The next day, no one called for Chen Chuan. Ye Tao tiptoed out the door, and after breakfast, he headed to the banyan tree as usual, carrying his basket.

Today, Granny Qiao arrived early, carrying a small chair and a large basket of green beans. As soon as she saw Ye Tao, she greeted him and asked how business had been over the past couple of days. Ye Tao replied that it had been okay, then added in a low voice, “Prices have gone up a bit.”

That lampshade had only a small hole; according to his usual pricing, he would have charged two or three wen at most, but this time he charged six wen—because it was a mending job, the customer paid without hesitation.

Granny Qiao nodded with satisfaction: “That’s how it should be.”

Ye Tao still remembered the sourdough starter and asked her, “Granny Qiao, does Cook Qiao have any sourdough starter at home? I’d like to borrow some to make my own.”

Granny Qiao paused as she sorted through the vegetables: “What do you need sourdough starter for? It’s not easy to maintain. Do you know how to make bread?”

Ye Tao replied, “I know a little—I’ve made it before. My aunt is frail, so she needs to eat more nourishing food, and wheat-based dishes are easier to digest.”

Granny Qiao was advanced in age and had given birth to four children, though she’d only raised two to adulthood. Although her son and daughter were dutiful, she still worried about them constantly. Hearing Ye Tao say this, she was somewhat moved.

“It’s admirable for a young gentleman like you to be so filial and thoughtful.”

Ye Tao thought to himself that there was actually another reason he couldn’t quite bring himself to mention: wheat was cheap. When eating rice, Aunt Lin often said to mix in some beans, but in reality, neither she nor Zhenniang liked it that way. Ye Tao had tried it a few times and found it no longer novel; he still preferred plain white rice.

However, the rice Chen Chuan bought yesterday was even cheaper than wheat. If things stayed this way, they’d eat more rice in the future—after all, grinding wheat into flour resulted in quite a bit of waste. Grinding the flour didn’t cost anything because the sifted wheat bran went to the mill.

Granny Qiao said, “I’ll talk to her as soon as I get back today. Don’t worry—I’ll definitely make it happen. I know my niece well; she’s not the stingy type.”

This morning, there were only two small jobs. One was for a child who’d torn his schoolbag while playing on the way to school; the two children chipped in two wen to have it mended. 

The other was a loafer running an errand whose hat was damaged—actually, it was just a small hole that would be barely noticeable if covered up a bit. But since he’d brought it in, Ye Tao asked, “Do you want it mended quickly, or do you want it mended well?”

The idler’s gaze swept over him, suspecting he was trying to drive up the price. It was just a tiny hole, not even a finger’s width wide—nothing more than a loose thread. What was so special about it?

But perhaps it was because Ye Tao’s gaze was so clear and free of any hint of a merchant’s scheming. Since he had nothing else to do at the moment, the man patiently asked, “So, what do you say?”

“If you want it done quickly, I can just sew two stitches using the hidden-stitch method—the stitches will be almost invisible. But if you want it done properly, I’ll have to take it apart from the inside out and re-sew it entirely. If I’m not mistaken, this hat has already been mended once before.” Ye Tao held up the hat and pointed it out to him. “The stitches from the original maker and the previous mender are different—look, some are looser here, tighter there. And mine are different from both of theirs.”

The idler’s interest was piqued, and he asked, “How much would a good repair cost? I only have one hour at most.”

“Eight wen, and it won’t take a full hour,” said Ye Tao.

Eight wen wasn’t expensive compared to the price of the hat, but just to mend such a small hole… In the end, the idler paid the fee and stayed nearby to watch how he went about the repair.

Ye Tao first deftly unpicked the stitches. Sure enough, he hadn’t been mistaken—the hat had been mended once before, and it had been quite a major job. It wasn’t very noticeable from the front, but once unpicked, it became very obvious: the seam allowances were of varying widths.

Hats are different from clothing—shape is crucial. You can’t iron them into shape, so you definitely can’t make the seam allowance any narrower; that would leave marks on the brim, which wouldn’t look good. Besides, part of the edge has already been trimmed short, so if you make the seam allowance any narrower, you won’t be able to sew it together—you’ll just have to go with a wider one. 

To make it as sturdy as possible, Ye Tao sewed one stitch at a time, back and forth. Perhaps because he’d been doing a lot of hand-sewing lately, this method didn’t slow him down, and the repair was finished in no time.

The shape of the repaired hat didn’t change much, but the outline of the brim became much clearer—it looked as if there were a ridge along the edge. Yet when pinched, it remained soft; nothing had been stuffed inside.

The merchant marveled, “How come the hat looks so much better after you mended it?!”

Granny Qiao had actually caught on to the secret, but she didn’t say anything; she just smiled and complimented the young gentleman, “That’s right—it makes you look even more handsome.”

