That night, Tieniu fanned his husband while Xianling, having just finished bathing and applying powder, felt cool to the touch and smelled lovely. He couldn’t resist leaning down to kiss Xianling’s cheek.

“Don’t you like children?”

Tang Xianling glanced up but could only see Tieniu’s jawline; he decided not to look any further and teased lazily, “What? If I don’t like children, does that mean we won’t consummate our marriage?”

“I still want to. Don’t you?” Huangfu Tieniu grew a little impatient. “You do like it, don’t you? When we did it before, you really—”

Tang Xianling wasn’t as laid-back as before; he covered Tieniu’s mouth with his hand. “I like it, I like it. We’re still going to do it.”

In the darkness, the young couple both chuckled.

When it came to the wedding night, though both felt a bit shy, their bodies were honest. They truly enjoyed it.

“It’s not that I don’t like kids. I’m just not used to the idea of a man having a child. Where did that even—” Tang Xianling muttered under his breath, but then thought, if they had a child who looked like both of them, that wouldn’t be so bad.

The courtyard would be bustling with activity.

During the apocalypse, Tang Xianling had been alone for far too long. Every time he met a survivor, he’d be overjoyed, but some would go out to find food and never return, while others looked down on his “useless” abilities and refused to team up with him to survive.

For three years, he’d spent most of his time alone.

Now he had a home, a mother, and a husband—and soon, a child.

“I know you’re going to bring up Old Tang’s mourning period. Don’t worry about him—let nature take its course.” Tang Xianling felt that his own experience of life was far more important than that of Old Tang, who was already dead.

He loved Tieniu. He loved kissing and cuddling with him, teasing each other like schoolchildren. Now that they had “birth control” measures, well—never mind.

Swallowing that bitter medicine—whether it’s Tieniu or him—what’s the point of spending the money on that?

“Let’s just use the ‘filial piety’ label to fool outsiders. Our own lives are what matter most.”

Huangfu Tieniu fanned him, sending a gentle breeze toward Xianling, and said, “You have a good heart. You’re just not blindly filial. You don’t like him, and neither do I.”

“Mm.” Tang Xianling gave an open-hearted laugh.

After chatting for a while, drowsiness began to creep in.

“You should sleep too. Stop fanning me all the time—aren’t you tired?”

“I’m not tired. I’ll sleep once you’re asleep.” Huangfu Tieniu couldn’t get enough of looking at his husband; once Xianling fell asleep, he could sneak in a kiss.

The next day, at the usual time, the Tang household came to life.

“Wu-ger, there are even more people today,” Jiang Yun said as she returned with the milk. “Old Man Cui has been pushed to the back of the line; I haven’t served him milk yet today.”

Tang Xianling paused in his kneading. Too many customers, such a great turnout—it was truly sweet—

It’s not hard work, it’s not hard work—I’m making money.

Besides, the daily supply is fixed.

“No problem. When Old Man Cui gets closer to the front, I’ll make him some then,” Tang Xianling said. Then he turned to Tieniu: “We can’t have too many people. We need to write out numbers to call people up, or count the crowd, so the people at the back don’t have to wait too long.”

Although it’s still cool now, it’ll start to heat up around nine o’clock.

Huangfu Tieniu: “No rush. I’ll go to the entrance to count the people and ask around. If they’re all here for the pork floss bread, I’ll tell them the estimated time and see if they’d rather wait at another shop or what.”

The pork floss bread won’t be ready until half past the fourth hour.

“I see mostly unfamiliar faces—people who’ve come from far away. After all that travel, I’d guess they’re all here to buy some,” Jiang Yun remarked from the side.

Sure enough, after Huangfu Tieniu asked around, he returned and said, “They all want to buy some.”

“……” Tang Xianling: The buzz from that play excerpt is really intense.

He really hadn’t expected this.

It had been fine the first couple of days, especially the first day when there weren’t that many people, but then Tang Xianling realized: back then, there were no cell phones or the internet, so news spread by word of mouth. With Fengyuan City being so big, the rumors spread like ripples, each wave building higher than the last!

Now his place had become Fengyuan City’s newest hotspot. “Did you check in at Brother Tang’s Breakfast today?” 

“I did, I did.” The hottest, most talked-about spot—Brother Tang’s play excerpts and breakfast—was definitely worth a try.

As soon as the door opened, a sea of customers—even more than yesterday—poured in.

