Business at the Tang family shop was booming again.

Mrs. Zhao’s eyes were practically bloodshot with rage. She stood right on the main street, spitting in the direction of the Tang family’s shop, causing passersby from other neighborhoods to swerve out of the way, eager to stay at least eighty paces away from Old Zhao’s sugar-oil pancake shop.

Even after the out-of-towners had walked away, they muttered among themselves: “Is that old lady not feeling well? She looks like she wants to hit someone. How can an elderly woman get so angry?”

A local from the Baxing District overheard this and chuckled, “You probably don’t know, but this family doesn’t get along with Mr. Tang.”

“Oh?”

The stranger was curious. He’d come to Baxing District to buy breakfast from Brother Tang, but as soon as he heard this, before he could even ask, the locals from Baxing District explained the whole story. The two walked together for a while, and the stranger listened with wide-eyed amazement, fully engrossed in the tale.

For instance, when Old Zhao set up Brother Tang with a simple-minded girl, outsiders frowned and said, “That’s not right,” or “Has that woman lost her mind?” But locals remarked, “We’re just too naive.” 

Later, his daughter-in-law let it slip that Aunt Zhao had her sights set on Mr. Tang’s business.

The outsiders were outraged and exclaimed, “Such utter depravity! I clearly remember the playact saying that Brother Tang lost his father and lived with his widowed mother, and yet this family actually dares to take advantage of a widow and her son!”

The local man agreed, “That’s exactly right.”

The two chatted happily, falling right into the conversation. Halfway through their walk, the man from the outer district suddenly realized, “Oh my! I came here to buy breakfast. Come to think of it, I almost forgot to ask for directions.”

“The main street is just one road—you can’t get lost. Besides, where do you think I’m going?”

They exchanged a glance, and both smiled knowingly. It turned out they were both on their way to buy breakfast.

The man from the other neighborhood asked curiously, “I’m from Changkang Lane. I tried that pickled mustard greens pot-sticker cake, and I thought it was delicious. You folks say nothing compares to Brother Tang’s breakfast, so I came today just to join in the fun.”

Actually, he’d never gotten up this early before.

A local from the neighborhood said, “Well, you’ve come to the right place. Our Fengyuan City pickled mustard greens and pork pot-sticker buns were first perfected by Boss Tang. We’re the original shop, and they’re truly delicious. I went to buy some from your neighborhood last week, and honestly, they were just so-so. If you hadn’t tried Boss Tang’s, you’d probably think yours were pretty good.”

The man from Changkang Lane felt a twinge of discomfort hearing this. What did he mean?

“Oh, brother, don’t take it to heart. I’m just speaking my mind. If you don’t believe me, try Master Tang’s pot-sticker cakes, and you’ll see I’m not making things up or badmouthing your neighborhood.” The man not from Changkang Lane smiled and shook the other’s hand. “Besides, we’re just talking about food—not about whether the residents of your neighborhood or ours are better.”

That was true. The man from Changkang Lane nodded—he’d just seemed a bit petty—and said as they walked, “How’s business these days at Old Zhao’s sugar-oil cakes?”

“It’s hot out, so fried food sales are slow anyway. But there’s something off about their place. Their sugar-oil cakes used to be pretty good—honey oozing out with every bite—but now they’re just so-so. And Mrs. Zhao has a terrible temper; she acts like everyone owes her something…”

“We’re all neighbors here. They were in the wrong first, but Mr. Tang hit back. Their feud has nothing to do with the rest of us customers. At first, some people might have avoided going there, but I didn’t care—as long as it tasted good, I’d eat whatever I wanted. But then that old lady saw the Tang family’s pastries in my hand and started making snide remarks to get under my skin. After a while, I just stopped going.”

The people of Changkang Lane listened, then looked at this fellow, and felt that he truly had a big heart. If it were them, they certainly wouldn’t have bought the sugar-oil cakes and would have even cursed a bit—they would have stopped going there the moment they heard that shop was giving Mr. Tang a hard time.

“Ha ha, I know what you’re thinking, but the affairs of the Tang and Zhao families have nothing to do with me. I’m just a foodie—today I want to eat this, tomorrow I want to eat that. I’m not some high-and-mighty official sitting in the magistrate’s office; I’m not the one handling cases.”

Changkang Lane Person: “May I ask your name?” 

“Zhang Ming.”

