Tang Xianling had originally planned to have the signboard re-carved, but Tieniu said there was no need to take it to a carpenter—he could do it himself.

???

“Tieniu, what other skills do you have? Let me see them.”

With a day off tomorrow, Tang Xianling was in a great mood, and even the tone of his voice was rising.

Huangfu Tieniu took down the signboard from his shopfront, flipped it over, and said, “Let’s not waste the wood. We’ll just carve on the back. I figure it won’t be long before we’ll need to replace the signboard for Boss Tang’s shop anyway.”

“Well said.” Tang Xianling applauded enthusiastically, then crouched down to ponder. “What should we carve now? We still sell breakfast at home—we can’t very well call it ‘Brother Tang’s Evening Diner’ or ‘Miscellaneous Diner,’ can we?”

“We sell everything.”

As soon as he said it, he realized it didn’t sound right.

“That’s no good,” Huangfu Tieniu said.

“I agree—‘Miscellaneous Diner’ sounds a bit odd.”

The two of them stood there brainstorming names for the sign—Miscellaneous Food Shop, Eatery, Food Store, and so on. After much deliberation, they finally agreed on “Brother Tang’s Restaurant.”

Brother Tang would decide what to sell—whether breakfast or dinner, or even if they added lunch or late-night snacks later on, they wouldn’t need to change the name. It was just right.

With the name settled, Huangfu Tieniu grabbed a brush, ink, and a carving knife to get to work, while Tang Xianling went to the kitchen to prepare dinner for his family. These days, their evening meals were selling out quickly, so they finished work early; it was now just before seven in the evening, and the sky was still light.

After washing the dishes, A-Liang carried some leftovers from dinner back home—

Since Tang Xianling had grown tired of dishes like sweet and sour spare ribs these past few days, he wanted a change of pace today. The leftovers from his takeout meal were all clean, so he packed them up for A-Liang. When A-Liang saw what the leftovers were, he felt a bit embarrassed to ask if he could take them home to eat.

Tang Xianling readily agreed and borrowed a food basket from A-Liang’s family.

A-Liang had just walked off carrying the basket.

Jiang Yun remarked, “He’s definitely taking it home to add to his kids’ meal.”

“I know, but it’s no big deal. We serve our own family first; we can’t give customers just a little. The leftovers vary in quantity, so if he wants to take some home, let him,” Tang Xianling said.

A-Liang was thirty-three, a bit younger than Zhou Xiangping, but he looked weathered and worn.

Tang Xianling only asked A-Liang a few basic questions—his age and home address—and after seeing him wash the dishes this afternoon with such nimble hands and efficient work, he made up his mind.

At that moment, only the family members were in the courtyard; they hadn’t eaten dinner yet—it was finally ready, truly a “dinner.”

Tang Xianling was chopping vegetables in the kitchen. His mother had already washed them: she’d lightly pounded the cucumbers and mixed them with crushed garlic for a cold salad; she’d shredded the cabbage, carrots, and spring onions, sprinkled a little salt to draw out the moisture, and garnished them with chopped scallions and sesame oil—it was refreshing and ready to eat.

A small pot of thin congee made with mung beans and white rice was simmering; it was already done, so she poured it into a clay pot to let it cool.

“What else do you want to eat, Mother? Are these two cold dishes enough?”

Jiang Yun: “That’s enough, that’s enough.” After saying that, she remembered something. “Ask Tieniu—he’s growing and has a big appetite. Should we add some flatbreads or steamed buns? Should we go buy some steamed buns from next door?”

“No need. I’ll make some soft pancakes with eggs and Chinese cabbage.” Tang Xianling didn’t feel like eating steamed buns. The pancakes were easy to make: mix multigrain flour with beaten eggs and water until it reached a thick, sticky consistency. Wash a head of Chinese cabbage, shred it, toss it in, and season with a pinch of five-spice powder.

He heated a skillet, brushed it with oil, and began making the pancakes.