Tang Xianling figured this crowd alone would clear out nearly all his stock.

“……”

There are quite a few trend-chasers in Fengyuan City.

“It really is Brother Tang Wu.” 

“How’s his breakfast? Why haven’t I heard of pot-stickers or stuffed pancakes before?” 

“I came yesterday—it’s delicious! Especially the pork floss bread. Owner Tang said they’ve only been selling these for three days, and they won’t be available again until autumn and winter.”

“Huh? Are they that popular?”

“I heard that yesterday, some young master paid fifty wen for a five-wen bread.”

Tang Xianling: Does news spread that fast?

Scalpers? No, no, no.

It’s just ordinary food—don’t hype it up into “sky-high priced” bread.

Tang Xianling: “Good morning, everyone. Please line up in order. We have 300 preserved vegetable pot-sticker buns, 100 red bean buns, and 50 stuffed pancakes prepared daily. The pork floss bread will be baked around 10:30,” He glanced at the customers.

If everyone buys them all at once, maybe the bread will be baked earlier today.

“Two hundred pork floss breads—three per person. We’ll definitely sell them for three more days, including today. After that, I’ll take two days off, and there won’t be another batch of bread. Please bear with me.”

Cui Dabao, squeezed in the middle of the line, banged his fist on the ground.

Too many people are no good, no good at all. Back when Mr. Tang was running the breakfast stall, it was just him—this was his breakfast spot at Baxing District!

Today, the pot-sticker buns were placed in the oven. Tang Xianling worked quickly, shaping the dough, while Huangfu Tieniu stoked the charcoal stove and heated the iron griddle. Once Tang Xianling finished shaping the buns, he began making egg-stuffed pancakes. Customers bought the pancakes and ate them while waiting for their buns.

A new customer took a bite, let out a surprised “Hmm,” and his eyes lit up. “I thought those men and women were exaggerating a bit just to support Master Tang’s business,” he said, “but I never expected it to be this delicious.”

“Really delicious?”

“Delicious, delicious.” The customer repeated “delicious” twice, grinning happily. “Just for the stuffed pancakes alone, it was worth the trip today.”

He’d originally just come to join the crowd—everyone in the East and West Markets was talking about Brother Tang’s breakfast spread, and he didn’t want to look clueless if he didn’t try at least one thing. He hadn’t expected the flavor to be so unique.

Just as they were talking, a tantalizing aroma wafted through the air—the scent of sesame-studded flatbreads baking.

“The pot-sticker buns are ready.” A regular from the outer district called out to the newcomers around him: “Preserved vegetable and pork pot-sticker bunss—Mr. Tang’s specialty.”

“Is that so? Then I’ll take a few more.”

Tang Xianling: “Sir, pot-sticker buns are best eaten fresh. They’re meant to be thin, crispy, and fragrant with meat filling—not greasy. If you buy too many, they’ll go cold, and the crust will soften; they won’t taste as good as when they’re fresh out of the oven.”

“Then I’ll take one of each flavor for now.”

Tang Xianling: Right, right, right.

The pot-sticker bun was folded in half, releasing the aroma of preserved vegetables and meat. Someone couldn’t wait to take a bite and immediately nodded in approval, saying, “This is good. It’s hot in summer, and while pot-sticker buns are a dry snack, they aren’t greasy.”

The implication was that while the stuffed pancake was tasty earlier, it did get a bit too greasy toward the end.

Tang Xianling’s mind stirred as an idea struck him. “Next week—that is, for the next breakfast rotation—I’ll make a few adjustments. The pot-sticker bread stays the same, but I’ll replace the stuffed pancakes with jianbing gouzi.”

“What’s that?” 

“Fried pancakes—as the name suggests, they must be pancakes, right?” 

“And what’s the ‘jian’ part?”

Everyone started chatting animatedly.

Tang Xianling smiled. “You’ll all find out next round.” 

The pancake is thin, the ‘guozi’ is crispy, and it can be served with some shredded potatoes and cold side dishes—it’s a bit lighter. He’ll skip the smoked meat, which also saves him the trouble of preparing it.

Very good.

Indeed, one must adjust one’s diet with the seasons.

The new diners, regardless of what “jianbing guozi” was, were now holding steaming hot pot-buns, puffing on them, and exclaiming, “Delicious! Really good!” Some even tore off a piece for an acquaintance they’d met while waiting in line; having not seen each other in a long time, they ended up chatting in the line at Tang’s.