Zhang Ming gave his name, then grinned as he followed the Changkang lane attendant, saying, “We’re here. Oh my, there sure are more people today. Let’s get in line quickly—even this old man is late today.”

Just as he spoke, he spotted Old Man Cui. But Old Man Cui had lost a fair bit of weight recently, and Zhang Ming almost didn’t recognize him. Once the two drew closer and joined the line, Zhang Ming introduced Old Man Cui to the young man from Changkang Lane whom he’d just met. The three stood together, chatting idly.

“How did you lose so much weight? It was still dark out, and I almost didn’t recognize you.”

Cui Dabao: “Don’t even mention it. My spending used to be manageable, but lately the food at Mr. Tang’s place has been so good. With only my dad working at home, I felt a bit guilty. A while back, I hung out with Ding Quan, running errands and working as a ‘helper’ in the East and West Markets—it wore me out.”

The job of a “handyman”—it’s a bit of a layabout’s gig, not a proper line of work. It involves sucking up to young masters, running errands, and flattering people. Some folks look down on this line of work.

But not Zhang Ming. He gave a thumbs-up and praised him sincerely: “Old Man Cui is a real man. He’s working his heart out just to put food on the table.”

Actually, by all accounts, Old Man Cui’s family lived off rent. With just three people—father, son, and a hired hand—even if they ate dinner at Mr. Tang’s place every single day, it wouldn’t bankrupt him.

Zhang Ming guessed that while Old Man Cui’s love of food and his drive to earn money were part of it, he had also grown up and taken on more responsibility. That was a good thing.

As long as ordinary folks aren’t swindling or cheating others, any money they earn through hard work is hard-earned—what’s there to be ashamed of?

“You two, you mentioned dinner—does this place still serve dinner? Is it any good?” asked a customer from Changkang Lane.

Zhang Ming and Cui Dabao looked at each other, and both burst into laughter. Zhang Ming grinned and pointed at Cui Dabao, saying,

“Just look at him—he’d even take on odd jobs just to buy the evening meal. That should tell you just how delicious Master Tang’s evening meal is.”

The man from Changkang Lane remained skeptical. Could the evening meal really be that good?

“Then I’ll come by during dinner time to check it out.”

Cui Dabao replied, “Don’t come at dinnertime—it’ll be too late. You should come out in the afternoon when the sun isn’t too harsh. By the time you get to our shop, we’ll have just opened.”

“That early?!” the man hesitated. That was far too early to eat. These days, the city gates were closed before nightfall—eating that early would leave him hungry all evening.

Zhang Ming: “Brother, just take a look behind you, and you’ll see.”

Upon hearing this, the man turned his head and was immediately startled. There had been no one behind him in line just a moment ago—when had so many people arrived? It was 6:30 in the morning, and Brother Tang’s shop had just opened.

Tang Xianling was also startled. Good heavens, how could there be so many people at his shop?! Just last week, it had been practically deserted.

Tang Xianling：……

After a few moments of silence, he rolled up his sleeves and got to work!

The whole family was now a well-oiled machine; they weren’t afraid of the crowd. Tang Xianling kneaded the dough and prepared the fillings, while Tieniu—who had preheated the oven earlier—now placed the rolled-out flatbreads one by one into the oven. Tang Xianling only had to focus on making the bread.

Jiang Yun was in charge of taking payments and packing orders.

“We’ll see how it goes. If there are still this many people, we’ll have to tell the customers to stop lining up,” Tang Xianling said.

Huangfu Tieniu: “I’ll keep an eye on the numbers. Don’t worry.” 

The people from Changkang Lane: ???

Their stall was doing great business too. Sometimes people would wait in line for a while, only to find out they’d sold out by the time they got there, making people wait for nothing and leaving them angry. But it’s only been a short while—are they already counting the crowd?

The man from Changkang Lane had originally planned to buy just one bun to try the flavor. But whenever someone bought the preserved vegetable and pork pot-sticker bun from their stall, they’d end up with an expression that seemed to say, “Is that it?” or “Changkang Lane must not have anything good,” which annoyed him. So he asked for details and came early today—he was determined to see just how fragrant it really was!

He’d made up his mind on the way here: he’d buy just one bun to compare, and he wouldn’t give Baxing District a penny more. But on his walk from the street corner to here, he ran into Brother Zhang, who told him all that, and hearing about the feud between the Zhao and Tang families, he’d lost most of his anger by now.

