Ye Tao stared at the earthenware pot, which had cracked right down the middle, looking bewildered. It wasn’t just a small chip on the edge—the pot had split completely down the middle. He couldn’t believe such a light bump could have cracked it; there must have been a pre-existing crack that just happened to break right where his hand was.

That was just too unlucky.

Zhenniang crouched to one side, propping her head in her hands as she watched him cook. When she saw the pot crack, she shouted, “Mom, the clay pot’s broken!” 

Ye Tao: “……”

Ye Tao felt even more embarrassed and didn’t dare look at Chen Chuan. He admitted that insisting on waiting for Chen Chuan to return before cooking was, to some extent, a way of showing off—after all, yesterday Chen Chuan had told him he was just eating for free!

But he’d cracked the pot.

Hearing the commotion, Lin Niang came out of the house and hurried to reassure him: “This pot was old to begin with—it’s not your fault.” She then turned to Chen Chuan and said, “A-Chuan, Xiaotao can cook. Take him to buy an iron wok.”

Only then did Ye Tao look at Chen Chuan, offering an awkward yet polite smile.

Chen Chuan nodded: “We should get an iron wok; this one won’t hold up to all his banging around.”

Ye Tao：“……”

The city gates were about to close; if they went into town now to buy one, they wouldn’t be able to get out today, so they’d have to wait until tomorrow.

The stir-fried bamboo with pickled vegetables didn’t turn out, but fortunately, everyone liked the tofu with summer cabbage. The recipe called for two eggs, but since there weren’t any at home, Ye Tao left them out and pan-fried the tofu instead, which gave the broth a hint of savory richness.

The small river shrimp were also delicious—firm and sweet. Ye Tao could eat them whole and spit out the shells, which amazed Zhenniang. She wanted to try it too; he chewed the shrimp into such a fine pulp that the shell was indistinguishable—a sight that made Lin Niangzi laugh out loud.

It was a bit muggy that evening. Lin Niangzi said it looked like rain, so Chen Siwu ran over to the house to find Chen Chuan: “Headman Li said that depending on the weather tomorrow, if it rains heavily, work will be suspended—he’s worried there might be strong winds.”

It’s time to return to port now. Unloading is never as urgent as loading before departure, so it’s no big deal to stay docked for a day or two; generally, they don’t rush the work in heavy rain or strong winds.

Chen Chuan said he understood, then asked him, “Where are you staying tonight?”

Chen Siwu had rented a place in the Outer Harbor and had given up his place here; he’d probably come back today specifically to let him know about this. Chen Siwu chuckled, “I’m heading to the brothel.”

He glanced at the sky. “I think it’s definitely going to rain tonight. Since we don’t have to go to the docks tomorrow, Second Brother, do you want to go with me to see a puppet show?”

Ye Tao was sitting by the table, sewing underwear. Earlier that day, he’d asked Lin Niangzi for some fabric, but he’d felt too embarrassed to sew in front of her. He’d sewn a bit in his room, so he’d sewn for a while in his room. Now he needed to rush to finish up. Hearing the voices, he looked up: “What puppet show?”

Chen Siwu saw his face and let out a bloodcurdling scream: “A ghost—!”

Ye Tao：？

Chen Siwu had been there when Chen Chuan rescued the man. He was a decent swimmer—though he’d learned in the river—but the first time he went into the ocean, his second older brother had to pull him out. Not wanting to take any chances, he’d stayed obediently on the shore to provide backup.

He remembered Ye Tao’s face clearly—he was definitely dead back then, and Old Man Luo had already dragged the body away.

After Chen Siwu screamed, seeing that Chen Chuan showed no reaction, he pointed shakily at Ye Tao: “Second Brother, can’t you see it?” Chen Chuan looked in Ye Tao’s direction, but his gaze settled on the wall behind him: “What is it?”

Chen Siwu panicked, grabbing Chen Chuan’s arm and trying to back out of the room. Ye Tao took a step to follow them. Chen Siwu stammered, trying to reason with the “ghost”: “Y-y-you—it wasn’t my second older brother who caused this. He’s the one who saved you. Please don’t take it out on him. I’ll burn some joss paper for you.”