“Brother Mu, you’re here for this, too?”

“I actually came to listen to the opera. I felt sympathy for Mr. Tang’s plight, so I stopped by to show my support. I didn’t expect the food to be this good.”

“Same here. We’re both from humble backgrounds. No matter how poor we are, we can’t let our backs bend…”

Judging by their accents and tone, these two seemed to be scholars, but their behavior wasn’t stuffy—eating breakfast in a street line, and when they spoke, they weren’t overly formal. They chatted about everything: a few words on literature, the weather, and farm work. This year’s harvest was quite bountiful; one of the scholars was actually a farmer’s son.

Huangfu Tieniu listened for a while, then nodded and turned his attention back to his work.

Tang Xianling hadn’t been idle all morning; his stock had indeed sold out early. He told the latecomers not to wait, as he’d nearly sold everything for the day.

The latecomers: “Huh?”

“It’s already sold out? Looks like we’ll have to get here early tomorrow.”

Since they were already there, they didn’t rush off but wandered up and down the main street of Baxing District, looking for something else to eat.

At Old Zhao’s Sugar-Oil Pancake Shop, Zhao Dalang’s mother was standing at the door calling out to customers: “Sugar-oil pancakes! Delicious sugar-oil pancakes! Sweet, gooey-centered sugar-oil pancakes!”

Some customers actually went inside to buy some.

The visitor from another quarter took a bite of the sugar-oil cake. It wasn’t freshly fried; it had been sitting out for a while. The outside wasn’t as crispy, and the sugary center had set a bit—not as runny as usual— but it was passable.

“You look like a stranger; you don’t seem to be from our quarter.”

“Hmm, from another quarter. I was actually planning to buy breakfast from the Tang family’s stall—their business is really booming; they’ve already sold out by now.” The visitor from another quarter took a few bites but really couldn’t eat any more. He was in a chatty mood and quite curious about Brother Tang’s shop. “Are you all from Baxing District? Is Brother Tang just like he’s described in the plays?”

Mrs. Zhao: “What plays?”

“You haven’t heard?” The customer from the other quarter stopped eating. “Brother Tang’s lawsuit—whether in playbills or storyteller’s tales—is all the rage in both the East and West Markets. Did he really file a lawsuit? Did anyone from your quarter go to watch the spectacle? I heard quite a few enthusiastic regulars went together. If it were me, I’d go too. Did anyone from your family go?”

Mrs. Zhao’s smile faded; her face grew stern as she said, “He did file a complaint, but we didn’t go.” Still seething, she muttered under her breath, “He’s a married man, yet he’s suing another man. Even after the man is dead, he won’t let it go. He’s made a spectacle of his own divorce, spreading it far and wide—he has no shame.”

“Tsk.” The customer from the outer district lost all interest in the conversation upon hearing this. He tossed aside the half-eaten sugar-oil cake in his hand, got up, and walked out.

Sun Honghong: “Mother, why are you saying these things?”

“Isn’t what I said true?” Aunt Zhao couldn’t contain her anger. As she walked past her shop’s entrance and saw that there weren’t many people in front of the Tang family’s shop, she knew full well that they had sold out, not that no one was buying. Unable to hold back any longer, she said, “I don’t know what people from the outer quarter are thinking. It’s so hot, and they come all this way to eat Brother Tang Wu’s cakes. They’re dry and crumbly—what’s so good about them?”

Sun Honghong felt the same way. Her own shop had barely seen a customer all morning, while the threshold at the Tang family’s shop was practically worn out from so many people stepping over it—it really wasn’t fair. Even back when Old Tang was around, business hadn’t been this good.

“What play were they just talking about?” Zhao Dalang, the man frying the sugar-coated pancakes, suddenly asked.

Neither the mother-in-law nor the daughter-in-law knew, of course. The Zhao family had always lived frugally, and since their child was staying with their younger brother in the countryside, there was no one pestering them to go to the East Market and the West Market. The adults hadn’t been to the markets in ages, so naturally they had no idea what plays were being performed.

Hearing her husband’s question, Sun Honghong wondered if this might be the secret behind Brother Tang’s sudden surge in business. She immediately took off her apron and said, “I’ll go out and ask around.”