The pancakes that came out of the pan were thin and soft. He could make one every few minutes. Tang Xianling made six of them. With just a little batter left, an idea struck him, and he made a heart-shaped pancake. He even tweaked the shape a bit to make his “heart” look fuller.

Dinner time!

The table was set up in the courtyard, and the small candlestick was lit. By then, it had grown dark, but on a summer night, the sky was ablaze with stars, and though the moon was just a crescent, it shone brightly.

Dinner, dinner.

Cooled mung bean and white rice porridge, two plates of refreshing mixed vegetables, and a plate of warm pancakes. Tang Xianling washed his hands and told his mother not to touch the food yet. Jiang Yun watched as her Wu-ger picked up the top pancake from the plate.

“Ta-da! Love-filled pancakes by Tang Xianling, presented to my favorite classmate, Tieniu.” Tang Xianling personally handed the pancake over. Seeing Tieniu’s ears turn red, he laughed even more wildly. “Tieniu, are you going to eat it plain, or wrap some vegetables in it? Come on, your husband is here to serve you.”

Huangfu Tieniu’s ears were red, and he stammered, unable to reply.

Tang Xianling: Hahahahahaha.

“Let’s wrap some vegetables in it for my Tieniu. This is my ‘Love Roll.’”

He wrapped a bit of cold shredded vegetable salad inside, rolled it into a heart-shaped pancake, and formed a small roll. Tang Xianling handed it to Tieniu. Tieniu took it but didn’t dare look at his mother; yet he took a serious bite and said, “It’s delicious.”

Tang Xianling: Hahahahahaha, how innocent and adorable is that?

“Mother, I’ll make one for you.” Tang Xianling rolled up a second one for his mother and handed it to her.

Jiang Yun caught it, her heart filled with joy, and a faint smile on her face.

Finally, Tang Xianling rolled up a pancake for himself. The pancake had no salt, only the fragrance and softness of eggs and Chinese cabbage, wrapped around the shredded vegetables. He took a bite—it was delicious and refreshing. He wouldn’t trade it for meat!

“Delicious, delicious,” Jiang Yun nodded repeatedly.

Huangfu Tieniu held a small heart-shaped pancake as if savoring some exquisite delicacy. What he’d normally finish in two or three bites, he was now dragging out, unable to finish it. He’d take a bite and then glance at Tang Xianling.

Tang Xianling: …Good heavens, you’re using my face as a side dish.

He glared at Tieniu, implying, “You’re eating so well.”

Tieniu just grinned. Tang Xianling’s lips curled upward, thinking to himself, “It’s only because Tieniu has a smart, handsome face. If he had a more simple-minded look, he’d really be a ‘dumb ox’ right now.”

After eating the same evening meal as dinner for five straight days, he’d grown tired of it. Today, this little vegetable-stuffed pancake tasted especially good, with a simple, rustic aroma.

Tang Xianling thought to himself that next week, when the lunchbox menu rotates on the third day, he’d add some cold vegetable salad—it’s cheap to make and really refreshing in the summer.

Six vegetable wraps plus a special heart-shaped one—Mom ate one, Tang Xianling worked up an appetite and ate one and a half, washed it down with some thin porridge, and Huangfu Tieniu polished off the rest all by himself. Tang Xianling watched and thought to himself, no wonder Tieniu is so strong—he eats a lot.

I guess he’s not quite full yet?

Let’s see.

“Make a few more next time,” Tang Xianling said.

Huangfu Tieniu agreed.

After that, they lit candles to wash up and tidy the place. When it came time to bathe, Mother went first; after she finished, she went to bed early. Since there was no work tomorrow—they were closing the shop for two days off—Jiang Yun stood in the courtyard and called out, “You two take your time cleaning up; I’m going to bed first.”

“Okay,” Tang Xianling replied.

In the bathing room, Huangfu Tieniu had already mixed hot water to prepare the bath. Tang Xianling, already wearing his “nightclothes,” was heading toward the bathing room. The candlestick sat on the shelf—this scene felt somewhat familiar, as if it had happened before.

