At the entrance to the alley, a woodcutter was carrying a load of firewood to sell. Ye Tao walked with him down the alley. The woodcutter called out to passersby as they walked, and before long, someone called him over. Ye Tao continued on alone. When he got home, Lin Niangzi saw his basket and smiled, “Business was good today?”

In the days before, Ye Tao had always settled his accounts on the spot and returned the remaining goods to customers, never bringing any home. Ye Tao didn’t hide anything: “I made 42 wen.”

Lin Niangzi was surprised. “It’s only been half a day, and you’ve already earned forty-two wen?” Ye Tao pointed to the clothes in the basket. “I still have half left to finish.”

“That’s not bad at all.” Lin Niangzi glanced at the clothes in the basket. “If you’re going to work at night, don’t use an oil lamp—it’s hard on your eyes. I still have half a candle in my room; take it and use it. Tomorrow, go into town and buy a few good candles.”

Ye Tao nodded and asked her, “Are candles expensive?”

Lin Niangzi replied, “Black wax candles cost about twenty-something wen each.” Ye Tao immediately said, “I’ll have them mended by tomorrow.”

Lin Niangzi smiled and nodded. “That’s the right thing to do—it wouldn’t be worth it to ruin your eyes.” 

Ye Tao knew her eyesight wasn’t very good and was just about to offer some reassurance when Lin Niangzi asked, “Is this garment in a hurry to be mended?”

“No rush,” Ye Tao said, shaking his head. “I mended a thin silk cloth robe yesterday. An elderly lady brought a new guest over, and the robe had been turned into a nest by mice—full of holes and urine. It took quite a bit of effort. When others saw it, they brought their own clothes to be mended as well. I told them to come pick them up tomorrow, though not necessarily first thing in the morning.”

“Then you’ll just have to get up a little earlier tomorrow.” Lin Niangzi frowned when she heard him mention mouse urine, then asked, “How did you mend that? Did you embroider it?”

She had encountered similar situations before—people asking her to embroider over stains on their clothes—but Ye Tao was just starting to learn embroidery, and his skills weren’t even as good as Lian Zhenniang’s.

Fortunately, Ye Tao shook his head: “I unpicked a piece of fabric from the hem of the garment and used it to patch it up.”

Since he hadn’t simply stitched over the stain, Lin Niangzi felt relieved. She didn’t ask how it had been mended; given her own skills, she naturally knew there were experts in mending—some people were simply capable of restoring clothes to their original condition.

After all, the fact that Ye Tao’s work had drawn others to seek him out meant he must have done an excellent job.

It was a good thing he had this skill.

Ye Tao set the basket down inside the house, then remembered he still had two salted eggs—perfect for making fried rice.

The rice they’d eaten at noon hadn’t been mixed with beans. Brown rice, unlike polished white rice, had a slightly yellowish tint. Ye Tao gave it a sniff—it hadn’t gone bad—so he set it aside. He gathered some firewood from the corner of the room and went outside to prepare a fire for cooking.

The firewood was piled in the corner of their room. Ye Tao had once asked Lin Niangzi why she didn’t keep it outside by the stove, where it would be easier to reach. Lin Niangzi replied that anything that could be carried away shouldn’t be left outside, as it was easy for thieves to steal.

He hadn’t thought that even this could be stolen.

There were only a few pieces of coarse firewood left. It would certainly be enough for dinner, but tomorrow was another matter. Ye Tao thought of the woodcutter he’d encountered earlier and said to Lin Niangzi: “I just saw a wood seller—it looks like someone bought his stock.”

Lin Niangzi asked, “Was he a woodcutter with six fingers?”

“I didn’t really notice, but he was pretty stocky and about my height.”

Lin Niangzi nodded. “That’s definitely him. Don’t worry—he’ll head inside. If we run out, just let him know, and he’ll bring more tomorrow.”

Seeing that they were acquaintances, Ye Tao felt reassured and fetched some water to wash the snails.

Actually, it’s best to let the snails sit for a while so they can expel the sand, but since he was using them for fried rice—and the shells would be removed anyway—he simply boiled them to extract the meat, manually picked out the inedible parts, and blanched them again. That way, there was no need to worry about eating sand.

He still wasn’t very skilled at starting a fire, and his fire-starting tools weren’t with him today. Ye Tao crouched by the stove, using his body to block the wind, striking the flint with his fire steel while asking Lin Niangzi, “Where’s Zhenniang? Has she gone to check on the donkey again?” 

“She went to find Xiao’e to fly a kite.”

Ye Tao wiped the sweat from his brow, puzzled. “Flying kites in this weather?”

“She’s just a kid—she doesn’t know what heat is.” Though she said that, Lin Niangzi still asked Ye Tao not to put out the fire after he finished cooking the fried rice; she was going to boil some extra hot water tonight for Zhenniang to wash up.

