Tieniu opened the door.

Everything was already set up inside the shop. As soon as the customers walked in, they asked the owner and his wife what was on the menu today.

Huangfu Tieniu smiled and said, “Mr. Tang has prepared some fresh dishes: crispy pork belly, rice-flour-steamed spare ribs, meat-stuffed tofu, and sweet and sour eggplant.”

“Rice-flour-steamed spare ribs? Does it taste the same as the rice-flour-steamed pork?”

“I’ve been craving that. Chef Tang changes the menu twice a week. Last week’s rice-flour-steamed pork in lotus leaf buns—I ate it two days in a row and still wasn’t sick of it. I’m still craving it, and it’s on the menu today.”

“But that’s spare ribs, not pork. We’re not having them with pancakes today, are we?”

Huangfu Tieniu: “It’s served with rice today. The spare ribs aren’t really meant for the pancakes—Chef Tang specially adjusted the seasoning for this.”

Some diners who love rice-flour-steamed pork in a lotus leaf bun were a little disappointed at first, but they quickly thought,

“This rice-flour-steamed spare ribs tastes just like the pork. I’ll give it a try—there’s no point in getting disappointed.”

“Crispy-skinned pork belly—what’s this?”

Some diners had already noticed: on a plain, large platter lay chunks of meat sliced about as thick as a thumb, and next to it, in a shallow, open-mouthed ceramic bowl, was a bright red powder—

“What’s this? A seasoning?”

Tang Xianling: “It’s for dipping the crispy-skinned pork belly. I made this dipping sauce myself; it contains Chinese pepper, which is quite spicy. If you don’t like spicy food, you can just eat the pork belly on its own—I’ve marinated it, so it has some flavor on its own.” It’s just a bit mild.

But in the summer, light and crispy pork belly is perfectly fine to eat on its own as a snack.

“It actually has Chinese pepper in it?!” This diner, who loves spicy food, lit up at the mention of it and was sure to ask for an extra spoonful of the dipping sauce in a moment.

As they chatted about food, everyone lined up to get their meals. Some, as usual, ordered yogurt, while others just wanted a boxed meal. They carried their plates to find a seat first, and then Tieniu, the owner’s son-in-law, would bring over the rice.

Those who’d finished getting their food sat down to try the new dishes. Today’s two meat dishes looked a bit “plain” at first glance. The crispy pork belly, for instance, appeared to be pan-fried until crispy and golden—nothing special to note. But when he picked up his chopsticks and took a piece, he ate it plain, without dipping it in sauce.

Crunch.

Crisp—the exterior was crisp. The pork, with its marbling of fat and lean, didn’t have much of a greasy aftertaste. The fat melted slightly on the tongue, while the skin was charred and aromatic with a satisfying chew. The lean meat wasn’t tough, though it was a bit dry. It tasted somewhat like the burnt rice crust at the bottom of a hot pot, yet it was entirely different.

The flavor was different.

This piece of meat had clearly been seasoned and marinated. For someone with a heavy palate like him, it seemed a bit too light on salt at first bite, but after finishing it—two crispy, fragrant pieces in a row—he found himself unable to stop.

By the time the diner realized it, he was annoyed. “Oh no, I almost forgot the dipping sauce.” He’d almost finished it plain!

Some diners had already started dipping the crispy pork belly into the sauce. One of them went a bit heavy-handed with the first piece, dipping it too much. As soon as he put it in his mouth, he realized his mistake within seconds—his face flushed red, sweat beaded on his nose in the sweltering heat, and he coughed violently.

Jiang Yun hurried over to pour some tea. “Here, have a sip of herbal tea to soothe the heat.”

The man didn’t even have time to thank her; he clutched the teacup and gulped down several mouthfuls. The cool tea soothed the burning sensation on his tongue, but a lingering heat remained, causing his entire face to flush crimson. Diners at nearby tables noticed and turned to look with curiosity. Some who had already dipped their food dared not take another bite, while others, eager yet hesitant, asked, “How does that dip taste? Is it really that spicy?”

“Cough, cough, cough… No, no—”

Before the questioner could finish, the crispy pork belly dipped in the sauce had already been shoved into his mouth.

The diner who had been choking before finishing his sentence said, “It’s not that it’s spicy; it’s that it burns my tongue—it’s incredibly intense.” Too late!

The diner had already eaten it.