Sun Honghong returned shortly. She had found out that many people from the outer districts were eating and drinking at the wonton shops, pan-fried dumpling stalls, and taverns. She didn’t even need to ask; just by standing nearby, she could overhear the outsiders chatting and learn everything.

When she reported this,

“…He’s the one who spends the most.” Mrs. Zhao glared at Brother Wu with hatred, then turned to Daliang and said, “Then we should hire a theater troupe to put on a show or something.”

Zhao Daliang was still thinking clearly. “What are you talking about? We haven’t filed a lawsuit or produced a Juren. Mother, don’t go acting recklessly.”

“How is that acting recklessly? I’m doing this for your sake. Look at the state our family business is in—”

“Whose fault is that? Mine?” Zhao Dalang retorted sharply in his anger. “If you hadn’t been so biased toward your second son, always scheming to get him things from the Tang family, would our shop be in this state now?”

Mrs. Zhao’s stared at her son in disbelief, then clutched her chest and began to weep.

Outside the door, a crowd of onlookers had gathered.

Seeing this, Sun Honghong could no longer bear to watch coldly. First, she shooed away the onlookers: “What are you looking at? We’re not selling anymore. Get out of here.” Then she went to support her mother-in-law and gave her husband a meaningful look, signaling him not to go too far—after all, with people coming and going on the street, they didn’t want to earn a reputation for being unfilial.

The family of three—whether it was the husband and wife arguing or the mother-in-law and daughter-in-law clashing—was now seeing even the biological mother and son turning against each other. The day dragged on in a dry, bitter atmosphere filled with complaints; none of the three felt at ease. With the sweltering heat to boot, it was a recipe for an explosion.

At the Tang Family’s Shop.

The pork floss bread was being distributed by numbered tickets.

Mainly because the sun had grown scorching. Tang Xianling feared customers waiting in line might suffer from heatstroke, so he handed out numbered tickets, set a time, and had them come in batches to pick up their orders.

Fortunately, the pork floss bread would only be sold for two more days; otherwise, with people lining up for tickets to buy bread, trouble would easily arise over time, such as scalpers reselling tickets or people forging their numbers. With the heat, customers were prone to arguments.

While waiting for the bread, Tang Xianling could finally catch his breath.

Huangfu Tieniu brought over a cup of iced tea and handed it to him, then wiped the sweat from his husband’s brow. Tang Xianling drank it all in one gulp. This iced tea was brewed at home—sugar-free and quite delicious. With mint, honeysuckle, and licorice, it had a crisp, refreshing taste when chilled, and he felt much better after drinking it.

“Did you and Mother have some?”

“We did.” Jiang Yun, sitting beside him, was also able to catch her breath. “Tieniu just brought a pot over and poured some for me.”

Tang Xianling’s face flushed slightly—from the heat—as he looked at Tieniu. “You take care of yourself, too. Don’t get heatstroke. We’ll clean up together later.” He thought he was older than Tieniu and that they should look out for each other in daily life, but in the end, it was Tieniu who looked out for him in every way.

“Alright, I know.” Huangfu Tieniu agreed with his mouth while fanning Xianling with his hand, then added, “There are some scholars in the crowd today. I reckon there’ll be even more people later.”

Tang Xianling nodded. “But I think people are just here to join the fun and make a purchase right now. Once something new happens in Fengyuan City, our popularity will drop significantly. The food business is a long-term game. For a single meal, who has the patience or determination to get up this early and wait in line for months or even half a year?”

Once the hype dies down, foot traffic will return to normal. Customers from the outer districts will, at most, drop by on a whim when they suddenly crave something—they won’t be checking in here every day.

Tang Xianling kept a positive outlook. Given his shop’s location and fixed inventory, it was destined to remain a modest breakfast spot. He set his sights on dinner service—once customer traffic stabilized, he could eventually convert it into a small restaurant.

No breakfast service.

The family took a short break. The bread wasn’t ready yet, but people were already waiting at the door with their numbered tickets, asking, “Mr. Tang, is it almost ready?” 

“Just a moment,” 

“It should be my turn now.”

Someone else said with a smile, “Mr. Tang and his new husband really are a loving couple.”

“Thank you,” Huangfu Tieniu said, unable to suppress a smile.

Tang Xianling glanced over. What a silly look—people were complimenting them on their affection, and he was all flustered.

Earlier that morning, when the line was long, some scholars had praised him for his straightforward manner and excellent craftsmanship, but this “dumb ox” had felt a bit awkward—after all, he wasn’t exactly a “hot commodity” that everyone adored.