It was only natural, after all. They were the ones running the stall and selling pastries; they didn’t share any of the profits with him, so what was there to be angry about? He was just a customer—he’d buy wherever the food tasted best.

Taking sides and favoring one party over another—does that mean he’s going to get into a fight?

“Sir, how many would you like?” Jiang Yun noticed the customer looked unfamiliar—not like someone from their two neighborhoods—so she patiently explained, “We have both sweet and savory varieties: pickled mustard greens with pork and red bean paste. If you want a jianbing guozi, you’ll have to come back in about half an hour; that’s when we sell them.”

Changkang Lane person: “And what exactly is a jianbing guozi?”

Tang Xianling, kneading dough at the workbench in the back, said, “It’s one of our signature dishes—a thin crepe made from multigrain batter, filled with fruit and vegetables. Six wen each.”

“Give us one of each flavor,” the man finally decided, wanting to try them all.

Zhang Ming and Cui Dabao let the customers from the outer courtyard go ahead of them and waited. They each ordered the usual: the pancakes were placed in a basket. Cui Dabao carried the basket and told Master Tang, “My husband will come by this afternoon to pick up the yogurt.”

“Alright.”

The Changkang lane resident: “What on earth is yogurt?”

Zhang Ming carried his food basket and took his leave, following the young man he’d just met. The man from Changkang lane hadn’t brought a basket; he’d come here determined to hold his ground, but now, holding two pot-sticker buns in his hands, he first bid farewell to Brother Zhang. The buns were still steaming, so he decided to eat them right there on the street.

He took his first bite—crisp and crunchy, with a satisfying crack.

He thought it wouldn’t be much different from the ones at his lane’s own workshop—but wait.

The bread had a subtle wheat aroma, and the rich dried mustard greens mixed with minced pork were perfectly balanced. He took another bite of the red bean paste one—it was delicious too; the filling was smooth and soft…

Business at the Tang family’s shop was bustling again today.

By eight o’clock, the pot-sticker buns were sold out, and they started making jianbing guozi. That customer from Changkang Lane came back—he hadn’t gone home at all, finding it a hassle to make the round trip. He’d bought two pot-sticker buns and found a place to eat them with mutton offal soup until they were all gone.

He wasn’t really hungry now, but since he was already there…

Tang Xianling recognized him. “Shall I pack one for you? This one keeps well—unlike the guokui, which isn’t good once it cools down.” 

“Then I’ll buy one to take home.” He planned to eat it at noon.

But once he got his hands on it, he couldn’t resist taking a bite. The filling was crispy, almost like fried food; the rest was fine, but the most crucial part was the sauce that Mr. Tang brushed on the pancake—it was truly one of a kind, making both the vegetables and the pancake incredibly fragrant.

The shop closed at the usual time.

Tang Xianling stretched his arms and said, “Why is business so much busier today?”

Jiang Yun let out a sigh of relief, though she was still puzzled. “There were fewer customers last week, and I was worried. I heard that it’s not just Changkang Lane—other neighborhoods are selling bread too. You told me not to worry, but how could I not? Now that I see it today, it turns out I was worrying for nothing.”

“Business has its ups and downs—that’s just how it goes. Still, I can’t help but worry.”

His mother understood the logic, but she still didn’t miss a single thing she should be worried about. Tang Xianling didn’t press the issue any further and asked what they should eat today, saying he was tired of the food on the street.

“I’ll make something myself.”

“Aren’t you tired?” Tieniu was concerned. Her husband had been busy all morning, kneading dough and rolling out flatbreads. “Let me do it instead.”

Tang Xianling:! 

His eyes widened in surprise.

Huangfu Tieniu looked at him and found this version of Xianling utterly adorable—his round eyes, like those of a wild mountain cat, and his little paws stretched out. Jiang Yun hurriedly interjected, “That’s out of the question—”

“I’ve never tasted anything you’ve made. Come on, I’ll help you.” Tang Xianling wouldn’t listen to his mother’s nagging. His mother was wonderful in every way, but she was a bit too traditional, insisting that he should “attend to” his own husband.

Tang Xianling: “Mom, Tieniu serves me at night too!”

Of course, he couldn’t say that—it would terrify his mother.

“I know how to make congee.”

“Porridge sounds great,” Tang Xianling encouraged, not wanting to dampen Tieniu’s enthusiasm.

