“Take your money pouch with you—buy some food when you get to the pier.” 

“Don’t forget your bamboo tube; if you get thirsty, ask for a bowl of water.”

Like Lin Niangzi giving instructions to a child off to school, she went from pocket money to a water cup, then reminded him to be careful on the way. Ye Tao finally snapped out of it, jumped to his feet, quickly put on his coat, and stepped out: “I’m coming with you.”

Last night, Chen Chuan just mentioned that the restrooms in the Foreign Quarter were clean; he didn’t say exactly where they were.

Seeing him clutching a single copper coin. Chen Chuan knew exactly what he was up to.

“The city gates aren’t open yet.”

Ye Tao didn’t know when the city gates opened; as a modern person, he couldn’t even imagine that such a thing as city gates still existed, but he put on a brave face: “I’ll walk you there—you can show me the way.”

Lin Niangzi was delighted to see them getting along and gave a gentle smile: “Go on, then.”

The Jin River flows into the sea southwest of Quanzhou. Nanguanxiang lies between the Jin River and the city walls of Quanzhou. When floods came, with no city walls to block them, the area was completely submerged, only to become bustling again in less than a year. 

The Foreign Quarter was located within the city walls, so Chen Chuan headed south to catch a boat.

Yesterday, Matchmaker Zhang had also mentioned taking a boat, but Ye Tao hadn’t managed to board one; he’d assumed they’d have to walk all the way to the riverbank to catch one, but it turned out that wasn’t necessary.

Large and small tributaries radiated outward from the Jin River like a network of veins, weaving a dense waterway system through which boats shuttled, transporting people and goods.

It was a small pier; a few blue stone steps led down into the water, and a long, narrow wooden boat was moored beside them.

The boatman recognized Chen Chuan. Seeing that he’d brought someone along, he assumed the man was also heading to the outer harbor to work. Squinting, he said, “You’re with A-Chuan—same price as him.”

“He’s not going.” Chen Chuan took five wen from his purse and handed them to the boatman, then said to Ye Tao, “You should walk back now; the city gates are just opening.”

Ye Tao：“……”

For some reason, hearing him say that made him feel as if he had nothing better to do.

As dawn broke, quite a few people were already carrying burdens on poles or pushing carts, preparing to enter the city. Ye Tao followed the crowd along the widest road toward the city gate.

Chen Chuan had mentioned that the clean, pay-to-use restroom was near the Cart and Horse Inn. Ye Tao had passed by there yesterday and vaguely remembered it—it seemed quite close to the city gate. Sure enough, just a few steps past the city gate, he heard the braying of donkeys, the neighing of horses, and the lowing of cows, and the smell of livestock hit him in the face.

Amidst a row of thatched huts, a brick-and-wood structure stood out prominently.

True to its reputation as a high-end, pay-to-use restroom, there was an incense burner right inside the entrance, emitting smoke from whatever incense had been lit.

Rows of stalls were separated by wooden partitions about half a person’s height; some were sit-down toilets, others squat toilets. Compared to the public restrooms Ye Tao remembered, the only difference was that these couldn’t be flushed.

Clean toilet wipes were soaking in a bamboo tube; according to the attendant at the entrance, the tube contained salt water.

The handwashing station consisted of a water jar and a wooden basin. Inside the jar was a gourd dipper; you had to scoop water into the basin yourself to wash your hands. A small saucer sat beside the basin, holding some kind of powder—presumably for handwashing.

Ye Tao pinched a little of it onto his hand, mixed it with water, and rubbed it into a white lather. It was definitely worth every penny. 

When he stepped out of the city again, the city gate was already bustling with activity. Just like yesterday evening, the road was lined with street stalls, and the cries of vendors filled the air. Most were selling farm produce, though there were also fish, shrimp, snails, bamboo baskets, and straw sandals.

The vegetables weren’t expensive—a few wen would buy quite a lot. The straw sandals were much more finely crafted than the ones he was wearing; not only did they have soles, but they also had uppers, and cost 20 wen a pair. With only 12 wen in his pocket, Ye Tao didn’t rush to buy vegetables; prices would likely drop even further as the early morning market was winding down.