Ye Tao agreed and poured water into the pot to boil the snails. Snails shouldn’t be boiled for too long—if overcooked, they’d be tough to chew. A quick blanch would suffice, since they’d be stir-fried shortly afterward. Boiling times varied depending on the size of the snails, so Ye Tao started with the smallest ones and worked his way up to the largest.

While he was boiling the snails, the tall, six-fingered woodcutter arrived as expected. He had already sold all his firewood, so Lin Niangzi placed an order with him for the next day. Ye Tao pricked up his ears to listen; firewood wasn’t cheap—a pole cost one hundred wen, weighing roughly a hundred jin, and the money he had on hand was only enough for half a pole.

He blanched the snails of all sizes and quickly scooped them out. Since Ye Tao couldn’t find any skewers, he used a needle to pry the snails out of their shells, removing the inedible innards and leaving only the meat. Two of the larger ones had yellow roe inside, which he set aside separately.

Ye Tao bent down to look into the stove; the flames danced, and a wave of heat washed over him, causing him to lean back slightly.

Usually, fried rice calls for ingredients like corn kernels, carrots, and shiitake mushrooms, but he had none of those on hand—only half a gourd left over from lunch.

A bottle gourd can also be used to make fried rice. Ye Tao diced the bottle gourd and set it aside. He brought out the rice and used his damp hands to fluff it up, so that the grains would remain distinct when fried.

He needed to separate the yolk from the salted egg. He tapped the egg gently against the rim of the wok, but as soon as it made contact, he knew something was wrong—the salted egg was raw.

Most of the salted duck eggs Ye Tao had bought in the past were already cooked; they could be eaten after warming them up, or even cold. When he needed raw egg yolks for making zongzi or similar dishes, he’d have to go to the market specifically to buy the kind with muddy shells. Naturally, he never expected that the clean salted duck egg Cook Qiao had casually handed him would actually be raw. 

If it had been cooked, he could have crumbled the white and stir-fried it directly into the rice, but now that wasn’t an option. He’d have to set it aside and steam the yolk separately.

The water he’d used to blanch the snails earlier hadn’t been poured out yet—it would come in handy.

Ye Tao picked out the clam meat and spread it over the salted egg white; this way, once steamed, it would count as a dish in its own right. Otherwise, given the cost of firewood, using an entire pot of water just to steam egg yolks would be too extravagant.

The snails were cooked in the same earthenware pot used for cooking rice, which comes with a matching earthenware steamer that can be placed directly on top for steaming.

Steaming the eggs in boiling water didn’t take long. As soon as the lid was lifted, a salty, fishy aroma wafted out along with the steam. Most people raised by the sea can tolerate this smell, especially since it’s a salty, savory fishy scent—not at all unpleasant. 

Since the eggs were steamed with salted eggs, Ye Tao hadn’t added any salt, but he was still worried they might be too salty. Just as he was about to take a taste, he heard Zhenniang call out, “Xiaotao, are we having fish today?”

Ye Tao put down his chopsticks and turned to see Zhenniang being held by Chen Chuan—though “held” wasn’t quite the right word; he was pinching her under the arms and holding her high in the air, while Zhenniang clutched her own shoe. 

He paused for a moment before saying, “It’s not fish—it’s clams.”

Just then, Lin Niangzi also spotted Zhenniang and told Chen Chuan to put her down immediately. Chen Chuan set her on a stool, where Zhenniang propped herself up on her elbows with her feet propped up.

“What happened to her shoes? And why are her clothes so dirty?” Lin Niangzi asked Chen Chuan. Chen Chuan nodded toward Zhenniang, and she promptly explained, “The kite fell into the river. Xiao’e said it was made of thin silk cloth, so it wouldn’t get ruined if it got wet—we just had to fish it out and let it air-dry…”

Before she could finish, Lin Niangzi cut her off. Clutching her chest, she raised her voice—something she rarely did—“Did you go into the water?!” 

“It wasn’t me—it was Xiao’e,” Zhenniang corrected. “Xiao’e went in and fell; I went to pull her out.”

After Zhenniang pulled Xiao’e to her feet, she stumbled and fell herself. The water by the riverbank wasn’t deep, but she ended up half-submerged in the mud. When Chen Chuan saw this, his heart skipped a beat; he sprinted over and lifted both children up, one in each hand. 

Xiao’e was sent home first. Worried that Zhenniang’s feet would get wrinkled from wearing wet shoes for too long, Linniang simply had her take off her shoes and carried her back.

Covered head to toe in mud—even in her hair—a quick wash with hot water wouldn’t be enough. Before it got completely dark, Lin Niangzi gathered her things and took Zhenniang to the Public Bathhouse. 

“Xiaotao, A-Chuan, you two eat first.”

Ye Tao was indeed a bit hungry, and since Chen Chuan had been doing physical labor, he must be even hungrier. Lin Niangzi was probably taking Zhenniang to bathe—who knew how long that would take?

