Chapter Bonanza (5/5)

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Before opening the shop, Boss Tang held a day-long training session for his staff.

On the 18th, the morning sky was overcast. Tang Xianling woke up just after seven and couldn’t get back to sleep. He decided to get dressed and head to the kitchen. The vegetables and meat had already been bought; he’d even bought four live ducks just for today. Huangfu Tieniu was slaughtering the ducks in the courtyard.

Tang Xianling looked on and hesitated for a moment. “Are we slaughtering all four? Why not keep two?” 

“Alright, let’s keep two alive for now. They’ll still be fresh if we slaughter them this afternoon.”

Tang Xianling: ??? Is that what I meant?

He was worried they wouldn’t sell, but in Tieniu’s words, it was a sure thing.

“I hope it doesn’t rain today,” Tang Xianling changed the subject, his voice once again betraying that “uncertain” air of worry. Huangfu Tieniu looked up at the sky and said, “Don’t worry, it won’t rain.”

“Really? Well, that’s good. It’d be best if it didn’t rain.” As he spoke, Tang Xianling went into the kitchen to take a look around, touching this and that, planning to cook a pot of preserved egg and lean pork congee.

Jiang Yun could tell that Wu-ger was also deeply worried today. She wanted to say something to cheer him up, but then she saw Tieniu going about his own business—though he did make frequent trips to the kitchen—without disturbing Wu-ger or deliberately speaking to him, so she followed his lead.

Wu-ger sliced the pork into strips, peeled the century eggs, chopped the ginger into thin strips, and soaked the rice. Soon, the aroma of the preserved egg and lean pork congee wafted from the clay pot.

Tang Xianling stirred the porridge; the aroma filled the air, and his heart gradually settled into calm. The restless excitement had faded—he was confident that business wouldn’t be bad, and might even be good, but he wanted to know just how good.

That restless excitement had made him feel a bit uneasy that morning when he saw the gloomy sky, fearing both rain and that his hopes might be dashed.

“Mom, Tieniu’s ready for breakfast.” It was only eight o’clock.

Jiang Yun had actually already eaten, but she replied to the call: “I’ll have a small bowl.”

“Sure, try a little first. I’m afraid you might not be used to the salty porridge.” Tang Xianling served porridge for his mother, recalling yesterday in the village: “Hainiu didn’t like century eggs; he even thought they were spoiled.”

Jiang Yun knew that Hainiu was Tieniu’s younger brother, so she cheerfully replied, “Before you made this, I’d never had it either. The taste was really strange at first, but it’s actually not bad.”

Tang Xianling also set aside a small bowl of porridge for Cui Dabao.

“Let’s eat first. Once we’re done, I’ll go take over for him for a bit,” Tang Xianling said.

Tieniu agreed and added, “Then I’ll go help you out.”

The congee with century eggs and lean pork had a very distinctive flavor. Jiang Yun ate slowly; the first bite felt a bit strange. Strangely enough, while the people of Fengyuan City typically preferred salty and savory flavors in their daily meals, they would add a little sugar to congee or rice porridge to make it sweet, whereas they would add salt to thick soups.

Porridge with salt—salty porridge—was indeed a rare thing.

But Jiang Yun ate slowly, one spoonful at a time. Once she got used to it, she began to appreciate the flavor of the preserved egg and lean pork congee, saying, “It’s actually quite good.”

“century eggs are one of those things—people either love them or can’t stand them. If you’re not used to them, you’ll never get used to them.” Tang Xianling finished his porridge, feeling a warm, comforting sensation in his stomach. He said, “It’s a niche market, just like pepper—it’s a niche business.”

You can’t eat this stuff every day, at every meal.

Later, Tang Xianling went to the breakfast shop to fetch Cui Dabao and his father to the backyard for congee. Cui Dabao and his father refused everything, but Tang Xianling insisted, “I’m the boss.”

“…Then I’ll be off.” Cui Dabao swallowed the rest of what he was about to say, then dragged his father to the back yard for porridge. Once they started eating, Cui Dabao was absolutely delighted.

