meals. But since Father Tang could sell noodles and build up a family business with a courtyard, his mutton soup must have been exceptionally good.

Tang Xianling fetched bucket after bucket of water. He actually enjoyed the task—it spared him from facing Jiang Yun’s gaze in the Tang courtyard. Drawing water gave him time to sort his thoughts. Wu-ger was naturally a quiet sort, and his ‘marriage’ had only made him more reserved. He kept his head down and worked diligently. Neighbors who saw him didn’t think he had changed at all.

It felt quite comfortable.

By the time he fetched the last bucket of water, dusk had fallen. Most shops along the street had already closed. As Tang Xianling walked back, a neighbor called out to him: “Are you heading home early?” 

“Has Wu-ger had his evening meal?”

“I’ve eaten. We had dinner early today.” Tang Xianling paused before recalling: evening meal referred to supper. Perhaps because candles were costly in ancient times, people rushed to eat before dusk, hence the term “evening meal.”

Returning to the small courtyard, Tang Xianling closed the door.

In the kitchen, Jiang Yun had boiled hot water and waited anxiously by the door. Seeing Wu-ger return, she stepped forward and said, “I’ve boiled hot water. Wash up and get some rest early. You’ve worked hard today.”

Tang Xianling remained somewhat silent in response to Jiang Yun’s kindness. Yet, by moonlight, he glimpsed the hint of flattery in her eyes. Remembering the unfulfilled wish of Wu-ger, he couldn’t help but sigh inwardly. Well, never mind. He simply said, “Understood, Mother. You should wash up and rest early, too.”

“Alright, alright.” Jiang Yun relaxed visibly and smiled.

Hot water remained in the stove pot. Tang Xianling washed his hands, face, and feet, then brushed his teeth. Looking at his tooth powder and utensils, a genuine smile spread across his face. He felt that aside from the lack of chili peppers, everything else was just fine.

Three years in the apocalypse had nearly made him forget the conveniences of the modern world.

Now, Tang Xianling was adapting quickly.

Lying in bed at night, the room felt a bit cramped and musty. Adjacent to the stove room, it had once stored firewood, charcoal, and odds and ends—a utility space.

Tang Xianling didn’t complain. This environment was infinitely better than the apocalypse. His thoughts drifted to the Tang family, to Wu-ger. In the darkness, he murmured Wu-ger’s name a few times, but only silence answered him.

Wu-ger was truly gone.

Tang Xianling wasn’t afraid of death. Having lived through it once, he cherished life deeply. But there were things one simply couldn’t do. That afternoon, he’d confronted his parents, telling them Wu-ger was dead. Speaking those words hadn’t been mere impulse—it was something he’d thought through. If he hadn’t spoken up for Wu-ger, if he hadn’t voiced that protest, Wu-ger would have died in utter injustice.

He’d die without anyone knowing.

Father Tang and Jiang Yun would believe Wu-ger was still alive and well. They’d blame all their decisions on him. How could Wu-ger, who’d done nothing wrong, possibly be the cause of Tang Xianling’s suffering?

Tang Xianling couldn’t bear that.

He had to speak up. As for whether Father Tang and Jiang Yun would believe him, Tang Xianling thought: Even if the couple avoided confronting such bizarre events, prolonged interaction would inevitably reveal clues.

He wasn’t made of dough!

As for what they could do once they discovered the truth—that was a matter for later. He’d deal with it when the time came.

Tang Xianling didn’t fret over events days ahead. In this apocalyptic world, today existed, but tomorrow was uncertain—no point worrying so far in advance. No point in internal conflict. So he rolled over, pulled the quilt tight, and thought: Tomorrow’s sunny weather calls for airing the bedding. And what should he have for breakfast?

The thought of food made Tang Xianling chuckle softly, and he drifted off happily.

In the east room, Jiang Yun lay awake. She tossed and turned, her face etched with worry, lost in thought. If not for Father Tang, whose condition fluctuated between lucidity and unconsciousness, Jiang Yun’s restlessness would have drawn his scolding.

Early the next morning.

Tang Xianling rose first, stretching lazily. The water jar was full from yesterday’s generous filling. He scooped cold water into a basin, scrubbed his face with a soapnut, and brushed his teeth with tooth powder. By the time he finished, Father Tang’s coughing and cursing echoed from the east room.

Tang Xianling: …

After splashing water on his face, Tang Xianling dried his hands and headed toward the east room. He stopped at the doorway without entering. His thin frame blocked most of the light, obscuring Wu-ger’s expression from Father Tang and Jiang Yun inside. Instinctively, they fell silent.

“Father, Mother, what’s for breakfast?”

“Or give me some money. I’ll go buy breakfast on the street.” Tang Xianling wanted to slip out for a stroll. He demanded money with righteous indignation, a stark contrast to the timid Wu-ger of old, who spoke in a small, fearful voice, afraid of his father.

Hearing this from his bed, Father Tang began cursing.

These words didn’t hurt Tang Xianling in the slightest. He stepped closer, his hand nearly touching Father Tang’s face, saying,” Father, your medicine is almost gone. I was just heading out to sell herbs. And the rice jar at home is empty—“

Father Tang propped himself up, feigning a move to strike Tang Xianling. Jiang Yun stopped him, pleading, ”Take care of yourself. Let Wu-ger eat at home. We have no money left.”

“There’s no money left for my father’s medicine?!” Tang Xianling’s face twisted in shock. “Father, you’re so gravely ill. Without money for medicine, how will your body ever recover? If this drags on, how will our family shop ever reopen?”

If he knew the mourning chants, Tang Xianling would have wept for his father right then.

