The servant hurried along behind his young master, carrying the lunchbox.

“Young Master, you’re truly amazing—you actually managed to buy it.” The servant spoke with exaggerated enthusiasm, lavishing praise on his master.

Wei Feng didn’t think much of it; he’d merely spent a little money, which was nothing to him. Without even turning his head, he said, “Stop blabbering.”

“Give me the food box.”

The servant knew the young master was heading to the Old Madam’s quarters, so he eagerly carried the box up without another word and waited at the main gate.

Wei Feng found it too much trouble to return to his own quarters to change clothes, so he simply carried the food box straight to his grandmother’s. Seeing that the weather had grown even hotter, he decided not to go anywhere that afternoon and just sleep in at home—though sleeping was boring too…

On his way to the Old Madam’s courtyard, the maid at the gate curtain curtsied in greeting.

“Madam, Fifth Young Master has arrived.”

“Fifth Young Master is such a dutiful son; it seems he’s come to have lunch with you,” the elderly matron attending her said to the Madam.

Lady Wei was amused and said, “Oh, him? He’s not very ambitious.”

“Do you lack ambitious descendants? Having a grandson to look after you is something others can only envy,” the elderly matron replied.

Lady Wei chuckled heartily; she knew that was true.

The Wei family had three sons and one daughter: the eldest son and daughter from her own line, and the second and third sons—born to concubines—who had already left home. The eldest son had two grandsons, both capable and promising, serving in official posts elsewhere. In the vast Wei household, the three grandsons and their families remained at home, but if asked who she loved most, it was still this youngest son from the eldest branch.

Wei Feng arrived carrying a food box and chatted with his grandmother, adding a touch of exaggeration to his story: “…Your grandson made a special trip just to see for myself. Mr. Tang’s business is booming, and his new husband is young and handsome.”

The old lady perked up as if listening to a play. “Really?”

“You bet. He looks about my age, doesn’t he?” Wei Feng was eighteen this year. His father held a post elsewhere, and his mother had accompanied him there; they had already arranged a marriage for him, to be finalized by year’s end.

It was nearly noon, and the grandmother and grandson were deep in conversation when lunch was served.

The Madam, ever the clever one, had specially arranged the plate of pork floss bread that the Fifth Young Master had brought back—of course, the Wei family’s cook had given it a final touch, making it look far more presentable than anything Ding Quan could have managed.

The bread was sliced and arranged exquisitely, with a few fresh plums scattered as garnish.

Wei Feng took one look and said, “Grandmother’s presentation is still the best. It looks like it could fetch four or five taels of silver.”

“Don’t talk nonsense—who would buy it for four or five taels?” the old lady said with a chuckle.

Wei Feng replied, “I’ll buy it—I’ll buy it.” Yet he held the plate in his hands and brought it to his grandmother, inviting her to try a bite.

The old lady beamed with delight; this was all a sign of her grandson’s filial devotion. She picked up a piece with her chopsticks. The bread looked somewhat like a steamed bun, yet wasn’t quite the same—it felt much softer to the touch. She brought it to her mouth and took a bite.

The flavors of milk and meat blended together in a savory, salty aroma.

The Madam nodded. “Not bad.” She was elderly, and her teeth weren’t the best, but the fine, fluffy meat floss practically melted in her mouth, its flavor growing richer and more intense.

“As long as Grandma likes it, that’s all that matters.”

Grandmother and grandson chatted for a while about the bread, then moved on to discussing Tang Wu and the new groom from the opera play. After listening for a bit, the old lady turned the conversation to her grandson’s marriage. 

Wei Feng: …

A plate of bread was nearly finished as they talked, but the rice remained mostly untouched.

━━ 🐈‍⬛ ━━

After his afternoon nap, Tang Xianling splashed some water on his face.

Huangfu Tieniu had gone out to buy groceries; today’s dinner box meal would be the same as yesterday’s. He was at home “preparing” with his mother—though it was actually still a bit early. Tang Xianling sat on the railing of the veranda by the kitchen door, fanning himself with one hand, lost in thought.