Tang Xianling and Tieniu were selling pancakes up front.

“Hey, Boss Tang, why are you the one making them today?” 

“I just saw Old Man Cui doing it.”

Tang Xianling: “I let him take a break to have breakfast. What would you like?” 

“I’ll have two pickled vegetable pot-sticker buns, then.”

Some people were worried: “Mr. Tang, is the shop next door open today?” 

“I was wondering the same thing—are they still running the restaurant? We’ve been waiting for ages.”

Tang Xianling sensed a hint of dissatisfaction in the customer’s voice and reassured him with a smile: “We’re open, definitely open. We’d open even if it were raining knives today.”

“That’s good. I saw the sky was looking gloomy and was worried it might rain, so I came over early.”

When you’re busy, all your worries just slip your mind.

Cui Dabao and his father finished their porridge quickly. After eating, they went to the restroom, washed their hands, and then took over for Boss Tang at the shop front. Tang Xianling then stepped away from the counter. He’d been busy all morning—not exceptionally so, but he’d found his rhythm again.

Mrs. Tong and A-Liang arrived for work, dressed in new clothes and shoes—both wearing identical outfits. They’d also had their faces and hair groomed, looking very spry; even A-Liang, who usually looked so downtrodden, was full of energy today.

They began prepping ingredients at nine o’clock.

The kitchen had a four-burner stove and two small stoves. As soon as Tang Xianling gave the order, A-Liang and Mrs. Tong set to work—some peeling pumpkins, others preparing ginger. Huangfu Tieniu was in the courtyard slaughtering chickens, while hot water boiled in a pot to scald off the feathers. Jiang Yun was peeling garlic and preparing ginger…

Tang Xianling deep-fried the pumpkin and chicken strips twice; when placed together, they made a crisp, crunchy sound. He peeled the salted duck eggs, separating the whites and placing the salty yolks in a bowl.

The store-bought pork ribs had been chopped into sections, soaked to remove the blood, and washed clean.

Tang Xianling figured there would be plenty of orders for sweet and sour spare ribs and meatballs today, so he prepared them in advance. The vegetables and meat were bought fresh by Tiejiu that morning, and now he’s been mincing the meat for a while, and Tieniu has taken over.

It’s past ten o’clock.

Cui Dabao had sold out of his breakfast items and was starting to close up shop.

In the kitchen, Tang Xianling took off his apron and changed into fresh clothes. Tieniu grabbed the firecrackers, and Jiang Yun smoothed out the pleats in her dress. 

Open the door!

It was an uneventful day in Fengyuan City, with nothing particularly noteworthy happening.

Over a month ago, Mr. Huang had gone out of town on business. The very next day after his return, he headed straight for the Tang family’s shop, his appetite whetted, only to find it closed. He’d heard that Mr. Tang was shutting the shop for a month of renovations. Mr. Huang had waited a long time, but eventually, no restaurant in Fengyuan City could satisfy his taste.

He certainly hadn’t been this picky before.

“The food you brought back is good, sure, but it’s not enough to make you lose your appetite,” his wife remarked, puzzled.

Mr. Huang said, “You don’t understand. Mr. Tang’s cooking has a certain something special. Other big restaurants might have better presentation, aroma, and higher-quality ingredients, but they just don’t have that certain feeling. After eating there, your stomach is full, but your heart feels restless—it doesn’t touch your soul.”

What kind of food could possibly “touch the heart”? No one understood.

Finally, the 18th arrived. Mr. Huang deliberately postponed a business deal, and early in the morning, he changed into a comfortable outfit. His wife couldn’t help but laugh as she watched him, saying, “I know you’re taking this seriously.”

This set of old clothes was made of cloth. Though they were worn, Old Huang loved wearing them most of all, saying they were comfortable and easy to move in. Since his family dealt in silk and satin fabrics, how could they not have fine cloth for making clothes?