The diner who’d been hit by the spice stared intently at the other person. After the other took a bite, their whole expression changed—their eyes lit up—and they picked up their chopsticks again, dipping the crispy pork belly even more deeply into the spicy sauce before popping it into their mouth.

“Aren’t you afraid your tongue will burn?”

The diner who loves spicy food: “Not at all. I’ve always loved spicy food, and the dipping sauce Chef Tang has prepared is even better than any pepper-based sauce I’ve had before.”

One taste of the sauce reveals that it contains not only evodia but other spices as well.

When it comes to cooking, Chef Tang’s knife skills aren’t particularly refined—at least not on par with the head chefs at grand restaurants like Yumanjin Restaurant. His dishes lack any artistry in carving or plating, yet they possess a unique charm all their own.

The attention to detail, the precision of the seasoning, and especially the handling of the ingredients—these are truly more fragrant than what you’d find in a grand restaurant. You can really taste the essence of the ingredients. Sometimes the ingredients are adapted to suit different dishes. Take tofu, for example. It’s still tofu, but the first dish I had—the pan-fried tofu with scallions—had a subtle scallion flavor, with the outside slightly crisped and the inside tender. It was all about the scallion flavor and the soft texture of the tofu.

But in today’s dish, Stuffed Tofu, the tofu itself remains tender, yet the minced meat and tofu filling inside has a slightly coarser texture, and you can even detect a hint of beaniness. It is precisely this subtle beaniness that makes it so captivating and delicious.

Some restaurants go to great lengths to eliminate the “flaws” inherent in ingredients, but they fail to realize that sometimes, a dish becomes truly magical when it retains just a hint of these “flaws,” making it unforgettable and serving as the very soul of the dish.

Tang Xianling had no idea that his humble little eatery harbored so many connoisseurs of fine cuisine, all speaking with such authority.

Those who love spicy food were particularly fond of today’s dishes, to the point of “fanaticism.” Tang Xianling surmised that perhaps few households are skilled at using Chinese pepper as a seasoning for spicy dishes.

After all, only a minority of people enjoy spicy food.

“Mr. Tang, do you sell this seasoning?”

More than one diner asked this, and before Tang Xianling could even reply, they added, “If you can’t sell it, I’ll just take another boxed meal to go.”

Tang Xianling: …

“I could sell it, but I didn’t make much. I won’t be selling it today, but if you like it, I can wrap some up for you in wax paper,” Tang Xianling said. 

The spicy food enthusiast: !!!

Nodding like a bobblehead.

Mr. Tang is just so, so, so kind.

The restaurant Boss Tang runs has great food at reasonable prices. Every new dish he introduces is delicious, and he often treats everyone to something extra.

“Mom, cut some rice paper for me,” Tang Xianling called out.

Jiang Yun hurriedly replied. As Tang Xianling spoke, he thought of his own 26-wen jar, and a sly smile spread across his face as he added:

“The oil paper’s fine, but last time a customer took one of our yogurt jars home to pack food. They promised to return it, but it’s been a week, and it still hasn’t come back.”

Huangfu Tieniu looked at his husband, his thoughts clearly written all over his face. He fought hard to suppress a smile, afraid his husband might fly into a rage and beat him up—after all, they were running a business.

The customers waiting for their seasoning powder: …They were quite in sync.

“Who is it? Why didn’t they return the jar?”

“Exactly.” 

“How could they do such a thing?”

Upon hearing this, Tang Xianling’s anger subsided considerably. He said, “It’s my own fault for not keeping track. Never mind. From now on, takeout yogurt will be served in bamboo tubes. If you want to take it to go, there’ll be an extra wen charge.”

“That’s only fair.”

“That’s exactly how it should be.”

Tang Xianling explained further, “Actually, it’s hot out, so yogurt is best eaten here in the shop. If you take it home, you’ll have to finish it that same day—it’ll definitely go bad overnight.” Unless, of course, the customer is wealthy enough to have a ‘refrigerator’—known in this era as an ice chest.

Everyone nodded in understanding. Before long, Jiang Yun brought over some wax paper and asked who wanted “chili powder,” then went to a nearby table to portion it out. It was one spoonful per person—no extras—but even so, everyone treated their portion like a precious treasure.

Those who had never eaten spicy food before took a bite today that burned their tongues and made them cough, but eventually they started dipping just a little bit at a time, as if teasing themselves. They’d take a bite, drink some water, and after a while, unable to resist, they’d keep eating. This cycle went on and on, leaving Jiang Yun amazed. She turned to Wu-ger and asked,

“Can they eat this or not?”

