Before returning to his room, Ye Tao carefully checked both inside and outside the house to make sure all the pots and pans had been brought inside. He waited until Lin Niangzi had taken Zhenniang back to her room and locked the door before going back to his own room.

He locked the doors and windows as well, but then decided to open the window after all.

This was the first time he’d slept here alone. The neighborhood didn’t seem very safe, so Ye Tao didn’t sleep very soundly. He was fine on his own—given his height and strong build, he should be able to overpower most men—but he was very worried that he might not hear anything if something happened to Aunt Lin and Zhenniang.

From what Lin Niangzi had said, it seemed she wanted Chen Chuan to rent a house in the outer harbor and live there. If that happened, it would become common for him not to return home. Ye Tao would have to look after Aunt Lin and Zhenniang for him—a heavy responsibility.

After tossing and turning all night, Ye Tao finally felt at ease when he heard the rooster crow and fell into a deep sleep.

That morning, Ye Tao was woken up by Zhenniang’s call. He lingered in bed, but since the firewood was stored in their room, Lin Niangzi couldn’t even light a fire to cook unless he opened the door.

Lately, with Ye Tao around, Zhenniang had gotten used to having breakfast and was now starving. She poked her head in through the window and called out, “Xiaotao, time to get up~.” 

“The sun’s already high in the sky!”

This was a phrase Ye Tao had used when Zhenniang slept in—and she’d picked it up.

As soon as Ye Tao looked at the sky, he knew he’d overslept. Usually by this time, they’d already finished breakfast and were getting ready to set up their stall, so he quickly sat up and walked over to open the door, wondering what to eat for breakfast.

But Lin Niangzi had already returned with breakfast: several plump, white steamed buns and a large bowl of soy milk.

The soy milk was bought from the soy milk shop—two wen per large bowl. Lin Niangzi had carried it home in her basket, and even though she walked carefully, she still spilled a little.

“Xiaotao, hurry and bring a bowl.”

Ye Tao fetched a bowl; dividing the bowl of soy milk into two and a half bowls made it easier to serve.

Zhenniang was munching on a vegetarian-filled steamed bun, her hands covered in vegetable scraps. She licked her fingers and took a sip of soy milk, causing droplets of oil to float to the surface.

Lin Niangzi closed her eyes briefly, then took another bowl, divided the portion she and Zhenniang were sharing, and scooped a small spoonful of sugar into Zhenniang’s bowl. Ye Tao was just smiling when he suddenly noticed something was off in his mouth—the bun tasted sour.

He took a closer look. The filling wasn’t pickled cabbage; it seemed to contain diced bamboo shoots, dried tofu, and some mixed wild greens and leafy vegetables. No matter how he looked at it, it shouldn’t have been sour. He hesitated a bit: “Aunt Lin, these buns seem to have gone bad—they’re sour.”

Lin Niangzi took a look at the bun he was holding—pointed at both ends and bulging in the middle—and laughed. “This is a sour filling. Haven’t you ever had it before? It’s a dish from Lin’an, and it’s supposed to be sour.”

Since it was edible, Ye Tao went ahead and ate it. To be honest, although it was a bit unusual, the taste was actually not bad—much richer in flavor than the pickled cabbage filling.

This sour filling used leavened dough. Ye Tao pinched it between his fingers and asked Lin Niangzi, “Aunt Lin, I’d like to make some bread. Do you know where I can find sourdough starter?”

“Sourdough starter…” Lin Niangzi couldn’t think of an answer right away. Fujian had always been a rice-growing region; people mostly bought their bread, and even when they made it themselves—as Ye Tao had done the day before—they used unleavened dough.

The weather in Quanzhou is hot and humid, making it difficult to maintain a sourdough starter; the slightest mistake could spoil it. Ordinary people might never even have heard of it, and even among those who run restaurants, only those specialized in making noodle dishes. Chen Chuan’s father didn’t keep any, and neither did Matchmaker Zhang’s family.

Lin Niangzi thought it over and could only come up with one person: “There’s a female cook near the drying yard not far from the banyan tree. I’ve heard she knows how to make noodle dishes—maybe she keeps a starter.”

As soon as Ye Tao heard “female cook,” he asked, “Does she happen to be surnamed Qiao?”

“Do you know her?”

“Last time, Granny Qiao brought her here to have her clothes mended.”

Lin Niangzi laughed, “Since you recognize her, that makes things easy. Trade some flour with her for a bit. If she doesn’t have any, we’ll go buy some at the bun shop.”