Dressed in his old clothes, Mr. Huang took a cart to the main street of Baxing District. He arrived neither too early nor too late, but when he saw quite a crowd gathered at the entrance, his heart skipped a beat. Could it be that they hadn’t opened yet?

Today is the 18th, after all.

“Why isn’t it open yet?” 

“I’ve been waiting for a while.” 

“Did I get the date wrong?” 

“That can’t be right. I’ll go ask.” Someone turned to ask Cui Dabao next door.

The door opened.

The crowd waiting at the entrance breathed a sigh of relief, and the corners of Mr. Huang’s eyes crinkled with laughter.

“Sorry to keep you waiting, everyone. I was just prepping ingredients in the back kitchen. Let me light a string of firecrackers to make some noise.” Standing on the steps, Mr. Tang clasped his hands together with a beaming smile.

Diners: “No problem.” 

“As long as it’s open.” 

“Mr. Tang must be young—he’s never run a proper shop before, has he?” 

“Why set off firecrackers right before opening?” 

“Why didn’t you hire a drum and gong troupe to make some noise?”

“It’s so quiet, I thought I’d gotten the date wrong.”

No matter how the customers teased him, Tang Xianling was delighted, because there were plenty of people—and they were all familiar faces, regulars. It couldn’t have been better. The customers stepped back to make a circle, and Tieniu laid the firecrackers at the shop entrance and lit the fuse.

The crackling explosions drew an ever-growing crowd to the entrance.

As the firecrackers died down and the smell of gunpowder still hung in the air, Tang Xianling pulled back the red cloth covering the signboard—”Tang Wu-ger’s Restaurant.”

“Congratulations, congratulations.”

“Congratulations to Mr. Tang.” 

“May your business thrive.”

Strangely enough, before the fireworks went off, the sky had been overcast and looked as if it were about to rain. But by the time the fireworks had finished and Tang Xianling pulled back the red cloth covering the signboard, he looked up and felt as though the sky had grown a little brighter.

“Please come in, everyone.” Tang Xianling turned his gaze back and smiled warmly as he invited the guests inside.

Some people had been drawn by the firecrackers to check out the commotion. Now they gathered at the doorway to take a look, but immediately hesitated to step inside—the interior decor didn’t resemble the other eateries on this street; it looked much more upscale. Who would dare go in?

Mr. Huang remained unhurried. Having dined at grand restaurants and seen all manner of fine decor, he hadn’t paid much attention to the interior of Mr. Tang’s shop—as long as the food tasted as good as ever, that was all that mattered. Yet upon entering, he paused slightly at the sight of the shop’s ambiance.

Comfortable.

Just that one word.

The floor tiles had been replaced. They were a grayish-black—the kind most commonly found in restaurants in the East and West Markets—but for some reason, the shop suddenly felt much more open and bright. Mr. Huang looked up and immediately knew why.

In the past, the space above the beams in Mr. Tang’s shop was sealed off—a common practice in small shops, allowing for storage of odds and ends. Now, though Mr. Tang has partitioned off a separate breakfast counter, which should have made the space smaller, it actually feels much brighter and more spacious. This is because the partition above the beams has been removed, exposing the triangular roof structure.

The roof tiles and beams had all been painted; they showed signs of use but looked quite new.

The shop walls have been repainted, and all the tables and chairs have been replaced. The area near the back yard is the most unique: there are two large round tables separated by bamboo screens, with a roll-up curtain hanging there. As soon as Mr. Huang saw those round tables, he had an idea—maybe he could move his postponed business meetings to Mr. Tang’s restaurant.

It used to be a takeout joint—no seating, noisy, and people would just eat and leave. There was no way to sit down and talk business properly, but now it’s different. Mr. Tang’s place doesn’t have many seats, so it’s not crowded and feels quite spacious.

With that in mind, Mr. Huang asked, “Can we sit at that round table?”

“Sir, the round table seats eight. It’s quite busy today—would you mind sharing a table if you’d like to sit there?”