The man glanced at Ye Tao. In their line of work—though they were technically just errand runners—not just anyone could do it; there were strict requirements for appearance and attire. He’d always been confident in these areas, but standing before Ye Tao today, he finally understood what it meant to pale in comparison.

Hearing Granny Qiao compliment him on his good looks, he actually felt a bit unworthy of the praise.

He had no hard feelings toward Ye Tao; on the contrary, he felt a desire to befriend him: “My name is Wang Xing. I’m a regular at the Fanke Lou.”

Ye Tao replied, “My name is Ye Tao. I usually set up my stall here. If you ever need anything mended or want to have clothes made, feel free to come find me.”

After Wang Xing left, Ye Tao spent a while embroidering small flowers. He’d been busy the past couple of days, and if Aunt Lin hadn’t asked this morning how the silk handkerchief was coming along, he would have almost forgotten the matter; taking advantage of a bit of free time today, he quickly took it out to practice.

Granny Qiao had picked out the green beans and was about to take them to the river to wash them when Ye Tao stretched and got up to help her.

Green beans are long beans; they’re so long that half hang inside the basket and half dangle outside, like a green waterfall. The basket was full, yet it felt light.

Granny Qiao said there was no need: “You’re running a business—you can’t just walk away from it. I don’t have much else to do, so I’ll just make a few extra trips and get them washed.”

Ye Tao laughed, “I don’t even have a stall yet. If anyone really comes looking for me, Uncle Hong will take care of them for me. Besides, it’s so hot out—I’d like to take a dip in the river to cool off.”

Old Man Hong, standing nearby, also told him to go ahead without worry, and only then did Granny Qiao give in.

Ye Tao placed the string beans, basket and all, into the water to rinse them, then asked her, “What are you going to do with so many string beans?”

“Well, there’s plenty. The sun’s been shining these past few days—clear skies one after another. This time of year, such good weather is rare even once every few years. I’m sun-drying some to eat later. If the sun isn’t out, I’ll make pickled green beans.”

Pickled green beans are sour green beans. His grandmother used to make them, and Ye Tao really liked them—they’re great stir-fried with ground pork or simply stir-fried on their own. Unfortunately, he never learned how to make them, so he asked right away:

“Is it hard to make pickled green beans?”

“What’s so hard about it? It’s much simpler than pickling vegetables. When others ask me about pickling, I explain it to them the same way, but hardly anyone manages to get it right. As for green beans, on the other hand, anyone can learn.”

“Wash the green beans, drain them well—it’s up to you whether you cut them or not—sprinkle them with salt, seal them in a jar, and leave them for three to five days, and they’ll be ready.”1

It sounded simple enough, so Ye Tao decided to go home and give it a try.

Green beans were everywhere this time of year, so he bought two big handfuls. He’d originally intended to pay for them himself, but as soon as he saw Chen Chuan back home, he remembered Chen Chuan’s despicable behavior from the night before and held out his hand, asking him to reimburse him: “Fifteen wen—for the beans.”

Seeing such large handfuls of green beans, Chen Chuan looked a bit disgusted: “So many green beans—are you going to eat them for a meal?”

“Huh? Don’t you like them? Is there anything you don’t like?” Ye Tao was surprised and reached out her hand again. “I’m the cook—I decide what we eat. Hurry up and pay.” 

Chen Chuan glanced at the green beans again, then turned his head away and counted out the money for him. Ye Tao took it and added, “We’re out of oil, too. If you’re free today, go buy some.”

Ye Tao did have plans—he had to set up his stall as usual that afternoon. Earlier, when Granny Qiao had seen him mending Xiao Tong’s schoolbag, she’d mentioned that her grandson’s schoolbag was worn out too and asked Ye Tao to make one for him, saying she’d bring the fabric after lunch.

Granny Qiao was getting on in years and needed to take a nap in the afternoon. Ye Tao arrived early and sat under the banyan tree, yawning as he listened to the cicadas chirp. Working on and off, he finally finished the first piece of embroidery Lin Niangzi had assigned him.

Up close, the stitches looked a bit messy, but from a distance, it was passable—it resembled a flower.

Just as he was feeling quite pleased with himself, a hand reached out from beside him, took the handkerchief, and held it up close to examine it carefully: “Did you learn this embroidery from Zhenniang?” 

Chen Chuan had appeared without Ye Tao noticing.

As soon as Ye Tao saw it was him, he immediately reached out to snatch the handkerchief back: “What’s it to you? Give it back!”

Chen Chuan didn’t give it back—not only that, but taking advantage of the fact that he was a little taller, he jumped up on the spot, stretched out his long arm, and hung it on a tree branch. 

Ye Tao instinctively reached for it, but after two failed attempts, his face turned red, and he snapped, “How old are you, still pulling stunts like this? Get it down for me—if the thread’s snagged, you’ll have to buy it.”