He had gotten up early; after wandering around outside for a while, the morning glow had not yet faded when he returned. Zhenniang had just gotten out of bed and was standing at the doorway with her hair loose, while Lin Niangzi was tying her hair into a small pigtail.

“Brother Ye Tao.”

“Yeah—” Ye Tao replied, then asked Lin Niangzi, “Aunt Lin, can you start cooking breakfast yet?” 

“It’s still early.” Mrs. Lin finished braiding Zhenniang’s hair and asked him, “Are you hungry?”

Ye Tao nodded earnestly. He hadn’t eaten his fill last night, and after getting up early and taking a long walk outside, he was naturally hungry.

“We still have some rice and vegetables at home. See if there’s anything you’d like to eat, or go out and buy something,” Lin Niangzi said, sounding a little embarrassed. “I’m not very good at cooking. Since A-Chuan isn’t here, Zhenniang and I only eat one meal a day.”

Probably a combined breakfast and lunch.

Ye Tao thought for a moment and said, “Chen Chuan told me to cook a pot of congee.”

Lin Niangzi breathed a sigh of relief; no matter how poor her cooking skills might be, she still knew how to make porridge.

Ye Tao didn’t rush to get started. He’d never seen a stove like this before—it was different from the rural wood-burning stoves he’d seen on TV. It was much shorter, lacked a waist-high work surface, and looked more like a mud shell encasing a fire, with an earthenware pot perched on top.

Lin Niangzi stoked the fire, poured the rice, beans, and last night’s leftover pickled vegetables into the earthenware pot, added water, and began cooking it right away.

Ye Tao couldn’t bear to watch. Those pickles had already been steamed; they’d lost most of their freshness by the time they were eaten yesterday. Boiling them like this today—would they even have any flavor left afterward?

Aunt Lin’s claim that she wasn’t very good at cooking was certainly no false modesty.

He looked at the mother and daughter’s strikingly similar slender wrists and figured they probably didn’t need to abstain from meat. “Do you have any oil at home?”

Lin Niangzi fetched a jar of vegetable oil for him. Ye Tao remembered that Chen Chuan had poured lamp oil from this very jar yesterday—it turned out that lamp oil and cooking oil were interchangeable.

Besides this large pot for cooking porridge, there was also a small earthenware pot in the house that fit perfectly on the small medicinal stove; they usually used it to cook rice in the evenings. Since the large pot was now being used for porridge, Ye Tao decided to use the small one to stir-fry vegetables, so he lit a fire in the hearth to heat up the medicinal stove.

After his grandmother passed away, he’d eaten takeout from the cafeteria for over a year and hadn’t cooked in a long time, but fortunately, he hadn’t completely lost his touch.

An earthenware pot doesn’t conduct heat as well as an iron wok, and stir-frying with vegetable oil isn’t as fragrant as using lard, but it’s still much better than just boiling things in water. The pickled vegetables have their own salty, savory flavor, and combined with the aroma of the oil, made the dish incredibly tempting.

The congee wasn’t ready yet, but Zhenniang had already picked out several pieces of pickled vegetables to eat. Once the congee was ready, she couldn’t wait to grab a bowl, eating two bowls in a row until she was rubbing her stomach and burping.

A cook is always happiest when someone enjoys his food. With Zhenniang showing such enthusiasm, Ye Tao had already started thinking about what to make for the next meal.

Lin Niangzi was delighted as well. Back at her parents’ home, she had hated cooking, so she’d worked hard to master the art of embroidery. Later, she agreed to marry a widower with a child—partly because she was getting on in years, and partly because Old Man Chen was a good cook. 

Now that someone was cooking for the family again, she suddenly felt her spirits lift, and much of her illness seemed to fade away. After eating, she took Ye Tao into the room, found a piece of paper that had once wrapped medicine, and asked him to take off his shoes.

Ye Tao was puzzled, but Lin Niangzi explained, “I can tell your shoes don’t fit quite right. I’ll sketch a pattern for you so I can make you a couple of new pairs.”

Having walked so far the day before, Ye Tao’s feet were indeed chafed, and he had also sustained tiny cuts from the reefs in the sea. Given their limited resources, he’d only rinsed them with clean water and left them be—fortunately, they hadn’t become infected and had mostly scabbed over.