Huangfu Tieniu: “I can also make flatbreads. Noodles might be a bit tricky, but I’ll give it a try.”

“Sure, sure, sure—I’ll love whatever you make.” Tang Xianling sweet-talked him with his smooth tongue.

So, for lunch that day, a meal prepared by Chef Huangfu was served: unevenly thick noodles about two fingers wide, vegetables stir-fried a bit too long, and blackened diced eggplant.

Huangfu Tieniu served his husband a bowl.

Tang Xianling was practically jumping up and down with impatience beside him—why was he giving him so much!

Tieniu turned his head and said with a smile, “You love whatever I make.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Tang Xianling replied dryly. But when he picked up the bowl and shoveled the noodles into his mouth, he felt a deep pang of regret: the Playboy persona just wasn’t him; he couldn’t keep talking without thinking from now on.

“Share some with me,” Huangfu Tieniu said, pushing his bowl closer. “To be honest, I just saw you standing there beside me, looking like you wanted to say something but were holding back—and feeling sorry for yourself—all while trying to save face for me. It was so cute and amusing, I couldn’t resist teasing you a little.”

Tang Xianling chuckled and handed half the bowl to Tieniu. After slurping up a mouthful, he savored it carefully and said, “It’s actually good, really! You don’t have my ‘golden finger’—your cooking skills are average—but the noodles are chewy and cooked just right. The vegetables are a bit tough and charred, but they’re not bad. You can still taste the eggplant.”

Huangfu Tieniu watched her husband’s little mouth chattering away, listening to the whole thing, and it all boiled down to just a few words: Xianling really loves me.

Jiang Yun watched the couple sitting around the table eating noodles. It was just a bowl of ordinary noodles, yet both of them were beaming with joy. No wonder Tieniu was so down-to-earth—he cared deeply for his family, giving his all without holding a grudge over whether he was a son-in-law by marriage or a husband. Her Wu-ger truly treated Tieniu with sincerity.

True heart for true heart.

She thought again of her second son-in-law’s behavior. Erniang was also an honest, kind-hearted person, but… ah.

Tang Xianling looked up. “What’s wrong, Mom? Why are you sighing while eating these noodles?”

“They’re not that bad, are they?”

“No, no, no. I’m just worried about your second sister and her husband,” Jiang Yun hurriedly explained.

Tang Xianling said, “Mom, even if things go badly, Second Sister still has us. If life really gets too hard, she can always come back—we’ve got two empty rooms.” 

“Don’t talk nonsense. Second Sister’s married now—how could she possibly come back?”

“What’s wrong with that?” Tang Xianling retorted, then thought better of it. “It’s just wishful thinking. Let’s not bicker. Maybe my second sister and her husband are living happily ever after.”

Jiang Yun nodded. “Let’s hope so.”

Eggplants have been coming in lately—by the truckload. It’s eggplant season. Even though they’re in season, you have to keep coming up with new ways to cook them, or they’ll get boring.

Last week, he made sweet and sour eggplant and cold-served eggplant strips.

The cold-served eggplant strips have been the vegetarian dish since Wednesday, and the diners love them, saying they’re refreshing and tender.

The eggplants are steamed whole, skin and all. After steaming, they’re torn by hand, squeezed dry, and then seasoned. This dish isn’t hard to make—every household knows how—but Chef Tang has a knack for seasoning.

This week, Tang Xianling plans to make stuffed eggplant pockets dipped in chili powder. These are made by stuffing eggplant with meat, coating it in batter, and deep-frying it. After frying, they can be served sweet and sour with a thick sauce, or seasoned with five-spice powder.

But Tang Xianling plans to serve the fried stuffed eggplant with a dipping sauce right after frying.

It’s too hot to put them back in the pot to coat them in sauce—the dish would be too rich. Since one of his signature dishes is already quite rich, he plans to turn this week’s clear-simmered meatballs into braised meatballs.

Last week at the East Market, he picked up some dried kelp to make pork rib and kelp soup. Add a side of cold cucumber salad, and the meal is complete.

His duck lays very few eggs—he only has one duck, and it lays one every few days. With the heat, he dares not hoard them; they’re usually stir-fried and eaten by the family as soon as they’re laid. That’s why he still hasn’t managed to save up enough for a plate of green-shelled duck eggs.