Father Tang coughed again in anger, gasping for breath. It looked painful, and Jiang Yun kept patting his chest to ease his breathing. Tang Xianling watched, his expression turning serious. “Give me money,” he said. “I want to open the shop—”

Hearing his son scheme about the shop, Father Tang suddenly pushed Jiang Yun aside, truly alarmed.

“Don’t get so worked up. The shop has two rooms. I only need one to sell breakfast. It’ll cover our household expenses. You’re holding onto the bulk of the money, unwilling to give it to me and Mother. Yesterday, when I went to fetch water, I overheard neighbors talking about the tenant in our courtyard. You were pleased they offered three years’ rent upfront, but you don’t know what they’re really after.” Tang Xianling spouted nonsense, dropping hints for Father Tang.

The implication: they covet your shopfront.

Simultaneously, he painted a rosy picture of profit for Father Tang.

“You tasted my cooking yesterday—how was it? Why not set up a breakfast stall? At least we’d earn some pocket money. Who knows? Business might boom, and one shop could become two, two could become four.”

Father Tang snorted in disdain. “What business could a single ger like you possibly run?”

Tang Xianling: …Regrettably, I can’t really beat Father Tang to death.

If he won’t give money, then forget it. Can’t they sell the shopfront and some tables, chairs, and stools?

“Wu-ger, you should go out for a walk first,” Jiang Yun interjected to smooth things over.

Tang Xianling, brimming with ideas on how to squander his inheritance, headed to the kitchen. Without silver, he’d have to cook for himself. He scanned the pantry—no rice, only flour. Not in the mood for noodle soup this early, he decided to make some pancakes. Before he could roll up his sleeves, Jiang Yun came looking for him.

“Wu-ger, here’s some money. Spend it sparingly.” Jiang Yun clutched a handkerchief, stuffing it into his hand.

Tang Xianling felt the weight in his pocket. Opening it, he found dozens of copper coins—clearly Jiang Yun’s secret savings. Their father was a tightfisted autocrat who controlled all the household money. Saving privately was no easy feat for Jiang Yun.

That she’d given him her secret savings. Tang Xianling’s heart suddenly ached.

Jiang Yun’s eyes reddened as she stammered, “Mother is sorry to you. You were right yesterday. I’m useless at protecting you. You’re still young. That old woman from the Hu family, wailing and screaming, has ruined your reputation. How will you ever marry now…”

Tang Xianling and Jiang Yun didn’t share the same mindset, but he understood.

Jiang Yun, a traditional woman, had been under her husband’s control her entire life. Her mindset was that one could only rely on a man to get by. Wu-ger was still young, barely over twenty, and would surely remarry someday. The old woman from the Hu family had come to cause trouble and stir up trouble. To be honest, Jiang Yun had acted out of concern for Wu-ger’s reputation, but it had only left them vulnerable.

After this mess, Jiang Yun grew timid and hesitant, afraid to make decisions for fear of harming the child.

“Actually, Wu-ger never blamed you.” It was he who felt the injustice.

Never mind.

“Mother, I’m going to the market to buy some things. I’ll bring breakfast back. I won’t spend recklessly.”

“Alright, go then. I’m here at home. Your father may bellow loudly, but he’s had his own struggles…”

Tang Xianling didn’t want to hear Jiang Yun sugarcoating things for Father Tang. He stuffed the money into his pocket and headed out.

People are so complex. The deep memories of Wu-ger still lingered within him. Tang Xianling remembered how, when Wu-ger was young, Father Tang was harsh, often beating and scolding him. Their eldest sister protected and cherished Wu-ger, while their second and third sisters would secretly buy him snacks. Jiang Yun would rub medicated oil on his wounds, cradling him and whispering soothing words…

That’s why, even as he lay dying, Wu-ger worried about his family. He blamed himself for being powerless, unable to protect his mother or live up to Father Tang’s expectations—

Tang Xianling paused in his stride, double-checking before furrowing his brow. He muttered to himself: “A ger looks exactly like a man, yet he lacks the rights of one.”

He didn’t understand this dynasty, but he knew a thing or two about good food.

The enticing aromas wafting from neighborhood shops made Tang Xianling forget all about the ger’s issue. This street was the main thoroughfare of a residential quarter. Fengyuan City was built block by block, each block containing residential alleys. Every block had its main street with shops where residents could buy daily necessities and food.

Stalls sold fried dough twists, sugar-coated pancakes, steamed buns, chicken soup wontons, and more, while smaller shops peddled vinegar, sauces, sugar, and cloth.

These were mere small shops. The true grand markets were the East and West Markets, dedicated to commerce. Both markets offered complete assortments of goods, including all manner of rare and curious items. Towering above them were two-story taverns and eateries—essentially restaurants, inns, and large lodgings.

Only these two locations offered such establishments.

Huaihua Lane was situated in Baxing District, on the western side, relatively close to the West Market. Tang Xianling first bought four buns next door—two meat-filled and two vegetable-filled. At that time, buns were often called mantou, as they weren’t pinched into the traditional bun pleats but shaped into a round form resembling a mantou.

They were called meat mantou or vegetable mantou, where “mantou” referred to plain steamed buns.

Vegetable buns cost three wen for two, meat buns two wen each, and plain mantou one wen each. Tang Xianling took a bite of the meat bun—filled with mutton. It wasn’t so bad that he bit into plain dough without any filling, but the meat was mixed with radish, not pure meat. The taste was merely faintly savory.

Tang Xianling first returned the buns, pressing them into Jiang Yun’s hands. “Mother, have your breakfast. I’m off to the West Market. I’ll be back before noon.”

He had to go to the West Market to look around. Otherwise, was he supposed to stay home and listen to Father Tang yell at him?

No way.