Chapter Bonanza (8/10)

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“Who wants to see you?” Ye Tao flatly denied it.

“Well, I want to see you,” Chen Chuan changed his tone and stepped inside. “Chen Siwu said you made a new outfit.”

Ye Tao：“……”

Suddenly finding this man a bit annoying, he closed the door with just the right amount of force, his face expressionless: “I’ve been busy today; I haven’t finished it.” The half-finished vest lay on the bamboo cot—the shape was already there, but the edges hadn’t been finished yet.

Chen Chuan picked it up and took a look: “Is it the same as yours?”

“Don’t touch that.” Ye Tao strode over and snatched the garment from his hand. “The needle’s still in it. If it falls on the floor, you’ll never find it.”

The thread was almost used up. Ye Tao tied off the end, removed the needle, and tucked it into her sewing kit. Her father tidied up the things on the bed, then turned to look at Chen Chuan.

“Why on earth did you come back?”

Chen Chuan was already wearing his new shoes, and the things he needed to bring had been sent back by Chen Siwu yesterday. Coming back this late meant he wouldn’t see Aunt Lin or Zhenniang. Ye Tao couldn’t think of a reason for his return—surely he couldn’t have come just for the clothes… he’d made?

Chen Chuan pulled a wax-paper pack from his bosom. “What’s that?”

Chen Chuan unwrapped it, and Ye Tao saw… “Dried seaweed?”

Chen Chuan corrected him: “First-harvest dried seaweed.”

Ye Tao took a deep breath and felt that talking to him was a complete waste of time.

Chen Chuan set the dried seaweed down, gently brushed against his hand, and whispered, “Nothing in particular—I just wanted to come back.” 

“Oh.” Ye Tao curled his fingers, avoiding Chen Chuan’s gaze. “Well, have you eaten yet tonight? Would you like me to cook you a bowl of noodles?” After saying this, Ye Tao paused to reflect—why did he keep asking this?

But—whether it was a figment of his imagination or not—Chen Chuan seemed to have lost a bit of weight. Ye Tao studied him closely; his face had never been particularly plump to begin with, but now, his jawline was even more pronounced.

Chen Chuan said, “Don’t worry about it; I’ll be leaving in a little while.” 

“How long is ‘a little while’?” asked Ye Tao.

“I’ll leave at the hour of Yin.”

Ye Tao did the math—the hour of Yin was 3:00 a.m. “That’s way too early.”

Chen Chuan’s expression grew somewhat cold, as if a thought had crossed his mind: “Headman Li has been swamped with work these past few days.”

Perhaps because of the scar on his face, whenever he set his expression stern, he looked a bit menacing.

Ye Tao knew that Headman Li was his boss; seeing how much Chen Chuan disliked him, he surely wasn’t a very good boss. He couldn’t help but wonder why he had to be here in Captain Li’s absence, so he asked. Curious, he asked, “What about you? Are you the labor headman too?”

Chen Chuan scoffed: “What ‘labor headman’ am I? I’m just a good swimmer—my father used to work on a boat, so I help out by steering.”

Not wanting to say more, he got up and went to the corner to fetch a plank: “Aren’t you going to sleep yet?”

Ye Tao went to the rice bin to get some sourdough starter: “You go ahead and sleep. I’ll let the dough rise and stir-fry a vegetable dish. When you wake up tomorrow, give me a shout—we’ll have flatbreads for breakfast.” 

“You know how to let dough rise?”

Ye Tao scooped out two bowls of flour: “I know plenty of things.”

He set the mixing bowl on the table and shot Chen Chuan a wary glance, afraid he might come over to help without considering the situation.

This time, however, that didn’t happen. Chen Chuan had slept less than two hours the previous night, and today, after he returned by boat and the planks were laid out, he fell asleep the moment he lay down.

Ye Tao moved the lamp a little farther away from him, and he placed a cloth under the mixing bowl to reduce friction.

There was no need to worry about the table, though—it was made from a ship’s plank, slightly thicker than the one Chen Chuan had used to make his bed. With its four thick, sturdy legs, the table wouldn’t budge even if there were an earthquake.

After kneading the dough until smooth, he covered it with a damp cloth, and he carefully opened the pickle jar.

The pickled vegetables were bought from Granny Qiao; they’re really delicious, with just a hint of sourness. He doesn’t know how they’re made, but they’re exceptionally flavorful—and even more so when paired with mushrooms. He doesn’t have any mushrooms right now, just two bamboo shoots he bought yesterday morning. They’ve been sitting for two days, so the outer layers are a bit dry; they’d be a bit astringent on their own, but they work fine stir-fried with the pickled vegetables. Ye Tao moved the lampshade aside and lit the oil lamp.