It wouldn’t be right to just sit there waiting, so he nodded: “Then I’ll keep it warm for you.”

Lin Niangzi agreed and hurriedly led Zhenniang out.

Ye Tao carefully set the earthenware pot aside and replaced it with an iron wok. He heated the pan, added oil, and waited until the oil began to ripple. Then he crushed the freshly steamed egg yolks and tossed them into the pan, stirring constantly. Soon, a frothy foam formed, and the salty, savory aroma of the egg yolks was released by the high heat. Chen Chuan looked over.

Ye Tao looked a bit smug: “It’ll be ready in a moment. Go wash your hands and take a break.”

Chen Chuan wasn’t really idle, though. First, he brought the steamed clams and salted eggs to the table, then carried a bucket to the well to fetch water.

Ye Tao added the diced gourd to the wok and stir-fried it until just tender, then added the snail meat and rice one after another, drizzled soy sauce over it, and stirred everything together until well combined. By the time Chen Chuan had brought back two buckets of water, the golden-hued salted egg yolk and snail meat fried rice was ready.

Apart from two shallow plates, the household used only coarse earthenware bowls—all the same size for both rice and dishes, with a rim diameter about half the length of a palm. Ye Tao served Chen Chuan a huge bowl heaped to the brim, and he filled his own bowl to the top as well. The remainder was covered and left to steam in the pot. The fire in the hearth hadn’t gone out yet; he shoveled ash over it to smother the flames, sealed the opening, and left only a narrow slit.

By Ye Tao’s standards, this fried rice wasn’t perfect. There was too little egg yolk and too much rice, so the characteristic sandy texture wasn’t very pronounced; one had to savor it carefully to detect the egg yolk flavor. The egg—the soul of fried rice—wasn’t even included, and the shrimp had been replaced with a mix of assorted snails, many of which were tough and difficult to chew.

He thought Chen Chuan was going to nitpick, but to his surprise, Chen Chuan buried his head in his bowl and ate voraciously. Seeing this, Ye Tao felt even hungrier and began to wolf down his own rice. Both men were at an age when they had hearty appetites, and for a moment, the only sound in the room was the soft clatter of bowls and chopsticks.

After eating until he was about seven or eight parts full—when he could see the bottom of his bowl—Ye Tao finally slowed down and remembered to ask Chen Chuan, “What’s a ‘Public Bathhouse’? Is it for bathing and washing your hair?”

Chen Chuan was still eating big mouthfuls and didn’t have time to talk; he just nodded. A moment later, after swallowing the rice in his mouth, he said, “There are people who scrub your back and do your laundry.”

So it was a public bathhouse.

Ye Tao got up to get a second helping. The pot was still slightly warm—just right—but the rice at the bottom had started to burn a little. He scooped out a bowl of rice from the bottom and, back in the room, gave Chen Chuan more than half of it.

Chen Chuan said nothing and continued eating.

The grains of rice at the bottom of the pot had clumped together slightly, carrying a toasty aroma—a unique flavor. The largest clump was in Ye Tao’s bowl. As he crunched away at it, he watched Chen Chuan eat. When Chen Chuan finally put down his chopsticks, Ye Tao asked, “Are you full? If not, I can cook some more congee—we still have pickled vegetables.”

Chen Chuan took a sip of water. “I’m full.”

Once Ye Tao had finished eating, he gave Chen Chuan the breakdown of expenses: “I went to the market this morning and bought one dou of rice and two dou of wheat. It cost three hundred and seventy wen—Aunt Lin covered the rest.”

Chen Chuan asked him, “How much was the rice?”

“One hundred sixty wen per dou.” Ye Tao thought back to the snails that cost three wen a bag and the vegetables that cost just a few wen for a large bunch, and felt that these prices were truly at odds with one another.

“Has it always been this expensive?”

“It’s cheap in a bumper year. A few years ago, when prices were at their lowest, even mature japonica rice cost no more than 100 wen. Last year, when prices were at their highest, 200 wen would only buy you stale grain.”

Ye Tao was astonished. He wanted to ask if the authorities weren’t doing anything about it, but then he thought of Officer Ding—even if they intervened, it would likely be of limited effect.

Chen Chuan, unaware of his thoughts, counted out thirty wen from his money pouch and handed them to him: “I won’t be back tomorrow, and maybe not the day after either. No need to cook a meal for me.”

Ye Tao knew this was money for groceries—and a bit more than before—and thought to himself that he could buy a few eggs to keep on hand. He took the money and, offhand, asked, “Where are you going?”

Chen Chuan glanced at him but said nothing. Ye Tao thought he hadn’t heard clearly, so he tried to clarify his accent and repeated the question. Only then did Chen Chuan say, “I’ve got a job tonight.”

There weren’t many legitimate jobs at the port at night, but Ye Tao didn’t know that; he just assumed it was a regular night shift, so he went, “Oh,” and didn’t ask any further.