The bread he kneaded with his own hands, however, was a real treat.

“Here it is. Let me take a look. Just brush it with egg wash and bake it a little longer.”

Once the egg wash was applied and the loaves were put back in the oven, even more customers holding number tickets gathered in front of the shop. They were truly eager to eat the bread. You could hear comments like, “This is my first time trying the pork floss bread today,” “Well, you’re lucky—in two days, Boss Tang won’t be selling this anymore,” and “I know, so I’ll be back tomorrow and the day after to buy some…”

The impending shortage only fueled the customers’ desire to buy.

Wouldn’t it be that once the pork floss bread was completely discontinued, it would become the “white moonlight” in customers’ hearts—viewed through layers of rose-colored glasses, impossible to come by? Those who’d tasted it would exaggerate their praise, while those who hadn’t would fret until autumn and winter.

Tang Xianling let his mind wander while he went about his work.

After the pork floss bread sold out that morning, the family cleaned up the shop. Tang Xianling and Tieniu handled the heavy lifting—moving things around and washing up—while telling their mother not to work so hard. They went out to buy lunch, dividing the tasks so they could get some extra sleep after eating.

“Mom, you pick what to buy. I’d like some congee.”

Jiang Yun: “Alright.” She grabbed the shopping basket and headed out onto the street. Wherever she went, the shop owners and their wives greeted her warmly, and they chatted for a while.

“Business has been much better at my place today.”

“We’ve had quite a few customers from other neighborhoods come to our main street, and they’re all quite wealthy.”

“That’s right. We usually give away congee with dumplings, but now people are actually paying for it.”

Some people had a bowl of congee, while others—visitors from out of town who arrived late—found that the Tang family’s pot-sticker buns and stuffed pancake were sold out. Since they were already there, they just picked a random shop to order breakfast. It was mostly about socializing, and as a result, business at the few early-opening shops on Main Street picked up considerably.

Naturally, these people were eager to be on good terms with Aunt Jiang and showered her with enthusiastic praise.

Jiang Yun enjoyed hearing people praise her Wu-ger for his skills, so she chatted a bit longer. By the time she carried the food box back, the shop had been tidied up, and the congee had gone cold.

“Perfect timing.” Tang Xianling liked cold food in the heat, though mainly because his family couldn’t afford ice; what they called “cold food” was really just left at room temperature. He took a few sips from the bowl—it not only quenched his thirst but also whetted his appetite.

“After we sell out of the afternoon meal, I’ll prepare some light, refreshing cold dishes.”

Huangfu Tieniu and Jiang Yun naturally had no objections. Jiang Yun asked Wu-ger what he’d like to eat so they could pick up the ingredients while shopping later. Tang Xianling replied, “See if there are any cucumbers? And round onions, small cabbages, carrots, and the like.”

Round onions are just onions.

Cabbage was also sold on the street; at this time of year, it was about the size of two fists. It had a strong vegetable flavor, and if you sliced it into strips, salted it to draw out the water, and ate it raw, it was very refreshing.

Tang Xianling had forgotten—it wasn’t that the vegetables were particularly flavorful at this time of year; it was simply that his Food Spirit Root was strong.

After lunch, Tang Xianling felt sleepy. He covered his mouth and yawned, mumbling to his mother, “No rush to buy vegetables. I’m going to take a nap first.”

“I know, you’re tired. Go sleep.” Jiang Yun hadn’t slept much and wanted to go out and look at the vegetables. She said to Tieniu, “You and Wu-ger go back to the room and sleep.”

Tang Xianling walked alongside Tieniu, daydreaming, “Just two more days of work, and we’ll be on leave. Then we’ll spend one day shopping and the next doing absolutely nothing—just sleeping in all day!”

“Alright, I’ll take your word for it,” Huangfu Tieniu replied.

Tang Xianling went into the room and began undressing, while Huangfu Tieniu stood by, hanging up his clothes. By the time Tang Xianling was down to just a belly band and a pair of loose trousers, he flopped down onto the bamboo mat on the bed, and Huangfu Tieniu took out a fan to fan his husband.

“Actually, business doesn’t have to be too good. There’s no end to money—a little wealth is enough. As long as our family is happy and content…” He mumbled and fell asleep.

Huangfu Tieniu’s eyes were filled with a gentle smile. Xianling was so smart and content—he was truly perfect in every way.

