Jiang Yun never dreamed they’d sell out so quickly. How could everything be gone without much effort?

When she ran the dumpling shop with Father Tang, she still had to rise at dawn. The mutton soup needed fresh meat, so her husband ordered the sheep early. She tidied the shop at home, while he handled simmering the broth and kneading the dough. He wouldn’t let her linger at the counter.

They usually opened around the fourth hour of the morning and sold until just past the seventh hour.

Apart from kneading dough and simmering broth, she handled everything else: greeting customers, taking payments, pouring tea, washing dishes, fetching water, and so on. She’d been doing this for over thirty years. She’d grown accustomed to it and no longer found it exhausting, though it had been grueling at first.

Breakfast sales began early, opening as early as the Chen hour of the morning, around six o’clock. Tang Xianling opened around seven fifteen and sold out by eight thirty.

Next door, the Lu family’s steamed bun shop was still bustling with customers.

Tang’s shop, however, was closing for the day.

Late-rising customers strolled leisurely down the street. Spotting Tang’s shop open with someone still inside, they paused in surprise and asked, “Old Tang’s place is open today?”

“No, it’s his Wu-ger selling breakfast.”

“Oh, we should go support them. Old Tang’s been down these past months—”

But someone called them back: “Don’t bother, it’s all sold out.”

The customer stopped in disbelief: “Sold out already?!” Then laughed: “I see. Young Master Tang must be timid and didn’t prepare much.”

“Not much indeed. I didn’t get any myself,” the man replied, a hint of regret still on his face. “I heard from others that Young Wu-ger’s shop was bustling this morning. Cui Dabao got a batch, but when he came back for more, it was sold out. He wailed for ages. It seems you have to get there early.”

The diner found this amusing but didn’t quite believe it, suspecting it was just gossip. He turned his steps toward Lu’s Steamed Bun Shop, casually asking, “Is it that good? What are they selling? Like his dad, selling mutton? If it’s mutton, it’s a bit early for that.”

“No, I heard it’s pot-sticker buns.”

“What are pot-sticker buns?”

“How should I know? I just arrived myself.”

Their casual chat reached Lu Sanniang’s ears. She’d just finished half a pot-sticker with pickled plum vegetables and half a bean paste-filled one—both exceptionally delicious. Her mouth still lingered with their fragrance. Hearing the customers’ question, she chirped, “They’re thin pot-sticker pancakes, baked crispy and fragrant. Two kinds of fillings inside—both delicious.”

The two diners burst out laughing, deliberately teasing Sanniang. ”Better than your steamed buns?“ 

”Sanniang must have tried them already.”

Lu Sanniang was stumped by the question. Privately, she naturally thought Xiao Tang’s pot stickers were tastier than her family’s steamed buns, but she couldn’t very well say that. Just as she hesitated, the two customers burst into loud laughter. Lu Sanniang grew displeased—the customers were teasing her.

“Sanniang, go to the backyard. Mother is calling for you.” Lu Dalang called his sister to the inner room and warmly asked the two customers what they wanted.

“Four vegetable buns, two meat buns, and three steamed buns.”

Lu Sanniang returned to the backyard. Hearing her mother calling, she ran over, grumbling as she went to complain that the two customers at the front were deliberately teasing her, and she didn’t like it.

Chen Qiaolian frowned, looking at her daughter’s graceful figure. She thought to herself that Sanniang, now thirteen, had grown into a young woman and shouldn’t be helping out at the shop so often. She said aloud, “Did your eldest brother give you money to buy food today?”

“Mother, how did you know?” Lu Sanniang was stunned, her eyes widening.

Chen Qiaolian chuckled. Nearby, Father Lu was watching the donkey grind grain. Hearing this, he laughed heartily and said, “Your eldest brother loves his food. Today, you two siblings were acting so secretive. You bought buns back and were so excited you shouted about it—the whole house knows!”

“Sanniang, are the Tang family’s sbuns really that good?” Chen Qiaolian asked.

Lu Sanniang nodded eagerly, describing the flavors in detail before adding regretfully, “I was afraid you’d scold me, so I secretly bought them with my eldest brother to try. I haven’t even given any to Father and Mother yet.”

“It’s fine. Go buy some more tomorrow and save one for your second brother,” Chen Qiaolian said with a smile. “Your second brother will be back from the pharmacy tomorrow.”

The Lu family had two sons and one daughter. When the children were young, Mr. and Mrs. Lu had already decided: the shop they earned would belong to the eldest son, but they couldn’t neglect the second son either. They needed to give Erlang a stable livelihood. When Erlang was five, the couple sent him to learn writing. At thirteen, they used their connections to place him as an apprentice at the herbal pharmacy.