Mr. Huang was taken aback for a moment, because the one who answered wasn’t Mr. Tang, his husband, or his mother, but a woman who used to work as a general helper in the shop. Now she was dressed in new clothes and spoke with a smile; though her nervousness was evident, she was clearly giving it her all.

“Alright.” Mr. Huang didn’t want to make things difficult for her. He was a regular at Mr. Tang’s place and knew Mr. Tang’s temperament well. This young husband wasn’t very old, but he was straightforward in business—not the slick type.

If he made things difficult for the shop’s maid, Mr. Tang would surely come to her defense with his usual blunt honesty. Besides, he still wanted to eat the meals Mr. Tang cooked.

Mr. Huang took a step up onto the platform. Though the private room wasn’t completely secluded, it was still quite nice. Upon entering, he noticed another window. Peering through it, he saw a view of bamboo with a hint of mottled green—likely trees planted in the Tang family’s courtyard—but he couldn’t see anything else.

“This is nice,” Mr. Huang nodded, feeling quite satisfied. He asked, “If I bring people here to discuss business next time, could you ask Mr. Tang to reserve a private room for us? I don’t want to share a table.”

Mrs. Tong’s heart leapt with joy. Mr. Tang had trained her on this very scenario, so she replied immediately, “If you’d like to reserve a private room, just let us know in advance, and we’ll set it aside for you. The private room fee is 100 wen, and there’s no need to share a table or pay an additional room fee.”

Mr. Huang: …

Alarm bells went off in Mrs. Tong’s mind. Could the guest think it was too expensive? But Mr. Tang had said it was 100 wen.

“Only 100 wen… Let me take a look at the menu. What’s on the menu today?” Mr. Huang thought it was a bargain—even after opening his own restaurant, Mr. Tang was still offering such a good deal. He decided to check the menu first.

Mrs. Tong couldn’t read, but she had memorized the menu. She fetched it and began introducing the dishes one by one: “Today we have sweet and sour spare ribs, braised meatballs, steamed pork with rice flour, steamed spare ribs with rice flour, and our new specialties: ginger duck, cold-served century eggs, preserved egg and lean pork congee, and stir-fried seasonal vegetables.”

“Sir, the ginger duck is available by the half or the whole.”

Mr. Huang took note. Half a duck cost thirty-five wen. He’d never tried ginger duck before, but he’d been craving meatballs lately. And what exactly was this cold-served preserved egg? He pointed and asked.

“century eggs are made from duck eggs. Our boss says some people aren’t used to eating them—the flavor is a bit unique,” Mrs. Tong replied to each question. Mr. Huang: “Then I’ll have half a duck with ginger, the cold-served century eggs, and another serving of braised lion’s head meatballs. And a bowl of rice.”

Today’s customers were all regulars. The only newcomers were locals who’d come out of curiosity to show their support—they’d walk in to check out the buzz, but as soon as they saw the prices or asked about them, they’d cheerfully wish him a grand opening and leave. Those who’d sat down were now ordering. It had been a month since they’d last visited, so they all had a pretty good idea of what they wanted, but the moment they heard the waitstaff describe the dishes, they hesitated.

“They have duck today—duck braised with ginger? Could that be any good?”

Some hesitated, some decisively ordered half a duck to try it out, and some remained “faithful” and unwavering—having craved it for a month, they now headed straight for their favorite dishes without even glancing at the others.

“To be honest, both the steamed pork chops and the spare ribs take a while to prepare. Please wait a moment,” A-Liang said to the customer.

The customer waved his hand. “I know—this restaurant is different from takeout.”

“Takeout meals are prepared by Boss Tang early in the morning—you have to get there for the first batch to enjoy them piping hot. Making them fresh now would be a hassle, so just wait a bit Anyway, I came early, so I’m not in a hurry.”

“Do you have any skewers?”

“Sorry, sir, the skewers are only available for dinner.”

Hearing there were no skewers, the customer couldn’t take it anymore. It had been a month since he’d made the long trip just to eat skewers, and now there weren’t any!!! He really couldn’t take it anymore and was about to lose his temper.