Chen Chuan glanced up at him. “Who on earth would want this handkerchief?”

“That’s none of your business. If I can’t sell it, I’ll use it myself—and you’ll pay for the damage anyway,” he said, seeing that Chen Chuan remained unmoved. Then he added, “You’ll have to pay me ten wen just to get it down.”

“What kind of logic is that?” Chen Chuan asked, taken aback.

“My logic.” Ye Tao stared at the handkerchief, gauged the height, took a few steps back, ran up, and leaped—all in one fluid motion. But his fingertips didn’t touch the soft silk handkerchief; instead, they landed on a sturdy, muscular arm.

As the owner of that arm landed, he instinctively reached out to steady Ye Tao, preventing him from falling backward after the collision and instead causing him to tumble into the man’s embrace. The man’s intense body heat carried the delicate fragrance of soapberry, and the scent unique to youth washed over Ye Tao before quickly fading away.

The sudden turn of events left Ye Tao dazed; he stood rooted to the spot for a moment. Chen Chuan took half a step back, holding the handkerchief up to the light to examine it, and once again wore a look of disgust: “Ten wen for this?” 

Ye Tao snapped out of his daze and snapped, “What’s with that look? This fabric Aunt Lin gave me—it’s silk!” He reached out and snatched the silk handkerchief back, and this time Chen Chuan handed it to him.

He examined it carefully and found that it was indeed completely undamaged—not a single scratch—so he put it away with a sigh of regret and looked him straight in the eye: “What are you doing here? Did you buy the oil?”

Chen Chuan sidestepped the question: “Zhenniang said she wanted to eat fish, so I went to buy some.”

Ye Tao understood—so he’d come to order dinner.

But Zhenniang hadn’t mentioned wanting fish these past couple of days?

He looked at Chen Chuan suspiciously: “You’re the one who wants to eat it, aren’t you?” Then he’d ask Zhenniang if she wanted fish, and she’d surely say yes. Chen Chuan turned and walked away without a second thought: “I’m going to buy some fish.”

Ye Tao called out to him, “Wait.”

Chen Chuan stopped. Ye Tao had intended to tell him there was a leaf stuck to his head, but seeing him standing there stiffly—more than half a head taller than himself—and recalling how he’d just teased people by taking advantage of his height, he changed what he was about to say.

“Look down.”

Chen Chuan looked surprised, raising one eyebrow slightly. He studied Ye Tao for a moment, as if weighing his words, but finally lowered his head.

His towering figure somehow took on a touch of docility.

Ye Tao reached up to pluck the leaf, placed it in the palm of his hand, blew gently to make it fall, and—whether out of provocation or for some other reason—flashed him a smile before sitting back down, feeling quite content. 

He hadn’t even settled into his seat yet when someone ruffled his hair. 

Ye Tao jumped up again in a fit of anger, but Chen Chuan had already run off. Ye Tao grabbed a small pebble at random and threw it at him, but missed. Just as he was about to try again, he saw Old Hong.

He was staring at him. He quickly dropped the pebble, gave the old man a smile, and thought to himself, “It’s all Chen Chuan’s fault—he’s made me act so childish.” 

Before long, Chen Chuan walked by again, carrying the fish, and asked if he wanted to buy some tofu.

“Why would I buy tofu when I’ve got a carp?” Ye Tao’s gaze fell on Chen Chuan’s hands. “Why did you suddenly buy such a big fish?”

Small fish and shrimp were always cheap, but a fish this big would cost at least thirty wen. He could have just bought a few small fish—why buy such an expensive one? Was he out of his mind?

His expression spoke volumes, so Chen Chuan explained in a low voice, “Chen Siwu’s coming over for dinner tonight.” Ye Tao recalled the fish Chen Siwu had brought last time and reluctantly accepted it.

Old Man Hong was staring at him again. Ye Tao didn’t understand—what was he looking at this time? He hadn’t done anything inappropriate for his age. Not to mention, Old Man Hong was puzzled too.

Ye Tao had mentioned that he had a younger brother at home—his aunt’s son—but brothers don’t play like that. It’s more like a contest to see who can pee the farthest; clearly, they were just flirting.

Fujian is mountainous with poor soil, unable to support a large population; fortunately, it borders the sea, so many people make their living at sea.

But the sea is merciless, and accidents at sea are common. He’d seen widows and orphans struggling to make ends meet, with the mothers taking it upon themselves to find a “big brother” for their sons.

Though they were called brothers, in reality, they were no different from a married couple.

Ye Tao’s situation was a bit different. It was obvious to anyone with eyes that he was not the breadwinner of his household, and judging by his accent, he was clearly from out of town.

The more Old Man Hong thought about it, the more confused he became. Surely he couldn’t have spent money to bring home a male spouse to support? Since this was a private matter that couldn’t be made public, he buried his doubts deep within his heart.