Thinking about what had happened earlier, Tang Xianling’s face grew a little warm.

Huangfu Tieniu bathed his husband first, washing him spotless. Tang Xianling’s knees felt a little weak. It was late at night; after blowing out the candle, Huangfu Tieniu carried Xianling back to the room.

Actually, nothing much happened.

“You go to sleep early; I’ll clean up,” Huangfu Tieniu said, kissing his husband.

Tang Xianling was truly exhausted and mumbled, “Aren’t we going to do it?”

“You’re tired. Go to sleep.”

As Tang Xianling drifted off in a daze, he still wondered: They’d both done the same kind of work that day, and Tieniu had even done more heavy labor. Why did Tieniu seem to have endless energy—washing him, cleaning the bathroom—while he, though physically exhausted, couldn’t stop his mind from wandering to other things—

Just while he was bathing, his mind had truly wandered off into all sorts of fantasies.

Now that his body was exhausted and he was about to sleep, his mind still couldn’t let go of those thoughts. He felt a little disappointed—after all, they hadn’t done it. He was only twenty-one; was he really that desperate? Or was it that his body was just a little different…

Tang Xianling drifted off to sleep as these thoughts swirled through his mind.

Huangfu Tieniu returned, tucked his husband in, and couldn’t resist kissing Xianling’s cheek. Holding him close, he fell asleep as well. He’d just taken a quick cold shower and held back earlier; his husband had been busy all day and was utterly exhausted, so they didn’t go through with it.

For five days in a row, he’d woken up on time, and today was no exception. Tang Xianling woke up around four in the morning. He reached out to touch the person beside him, and Tieniu woke up immediately. He patted his husband’s arm and said, “We’re taking a break today.”

“Oh.” Tang Xianling remembered, hummed softly with his eyes closed, and said, “Then I’ll get up to relieve myself.”

“I’ll go with you.”

In the end, the two of them got up to relieve themselves, washed their hands, and returned to the room. They glanced at each other; their eyes met, and they both blushed and looked away. Then, the “homework” they’d left undone before going to sleep last night was finally caught up on.

Jiang Yun, still in her nightgown, first went outside the shop to fetch some milk and set it in the kitchen. The “Closed” sign was already hanging at the shop entrance; there hadn’t been many customers today, so she breathed a sigh of relief. It was still early, so she headed toward her own room. She faintly heard a sound and instinctively followed it, fearing a petty thief might have entered the courtyard—

When she realized the sound was coming from Wu-ger’s room, she didn’t stop walking. She went straight to her own room. Even if she couldn’t sleep, she’d pretend to be asleep for a while—there was no need to get up too early.

It was well past noon before she finally got out of bed.

Tang Xianling wished he could wrap himself up like a rice dumpling. Tieniu asked in a low voice, “Aren’t you afraid of the heat? Be careful not to get heatstroke.”

“Who told you to kiss me there!” Tang Xianling asked, pointing to his Adam’s apple.

Huangfu Tieniu replied meekly, “You told me to—”

“Don’t you dare say another word!” Tang Xianling shot him a fiery glare, then turned the tables on him. He studied himself in the bronze mirror for a moment. “It’s the middle of summer—would it be strange if I wore a silk scarf?”

He really didn’t want to wear a high-necked shirt; it was just too hot.

Now, Huangfu Tieniu couldn’t go against his better judgment either. “It would,” he said. Then he added, “We won’t go out today. I’ll grind up some herbs and apply them. If Mother asks, we’ll just say we got bitten by mosquitoes yesterday.”

“Huh!” Tang Xianling’s eyes sparkled. “Little Tieniu, you’re pretty quick on your feet.”