Jiang Yun saw this but didn’t rush Wu-ger. She could tell that even though he usually seemed “scatterbrained,” he actually kept everything in mind. Since it was still early, she let him rest.

“I’m craving soy-braised edamame and peanuts.” Tang Xianling thought about it—why not add some grilled meat skewers? A street food stall.

The curfew in Fengyuan City started a little after 11 p.m., and people weren’t allowed to roam the main streets after that. Restrictions within the neighborhoods weren’t as strict, but for a street food stall, candles would be too much of a luxury.

Because candles were expensive, Tang Xianling crossed the street food stall off his list.

“I’ll start by selling boxed meals. I’ll do that for a few weeks, and then in July, I’ll see. I can set up a grill, make some skewered meat to eat with yogurt, and add some refreshing cold side dishes—”

“That sounds great.”

Someone knocked on the back door. Jiang Yun heard it, came out, and called out, “Who is it?”

“Aunt Jiang, it’s me, Sun Douzi.”

Hearing the voice, Tang Xianling snapped back to reality from his “grilled food stall” daydream and said, “Mom, I’ll go answer the door. I bet it’s about Qizi Dou.” Yesterday, Sun Douzi and Old Man Cui came by to ask how to make Qizi Dou. He explained it and told them to come back in the afternoon if they still had questions.

Now he had just the right amount of time.

Tang Xianling opened the door. Outside stood Sun Douzi, his face flushed—whether from the heat or embarrassment, he wasn’t sure. Tang Xianling thought it was embarrassment; the young man from Old Man Cui’s family had a truly gentle temperament and was a bit shy around strangers—a complete contrast to Old Man Cui.

“Come in and sit down,” Tang Xianling invited him in, leading Douzi to the railing of the veranda. He sat down himself and asked quite naturally, “Is there something about making qizi dou you don’t understand?”

Seeing that Mr. Tang was so easygoing—not overly enthusiastic in his welcome—and that he sat right next to him on the railing, fanning himself with a fan, clearly not busy yet, Sun Douzi couldn’t help but breathe a sigh of relief, and his words flowed more freely.

He handed over the basket. “I made these yesterday. Give them a try. Dabao said they’re a bit bland, but Father still likes them. They aren’t very fluffy, and they’re a bit hard on the teeth.”

Tang Xianling picked up a few egg whites and popped them into his mouth, chewing thoughtfully. “They’re a bit hard and dense.”

“Right.” Sun Douzi ate a few himself. After a day, they seemed even harder—hard enough to chip a tooth.

Jiang Yun from the kitchen poured some iced tea and brought it out, handing it to Douzi. Sun Douzi hesitated to take it; he held it in his hands without drinking, staring intently at Master Tang with a look of eager curiosity.

“Tell me exactly how much of each ingredient you used,” Tang Xianling said. He possessed the Food Spirit Root and couldn’t imagine how surprised ordinary people would be if they followed his steps.

Sun Douzi explained everything in detail. As Tang Xianling listened, he nodded in agreement. Tasting the mung bean paste in his hand again, he found the flavor noticeably milder. “…When I cook, the ingredients really come into their own under my hands. So, add another bowl of mung bean flour, three more eggs, and two extra spoonfuls of each seasoning compared to before.”

“As for the dough being too firm, knead it well and let it rest for a while. It’s hot out, so don’t let it rise too long—just time it right—” Tang Xianling stumbled over his words, unsure how to phrase “twenty minutes.” He also felt that letting it rest for ten or twenty minutes might not be enough for Douzi’s method.

“Just the time it takes to cook porridge or steam buns.”

“Keep an eye on it—the dough shouldn’t have too many large holes; just slightly soft is fine.”

Sun Douzi jotted everything down, a smile spreading across his face. “Thank you, Master Tang. I’ll try this when I get back. You’ve really gone out of your way for me.”

“I’m happy you came to chat with me.” Tang Xianling smiled warmly. Sun Fulang was truly “overly cautious and timid”—far too careful and soft-hearted. He added, “If anything still isn’t right, just come find me. I cook and prepare food entirely by feel; I add ingredients by hand so they can reach their full potential. If you come to me, I’ll be the one thanking you. Once you’ve perfected it, be sure to let everyone know.”