Now Lu Dalang was eighteen, old enough to meet potential brides and arrange marriages through matchmakers. Erlang was fifteen; in a few more years, they would need to buy him a small courtyard to start a family. They also had to save for their youngest daughter’s dowry, ensuring her future in-laws wouldn’t look down on her.

Thus, the couple lived frugally, yet indulged their children when they occasionally begged for treats or takeout. They turned a blind eye—not just to their youngest daughter, but even to Lu Dalang’s gluttonous nature.

“Then I’ll rise early tomorrow to queue,” Lu Sanniang said cheerfully.

Chen Qiaolian asked curiously, “Is it really that good? I saw the ones next door selling out fast today.”

Father Lu chimed in, “You bet. They sold like hotcakes! But I heard Sister Tang didn’t make many.”

━━ 🐈‍⬛ ━━

At the Tang Family Courtyard.

The shop door was closed. Jiang Yun tidied up the baking oven and the bamboo baskets used for packing the buns. The filling bowls also needed to be put away and washed. Wu-ger didn’t let her do it, telling her to rest. A hint of a smile touched Jiang Yun’s lips as she said, “What kind of work is this? It’s light and easy, not tiring at all.”

“Your father and I have been in this trade for years, but today was the easiest yet.”

Of course, she was unaware whether the pot-sticker buns brought in more profit. Though she handled the money, her husband took charge of closing the shop, balancing the accounts, and keeping the books—never letting her touch the money.

Hearing Jiang Yun speak thus, Tang Xianling pitched in to help. The two finished up in no time. Tang Xianling began tallying the day’s earnings: “We sold sixty-six meat and vegetable buns today, and thirty-six red bean pancakes.”

Hearing Jiang Yun speak thus, Tang Xianling pitched in to help tidy up.

They finished in no time. Tang Xianling began calculating: “Today we sold sixty-six meat-stuffed buns with pickled plum vegetables and fifty-three red bean paste buns.”

“The meat buns are five wen each. Sixty-six buns equals three hundred and thirty wen.”

“Red bean paste is four wen per bun. Fifty-three buns means two hundred twelve wen.”

Tang Xianling calculated the math on paper. Today’s earnings totaled five hundred forty-two wen—equivalent to half a tael of silver.

He’d calculated the costs beforehand.

“Two catties of pickled plum vegetables and three catties of pork. The preserved veg costs about six wen, pork eighteen—twenty-four wen total. Red bean paste is four wen per catty; bought two catties, eight wen. Ten catties of flour—coarser grade at six wen per catty—that’s sixty… Total cost: ninety-eight wen.”

“Then there’s the oil paper, which is a bit pricier at thirty wen, but we have plenty left over—enough for two or three days. We didn’t factor in our own charcoal, but I estimate that, plus brown sugar, spices, sauces, oil, and the charcoal used earlier to steam the pickled plum vegetables, all that comes to nearly one hundred wen.”

Today’s income: 542. Cost: 198.

Jiang Yun’s eyes widened slightly. Though Wu-ger earned less than the snack shop, making this much in less than a full morning was already quite impressive.

Tang Xianling felt Jiang Yun’s intense gaze and smiled. “Mother, I haven’t factored in shop expenses yet. Currently, we’re using the family shop for breakfast sales. If we switched to a pushcart stall, costs would rise. Each bun would only net us one or one and a half wen. If we rented a small shop, profits would shrink even further.”

That’s why he set the price at five wen.

“Take the Lu family steamed bun shop next door. Their business thrives, selling from dawn till dusk. They profit through volume—their plain and meat buns are nothing special, but they’re large and generously filled, so customers flock to them.”

If he sold his pot-sticker buns for three wen each, he’d have to work just as long as the steamed bun shop next door. By the end of the day, he’d earn only a meager wage—

Jiang Yun was no spring chicken, and his frame was thin. He was literally wearing himself out to make a living.

He’d seen Father Lu and Lu Dalang—not the tallest men, but both solidly built. They sourced their grain from villages outside the city, buying whole wheat to grind into flour in their own courtyard, keeping costs even lower. That’s why they could afford to sell at those prices.

Even the shops on the main street charged less than the East and West Markets, but prices like those at the Lu Steamed Bun Shop were truly rare on the entire street.

To save money before, he’d bought coarse flour, which he had to grind himself again when he got home, sifting it to remove the bran. His back was nearly giving out. Next time he bought grain, he’d get refined flour. Let it cost one more wen.

Calculating this way, he could at least maintain a fifty-fifty split between profit and cost.