A-Liang was a bit scared. Seeing the customer on the verge of losing his temper, he didn’t know how to explain.

“Go to the back and serve the food,” Huangfu Tieniu called out to Aliang, sending him to the back yard, then followed the customer to apologize. “I’m truly sorry. Please sit down and have some tea. We’ll send out a complimentary dish for you to try and help you calm down.”

Who cares about a free dish? The customer had been about to snap back—he just wanted grilled meat—but after a moment’s thought, he forced himself to hold it in. He still wanted Tang’s skewers.

Tang’s had been closed for a month; he’d tried eating at the West Market, but it just wasn’t the same. Even when he bought meat to grill at home, it didn’t have that special flavor.

He’d even gone out of his way to buy high-quality venison and spices from the East Market, spending a pretty amount of money, only to find that the skewers—well, they just weren’t any good. They simply didn’t have the same aroma as those made by Mr. Tang.

This diner, driven by his love for “Tang’s Skewers,” had managed to suppress his anger, but as he sat down, he still grumbled, “I live in Fukang Lane. Tell me, I rushed over here on the bus first thing in the morning, only to find no skewers. How could I not be furious?”

“I’ve been waiting a whole month.” 

“Will there be grilled pork trotters this afternoon?” 

“I should be able to get some.”

The diners nearby burst out laughing at this explosive customer’s barrage of questions. Just moments ago, they’d thought he’d come to “cause a scene”—it was Boss Tang’s first day back in business, and this man had been standing in the dining hall, his voice booming as if he were about to explode with rage.

But unexpectedly, as he spoke, his tone took on a surprisingly “calm and polite” quality.

Huangfu Tieniu quickly replied, “Yes, we do. The evening is cooler, so it’s perfect for grilled skewers. It’s too hot at noon, and Mr. Tang thought it wouldn’t be comfortable to eat them in this heat.”

“You live in Fukang Lane—that’s quite a distance. Thank you for coming out to support us today.”

The customer’s anger subsided by more than half the moment he heard this, and he muttered, “Mr. Tang is right—grilled skewers are more comfortable in the evening. Well, since I’m already here, I’ll take a look at the menu—”

“Hmm, that smells delicious.”

“What’s that smell?”

“Pumpkin, maybe?”

“The food’s here already?”

A-Liang and Mrs. Tong came over with a tray to serve the food. Someone pointed out they hadn’t ordered this dish, but the two explained: the salted egg yolk-baked pumpkin chicken strips were a complimentary treat promised by Boss Tang.

Upon hearing it was a complimentary dish, the diners said Mr. Tang was being generous and thoughtful for remembering them, but in reality, their faces lit up with smiles. They thought to themselves, “Pumpkin is fine, and the chicken strips aren’t bad either—it’s a nice bit of meat.”

The dish was a standard portion, not particularly large. Its golden surface was dotted with tiny, sizzling pores. Just as the diners were thinking, “Oh, they’re giving us pumpkin,” they took a closer look and realized this pumpkin dish was quite different from the pumpkin they made at home.

“What’s it called again?”

“Salted Egg Yolk Baked Pumpkin with Chicken Strips,” replied Aunt Tong.

Diner: “Salted egg yolk… Let me try some.” The aroma was overwhelming.

Just moments ago, the flashy diner had been thinking, ‘Who needs free food?’—after all, he had plenty of money, and what good could anything given away for free possibly be? But now, upon catching the scent, he changed his tune and graciously relented: “Alright, I’ll give it a try.”

Some diners have already started eating.

On the surface, it had the grainy texture of egg yolk, with a hint of salty aroma—not overwhelmingly salty. What he’d picked up with his chopsticks was likely pumpkin. It was crisp on the outside, and inside, the tender flesh had a natural sweetness—no sugar added, just the pure flavor of pumpkin. Soft and chewy, with a salty crust on the outside—

“Delicious! The flavor is amazing.”

“I’ve never had pumpkin prepared like this before.” 

“It tastes like it’s been deep-fried.”