Since he’d gotten up late that day, the hemp sacks that were supposed to be delivered in the morning weren’t sent out until noon. Knowing how expensive hemp sacks were, he couldn’t in good conscience take advantage of the situation, so he also mended the sack the young master had given him to hold flour—along with that small bag, making a total of ten.

The young master wasn’t there, so the Flour Mill Owner handled the payment. He didn’t take the small bag and paid two wen extra, making a total of twenty. As he handed over the money, he said to Ye Tao,

“My surname is Zhao. Come by once every half-month from now on, and I’ll still pay you two wen per sack.”

Ye Tao asked happily, “Did you pay me for all of them?”

Mrs. Zhao didn’t commit to anything: “I’ll only pay you if the repairs are done well.”

Ye Tao replied immediately, “I guarantee they’ll be just as good as these.”

This time, he’d made up 26 hemp sacks, earning 54 wen, and even got a small flour sack for free. If he could pull this off twice a month, that would amount to over a hundred wen.

A steady income of over a hundred wen was quite good for Ye Tao at this stage.

The pleated skirt he’d started dyeing yesterday wasn’t finished yet. Sitting under the banyan tree, Ye Tao hummed an unfamiliar tune as he finished the hem.

A “dian” skirt is a two-tone skirt, with one color serving as the main color and the other as an accent. This skirt was originally garnet yellow and red, but I’ve now altered it to tea green and garnet yellow.

The alteration isn’t difficult—it’s just a matter of unpicking and resewing—and it’s not as tedious as mending. It’s just a lot of work, almost as much as making a new skirt from scratch; all those straight stitches take quite a bit of time.

By the time he finished the skirt, the sun was already setting. Ye Tao rubbed his aching wrists and handed the skirt to the young woman who had been waiting for a while.

There weren’t any “tricky jobs” today. Aside from this twenty-wen skirt, there were only a few small odd jobs, and he earned a total of seventy wen. 

Before he knew it, the copper coins in his money pouch had surpassed a hundred, and he still had a little left over from the money Chen Chuan had given him. Ye Tao bought a bunch of green beans, and as he passed by the bean shop, he saw they were selling bean sprouts. Surprised, he asked, “Uncle Zhou, you’re selling bean sprouts too?”

Mr. Zhou gave a wry smile. “These beans were soaked too long and sprouted. We just had to make the best of it.” Ye Tao asked with a smile, “How much are they?”

“Three wen per jin—as long as I don’t lose money.”

Most street vendors don’t have scales and usually sell by the jin, but the bean shop did. Ye Tao weighed out one jin of bean sprouts and bought a piece of dried tofu as well, spending seven wen in the process. He had just one wen left from the money Chen Chuan had given him for groceries.

Stir-fried dried tofu with bean sprouts, or simply stir-fried green beans—both could be used as fillings for pancakes. Ye Tao had already decided early that morning: tonight, he’d have pancakes.

Zhenniang had never eaten laobing at home. When Ye Tao mentioned the pancakes, she asked him, “Brother Xiaotao, are we having soup noodles again today?”

“Soup noodles” are simply noodles; any flour-based dish can be called “noodles,” and “soup noodles” refers to noodles served in broth. Zhenniang was still young, and Ye Tao’s way of speaking was often different from theirs, so Zhenniang’s understanding of the language was a bit confused. 

“Do you want to eat noodles, Zhenniang?” 

“Yes.”

Ye Tao teased her, “Your older brother is coming home today. We can’t just leave the noodles out—by the time he gets back, they’ll have gone cold and turned into a big lump.” 

Zhenniang said, “Well, then I won’t eat them.”

Only then did Ye Tao say, “We’ll have fried flatbreads today.”

Lin Niangzi asked him, “Have you gotten the sourdough starter yet?”

“No, I didn’t have time today, and Granny Qiao didn’t come either. I’ll go ask her tomorrow. Tonight we’ll make rolled flatbread—no need to let the dough rise.”

Lin Niangzi had actually eaten rolled flatbread before—during the Qingming Festival outing, when their lunch boxes contained cold dishes to eat with thin pancakes—but the ones Ye Tao was making weren’t thin pancakes. For one thing, he didn’t have the skill; for another, he was worried they wouldn’t be filling enough.

Zhenniang watched intently from the side, so Ye Tao called out to her, “Zhenniang, crack two eggs for me.”

Zhenniang had never beaten eggs before and was a little nervous, so Ye Tao cracked open an egg and handed her the chopsticks and the bowl: “Have you seen me beat eggs before? Just beat them until they’re mixed.”

Zhenniang adopted a solemn demeanor, her small hands clinking as she beat the eggs with the chopsticks.

The first pancake didn’t turn out quite right—it was a bit burnt. Ye Tao brushed off the charred bits from the surface and ate it himself.