Aunt Lin no longer needs to take her medicine. The small medicine stove is kept in their room year-round. After lighting the fire, he carried the entire stove outside, closed the door, and only then finished stir-frying the vegetables.

He tiptoed back inside and lay down.

As he fell asleep, Ye Tao was still thinking about getting up early to make pastries, but once his eyes closed, when he’d wake up was no longer up to him.

Chen Chuan didn’t call out to him; he was woken by the sound of Aunt Lin and Chen Chuan talking.

A sliver of light seeped in through the crack in the window.

Lin Niangzi said, “When did you get back? If you want flatbreads, go buy them yourself. Why are you bothering Xiaotao in the middle of the night?”

Chen Chuan replied, “He wants to make them himself.”

Lin Niangzi retorted, “If he wants to make them, why didn’t you stop him?”

Chen Chuan: “……”

Ye Tao listened for a moment, then, suppressing his drowsiness, got up and pushed open the door: “Aunt Lin.” 

Lin Niangzi said gently, “Did I wake you?”

Ye Tao shook his head: “I got up to check how the dough was rising.”

The dough had risen nicely. Chen Chuan had already taken a portion to wrap the filling. There was clearly plenty of dough left, but no matter how he wrapped them, the edges of the wrappers were very thick.

…He poked a hole right through the middle, pulling out a sliver of bamboo shoot. He tried to pinch the hole shut, but the more he pinched, the bigger it got.

Lin Niangzi was exasperated: “What good are you like this? Add some flour to patch it up.” 

Ye Tao: “……”

“Let me handle this. You stoke the fire and add a little oil to the pan—not too much.”

He washed his hands, took the mixture of dough and vegetables from Chen Chuan, poked a hole through the center, pushed the dough toward the edges, made it a bit thicker, then rewrapped it like a steamed bun. He flattened it and set it aside.

Chen Chuan let out a snort of admiration, but just as he was about to say something, Lin Niangzi gave him a look, and he shut up.

Lin Niangzi said, “Don’t let the fire go out after you finish making the flatbreads—I’ll cook some porridge.” 

Ye Tao agreed, “It’s still early. Aunt Lin, you should go back to bed.”

Lin Niangzi nodded and went back to her room. If it weren’t for Chen Chuan rustling outside, she would’ve thought Ye Tao was cooking breakfast and wouldn’t have gotten up. Outside, there was only a stove and a sun-drying jar; a plank laid across the jar served as a work surface, but the height made kneading dough rather uncomfortable.

Ye Tao carried the mixing bowl inside, kneaded the dough again to release the air, and then brought it back out. With oil on her hands, she divided the dough into individual portions—the first few were larger, while the ones after were only half the size.

He fried the larger ones into flatbreads to take to Chen Chuan, but he said, “I can’t eat that many—three will be enough.”

Ye Tao had assumed two would be about right, and that the remaining two were meant for Chen Siwu. Upon hearing this, he kneaded the two small portions together into one large one. “Take two of these to Chen Siwu so he can try them, too.”

Chen Chuan was crouching by the stove, tending the fire. Upon hearing this, he tugged at the corner of his mouth and said, with an ambiguous expression, “You guys are something else.” 

Ye Tao was confused: “What?”

“Nothing,” Chen Chuan said, lowering his head as he poured oil into the hot pan.

Ye Tao wasn’t having any of it: “If it’s nothing, why are you being so sarcastic?”

Chen Chuan paused for a moment before saying, “We’ve already treated him to a meal.”

He continued, “He didn’t come back this time.”

Although his tone was flat, for some reason, Ye Tao felt as if—or perhaps—he might be a little aggrieved? He looked at him for a moment, then said dryly:

“So you’ll just eat it yourself if you get hungry on the way?”

Chen Chuan nodded.

The sweet, fragrant smell of fried flour wafted out from the alley.

The door of the neighboring house swung open, and a man stepped out. Seeing that it wasn’t yet dawn, he first let out a curse, but when he noticed the light on over here and saw them making flatbreads—he stopped mid-sentence.

The door slammed shut.

Ye Tao realized what was happening a moment too late—Chen Chuan had stood up.

Chen Chuan also pulled his gaze away and turned his head to look at him: “Are you just being mean to me?”

Ye Tao:?