Otherwise, people might get the wrong idea.

“Alright, I’ll try making them again when I get back.” Sun Douzi jotted down the new proportions and picked up his basket to leave, afraid of holding up Mr. Tang’s business. After taking a few steps, he turned back, pulled a fruit out of his basket, and said, “Here, Mr. Tang, have this. There aren’t many apples left, but please give it a taste.”

Tang Xianling held the apple in his hands and examined it. Wasn’t this just a small, green apple?

“You’re too kind. I’m delighted you gave me an apple—thank you.”

Seeing how genuinely pleased Mr. Tang was, Sun Douzi smiled back and carried his basket home. The apple harvest wouldn’t come until July, but there were some early-ripening ones. A few days ago, Dabao had bought a few while out and about; they were a bit pricey, so he couldn’t bring himself to eat them and decided to give them to Mr. Tang instead, as a thank-you for teaching him how to make this dish.

Tang Xianling held the fruit up and sniffed it; a fresh, crisp apple scent wafted up.

Back in the modern world, if asked which fruit was the most boring, Tang Xianling would have instantly named the apple—he’d rather go without fruit altogether than eat an apple.

He brought them back to the dorm. These things actually kept quite well; after a week, the skin had wrinkled, but there wasn’t a single spot of rot.

Things are different here than in the modern world. Fruits are eaten in season; logistics aren’t developed, storage is difficult, and fruits from the north and south don’t circulate freely. People eat the fruits that grow where they live.

Take Fengyuan City, for instance—located slightly further north—where people ate apples, pears, apricots, persimmons, pomegranates, red dates, winter melons (i.e., watermelons), and raisins. Fengyuan City had merchants from the Western Regions who brought in plenty of raisins.

Some villages in Shijing Prefecture to the west also grew grapes, but since the heat made it difficult to transport fresh grapes, they were all turned into wine and sold in Fengyuan City. Tang Xianling had once heard a waiter shouting outside a tavern in the West Market: “Freshly arrived wine—excellent quality at a reasonable price—made from grapes from Shijing Prefecture…”

Wine from the Western Regions, however, was expensive.

It was like the difference between ordinary baijiu and Maotai.

“Wait until Tieniu gets back, Mom. Let’s split these apples.” Tang Xianling drooled over the small apple, which wasn’t even as big as his fist.

Jiang Yun: “What apples? You’re holding a crabapple.”

Just as they were speaking, there was a commotion at the shop ahead. Jiang Yun glanced over and saw that Tieniu had returned.

Alright, time to get to work and prep the ingredients.

Tang Xianling reached out to take a handful, but Huangfu Tieniu wouldn’t let him touch it. It was heavy, crushing Xianling’s hand, and he headed straight for the kitchen. He placed the basket on the table and laid the meat on the cutting board. Tang Xianling followed behind, so he washed the small, tart apple in his hand, cut it into three pieces, and held one directly to Tieniu’s lips.

“Sun Douzi gave it to me. Try it—how does it taste?”

“Mom, help yourself.”

Jiang Yun: “I’m not eating any; you two can have it all.”

“Oh, Mother, why are you saying that? Go ahead and eat. If it’s good, we’ll buy more when the apples come in—it’s not like we’re short on money.” Mr. Tang was so generous!

Jiang Yun was amused, so she picked up a small piece of apple from the cutting board to taste.

Huangfu Tieniu had already taken a bite and said it was delicious. Tang Xianling took a bite, but his eyebrows immediately furrowed. Huangfu Tieniu’s eyes sparkled with amusement. “It’s good—a little tart, but still delicious.”

“You did that on purpose!” Tang Xianling elbowed Tieniu.

Huangfu Tieniu wore a blissful smile, and the fact that his husband was hitting him only made him happier.

Jiang Yun was already cupping her cheeks, complaining that it was sour.

“Mom, you were a step too slow. Tieniu tricked me into trying it,” Tang Xianling grumbled.

Jiang Yun, still pouting, tried to “break up the fight”: “It’s not sour, it’s not sour. It actually tastes sweet—there’s a sweetness to it.”