Tang Xianling: “You can eat it—it’s opened the door to a whole new world.”

Today he gave away some “chili powder,” and it proved even more popular than he’d imagined. Perhaps “niche” foods have a lot of die-hard fans. His mind began to race with ideas: if he had chili peppers in the future, he could make chili oil hot pot base. Since it solidifies, he could sell it in the fall and winter—it’s a completely untapped market right now. You can put it in everything from rice to stir-fries to noodles…

It’s sure to be a money-maker!

Tang Xianling hadn’t even seen the chili seeds yet, but he’d already started thinking about the small goods his family could sell on the side. He chuckled to himself in the night. Huangfu Tieniu paused with his fan in hand and turned to look at his husband.

The two men locked eyes.

Tang Xianling’s thoughts were simply too exhilarating; enjoying them alone was no fun, so he

immediately said, “Just pretend I’m daydreaming.” 

“Alright.” Huangfu Tieniu resumed fanning himself.

That night, the two didn’t light any candles to save money. They’d left only half the window open to let in the cool air. Moonlight streamed in, along with the silhouette of the persimmon tree in the middle of the courtyard, casting a dancing shadow across the windowpane.

The two people on the bed were of different heights. One had a broad frame; even as a teenager, one could already see the broadness of his back. The one lying closer to the wall was slender, with fair, glowing skin and a slightly fuller figure. At that moment, she was sleeping sprawled out in a belly band, her eyes sparkling as she stared at the ceiling.

“The spicy seasoning is a big hit today. Even those who don’t usually like spicy food can’t get enough of it once they try it.

Earlier, I heard from the waiter at the ‘God of Love’ shop where we shop that a merchant caravan set sail again over three years ago. They’d previously brought back potatoes and peanuts, so I was wondering if they might have brought back chili peppers like the ones used in other countries…”

At first, Tang Xianling thought carefully about what he was saying, trying to phrase things delicately. But as he spoke, he stopped worrying about it—the current environment was simply too relaxing and comfortable, so solid and secure that he felt no sense of danger.

“People in the Rong Dynasty don’t eat much spicy food these days—that’s a huge untapped market. Chili peppers are even spicier than Chinese pepper. If we stir-fry them with beef tallow, Sichuan peppercorns, and other spices, then wrap them in oil paper into small, square blocks during winter, they’ll be portable, won’t spoil easily, and we can sell them all over the Rong Dynasty…”

In short, this business has a bright future—we’ll make a killing.

Huangfu Tieniu chuckled. “Are you craving beef tallow chili hot pot?”

“How did you know?!” Tang Xianling asked curiously.

“You just mentioned that hot pot, swallowed hard, and made a ‘gulp’ sound—I heard it.” Tang Xianling reached out to tickle Tieniu, who, flustered and annoyed, insisted stubbornly, “You’re not allowed to hear that.” “Fine, I didn’t hear it.”

The two teased each other for a while, but didn’t do anything—they had work to do tomorrow. As they fell asleep, both had smiles on their faces. Huangfu Tieniu had one arm wrapped around his husband’s waist. Tang Xianling was already getting sleepy and mumbled, “You’re crushing my arm.”

“It’s fine. I’ll let go once you fall asleep.” Huangfu Tieniu used his other hand to fan his husband. It was sweltering, and though his husband was heat-sensitive and prone to chills, Tieniu, with his fiery temper, feared getting too close might overheat Xianling—yet he couldn’t help but crave his husband’s closeness.

He didn’t need to do anything else—just holding, kissing, and gazing at his husband was enough to make him happy.

Tang Xianling’s dream of striking it rich selling hot pot bases hadn’t come true yet—it was still a long way off. He’d merely been hoping and daydreaming about it when he was met with some not-so-bad news.

During breakfast on Wednesday, a familiar customer said, “Mr. Tang, you know, a street vendor in Changkang Lane has started selling pot-sticker buns too.” Tang Xianling listened without pausing his work, first handing the bun to the customer.

“They’re only selling them for four wen over there,” the customer said. “They’re the same pickled mustard greens and pork pot buns—exactly the same.”

The customer who’d just received his pickled mustard greens and pork guokui didn’t leave right away; he stood there, glancing back and forth between Mr. Tang and the man who’d spoken.