Ye Tao thought Chen Chuan was really mean for deceiving people like that, but that didn’t stop him from joining in the fun. Tilting his head, he sighed wistfully, “Since he saved me, I have all the more reason to stick with him. I want to repay his kindness.” 

Chen Siwu wished he could just close his eyes and pass out.

It wasn’t until Lin Niangzi, having heard his earlier scream, came over to check on him that Ye Tao stood up straight with a serious expression and called out, “Aunt Lin.”

Seeing that the other two were fine and only Chen Siwu looked terrified, Lin Niangzi assumed they’d been telling a ghost story and reassured him: “You three young men are full of yang energy—what’s there to fear from ghosts?” She then said to Chen Chuan, “A-Chuan, don’t scare him.” 

Three?

Chen Siwu was slow to catch on. When he looked at Ye Tao again, he saw that his complexion was rosy, his eyes were bright, and he was even winking at him—he certainly didn’t look like a ghost. Finally, Chen Siwu realized he’d been tricked.

He was furious. One moment he was accusing Chen Chuan of being disloyal, the next he was saying Ye Tao wasn’t a good person either, and then he declared he was going to watch the puppet show by himself. But it was pitch black outside, and after taking just a few steps, he turned back: “Aunt Lin, maybe I’ll just spend the night at your place.”

All three were grown men, so Lin Niangzi didn’t need to make up beds for them. She went back to her own room, offering only one piece of advice: “It’s going to rain tonight, so don’t go out playing.”

Three people, two beds—how should they split them up?

Only Ye Tao was worried about this. Chen Siwu had stayed there before; he was used to sleeping on the boat planks and knew exactly how to set them up to make a bed. He even called out to Chen Chuan, “Second Brother, come give me a hand.”

Ye Tao watched as they set up the bed in just a few quick moves and asked Chen Chuan, “Where am I going to sleep?”

Chen Chuan replied, “It’s up to you.”

On one side was a bamboo bed, on the other a plank from the boat; on one side was Chen Chuan, on the other Chen Siwu. Ye Tao chose the slightly roomier bamboo bed and the slightly more familiar Chen Chuan.

The bamboo bed was really narrow; since both of them were quite tall, they could only sleep on their sides. Ye Tao had originally been lying with his back to Chen Chuan, but later forgot about it—when he rolled over, he found himself facing Chen Chuan.

Feeling Chen Chuan’s breath just inches away, he froze completely, not daring to move a muscle. Chen Chuan showed no reaction; he seemed to be asleep.

Ye Tao carefully shifted backward, rolling from his side onto his back. Half his body hung off the edge of the bed; the edge pressed against his back, jarring his bruise and causing him to gasp in pain—he nearly tumbled off.

A hand reached out, grabbed the hem of his shirt, and pulled him back onto the bed. Ye Tao let out another groan.

Chen Chuan let go of him. “Are you injured?”

When they pulled him out of the sea, his body was cold, but they hadn’t seen any blood, so no one had gone out of their way to pull off his clothes to check his back. Ye Tao took a deep breath and whispered, “I hit a reef when I fell into the water.”

Chen Chuan got up again to light the lamp. The bamboo bed still held his residual warmth. Ye Tao took off his shirt and lay face-down, curling his toes slightly, feeling inexplicably a bit ashamed.

“It doesn’t hurt when it gets wet, and the skin isn’t broken. It’ll be fine in a couple of days.”

“It’s already been two days,” Chen Chuan said, looking at the bruises—a mottled mix of blue and purple—on his back. “It’ll take at least half a month.”

He produced a small porcelain bottle from somewhere—its mouth sealed with wax. When he opened it, a strong, pungent medicinal scent wafted out; it smelled like a remedy for bruises and sprains.

Ye Tao was puzzled—with the family so destitute, how could they possibly have medicinal ointment? Chen Chuan said, “This bottle costs six hundred wen. I’m still in debt for it.”