“……”

The young couple was just teasing each other. But just as Tieniu had said, the first bite was indeed sour enough to make your teeth ache, yet upon closer tasting, there was a subtle, crisp sweetness to the apple, no astringency at all. If it had been both sour and astringent, that would have been the worst.

Tang Xianling finally finished the apple in small bites. It made his mouth water and whetted his appetite. The small apples of that era were actually quite tasty—though they couldn’t compare to the large ones of today, they were tiny, with green skin tinged with red, crisp, and delicious, with a rich apple flavor.

“When the apples come into season, let’s buy some.”

Huangfu Tieniu held out his water cup and said, “Sure.”

His husband, with his wrinkled little face, was quite adorable.

In the afternoon, the family worked together in the kitchen, occasionally chatting, teasing, and playfully bickering. Jiang Yun felt that in such an atmosphere, even the work didn’t feel tiring—at first she’d feared that Wu-ger and Tieniu might really get into a fight, but later she saw that the two were just playfully teasing each other, one teasing the other, the other coaxing him back, and that’s how the young couple’s bond grew stronger.

Cooking smoke drifted from the stovehouse’s chimney.

The Lu family next door was the first to catch the scent. They’d bought just one portion of vegetables the day before—for a family of four. Lu Erlang hadn’t returned yet, so four people shared one portion; each got a single piece of spare rib. They were all so hungry that even Father Lu had to admit, “It really does smell delicious.”

Chen Qiaolian sighed, “With our family running a business, every money we earn goes straight to the Tang family’s shop next door.”

That was an exaggeration, but it spoke to the fact that the Tang family’s food smelled so good—they wanted to buy it but found it too expensive; they couldn’t possibly eat like that every day.

By today, Lu Sanniang had decided, “No more buying, no more buying.”

Unexpectedly, Lu Dalang said, “Go buy another serving.”

“Make it two,” Chen Qiaolian offered, telling Sanniang to take their own bowl and skip the rice. “Can you carry it? Otherwise, I’ll go with you. Old Lu, you keep an eye on the shop.”

Lu Sanniang was puzzled. Why was her mother being so generous today? What was she thinking? What was on her mind?

Chen Qiaolian smiled sweetly. “Someone’s coming to the house in a bit.”

“Mother, who is it? Who’s coming to the house?” Lu Sanniang was curious. She wondered why they’d choose to visit right around dinnertime—usually, guests come in the morning.

Chen Qiaolian didn’t answer. She took off her apron, tidied up, and went down to the kitchen to fetch a lunchbox. Lu Sanniang followed her around but couldn’t pry out who the guest was, so she ran to ask her eldest brother. Lu Dalang shrugged, implying he really didn’t know.

“What’s Mother up to?” Lu Sanniang wondered.

Never mind. I’ll go buy the food first. Tonight’s dinner will be another chance to enjoy the delicious dishes cooked by Wu-ger!

“Sanniang, don’t go. Stay home and steam the rice. I’ll go by myself,” Chen Qiaolian called to her daughter. “We won’t be cooking dinner tonight. Once the rice is steamed, just toss together a simple vegetable dish, then change your clothes. I bought you a new dress last year—put that on.”

Lu Sanniang: “Mother, if I’m cooking at home, why would I change into new clothes? It wouldn’t be good if I got them dirty.”

“Change into them after you’ve finished steaming the rice. Be a good girl. Guests will be arriving soon; have your eldest brother greet them.”

Lu Sanniang thought about it and agreed.

In front of the Tang family shop, even though the doors weren’t open yet, quite a few people had already gathered. In the past, Chen Qiaolian found this scene strange, but now that she’d seen it so often, she’d grown accustomed to it—though—

“It seems like there are more and more people,” Chen Qiaolian muttered.

In the past, when the Tang family’s business was booming, it was mainly the stalls on Main Street that were bustling, and most customers came from Dingyi District and Baxing District. But now there were more unfamiliar faces, and they were all well-dressed. People from both districts were carrying food boxes just like hers—presumably to take away.

“It’s starting to move.”