The customer who shared the news said, “I’m not trying to cause trouble on purpose, but it’s true. I heard from someone that they’re right on the main street of Changkang Lane. By the time I heard the news, they’d already sold out—business looks pretty good.”

“Only four wen?”

“That’s right.”

As Tang Xianling listened to the diners chatting and singing, some of them already growing restless, he smiled calmly and said, “I’m just doing my job. You’ve all been coming to my place for breakfast for so long now; if you want to try somewhere else, that’s fine too. I’m always happy to welcome you here.”

You can’t turn customers away.

The customer holding a meat and dried plum bun: “……” Actually, he’d hoped Mr. Tang would knock a wen off the price, but from the sound of it, he wasn’t offering a discount. He felt a bit torn—a wen wasn’t much, but why should he pay a wen more for the same bun elsewhere?

“You’ve all been my loyal customers for so long, and I’m truly grateful for your support,” Tang Xianling said earnestly. “I certainly don’t mean to drive you away.”

But customers were free to come and go as they pleased, and he couldn’t just slash prices—even if he could offer a discount, it had to be for a good reason. He might decide to offer a discount today or give out some snacks during a holiday, but he couldn’t lower prices just to compete with those who copied his pot-sticker buns.

“Since you’ve put it that way, Mr. Tang, I’ll go check out the pot-baked buns at Changkang Lane tomorrow,” the customer said, sounding a bit petulant.

Tang Xianling could only maintain a smile—he couldn’t laugh too broadly, nor could he not laugh at all, lest it seem as though he were taunting the customer.

“Mr. Tang, do you still have any of your buns left?”

Old Man Cui’s voice came from not far away, through the crowd. Tang Xianling first replied, “Yes.”

Cui Dabao appeared slightly sweaty, as if he’d just run over; beads of sweat glistened on his forehead. Wiping his brow with a handkerchief, he said breathlessly, “Thank goodness you still have some. I’ll take two meat-filled pot-shaped buns—I won’t have the fried pancakes tonight.”

“Where have you been, Old Man?” 

“Why are you a bit late today?”

Cui Dabao was exhausted. Huangfu Tieniu poured him a bowl of tea and handed it over. Cui Dabao accepted it with a thank you,

gulped it down in one go, wiped the droplets from his lips with the back of his hand, and said, “I went to Changkang Lane to buy some pot-sticker buns.”

Everyone: …

Tang Xianling: …this was kind of funny.

Cui Dabao didn’t seem to realize he was ruining the mood at all; he just kept talking to himself, “I knew there was a pot-sticker bun place there yesterday. I was curious to see how it differed from Boss Tang’s. I went too late yesterday and didn’t get any, so I headed over there early today.”

“And then? Did you get to eat one?” 

“Was it really four wen?”

The customer who had just sulkily declared he wouldn’t come back tomorrow hadn’t left yet either.

Cui Dabao: “Made me run all this way for nothing. It’s no match for Boss Tang’s pickled radish and pork. I even squatted down to get them baked fresh myself. Their oven’s been modified into a cylinder—it’s nothing like Boss Tang’s.”

“Actually, the cylindrical one is more convenient. These two ovens of mine were left by my father when he was alive; I just gave them a quick fix-up, and they’re good to go.” Tang Xianling replied in a gentle tone, showing no sign of eagerness to hear news about his “competitor,” and even praised the cylindrical oven.

Cui Dabao continued, “Four wen is four wen, but it’s nowhere near as good. The preserved mustard greens don’t have the same flavor as Mr. Tang’s, the wrapper lacks the wheat aroma of Mr. Tang’s, and as for the filling, they give you a bit more ground pork over there, but it’s way too greasy—it made me feel sick. Maybe the preserved mustard greens weren’t up to par and couldn’t cut through the greasiness of the pork. I tore it open to check, and the meat was actually 70% lean and 30% fat—so how could it make me feel so sick?”

“Old man, are you pregnant?” someone teased him.

Everyone burst out laughing.

Cui Dabao: “Get lost! My husband isn’t pregnant—why would I be?”

What a waste of his four wen!

Tang Xianling smiled as he packed the freshly baked flatbread for Old Man Cui, thinking to himself that this man was truly unabashed when it came to food. Some diners might feel too embarrassed to speak up after eating over there and feel too embarrassed to say so, but Cui Dabao spoke his mind. He was certain that if the food over there tasted good, Cui Dabao would be just as open about it right to his face.