Tang Xianling wants to make preserved eggs and salted duck eggs. He could buy them at the West Market, but since they’re about to return to the village—Xu Village is cool, nestled by a river and mountains, and the villagers have a tradition of raising waterfowl—he plans to buy plenty when they get back.

While frying the stuffed eggplant pockets that afternoon, Tang Xianling “sneaked” a few for himself. By the time he finished frying, he was full, and he’d even stuffed quite a few into his mother’s and Tieniu’s hands. Jiang Yun was amused; as she ate, she teased him, “What kind of merchant are you? I think you just wanted to eat them yourself.”

“Mother, you’re absolutely right,” Huangfu Tieniu said.

Tang Xianling nodded in agreement, munching on the crispy-on-the-outside, tender-on-the-inside eggplant pockets. That was exactly right.

He’d fried them so perfectly.

When the restaurant opened for the afternoon meal, there were people again—more than usual?

Mr. Huang had also arrived, carrying his own large food container. Without asking what was on the menu today, he said straight away, “I’ll take four portions, packed separately to go. And two servings of yogurt…”

“Got it,” Tang Xianling replied. Tieniu took the lunchbox, and they began dividing the food among the containers. Once the boxes were packed and felt heavy, Tieniu carried them over to Mr. Huang with one hand.

After that, things got incredibly busy.

The customer from Changkang Lane arrived in a hurry, thinking he wasn’t too early but not too late either—after all, it was still early— but when he got there and took a look, he was instantly shocked.

!!!

“How can there be so many people? There aren’t even any seats left.”

“Just a moment, just a moment—we’re clearing the tables,” Jiang Yun and A-Liang said as they cleared the used plates.

Mr. Tang had given A-Liang a raise and asked him to come in early to help out around the shop, because starting last week, while breakfast crowds had thinned out, the dinner crowds remained steady and were gradually growing.

“Sir, please find a seat. We don’t have single tables here; you’ll have to share a table,” said Huangfu Tieniu.

The person from Changkang lane was taken aback by the bustling business at the noodle shop, but then thought to himself, “With so many people here, the food must be good.” He immediately nodded repeatedly, quickly grabbed a seat, and said, “I’ll have a boxed meal.”

Huangfu Tieniu took the money, then went to the serving counter to scoop out the rice and bring it over.

The man from Changkangang lane looked at the food on the table, then glanced at the others, who were all digging in with gusto. A few groups of companions who seemed to know each other were discussing culinary tips or discussing other topics. He looked at the food on his own plate—the portion was decent, enough to fill one person.

However, there were some dishes he couldn’t identify; the bowl of spare rib soup next to him was the only thing he could recognize.

“What is this?” he muttered to himself.

A diner next to him said, “The round ones are stuffed eggplant—they’re filled with meat. You eat them with dipping sauce. Can you handle Chinese pepper? If you can, go ahead and dip them in. If not, just dip a little and give it a try—it’s really delicious.”

???

If I can’t eat it, why tell me to eat a little?

Chinese pepper burns the tongue and is so pungent—he doesn’t like it. But judging by the way this diner spoke, not eating it felt like missing out on some kind of worldly delicacy.

So the diner from Changkang lane furrowed his brow, carefully picked up an eggplant patty, and dipped it in the “red sauce”—just a light touch. After a moment’s hesitation, he took a bite. First came the crispiness, then the soft eggplant and rich, savory meat filling, but most importantly, there was a subtle hint of spiciness.

“Huh? It doesn’t seem to burn my tongue that much. The texture is even richer.”

The diner next to him chuckled smugly. “See? I told you so. If it’s too spicy, take a sip of soup—the pork rib and kelp soup the chef made today is especially fresh and flavorful.”

“We don’t eat much kelp in Fengyuan City. I didn’t even recognize what this was at first.”

The man from Changkang Lane stared at the soup bowl, at the dark, stringy strands. “Is this… from the sea?” 

“The soup vendor said it’s kelp. He bought it at the East Market.”

“The sea? That’s far away. It must have cost a pretty amount of money.”

“Actually, it’s not that bad. Our Tingjiang Prefecture is connected by waterways—the Lu River leads straight to the sea. Didn’t the merchant ships used to pass through Tingjiang Prefecture on their way out to sea?”

Everyone chimed in, and the conversation went from kelp to overseas merchants.