Deep-fried food is usually greasy, but for Boss Tang to put such care and quality ingredients into a complimentary dish is truly—unexpected yet not surprising. Having eaten at Tang’s Diner for these past few days, to be honest, Boss Tang can be blunt at times; he doesn’t have the fawning, sycophantic manner of the proprietors at other restaurants.

When people interact, after exchanging superficial pleasantries for so long, getting a few sharp remarks from Mr. Tang doesn’t feel uncomfortable at all. When you come to your senses, you realize, “Oh, I’m the one who’s been putting on airs and looking for trouble.”

Mr. Tang’s treatment of his customers is genuinely sincere.

There’s no denying that. That’s why, even after a month, Tang’s Diner still manages to keep its customers coming back. The food is top-notch, of course, but it’s also because the owner doesn’t rely on his skills to cut corners or treat customers poorly.

After trying the complimentary dish, Paozhang’s favorite part was the pumpkin inside.

“I think the chicken strips aren’t as good as the pumpkin.” 

“I’ll have another serving—just the pumpkin.”

“Hold on, I’ll take a look at the other dishes first.”

A-Liang went to attend to this customer. The diner, who had been fuming just moments ago, was now in high spirits and even asked him, “What exactly is a preserved egg?”

Tang Xianling was swamped in the kitchen. Luckily, he’d prepped everything early that morning: ducks simmering in clay pots on the stove, while the main stove was busy steaming, braising, and stir-frying. His mother came to lend a hand, and Cui Dabao hadn’t left either—he’d stayed behind to help.

Tieniu kept coming by to take orders. Tang Xianling would take the order and start stir-frying. Dish after dish was sent out to the front.

The ginger duck was served right in the clay pot.

When the lid was lifted, a distinctive aroma of duck and old ginger wafted out. The Tang family’s pork was legendary—a fact well-known to all diners. Today, many orders included pork dishes, while the wealthy and extravagant Boss Huang wanted to try something new.

The moment he caught the scent, his expression softened into a smile.

“I didn’t realize Mr. Tang was also skilled at preparing poultry.”

Mr. Huang rolled up his sleeves, picked up his chopsticks, and selected a piece of duck. The duck was a rich brown color and quite fatty; judging by the surface, it appeared sugar had been used, but the first taste wasn’t sweet—it was a rich, pungent ginger flavor. It wasn’t unpleasant; on the contrary, it was quite unique.

The duck skin rendered its fat yet remained light; the meat beneath was slightly dry, but there was a layer of rich, fatty fat between the skin and the meat. The duck flavor was robust, and it was simply delicious.

“Absolutely amazing.” Another diner who’d ordered the ginger duck fell in love with it after finishing his meal. “If I’d known, I would’ve brought a bottle of wine.”

A loyal regular, inhaling the unfamiliar aroma and glancing at the sweet and sour spare ribs on his own plate, seemed to have a change of heart—he wanted to try that new dish too.

“Hey, buddy, is that new dish any good?”

“It’s delicious, absolutely amazing. If you can handle ginger and don’t mind, why don’t you try a piece?”

“Sure, thanks.”

“Don’t mention it.”

This is the “habit” left behind by the regulars. Back when Tang’s Diner served boxed meals, everyone shared tables, and chatting while eating came naturally—though, of course, there were those who were naturally shy, who buried their heads in their food and hurried off once they were done.

Now that they sit at separate tables, those who like to chat can strike up a conversation and even share food from their plates.

After the regular customer finished his duck, his eyes lit up—he wanted some too! But the sweet and sour spare ribs were also delicious. Having finished the dishes he’d ordered, he didn’t have room for another serving of ginger duck. Maybe he’d come back tomorrow.

Among the various eateries on Main Street, today’s topic is also Brother Tang’s Restaurant.

“You have no idea—I was practically scared out of there.”

“Huh? Boss Tang actually chases customers away? That can’t be.”