At most, he might have offered a few words of “old-friend sympathy,” sighing, “Mr. Tang, your business is going to be tough from now on.” 

This man looked a bit older, but he had a heart of gold.

The slightly awkward, forced atmosphere in the shop just moments ago dissipated instantly with Old Man Cui’s arrival. One diner, curious, remarked, “If it’s really that bad, I’ll give it a try tomorrow.”

Cui Dabao was speechless and scoffed, “You’re turning your nose up at delicacies to eat pig slop—”

The customer who’d just said he’d give it a try nearly punched Old Man Cui, but he was still grinning and didn’t take it seriously.

Cui Dabao paused for a moment, then finally said to the curious neighbors, “Go ahead and try it, everyone.”

He spent four wen on something that tasted awful, so everyone else should go buy it for him!

“I swear this old man’s tone sounds a bit sneaky.”

“You’re right. If we all go buy them at Changkang Lane, then Old Man Cui will be able to buy the ones here in peace.” 

“I get the feeling he wants us to eat the chaff.”

Cui Dabao paid no mind to them. Smiling to himself, he picked up his food basket, paid, thanked the shopkeeper, and headed home. On the way, he thought to himself, “Mr. Tang’s food is excellent—even his herbal tea tastes better than what you’d get at a specialty shop.”

Breakfast sold out at the usual time. As they were wrapping up, Jiang Yun looked deeply worried. Tang Xianling knew what was on his mother’s mind and said, “Mother, Fengyuan City is so big—there are plenty of customers. Those who like our food will come to us. Don’t worry.”

“Hearing you speak like that just now made me afraid.” Jiang Yun felt that her Wu-ger was perfect in every way now, though he had become a bit too headstrong. She couldn’t help but say, “I know you don’t like hearing about your father’s business. Back when our shop first opened, we were the only ones on this street selling mutton soup. Later, Old Li opened a shop selling mutton offal soup—though it’s called offal soup, it still tastes like mutton.”

“We sold ours for thirteen wen a bowl, while Old Li’s sold a whole bowl—including the flatbread—for just eight wen. Some customers would come up to your father and ask, ‘Why is it all mutton soup? Yours is so expensive; we might as well eat at Old Li’s.’”

“Your father smiled apologetically at them and said it was different—that we use only the best ingredients and take our time stewing it. He patiently explained over and over again that the cost of the hours was worth it.”

Tang Xianling: “…I laughed just now, too.” He was being very tactful.

“Mom, you can’t expect me to cling to a customer’s leg, crying and begging, ‘Don’t leave, don’t go anywhere else—just come eat at my place, you have to eat only at my place!’”

Jiang Yun had been about to launch into a whole lecture, but when she heard Wu-ger speaking in such a high-pitched voice, she was instantly amused and didn’t know what to say. 

She said: “You, you’re just too stubborn. We’re in the business of selling, so we still need to greet people with a smile.”

“But for customers who genuinely come to support us, I’m patient as can be—I’ll answer any question. As for the rest, forget it. I’m not here to sell my smile.” 

“You’re such a kid,” Jiang Yun said, at a loss for words.

Huangfu Tieniu said, “Mother, Xianling has a point. If a customer’s heart isn’t in it, no amount of persuasion will keep them here. It’s better to let them come and go as they please—there will always be customers who love Xianling’s cooking.”

“That’s right, that’s right,” Tang Xianling nodded, saying happily, “Forget about everything else—I can finally rest, have lunch, and take a nap!”

It was as if nothing else mattered—everything else could wait; eating came first, and then sleeping.

Jiang Yun was swept up in the mood. There was no need to worry about things that hadn’t even happened yet—she’d deal with them later. She grabbed her lunchbox and headed out to buy lunch. With the weather getting hot, she fancied something with soup—steamed dumplings, pickles, and some congee.

“Auntie’s here—same as always?” asked the owner of the pan-fried dumpling shop.

Jiang Yun gave a soft “Mm-hmm. Two plates of vegetarian today—I’m not eating meat.”

“Sure thing. Vegetarian dishes are lighter on the stomach when it’s hot out,” the owner replied, inviting Auntie to take a seat while she prepared the order.