“They’re opening the door.”

“Finally, they’re open.”

Cui Dabao was among them. He had a love-hate relationship with the Tang family’s success: he loved that the delicious eatery he’d discovered was finally getting recognized by everyone—proof of his good taste—but he hated that today’s crowd was so thick he’d been pushed back to third or fourth in line!

Zhang Ming, holding his food box, exchanged a distant glance with Old Man Cui through the crowd and smiled back.

“He was first in line this morning, but now he’s too late.”

The shop door swung open.

Tang Xianling hadn’t expected such a crowd; there hadn’t been this many people waiting even for dinner the night before. But regardless, it was time to open for business!

“I’ll have a meal to eat here.”

“I’ll take mine to go.”

Tang Xianling: “Everyone, please line up.”

So it truly turned into a “university cafeteria” meal-serving assembly line: Tang Xianling was the “lunch lady,” dishing out portions with steady hands and equal portions; Huangfu Tieniu was in charge of serving the small bowls of meatballs and rice, as well as refilling rice; and Jiang Yun handled the cash register and cleared the tables and dishes after customers finished eating.

The whole family was busy, though Jiang Yun still managed to exchange a few pleasantries with customers now and then.

“Aunt Jiang, your business is really booming,” Chen Qiaolian praised enviously.

Jiang Yun: “It’s all thanks to Wu-ger.”

“You go ahead and keep working. I’m leaving now; I’ve finished my shopping.” Seeing how busy Jiang Yun was, Chen Qiaolian didn’t linger. She said her goodbyes, picked up her food box, and headed home. As she walked, she could still see people heading toward the Tang family’s shop.

The evening meal had only been open for a short while, yet by the time she bought hers, the selection had already dwindled by half.

It would likely sell out in less than an hour.

The Tang family really had landed on their feet with such a capable ger.

Yesterday, Mr. Huang from the silk shop in Taiping Lane came by again. This time, he returned the Tang family’s food box and brought one of his own—a larger, square red-lacquered box. Mr. Huang even asked for the Tang family’s mixed-grain rice.

“Four portions, packed separately.”

“I don’t know why, but the mixed-grain rice steamed at the Tang family’s is even better than the white rice I steam at home.”

Cui Dabao: “Exactly, exactly. Finally, someone who knows good food thinks the same way.”

Mr. Huang bought four portions of dishes for just eighty-four wen. If this were in the West Market, forget about the big restaurants—even at a small eatery, a dish like Mr. Tang’s braised spare ribs would fetch thirty or forty wen a serving, and he wouldn’t have any trouble selling them.

Not to mention that braised meatball dish—that’s another signature dish.

Four servings are a generous portion, more than what you’d get from a single stir-fry at a small eatery.

Mr. Huang said, “Actually, with Mr. Tang’s cooking skills, he wouldn’t have any trouble running a small restaurant. Take that pork specialty, for instance—Mr. Tang’s version is truly one-of-a-kind.”

“Thanks for the kind words. I’ve only been in business for a short while and lack experience. I just sell whatever comes to mind—it’s more flexible that way. We’ll see what the future holds.” Tang Xianling left the door open.

Whether he’ll stick to selling breakfast and boxed lunches or eventually switch to a small restaurant depends on how things go.

For now, given his personal energy, managing both breakfast and dinner service is just right.

“Mr. Tang is a smart man,” said Mr. Huang. This young shopkeeper was indeed content and spoke the truth. Seeing the crowds now, business was steady, but one shouldn’t rush to expand operations just because things are temporarily busy—that’s an easy way to stumble.

Dinner sales today were even faster than yesterday’s.

It was just past six o’clock; apart from what was set aside for his family, all the food in the shop had sold out. As Tang Xianling looked at the dishes on his plate, he felt a bit tired of the same old fare and said, “We’ll change the menu tomorrow.”

“Huh?” Jiang Yun was taken aback. “W-will we still need the pork?”

She’d already agreed with Xiangping to order a certain amount of meat each day. If they canceled now, it wouldn’t look good—changing plans after just two days would seem like a bit of a letdown.