“No, no, they’re not turning anyone away, but the place isn’t what it used to be. You can tell they’ve spent a fortune on it. When I heard the prices on the menu, I got a shock—over thirty wen for a single dish.”

“What?! That expensive?” 

“Do you see many people in there?”

“Not really—”

Old Zhao’s wife was eavesdropping with her ears perked up. When she heard “not many people,” she was relieved and let out a sigh of relief, thinking to herself: Serves them right. They didn’t open for a month, and now that they’re open, who’s going to pay those prices?

“Not many, that’s for sure. There are only eight tables, and each table has just one or two people.” 

“So how many customers is that?”

“I think I saw more people coming in from the back.” 

“Did they come in?”

“Yes, they are. I walked right past their shop on purpose and took a peek. The tables inside are all full—though not packed with people, of course. It’s not like back in the boxed-lunch days when everyone was crammed together shoulder to shoulder. But the smell is really good—really good.”

“Half a duck costs thirty-five wen.”

“!!! What? You can buy a whole duck for just over twenty wen, and he’s charging thirty-five wen for half a duck!”

If Tang Xianling were here, he’d surely read the look on the other man’s face: “Why not just go rob someone?”

Old Mrs. Zhao chimed in from the side, “I’m not just muttering to myself here, but Young Tang is different from his father. His father was an honest, down-to-earth businessman, but he? He looks like he’s out to make a killing.”

Some people rolled their eyes inwardly. Who on the street wasn’t in business? If you didn’t make a profit, would you just give everything away to the customers for free? This was just watching the Tang family make a fool of themselves. If Brother Tang’s restaurant went under, this old lady would definitely set off firecrackers and run to the Tang family’s doorstep to gloat—

Oh, she wouldn’t dare, probably because she’s afraid of getting beaten up by Boss Tang. After all, Boss Tang is the kind of guy who’ll come knocking on your door to beat you up.

He’s really fierce.

The restaurant opened at ten in the morning. After the firecrackers went off and the polite pleasantries were exchanged, it didn’t take long. Tang Xianling was a man who got straight to the point—efficient and decisive. He started taking orders around ten-thirty, and it was a flurry of activity. He worked nonstop in the kitchen until a little past one in the afternoon, when things suddenly quieted down.

Only then did Tang Xianling ask, “How many tables are still occupied?”

“Two tables are still eating. There’s a customer from Fukang Lane who’s come a long way. He asked if he could stay here until the afternoon—he wants to have grilled skewers for dinner.”

Tang Xianling: … Mom must have agreed. If they want to stay, let them stay.

Just as they were talking, Aunt Tong came back to take their order, saying a table of three had arrived. 

Tang Xianling: … Cook it!

It wasn’t until 2:00 PM that the restaurant finally cleared out. Tang Xianling was so hungry that his stomach was sticking to his back, not to mention the staff. He cooked a pot of rice, and they all shared it, taking turns eating.

Tang Xianling said to Cui Dabao, “Go home as soon as you’re done eating, or I’ll have to raise your wages again.” He wasn’t actually afraid of raising wages; it was just that he didn’t usually squeeze his breakfast shift employees like that.

They’d agreed Cui Dabao would only work the morning shift.

Cui Dabao buried his head in his bowl and wolfed down his rice. He told his father to go home and rest—he’d helped him all morning, and he didn’t want him to overexert himself. After all, his father was supposed to be recuperating at home; Cui Dabao could handle things on his own. He even had a ready excuse: “Mr. Tang’s cooking is a secret recipe.”

This left his father speechless, and he had no way to make him stay.

“Boss, you’re treating me to lunch—no extra money.” Cui Dabao lifted his head from his bowl. “How come your fried rice smells so good?”

Tang Xianling: …Nonsense. If an employee works extra hours, they definitely deserve overtime pay.

“Finish your meal and head back right away. You got up early and worked all morning. If you want to stay healthy in the long run, don’t push yourself so hard. Your father and Douzi are both worried about you.”

Even though Cui Dabao was older than the boss, he actually took the advice to heart this time.

“Got it, boss.”