So the two hit it off immediately, staging a farce of “hiding one’s ears to steal a bell” and “denying the obvious.” The herbal paste was green. Tang Xianling not only smeared it on his own neck, Adam’s apple, and the side of his face, but also on Tieniu’s shoulders. Tieniu pointed out that his clothes would cover any bite marks, so there was no need to smear them there. Tang Xianling gritted his teeth, “Then next time I’ll bite a mark on your cheek.”

“Sure.” Huangfu Tieniu chuckled, sounding quite eager. “When’s next time?”

“What do you mean, ‘next time’? Right now.” Tang Xianling spoke tough, but when he saw Tieniu bend over and turn his face toward him, he burst out laughing and dabbed the herbal paste on Tieniu’s cheek.

The two of them bickered and played around in the room. Once they stepped outside, Tang Xianling put on a ridiculously bad act. He stretched lazily and said, “Haha, I overslept on my day off. There were so many mosquitoes—they bit me in several places. Mother, how did you sleep?”

Jiang Yun glanced at Wu-ger, then at Tieniu, feeling a bit amused inside. “I slept well,” she said. “I just woke up myself.”

“That’s good, that’s good.”

“Wu-ger, the milk is in the kitchen. Should we wait for Sun Fulang to come get it, or should we bring it over?” Jiang Yun asked.

Tang Xianling: “Got it.”

Once he entered the kitchen and stood before the bucket of milk, his brain finally kicked in. He turned to look at Tieniu. “We’re supposed to bring the milk over as soon as the city gates open. Mom’s been sleeping until now—who brought the milk to the kitchen?”

It definitely wasn’t Tieniu; back then, the two of them would get up in the middle of the night to go back to their room and… you know.

Huangfu Tieniu gently stroked his husband’s cheek. There was a bit of herbal residue on it; after brushing it away, he said with unmistakable tenderness in his voice, “Mother cares for us, so let’s not say anything.”

He saw a faint blush on his husband’s snow-white skin.

“The exposed parts have a greenish tint from the herbs, but outsiders won’t notice. I promise—next time, I won’t leave any marks on the outside,” Huangfu Tieniu said.

Tang Xianling snorted, “I told you to listen to me, not to listen to me all the time.” After saying this, he was amused by his own domineering tone.

“Forget it, you’d better just listen to me.”

Huangfu Tieniu couldn’t help but laugh silently, nodding in agreement.

That day, Tang Xianling planned to make yogurt and test some recipes, while Huangfu Tieniu had to carve a plaque. In the afternoon, the two were going shopping, focusing on restocking flour, spices, red beans, and mung beans. There were still over thirty jin of charcoal left; in fact, when they calculated it, the total cost was actually one or two taels of silver less than before.

There was still plenty of rice paper left.

Tang Xianling took inventory of everything and made a note of it all. Next week, they wouldn’t make pork floss bread; instead, they’d replace the egg-stuffed pancakes with fried dough sticks. He didn’t want to fry the dough sticks himself—there were shops on the street that sold fried dough twists and such. He could ask the dough twist shop if they could make thin, crispy dough sticks and order them ready-made.

This and that.

Before he could head out to the East Market, someone arrived at the house.

Han Kai had come today to deliver the final batch of snow peas; any later and the vegetables would wilt and spoil. Boss Tang had ordered a lot, saying he’d take whatever was available. Han Kai had gone through all the good vegetables, sorted them neatly, and packed them into four large baskets.

The couple pushed a cart over; the load was heavy, so they moved slowly. This time, they entered through the back gate. Jiang Yun opened the door and invited them in to sit for a while.

Han Kai and her husband seemed much more cheerful this time, without the anxiety and resentment they’d shown before.

“Thank you, Aunt Jiang,” Han Kai said as she accepted a cup of iced tea.

Tang Xianling inspected the goods and, finding no issues, paid Han Kai.

As Han Kai’s husband requested, Tang Xianling handed the money to Han Kai and said, “My dealings with Mr. Han are always fair and square. If you have any dried vegetables this coming autumn, feel free to bring them over for me to look at. If they’re suitable, I’ll continue buying them; if not, no hard feelings.”