Dinner service sold out quickly again today; there were plenty of customers, much like yesterday.

Tang Xianling was thinking of hiring a dishwasher. On the first day, most of the customers buying dinner were from the two neighboring districts, and everyone took their food to go, so there weren’t many dishes. Today, however, there were more dine-in customers, and the stacks of bowls, chopsticks, and plates were piled high—just looking at them was exhausting. So, he made the decision on the spot.

“I’ll go ask around tomorrow to find a dishwasher. I’ll offer a free evening meal—someone nearby.”

“Mom, how much do you think we should pay?”

Jiang Yun had originally been thinking, “Why hire a dishwasher? I can wash them myself. It’s not that many bowls. Back when your father was alive—” but her train of thought was interrupted. Picking up on Wu-ger’s question, she said, “About ten wen should do.”

“Then it’s settled. I’ll take a look tomorrow at noon.”

Jiang Yun shared her experience with Wu-ger: “People from our two neighborhoods definitely won’t want to do this. If you’re hiring help, you’ll have to look outside the city in the villages, but the villages are far away. The closest option would be residents of the mixed-use quarters.”

Fengyuan City was a large metropolis, with its neighborhoods divided into tiers of three, six, and nine. The Dingyi District of the Baxing District was among those inhabited by ordinary commoners—and that was considered a relatively decent situation. Some neighborhoods were even more chaotic, with a single courtyard housing seven or eight households, most of whom eked out a living through manual labor.

In contrast, wards like Taiping and Kangping had lower population densities and were mostly home to wealthy merchants.

“The evening meal business won’t be bad. Dishwashing is steady work. I’ll look for someone properly tomorrow at noon,” said Tang Xianling.

Over the next two days, just as Tang Xianling and Huangfu Tieniu had predicted, the number of diners only increased. People were simply drawn by the buzz; having breakfast at Brother Tang’s had become the latest trend. After eating, they could head to the West Market to chat, so word spread from person to person, and everyone came.

Old Man Cui hadn’t shown up by the third day; he probably found the crowd too much.

Sun Douzi arrived just before noon, carrying a basket containing a bowl of black-eyed peas and an empty jar. He’d come to get milk and, while he was at it, bring Mr. Tang some of the food he’d stir-fried.

“I added extra mung bean flour and eggs, but the flavor still can’t compare to Mr. Tang’s. Still, my father-in-law and Dabao both love it.” Sun Douzi’s eyes sparkled with pride—he had succeeded.

“It’s the first time I’ve ever cooked, and the two of them didn’t turn their noses up at it; they’ve been eating it one after another.”

Back in the village, Sun Douzi hadn’t had the opportunity to practice, so his cooking skills were nothing to write home about—as long as it filled their bellies, that was enough. After marrying into the Cui family, Cui Dabao was a real foodie. Even if Sun Douzi wanted to learn, there was no one to teach him. He fumbled his way through on his own, and the food he made was still just so-so.

He never expected that a simple dish of stir-fried broad beans would earn him praise this time.

Even Dabao said they were delicious—on par with Master Tang’s.

Sun Douzi was overjoyed. He knew he still couldn’t compare to Master Tang, but they really were tasty.

Tang Xianling picked up a few to taste. They were indeed quite good—the qizi dou were plump and crispy, with just the right amount of salt. He nodded and said with a smile, “Could you tell me your method? I’ll share it with the customers in our two neighborhoods.”

“Sure, this is all thanks to you anyway.” Sun Douzi carefully explained the entire process to Master Tang.

Tang Xianling jotted down the proportions and thought to himself: His Food Spirit Root had saved him quite a bit on ingredients.

After chatting for a while, seeing that Sun Douzi was interested in cooking, Tang Xianling shared some additional cooking tips. Sun Douzi happily jotted them down, grabbed some milk, and headed home. Before leaving, he said, “Dabao still loves Master Tang’s breakfast, but there are just too many people. He said he’d take a couple of days off and come back next week.”

Tang Xianling: … 

He chuckled.

“Thank you both. See you later.”

This week has finally come to an end, and he already hired a dishwasher—a slightly older man named A-Liang, a resident of Dayuan Lane. According to his Mother, it’s not far from Baxing District, so the commute is quick. As agreed, he’ll provide one evening meal, and wages will be paid daily.

At last, things will be a little easier.