The rest was easy: he flattened the dough portions into round flatbread a little over a palm’s width, carefully placed them in the iron wok, and brushed them with a layer of beaten egg just before removing them from the heat to enhance the flavor. The vegetables had been stir-fried earlier, so Ye Tao laid the flatbread out on a shallow plate and let Zhenniang help herself to the vegetables to roll them up.

The last two flatbreads were for Chen Chuan. Ye Tao kneaded the remaining dough into a ball, divided it in half, and split the beaten egg evenly between the two portions. These two flatbreads turned out large and thick—more than enough to fill anyone up.

Ye Tao had kneaded quite a bit of dough and made many flatbreads; even after the three of them had finished eating, there was still plenty left. Lin Niangzi said, “Next time you want to eat rolled flatbread, let me know earlier so I can cook a pot of thin porridge.”

Ye Tao realized, “Won’t they be a little dry? This flatbread should keep fine overnight. We can cook a pot of porridge tomorrow and eat it for breakfast.” Lin Niangzi said, “Take some firewood to my room for a bit. I’ll get up early tomorrow to cook it, and you can sleep in a little longer.”

Ye Tao felt a little embarrassed. He’d gotten up late today and couldn’t guarantee he’d be able to get up early tomorrow, so he obediently carried an armful of firewood over.

Chen Chuan came home late, so Lin Niangzi didn’t wait for him; she went to bed first with Zhenniang. Ye Tao couldn’t stay awake much longer either, so he fell asleep with the door left ajar, not fully locked.

In the dead of night, the faint sound of the door creaking open was magnified infinitely. Ye Tao’s eyes snapped open. He saw a blurry figure and, yawning, sat up: “What are you carrying?”

“I bought five dou of rice.”

“That much?” Ye Tao got out of bed to lend a hand, but before he could even put his shoes on, Chen Chuan had already set it down. “Go back to sleep. I’m going out to wash up.” 

The night breeze was cool. When Ye Tao woke up, she wasn’t very sleepy anymore. Slipping on her slippers, she followed behind him: “You go take a shower. I’ll warm up some flatbread for you. It’s late at night—it’s not good to eat cold food.”

Ye Tao had heard from his grandmother that when he was a child, one of his uncles had caught a cold and fallen ill. He had almost recovered, but in the middle of the night, he drank a bowl of cold water because he was thirsty, and his condition worsened until he passed away.

Because of this, whether Ye Tao was sick or not, his grandmother never allowed her to drink cold water in the middle of the night. 

The charcoal in the stove hadn’t gone out completely; with a little blowing, it flared up again. Ye Tao took the opportunity to light the lamp as well.

The oil in the house was nearly gone; the oil lamp held only a thin layer, and the flame was faint, illuminating just a corner of the room through the lampshade. Ye Tao wrapped the vegetables in a flatbread to warm them up.

After Chen Chuan finished washing up, he left his shirt open at the front. Ye Tao glanced at him and caught a faint glimpse of his toned waist and abdomen before looking away: “With all this rice, where did you buy it?”

“There’s a Great Flour Mill by the sea. Nine hundred sixty wen per shi of rice.”

Ye Tao was so shocked she could barely contain her voice: “That cheap? Then why didn’t you buy more? If you couldn’t carry it all, you should’ve asked me—I could’ve helped carry it.”

“That’s over sixty wen cheaper per dou than at the big market—it’s even cheaper than wheat.”

Chen Chuan seemed to smile: “It’s from Champa. The harvest was good this year, and it might get even cheaper in the future.” 

Hearing this, Ye Tao felt relieved—there really was no need to buy too much. Since they were by the sea, with a hot and humid climate, stockpiling too much would make it prone to insect infestation and mold.

Chen Chuan was eating a rolled flatbread, which made Ye Tao a little hungry too. Not wanting to brush his teeth in the middle of the night, he had no choice but to hold off. He lay down for a while, then sat up again, took the money out of his wallet and counted it.

Of the thirty wen Chen Chuan had given him, one wen remained; he set that aside first, and the rest was his own.

Business had actually been so-so these past two days; he’d only earned 33 wen from odd jobs here and there, but sewing hemp sacks paid well—54 wen. After deducting a small amount for expenses, Ye Tao now had 132 wen in his possession.

He counted them carefully twice, then stacked them in piles of ten and tied the hundred wen together with a piece of hemp string.

Seeing this, Chen Chuan also took off his money pouch and handed it to him—it was packed to the brim. Ye Tao was completely puzzled: “What’s this for? Are you giving it to me?”

“So you can count it.” 

Ye Tao felt like smashing the money pouch right into his forehead.