“Of course, we’ll keep it,” Tang Xianling told his mother. “Today, Mr. Huang said something that gave me an idea. Small restaurants in the East and West Markets all have their own signature dishes. There are plenty of shops in Fengyuan City that sell pork-related items, but none of them have established a distinct brand.”

It was like on Main Street before—whenever people from the two neighborhoods mentioned Old Tang, they’d say his mutton soup and dumplings were second to none.

“We’ll start by making pork our specialty.” Mainly because the costs are lower.

Huangfu Tieniu: “What do you feel like eating tomorrow?”

Tang Xianling: “……”

Then he couldn’t help but laugh. He really did just cook whatever he felt like eating. If he changed the menu for the customers, he thought, it would be much freer to just open a boxed-lunch shop—no ordering allowed, everyone eats what the boss serves!

The main issue was that with customers ordering all sorts of things, he couldn’t keep up.

“Let me think.” He took another bite of the sweet-and-sour spare ribs. “I’ll still have the ribs, but make them bigger—”

“!!!”

Huangfu Tieniu saw his husband’s eyes light up instantly and chimed in, “Got it!”

“Hehehe, I’ve definitely got it. Tomorrow I’ll make fragrant spare ribs—braised first, then deep-fried. They won’t go cold, so I’ll have to order extra ribs from Boss Zhu.”

“And glutinous rice meatballs.”

“Actually, glutinous rice spare ribs aren’t bad either, and steamed pork with rice flour.”

“Preserved vegetable-capped pork.”

“Braised pork.”

“Braised pork hock.”

“Soy-braised pork knuckle.”

When it came to pork dishes, Tang Xianling could rattle off a whole menu. Thinking about it, there were plenty of opportunities to show off his skills—if only he had some chili peppers.

After listing all these hearty pork dishes, Tang Xianling’s appetite was fully whetted. Before they’d even finished eating, Jiang Yun couldn’t sit still any longer; she wanted to go tell Boss Zhu Xiangping to order extra spare ribs for tomorrow.

“Mom, there’s no rush. I was just chatting earlier. Changing the menu requires a trial run. Though I’ve never failed at cooking, running a business to make a profit is different—tasting the dishes is essential. We’ll stick to the old menu for the next couple of days and switch next week.” Tang Xianling had actually grown a bit tired of the same dishes after two days in a row; he’d just been craving something new, but he hadn’t expected his mother to be worrying about him.

Huangfu Tieniu nodded. “Mother, Xianling just caught the scent of the food. He’s been cooking and serving dishes for two days straight—he’s getting a bit tired of it—”

“Tired of it?” Jiang Yun glanced at her Wu-ger and muttered to herself, “No appetite… Wu-ger, you aren’t… expecting a baby, are you?”

“Cough, cough, cough.” Tang Xianling choked on his food.

Huangfu Tieniu hurriedly poured tea while patting Xianling on the back. Tang Xianling’s face flushed crimson, and he grumbled, “Mother, we’re eating. Why bring that up now!”

Jiang Yun saw that the Wu-ger had tears welling up in his eyes—he’d just choked—and was secretly nudging Tieniu with his arm. She immediately understood: the Wu-ger was embarrassed. She immediately smiled and said, “All right, all right. Mother won’t mention that anymore. Let’s eat, let’s eat. Eating is the important thing.”

They finally managed to continue eating.

Jiang Yun: “Your father just passed away. I know you didn’t love him, but everyone’s watching. It’s better to wait a while before having a baby.”

“……”

Huangfu Tieniu: “Mother, I know. I’ll be careful.”

Under the table, Tang Xianling stepped on Tieniu’s foot! Huangfu Tieniu played along, grimacing—and looking quite dashing in the process. Tang Xianling caught sight of him and was smitten by his good looks. She eased up on her foot, buried her face in her bowl, and ate in silence, never again mentioning how bland today’s meal was.

The Tang family shop was just the three of them—a simple household. Mealtime was cheerful, and after all the “commotion,” the atmosphere was excellent. The Lu family’s courtyard next door, however, was a different story.