“I understand,” Han Kai replied. He took the heavy string of coins—Mr. Tang had counted them in front of him, strung together with hemp rope—and didn’t count them himself, though he didn’t know why Mr. Tang insisted on handing the money directly to him.

He took the money, but in the end, it was still managed by the man.

Tang Xianling: “No rush, count it again.”

Han Kai had intended to say it wasn’t necessary, but since the man was watching him, he nodded and agreed to count it again.

In no time, the count was finished and the amount matched. Han Kai handed the string of copper coins to the man, who happily tucked them into his bosom. Yet he could tell that Boss Tang was dealing with his husband—recognizing his husband but not him.

No big deal, no big deal—they were family; it didn’t matter who he acknowledged.

With this long-term business arrangement with Boss Tang, life at home had improved considerably.

“By the way, Boss Tang, someone asked me earlier what kind of vegetables to send over. I didn’t catch on at first and just gave a general answer.” Han Kai finally realized what had happened, a look of frustration crossing his face.

Tang Xianling understood immediately. “It’s fine.” He knew what Han Kai was worried about—that he might have let slip the secret recipe for their family’s dried vegetables pan-sticker buns. “It’s really fine.”

Han Kai felt a little better.

Once the couple had stepped outside, Han Kai’s husband said, “Why did you bring that up with Mr. Tang just now? What if he misunderstood and stopped buying our family’s vegetables? That would cut off one of our family’s sources of income.”

“Mr. Tang is a fair-minded man; I had to mention it first.” Han Kai wasn’t exactly a fool. “We grow snow peas, and while other families in the village grow it too, Mr. Tang buys so much that he can buy up the entire crop. That way, I don’t have to carry a shoulder pole to town or the city every day to sell it. If we build a good relationship with Mr. Tang, just as you said, our household income will be stable. ”

Carrying a shoulder pole and setting up a stall to sell every day isn’t just a hassle—you have to pay taxes too. City folks are picky, and there’s a lot of wastage. Supplying Mr. Tang is truly the luckiest thing that’s ever happened to Han Kai.

The man thought for a moment. “You’re right. No wonder you pick through the vegetables so thoroughly, discarding anything that’s gone bad. It makes sense—we grow snow peas here, and so do other families. It’s not exactly a rare commodity.”

He had previously complained that his husband was too picky when selecting vegetables, but now he realized his husband was right.

In the Tang family courtyard.

The family of three began drying the vegetables, and the work went smoothly. Huangfu Tieniu brought out a bamboo basket, while Tang Xianling and Jiang Yun sorted through the Snow Red and arranged them in the basket.

“Wu-ger, what do you think Han Kai meant earlier? Could it be that someone wants to follow our lead and start making preserved vegetables?” Jiang Yun asked, a hint of worry in her voice.

Tang Xianling didn’t stop working as he replied, “Definitely.” Seeing his mother’s worry, he quickly added, “Actually, it’s no big deal. Sooner or later, someone was going to do this. Our business is booming. There was a time when our dried vegetables pot stickers were out of stock for ages—people asked for them every day, wanting to eat them. Once they asked, they took note, hoping to get a piece of the pie.”

“When we were renovating the courtyard, Han Kai sent over some vegetables, and I didn’t hide the recipe. While the workers were here, I just did things the way I always do. It’s not that the workers leaked the recipe—it’s just that I’m not afraid.”

“Don’t even mention the dried vegetables pot stickers—even with the pork floss bread, as long as they’re popular and people want them, there will definitely be merchants figuring out ways to replicate them. These things aren’t hard to make.”

A proper chef or pastry chef could figure it out with a little tinkering.

Jiang Yun couldn’t help but think: if they stopped making the pork floss bread, her family would just have to keep making it—even if it meant working harder. But if others learned the recipe and left, what would happen if no one came to buy from them anymore?

“Mother, Fengyuan City is so large, with so many merchants coming and going every day. We won’t lack for customers—there’s nothing to fear,” said Tang Xianling.