“Business today was better than I expected, but we’re running low on pickled plum vegetables. This season, wild greens will likely be gone soon too—”

Jiang Yun, who had just been delighted, frowned upon hearing there were no more wild greens. “What are we to do?”

“Any other greens will do. I should ask my eldest sister if anyone in their village grows extra vegetables. We could have them delivered. Gouwa Village is far from Fengyuan City. Last time, I was so preoccupied with other things, I completely forgot to mention this. What if something happened to that boy on his way back delivering the vegetables?” Tang Xianling frowned at this thought.

He was confident in his skills—after all, he had a bit of an edge—but this was his first real business venture. When it came to actual selling, he still felt inexperienced and green.

He’d made too few pickled mustard pickles, and sun-drying them depended on the weather—it required consecutive days of intense heat and clear skies. His kitchen now held just over ten pounds of the pickles, which would likely sell out in days.

But Tang Xianling’s greatest worry remained: that something might happen to Gouwa on his delivery route.

Other issues were manageable. If the pickled plum vegetables ran out, they could simply close for a while or switch to selling something else. After all, it was a breakfast shop. Tang Xianling didn’t want to work himself to exhaustion every day. He needed to take care of his health, and Jiang Yun needed to rest, too. Both mother and son looked gaunt and pale, and the wrinkles on Jiang Yun’s face seemed etched with hardship.

Jiang Yun nodded, unsure what to say. She realized her Wu-ger could make decisions on his own now, and he was even more thoughtful than she’d imagined. Though she’d been in business for over thirty years, it dawned on her that she’d always been more like a hired hand.

She didn’t know how to source goods, manage purchases, or keep accounts.

Knock knock—

“Someone’s at the door, Mother. I’ll answer it.” Tang Xianling slipped the wooden box holding copper wen into Jiang Yun’s hands. “Put this away. I reckon it’s Gouwa coming.”

Counting the days, it was indeed the right time.

Opening the door, Tang Xianling first saw Gouwa, safe and sound, and breathed a sigh of relief. Her gaze shifted upward to see Huangfu Tieniu following behind Gouwa, a strikingly handsome young man.

“Come in, sit down,” Tang Xianling warmly invited them inside.

Gouwa had already started talking, “Mr. Tang, Tieniu, and I came together again this time. He’s so skilled—he shot a deer—”

“A deer?!” Tang Xianling was stunned, looking at Huangfu Tieniu.

Tieniu said, “I took the deer to the West Market tavern to sell it first. You have to sell it while it’s still fresh—that’s when it fetches the best price.”

“Oh, I see now, Brother Tieniu!” Gouwa realized. No wonder Brother Tieniu had rushed to the West Market first. He’d wanted Brother Tieniu to accompany him to Fengyuan City, so handling Brother Tieniu’s business first made sense. He could go to Baxing District alone, but he hadn’t expected Brother Tieniu to say: Sell the deer, then we’ll go together.

Gouwa nodded.

Tang Xianling saw how tired they were. “Sit down and rest your feet. I’ll fetch some water. By the way, have you eaten?”

“We’re fine,” said Tieniu.

Gouwa replied, “I ate two roasted potatoes before leaving.”

“What time was that?”

Gouwa, thinking Tang Xianling was asking about the time, blurted out, “It was pitch black when I left. Must have been the middle of the night.”

That meant after dawn—who knew if it was two or three, or four or five in the morning.

Tang Xianling hurriedly said, “I’ll go next door to buy some steamed buns. You two rest your feet and drink some water. If you’re not in a rush, stay for a meal and a good rest at my place before heading back.”

“It’s fine, it’s fine, Uncle Tang. I’m not hungry,” Gouwa quickly replied.

Tang Xianling had already gone to fetch water from the backyard.

Gouwa and Brother Tieniu sat on stools inside the shop, keeping their eyes downcast. Gouwa murmured, “Tang Fulang is truly kind. It’s just that there really are no wild greens left in the village.”

“If there were wild greens, I wouldn’t mind the hardship of walking this far to deliver them.”

Huangfu Tieniu shot Gouwa a glance. “That’s not what you said on the road.”

Gouwa scratched his head sheepishly. The journey had been exhausting with all the stops, and he’d thought, “If there were no more wild greens, I wouldn’t have to deliver them anymore. “But once they reached Tang Fulang’s shop, the man’s kindness made him forget his fatigue.

Before long, Jiang Yun and Tang Xianling arrived at the shopfront. Not only did they bring water for Gouwa and Tieniu, but also a basin of water for washing up.

“Mother, I’m going next door to buy steamed buns.”