Jiang Yun sat there waiting for a moment when she heard a familiar voice say, “I heard they opened a dried-plum-and-pork pot stickers shop in Changkang Lane, too. They’re only selling them for four wen. Some people really have no conscience—making such a profit off their neighbors.”

That remark—it was clearly a dig at her Wu-ger.

Jiang Yun turned to look and saw it was indeed Sun Honghong, the daughter-in-law of the Zhao family. She was so angry her hands trembled slightly, but her mind went blank, and she couldn’t think of a word to say. The owner of the pan-fried dumpling shop stepped in to smooth things over—she didn’t want them to start a scene in her shop—and hurriedly asked what they’d like to order.

“My son and daughter just came back from the countryside and said they wanted steamed dumplings. We’ll have a serving of the meat ones,” Sun Honghong ordered first.

Sitting there alone, Jiang Yun grew angrier the more she thought about it. She looked up at Sun Honghong and said, “Mind your own business first, then worry about others.”

“Hey, I didn’t even mention you by name—”

The owner of the pan-fried dumpling shop hurried to serve Aunt Jiang first. “Auntie, your food is ready. Be careful not to spill it.”

“I know, thank you.” Jiang Yun walked out carrying the heavy food box. She rarely argued with people in the past; she wasn’t quick with her tongue, so just managing to squeeze out that one sentence was quite an achievement.

When they finally got home, Tang Xianling took the lunchbox from his mother’s hands and noticed she didn’t look well. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong, it’s just a bit hot.” Jiang Yun didn’t want to tell her Wu-ger; she feared he might take her side, and a scene would be embarrassing. Tang Xianling said, “Then I’ll go buy some food. It’s getting hot out there, and the sun is beating down.”

“I’ll go,” Huangfu Tieniu offered.

Jiang Yun smiled and said, “Neither of you go. I’ll go instead. If I go buy lunch, I can chat with people and have a little conversation—it’ll be much more fun.” After lunch, they cleared away the bowls and chopsticks.

Tang Xianling was in the habit of taking an afternoon nap, but just as his mother was about to head out, Tang Xianling: ???

“I’m going to chat with Zhou Xiangping for a bit. I’ll pick up the meat on my way back this afternoon.” Jiang Yun wanted to ask Zhou Xiangping for advice on how to scold people. Huangfu Tieniu said, “Mom, you go ahead. I’ll come pick you up later.” The meat was heavy, so he didn’t want her to carry it all the way back.

“No need. You two should get some rest.” Jiang Yun couldn’t sleep; she still felt a bit resentful. When she arrived at the pork stall, Zhu Si was eating. She asked him why he’d come so early to pick up the meat. Zhou Xiangping said, “You just keep eating. I’m here to have a chat with Auntie.”

Zhou Xiangping had a keen eye for people. Although Aunt Jiang was a bit of a softie, she wasn’t foolish or malicious; she wasn’t the kind of person who was completely clueless. Therefore, Zhou Xiangping was happy to be on good terms with her—after all, the two families did business together.

“Auntie, come sit here—it’s cooler.” Zhou Xiangping moved a stool to the shade under a tree and invited Auntie to sit. Jiang Yun didn’t hesitate to sit down and began by asking, “I hope I didn’t interrupt your meal or your nap.”

Zhou Xiangping replied, “I just finished eating and was getting bored; I’m not one for afternoon naps anyway.” 

Then Jiang Yun got straight to the point. 

Zhou Xiangping: … That made me laugh.

“…I’m getting on in years, but I can’t very well need Wu-ger to back me up every time I want to argue. As a mother, I can’t keep hiding behind my child—it’s just that I’m not very articulate…”

Zhou Xiangping empathized deeply, patting Aunt Jiang’s hand warmly and saying, “We’re both mothers. My younger sister-in-law is much younger, but our hearts are the same—I understand. 

That Sun Honghong looks soft and gentle, but she’s actually a viper in sheep’s clothing—a wicked woman. Her mother-in-law is a harsh, difficult woman to get along with. If Sun Honghong can manage to get by under her mother-in-law’s thumb and even come out on top, she can’t possibly be a decent person.”

After berating Sun Honghong, she turned her wrath on Sun Honghong’s mother-in-law, and even gave Zhao Dalang—who was cowering like a turtle behind the mother-in-law and daughter-in-law—a good scolding. As Jiang Yun listened, the lingering frustration in her heart vanished instantly, leaving her feeling incredibly relieved.

Xiangping really does know how to judge people.