In the arts, there is no absolute best; in martial arts, there is no absolute second best. The same goes for cooking: everyone has different tastes. What you find delicious, others might find mediocre. Even if he had a “golden touch,” he wouldn’t be arrogant enough to think everyone would love what he made.

As long as he could hold onto and stabilize his own customer base, that would be enough.

After finishing drying the vegetables, Tang Xianling and Huangfu Tieniu hitched up the cart and went shopping. The mule had been cooped up in the shed for five days; even though they let it out into the courtyard to stretch its legs every day, it was still feeling a bit stifled. Now, as they drove to the East Market, the mule trotted along happily.

“Our mule really was cooped up,” Tang Xianling sighed.

Huangfu Tieniu: “We should take it out for a walk every now and then from now on.”

“Alright. Anyway, once we stop selling the pork floss bread, we’ll have plenty of time—we can close the shop by a little past nine in the morning…” Tang Xianling was happy at the thought of things being a bit more relaxed from now on.

Huangfu Tieniu looked at his husband; he was truly adorable.

With Boss Tang’s shop closed on weekends, the East and West Markets were bustling with chatter.

“Did you have breakfast at Brother Tang’s?” 

“Don’t go there today—you’ll just be wasting your time.” 

“What’s ‘Brother Tang’s’?”

Someone exclaimed in surprise, “You don’t even know Brother Tang’s? It’s a famous play—have you ever heard of ‘Brother Tang’s Complaint to the Magistrate’?”

He shook his head. No.

“You must be from outside the city, right?”

So they chatted away in a lively buzz, giving him a crash course. Those in the know—who’d even gone to buy Brother Tang’s breakfast just a few days ago—sat together and talked it up, mentioning things like pickled preserved vegetables and pork pot sticker buns, egg-stuffed pancakes, and pork floss bread. Speaking of pork floss bread, everyone raved about it, then looked regretful. “Too bad, you’re too late. Mr. Tang isn’t selling them next week.”

“Next week? What’s that all about? Why is Fengyuan City so full of mysterious sayings?” That’s interesting—could this be a saying unique to big cities?

After another round of conversation, they learned that Mr. Tang runs his shop for five days a week and takes two days off.

“Today is the first day off, tomorrow is the second, and the shop will reopen the day after tomorrow.”

The outsider was puzzled. A food stall taking two days off? Weren’t they afraid of losing all their customers? Either the food here was truly excellent—so good they weren’t worried about losing patrons—or they were just seeking fame and glory, with nothing to back up their reputation. To find out for sure, he’d better go see for himself and buy some to taste.

Mr. Huang was discussing business with other merchants at an inn. The table was laden with chicken, duck, fish, and shrimp, along with a large platter of grilled venison. However, after taking just a few bites, he set his chopsticks down, focusing solely on business talk while picking at the vegetarian dishes.

“My hospitality has been lacking today. I see you haven’t eaten much, Mr. Huang.”

Mr. Huang quickly laughed, “It’s hot out; eating too much meat makes one feel unwell. I find the vegetarian dishes much more refreshing.”

“Exactly, exactly.”

“I agree. Eating too much rich food day in and day out is bad for one’s health. Mr. Huang really knows what’s best—it’s good to eat more vegetarian food.”

The group began to flatter him. Boss Liu called the waiter over to have the meat dishes cleared away and ordered several more plates of vegetarian dishes. However, even the vegetarian dishes were heavy on oil, cooked with a rich, savory sauce. Boss Huang had little appetite—he’d already drunk quite a bit—but to save face for Boss Liu, he still picked at his food.

They discussed business matters at length.

Once Boss Huang got into his own carriage and headed home, the bumpy ride made his stomach feel even worse. By the time he arrived home, he threw up first. His wife brought him some tea to sober him up, but Boss Huang took a sip and waved it away.

“I’m just sick of the rich food,” Boss Huang said, feeling much better after throwing up.