Tang Xianling carried a basket to the neighboring shop to buy steamed buns—two plain and two meat-filled. Thinking of Huangfu Tieniu’s stature and the muscles visible even through his sleeves, he added six large steamed buns.

The shop door remained open as they chatted inside.

Tang Xianling urged them to eat the buns first to tide them over, then added, “I want cold steamed buns, cut into cubes. We have a salted duck egg at home to stir-fry with some greens. Mother, we won’t cook lunch today—let’s just make do with this.”

“Alright, as you say.” Jiang Yun had no objections about lunch. Her mind was elsewhere. Though Hu Kang had been a bad man, he’d only been dead for half a year. Now a widow at home, she felt she should wait at least a year or two before sending a matchmaker to seek a new husband. The younger of the two vegetable delivery boys was one thing, but the other was a young man of marriageable age. Spending so much time in the shop, she feared the neighbors might misunderstand, tarnishing Wu-ger’s reputation.

If people started saying Wu-ger was loose or something, how could he ever remarry?

Tang Xianling had no idea Jiang Yun was fretting over “the great taboo of men being together.” Jiang Yun was perpetually worried, and the slightest thing could make her jump at shadows. Tang Xianling had grown accustomed to it.

To him, Huangfu Tieniu was handsome—he just looked. It wasn’t anything like Jiang Yun imagined. Who wouldn’t enjoy admiring a good-looking guy?

In his previous life, he’d died a lonely prince—pitiful.

Tang Xianling did like men and appreciated good looks, but in reality, he was too timid to pursue anyone. He preferred handsome men with good character, and most crucially, he needed to feel that spark.

That “feeling” was too vague, and friends accused him of deliberately avoiding commitment.

Tang Xianling: Your Honor, I’m being framed!

In the kitchen, Tang Xianling was chopping bread cubes when Huangfu Tieniu’s arrival stirred up memories of his views on love. He muttered to himself: Thank goodness, thank goodness that old bastard Hu Kang is dead. If I’d come back to this life only to be stuck with such a shriveled old pervert—

“I’d rather be dead!”

Tang Xianling paused before continuing, “Even if I die, I’ll steal money from Old Tang’s pot to buy rat poison and poison that evil, skinny old bastard Hu Kang, who wants to wipe out the family line before I go.”

Jiang Yun couldn’t stand staying in the shopfront any longer and came to check on her Wu-ger. Before even entering the kitchen, she heard him say such things. Startled, she glanced around first. Seeing outsiders sitting in the shop, she finally relaxed.

Thankfully, no one had heard.

Perhaps it was the constant “Old Tang, Old Tang” chanting—Father Tang had awakened, once again bellowing curses and shouts for Jiang Yun, implying she didn’t care about him and had gone off to die somewhere.

Jiang Yun responded with a grunt and hurried to the east room.

Tang Xianling wielded the knife with such force that he could only chop the steamed buns into cubes. Once the cubes were cut, Jiang Yun came and went, fetching hot water to help her husband wash. Tang Xianling added the fatty pork he’d cut that morning into the pot. The fat sizzled and crackled, soon turning into oil and crispy bits. No need to skim the bits out. He tossed in chopped scallions and beaten duck egg, and the aroma burst forth.

He had studied his ‘special ability’ during the apocalypse.

Through his hands, the inherent aroma of food could be unlocked, allowing ingredients to fuse into the highest, most exquisite fragrance. Even non-edible leaves, stripped of bitterness and dryness, could become somewhat palatable.

Now, with natural ingredients in his hands, the results were beyond compare.

What used to be a three-star dish became a six-star masterpiece.

The duck eggs were scrambled until fluffy and golden. He scooped them out, then swirled a bit of lard in the wok. He tossed in diced steamed buns and wild greens, stir-frying them before adding the scrambled eggs and seasoning.

For the meat filling, he’d ground purchased spices into powder according to precise ratios, scooping a small spoonful into the wok. The bread cubes glistened with oil, turning slightly golden brown, each piece distinct. They blended perfectly with the duck eggs, scallions, and chopped wild greens.

Up front at the shop, Gouwa could barely sit still. Sniffing the air, he exclaimed, “Brother Tieniu, it smells amazing! Even better than the mutton buns I just ate!”

Tang Fulang had bought him mutton buns, but he couldn’t bring himself to eat them. Yet he felt awkward about taking them home for his family to try—Tang Fulang meant well, so he decided to eat them after all.

Just moments ago, he’d thought that steaming lamb bun was the most delicious thing he’d ever tasted. Now, Gouwa had already forgotten its aroma, craning his neck eagerly toward the back.

The cold, taciturn hunter Huangfu Tieniu’s stomach growled loudly at that moment.