Having shoes that fit well would certainly be a blessing. Ye Tao grinned, “Thank you, Aunt Lin.”

Lin Niangzi traced the outlines of both his left and right feet. Seeing the scattered wounds on his feet, she felt a pang of sympathy: “It’ll take two days to make the shoes. For now, wear A-Chuan’s old shoes.”

Chen Chuan must have been pretty hard on his shoes—not only were the soles thin, but one shoe had a patch on the upper, and the other was on the verge of tearing. The size, however, fit him perfectly.

Lin Niangzi said with a smile, “I was originally going to take the uppers off to sew soles for Zhenniang, but I put it off for a couple of days—so they ended up being just right for you.” Although the “new shoes” lacked arch support, they were much better than straw sandals; at least they didn’t rub his feet when he walked.

Ye Tao still remembered that Chen Chuan had asked him to buy vegetables, so he took Zhenniang out for another stroll. He spent six wen to buy two heads of summer cabbage and three stalks of Manchurian wild rice from a farmer who was about to close up shop.

Summer cabbage looked like a cross between Chinese mustard greens and napa cabbage; Ye Tao wasn’t sure exactly what it was, but since it was a leafy vegetable, two heads filled half a basket. Manchurian wild rice could be stir-fried or pickled once they got home.

Ye Tao was walking home with his vegetable basket when, as he passed the entrance to the alley, he remembered that Zhenniang had mentioned yesterday that she’d like to eat some tofu. He decided to buy a block to add to the summer cabbage soup, but when he asked the price, he was shocked: a block of soft tofu cost six wen, and the firm tofu was even more expensive—ten wen.

Ye Tao only had six wen left in his hand and was hesitating. The tofu shop owner saw Zhenniang and asked her with a smile, “Who is this to you?” Zhenniang waved Ye Tao’s hand, which she was holding, and said, “Brother Xiaotao, Uncle Zhou, could you give him a tofu ball, too?” Uncle Zhou replied with a smile, “We don’t have any tofu balls today. We’ll make some tomorrow once the waterwheel is fixed.”

He looked around and, seeing no one else nearby, took a bowl, cut a piece of soft tofu, and scooped it into the bowl along with the scraps from the edge for Ye Tao.

“Five wen. Bring the bowl back next time.”

Now there was no way out of buying it.

Lin Niangzi was very efficient. Early that morning, she said she was going to make shoes for Ye Tao, and before long, she was already cutting the fabric for the soles according to the newly drawn shoe pattern.

Ye Tao had heard his grandmother mention this before: the sole had to be glued together with paste first, with four or five layers of cloth glued together and left to dry; after cutting out the shape, three or four pieces were stitched together one by one with thread to form the sole.

He crouched down and picked up a piece of the sole material—it was stiff as a board.

“Did you make this yourself?”

Lin Niangzi replied, “I bought it. We don’t have that many old clothes at home. Collecting the fabric, washing it, drying it, and then pasting it together would take at least three or five days—and that’s assuming the weather cooperates.”

It really is easier to just buy them.

With so many layers of fabric stacked together, it was hard to pierce through them. Before threading the needle, she had to first poke a hole with an awl. Ye Tao saw that her fingertips had turned white as she gripped the awl, so he offered, “Aunt Lin, why don’t I do it?”

Lin Niangzi said it wasn’t necessary: “Go cook the meal.”

Ye Tao: “……”

They hadn’t finished the morning’s congee, but it was still edible once reheated. For lunch, Ye Tao stir-fried half a summer cabbage to go with it.

Chen Chuan came home for dinner that evening, so the meal was a bit more substantial: summer cabbage and tofu soup, stir-fried Water Bamboo shoots with pickled vegetables, lightly boiled river shrimp (a handful for one wen), and a pot of plain rice.

The rice could be kept warm in the pot, and the soup would stay hot too, but stir-fried dishes tend to get cold quickly, so Ye Tao waited until Chen Chuan returned before starting to cook.

With practiced ease, he set the small earthenware pot on the stove, scooped some oil with a wooden spoon, and tapped it lightly against the rim of the pot—only to hear a sharp crack: the pot had cracked. 

Ye Tao cracked too.