A guest had arrived at the Lu household—an old acquaintance, a matchmaker. It was the same matchmaker who had previously helped Lu Dalang find a bride. Today, she had come to visit again. Chen Qiaolian and Father Lu closed the shop door and set out the evening meal they had bought from the Tang family.

Lu Dalang sat down, thinking there must be some problem with his own marriage.

After some small talk, he learned that his mother had asked this matchmaker to look for a husband for his third sister.

Lu Dalang furrowed his brow, thinking it might be too early—his younger sister was only fourteen—but with a guest present, he didn’t want to speak up, lest it seem like he was undermining his parents.

“Sanniang, go get the wine and pour it,” Chen Qiaolian called to her daughter, then turned to the matchmaker and said, “My Sanniang is the most well-behaved. She’s very diligent at home, washing clothes and cooking.”

The matchmaker smiled broadly and heaped praise on Chen Qiaolian, implying that she was truly blessed. With two sons and a daughter, her sons each had their own talents, and though her daughter was still young, she was already strikingly beautiful—just like her mother. Chen Qiaolian knew how to raise her well, so when the girl grew up, a fine young man was sure to come courting. “Don’t worry about Sanniang’s marriage,” the matchmaker assured her. “Leave it to me.”

Chen Qiaolian beamed with delight at the praise, her smile never fading.

“…But after all, Sanniang is still young; she’s not yet as old as her second brother.” The matchmaker circled back to the topic. It was clearly too early to start looking for a match for Lu Sanniang—it would be a waste of time. If she wanted to earn her matchmaking fee, Lu Erlang was right there, and it would be much quicker.

The Lu family was a good catch—she’d secured both matches, and she stood to make a tidy profit.

In Fengyuan City, matchmakers don’t charge the bride’s family for finding a match—they only ask the groom’s family. However, a matchmaker must be “well-connected and well-informed,” keeping a clear account of all marriageable young women in every district. When a young woman’s parents invite a matchmaker to their home for a meal, they ask her to take a good look and make selections, prioritizing their daughter if a suitable groom is found.

If a match is successfully arranged, the groom’s family pays the matchmaker’s fee, while the bride’s family provides the matchmaker with new clothes, fabric, wine, and sweets.

Naturally, these items are no substitute for money.

Most families with daughters followed this practice. Those with a bit more money, or who were particularly fond of their daughters, might spend money to hire a matchmaker to search diligently for a suitable groom—this is what it means to be a “client.” It’s a simple matter of who pays the bill: the matchmaker works harder for them and favors them accordingly.

It was clear today that the Lu family had no intention of spending money to arrange a marriage for Lu Sanniang—likely because she was still young, and they planned to simply treat the matchmaker to a meal and take their time getting to know potential suitors.

The matchmaker was as shrewd as they come and saw right through the situation, so the conversation naturally turned to Lu Erlang.

Lu Sanniang came over holding a wine bottle, poured a glass for the matchmaker, and filled her father’s cup as well. She sat to one side, watching the matchmaker eat. With each sip of wine and bite of sweet-and-sour spare ribs, sauce dripped from the corners of her mouth as she said, “Mmm, I’m not just bragging, but if Sanniang had been born a boy, she could’ve hosted banquets and made a fortune.”

The matchmaker mistakenly assumed Lu Sanniang had prepared the dish.

Chen Qiaolian should have set the record straight, but she beat her to it, smiling as she said, “Just some simple dishes. Eat up, eat up. Sister-in-law, try this.”

“I didn’t cook this dish; it’s the Tang family’s dinner from next door,” Lu Sanniang told the truth, but mindful of Zhou Quan’s feelings, she pointed to two plates of vegetarian dishes and said, “These two are mine. Please try them, Auntie.”

The matchmaker feared Chen Qiaolian might get angry, but Sanniang was a straightforward person. She smiled and said, “Alright, I’ll give it a try.” As soon as she tasted it, she realized it was worlds apart from the spare ribs she’d just eaten, but she praised it anyway: “Excellent! It’s so refreshing. Not bad at all.”

Chen Qiaolian glared at her daughter. She was trying to show off her skills, and her daughter was undermining her.

Never mind. Let’s focus on Erlang first.