His wife was both worried and amused. “A few days ago, you ate pork for three days straight, and you didn’t seem this sick of it.” She paused, then realized the reason: “Perhaps it’s because you drank too much today.”

“Now that you mention it, I’m actually craving Mr. Tang’s clear-simmered lion’s head meatballs.” It had nothing to do with how much he’d drunk; it was purely that the food on the table didn’t agree with him. Mr. Huang thought.

His wife said, “Shall I ask the cook to make you some meat soup?”

“No, no.” Just hearing the word “soup” made Mr. Huang feel a bit queasy. Forget it—he wouldn’t eat anything.

His wife was puzzled. “That’s strange. You went to the Yujin Pavilion today. The chefs there are far more skilled than our own cook, and you used to love their food.”

That banquet was considered top-tier in Fengyuan City; a single table of such a feast, if the dishes were particularly refined and elaborate, would cost over thirty taels of silver.

As the old saying goes, hosting a banquet at the Yujin Pavilion was considered a mark of high esteem, a sign of honor, and a way to save face.

Leaning back in his chair, Mr. Huang closed his eyes to ease the discomfort in his chest. He slowly exhaled a breath of stale air and said, “…That’s exactly it. I didn’t even dare mention it—lately, I’ve taken a liking to pork.”

At the table, Mr. Liu also said that since the meal today wasn’t up to par, he would invite Brother Huang back in the winter or next spring to treat him to a meal featuring bear paw, and he hoped Brother Huang would grace him with his presence again.

At that moment, Mr. Huang wanted to say, “Forget venison and bear paw—Mr. Tang’s braised spare ribs are far better.”

Could he say that?

Of course not.

Small talk over food and drink—in business, one must first respect the appearance before respecting the person. Mr. Liu hosted this banquet at the Yujin Pavilion; that was the spectacle. He said he liked pork, and today these gentlemen were all smiles and flattery to him, but behind his back, they’d surely be making fun of him, saying he’d never tasted anything truly fine or high-end.

Thinking of this, Mr. Huang sighed. His wife asked worriedly, “What’s wrong? Are you feeling unwell again?”

“No. Our business just isn’t big enough yet. If I were to expand my business, earn more money, and become a leading figure in Fengyuan City, and I were to say that pork is delicious, who would dare laugh at me for eating cheap meat?”

Wife: …

Is his husband getting worked up over a bowl of pork?

If you love it, eat it at home. Your family loves it too—no one’s going to laugh at you.

Breakfast isn’t considered a “proper meal” in Fengyuan City. The common folk chat lively about their favorite breakfast dishes—people listen for a laugh. Even if they know there’s pork mixed in, no one minds.

As long as it tastes good, that’s all that matters.

It’s just breakfast, after all.

But if any high-end restaurant were to claim, “Our signature dishes are a pork series,” they’d just be asking to be mocked by their peers. Hahahaha, top-tier restaurants selling pork now? They might as well take down their signboards, hang up a “small eatery” plaque, and stop occupying the prime spot on West Market. They should just find any old neighborhood, rent a storefront on a side street—it’d even save them money…

Because of these attitudes, Mr. Tang’s dinner menu hasn’t gained the same widespread fame as his breakfast offerings. Although customers who buy and eat his boxed meals find them delicious, they tend to be a bit reserved and low-key when talking about them to others, at most saying, “His dinner is pretty good, too—it tastes great.”

They wouldn’t go into detail praising Brother Tang’s dinner dishes in public, for fear that someone might overhear and quip, “Pork is treated like a delicacy,” making them the butt of jokes. But when speaking to close friends, there was no need to hold back.

“Let me tell you, Brother Tang’s signature pork dish for dinner is really delicious.”

“It’s not exactly cheap, since the food is so good, but it’s cheaper than the restaurants in the West Market.”

“So, shall we go? Let’s go together in a couple of days so I can try it too.”

“Sure, sure.”

That’s what you call a true friend!