Chen Chuan nodded toward the room next door: “When I’m around, they don’t dare set off a single firecracker in the middle of the night.”

When he spoke, he looked quite dashing—his arched eyebrows slightly furrowed, giving him the air of a half-serious, half-rebellious school bully. Ye Tao really wanted to smack him and tell him to speak properly. Is setting off firecrackers in the middle of the night something to be proud of?

But Chen Chuan had just said he was mean—he wasn’t mean.

“I don’t usually get up in the middle of the night to cook breakfast.” Ye Tao thought the neighbor’s complaint was understandable; just before dawn is when your stomach is at its emptiest, and smelling the aroma of food only makes you hungrier.

And you can’t even eat it yet.

Still, the language was a bit too crude.

“This is the first time. If you really push me too far, I won’t just take it.” His gaze was clear and upright, as he tried hard to prove he wasn’t someone to be pushed around.

Chen Chuan felt a tingling sensation in his hand—the kind that makes you want to ruffle his hair—but he knew Ye Tao wouldn’t be happy if he did.

When Ye Tao first arrived, his hair was short, and it hadn’t grown much since then. Aside from sailors who spent most of the year at sea and found it inconvenient to wash their hair, Chen Chuan had never seen anyone with hair this short—and Ye Tao was clearly no sailor.

Their bodies and skin are gifts from our parents—cutting it this short can’t be a good thing. He clasped his hands behind his back: “Well, if anyone picks on you, just let me know.”

Ye Tao shot him a sidelong glance: “And then what? Are you going to go pick a fight with them?” 

He curved his lips into a smile: “I’ll go set off some firecrackers.”

Ye Tao couldn’t help but chuckle: “Childish.”

He scooped the freshly cooked flatbreads onto a plate: “Go eat up, you childish fool.”

The congee wasn’t ready yet, and eating just flatbreads would be a bit dry, so Ye Tao soaked a bowl of soup for him using the first-harvest dried seaweed that Chen Chuan had specially sent back.

After Chen Chuan left, Ye Tao finished making the flatbreads. He went to fetch water but found the bucket already full, so he put the porridge on to cook and went back inside. He had originally planned to stay up all night and do some mending when dawn broke, but after sitting for just a short while, his eyes grew heavy, so he decided to lie down and sleep.

He’d slept in two fits throughout the night, so he wasn’t very alert while running his stall that day. Mending gauze mosquito nets was work that strained the eyes; looking at them for too long made him drowsy. Ye Tao stood up and went to the river to splash some water on his face, but when he returned, he was still yawning constantly.

Sai Shenxian saw him and asked cheerfully, “Did you go to the theater to watch a play last night, too?”

“What kind of play? A puppet show?” Although Chen Siwu had mentioned it a few times, Ye Tao had never gone out at night to see a show.

Sai Shenxian was surprised: “Last night they performed the play *Romance of the Three Kingdoms*—the scene where Guan Yu scrapes the poison from his bone. I saw quite a few young people there; you didn’t go?”  

“No.” Ye Tao yawned. “I was at home.”

Sai Shenxian had watched the play last night and was still in high spirits; he’d assumed Ye Tao had seen it too so they could chat about it, but to his disappointment, it turned out to be a false hope. He shook his head in regret.

Old Man Hong didn’t watch plays; he guessed Ye Tao had been working late and advised, “There’s always more work to be done, but you should rest when it’s time to rest at night.” 

“No,” Ye Tao blinked, wiping away the tears that had welled up from his yawn. “Chen Chuan came back last night.” 

“Chen—your younger brother? Does he… come back often?”

“He’s usually at the outer harbor. He came back yesterday, but he went away before dawn.”

Since he was already quite familiar with Old Man Hong, there was nothing off-limits in their casual conversation. Ye Tao even knew that his daughter had given birth to a girl, and he had once asked Granny Qiao if she knew of any methods to conceive a son.

Old Man Hong’s expression grew even more conflicted and awkward; he simply couldn’t think of a way to respond without making himself look disrespectful for his age. His eyes swept the room, and he abruptly changed the subject: “Why didn’t you bring that bamboo frame today? Is there something wrong with it?”

Ye Tao wasn’t sure why he’d brought this up, but he replied anyway: “Nothing’s wrong with it. I sold almost all my sachets yesterday and didn’t have time to restock, so I didn’t bring it over.”

Old Man Hong nodded solemnly: “That’s good. If anything’s wrong, just tell me.” 

Ye Tao nodded in confusion.