A diner in the shop said, “I went to check it out just for the fun of it. Those ships were huge, but I heard they aren’t even the merchant ships that go out to sea. The bigger ones are anchored by the coast, and these smaller ships first deliver goods to the coast to transfer them onto the larger vessels.”

Tang Xianling’s ears perked up at the mention of “merchants.” He listened to the diners in the dining hall chatting about this while serving dishes.

“Is that true?” 

“Just how big must those ships be?”

“I haven’t seen the big ships by the sea myself; I just heard about them. Apparently, the first time, the ships were too small and didn’t carry enough cargo.”

Tang Xianling nodded to himself: Right, right, right. The big ships go out to carry more cargo; it’s not easy for them to make a single trip. It’d be best to scavenge up everything they can find—chili peppers, chili peppers, chili peppers~

Mr. Tang began to make plans in his mind. The crowd chatted idly about everything under the sun.

The customer from Changkang lane watched how others were eating and followed suit, using a spoon to scoop up a fist-sized meatball and mix it with his rice. The meatball was rich in broth, which blended with the mixed-grain rice; each grain of rice was coated in the meat and broth, giving it a glossy, reddish sheen as he popped it into his mouth.

!!!

“What is this? How can it be so delicious!”

A regular customer sitting nearby chuckled. “It’s my first time trying it too. It’s called ‘Lion’s Head.’ Originally, Owner Tang served it as a clear-broth version, but this time he’s switched to braised. The clear-broth version has a fresh broth and tender meat, but the braised version goes down with rice so fast—I can polish off two bowls of rice with just one of these meatballs.”

With that, he called out to the owner’s husband to bring more rice.

The braised Lion’s Head and fried eggplant pockets are rich and hearty, but paired with the refreshing sliced cucumber and a sip of the pork rib soup to cut through the richness, it’s perfect. The ribs are stewed until the meat falls right off the bone, and the soup is especially delicious. The kelp itself tastes ordinary, but when added to the soup, it gives it a unique flavor.

Delicious.

That day, the diner from Changkang Lane ate two bowls of rice. Seeing others order yogurt after their meal, this time there was no hesitation or second-guessing—no “What is this?”, “Never seen it before,” or “Should I buy it?”—just a straightforward “I’ll have some too.”

Today’s yogurt was topped with grape jam and salt-roasted peanut crumbs, making it exceptionally tasty—a blend of sweet, salty, and sour with a rich, creamy flavor. His stomach was already a bit full from the meal, but after finishing the bowl of yogurt, he was full, but not sick of it.

From then on, this fellow from Changkang Lane would tell everyone he met: “When it comes to pot-sticker bread, Tang’s in Baxing District is far more authentic. It’s only one wen more expensive, but it’s exceptionally good.

If you can’t get up, just do as I do: go for the evening meal. Their evening meal is a bit pricey, but the dish combinations are just right—much more satisfying and to my taste than when I go out to eat and order haphazardly. After finishing your boxed meal, have a bowl of yogurt. I won’t describe the taste—you’ll know once you try it.

There’s just one downside: it’s so crowded you have to wait in line for a seat, and if you go too late, they’ll be sold out.

Let me tell you, go to the evening meal place half an hour before closing. Don’t worry about being early— there’s no such thing as “too early,” only “too late”… or you’ll find a “Closed” sign hanging outside the shop.”

Tang Xianling discussed it with his mother and Tieniu: “Our evening meal business is getting better and better. Customers come but can’t find a seat—we still don’t have enough tables. Why don’t we make a few more and set them up outside our shop? We can fit three more tables there—long tables…”

“Will that work?” Jiang Yun feared the business might be only temporary.

Huangfu Tieniu said, “That’ll mean more work—you’ll have to put in the effort.”

“Exactly. Will you be able to handle it?”

Tang Xianling thought for a moment. “Right now, we’re preparing seventy portions a day. Why not round it up to a hundred? Any more than that won’t work. And since A-Liang can’t handle it alone, we’ll need to hire another person to run errands and help out.”

That should be enough to get things going.

The three of them agreed it was a good plan and decided to go ahead and order the tables and chairs.

“Don’t put it off until the weekend—we have to go back to the village then.”

“We’ll just have to work a bit harder this week—it’ll keep us busy.”

Actually, Boss Tang wanted to go back to the village to buy salted duck eggs!

Tang Xianling: Salted duck eggs, century eggs—here I come~