Ye Tao immediately stopped thinking about it, turned his head away, and faced him with the back of his head, pretending not to hear. He was a pitiful pauper who didn’t even have enough money to go to the bathroom tomorrow—what was 600? He had no idea.

Chen Chuan rubbed the medicine between his palms and pressed it onto Ye Tao’s back. Ye Tao let out a howl, his legs snapping up like a fish’s tail, the flesh on his buttocks quivering as the bamboo bed creaked under the strain.

“Be gentle! Are you slaughtering a pig or something?”

Chen Chuan remained unmoved. Ye Tao was on the verge of tears and finally relented: “Fine, fine, six hundred—six hundred. I’ll owe you.”

Only then did Chen Chuan curve the corners of his lips. “You have to rub it in.”

He eased the pressure in his palm slightly and rubbed the medicinal liquid evenly.

Ye Tao seethed inwardly, but as the victim at the mercy of the butcher, he wisely kept his mouth shut.

His upper back grew warm from the rubbing, and the pain wasn’t as intense anymore. Just as Ye Tao was starting to feel drowsy, Chen Chuan suddenly said, “Hold it in.” Before Ye Tao could react, Chen Chuan located the pressure point and pressed down hard with his thumb. This time, the pain was so intense that Ye Tao couldn’t even cry out. By the time Chen Chuan finally stopped, Ye Tao was drenched in sweat, with tears glistening in the corners of his eyes—a pitiful sight, as if he’d been thoroughly beaten.

“Twice a day, and you’ll be fine in three days.”

Ye Tao said weakly, “Just leave me alone. I’d rather take half a month to recover slowly.”

Chen Chuan said, “Whatever you say, but I’m not backing down.”

Ye Tao gave him the middle finger. 

It started raining in the middle of the night. The raindrops fell on the roof tiles, making a steady patter and swish-swish sound. Ye Tao dozed on and off, unable to get a full night’s sleep, and woke up feeling listless.

Chen Siwu was the complete opposite. Last night, with all the lamp-lighting and screaming—not to mention the rain in the wee hours—he hadn’t woken up at all. Ye Tao suspected he was the reincarnation of the God of Sleep. 

It was simply too stifling for a young man who’d had a good night’s sleep and was full of energy to stay cooped up indoors all day. Even on a rainy day, Chen Siwu couldn’t sit still. After saying his goodbyes, he grabbed his rickety paper umbrella and headed to the river to go fishing with a fisherman he knew.

Ye Tao followed Chen Chuan into town to buy a pot, though buying the pot wasn’t his real goal—going into town was. As they passed a luxurious pay-to-use public restroom, Ye Tao held out his hand to him: “I owe you six hundred and one.”

The more debts, the better.

Ironware is different from ordinary goods; it requires a dedicated workshop to produce, so it’s rarely seen at regular markets—only at the big fair. Since there was no big fair today, Chen Chuan went straight to the blacksmith’s shop.

It was raining outside, but inside the blacksmith’s shop, things were bustling. The blacksmith, bare-chested, was hammering away with a clanging sound, sweat pouring down his face, while his wife attended to customers outside. 

Upon hearing they wanted to buy a wok, she enthusiastically recommended, “This one’s large and sturdy. If you’re opening a restaurant, get this one. For home cooking, this one’s great—it’s light and easy to handle, weighing three jin and two liang. Most female cooks buy this one.”

Chen Chuan said, “Is this sturdy? He’s really strong.” 

“Don’t worry, young gentleman. They’re all sturdy. If any of our pots get damaged from cooking, just bring them back, and we’ll fix them for free.”

Ye Tao rolled his eyes. Just trying to lift that huge pot—even an empty one—was a struggle with just one hand, and it aggravated the injury on his back. Grimacing, he set it down, abandoned the idea of making Chen Chuan spend money on it, and said without hesitation, “Let’s buy the smaller one.”

These days, ironware was sold by the jin; at 120 wen per jin, three jin and two liang came to 375 wen. 

It was raining today, so there weren’t many customers. They were the first customers of the day, so the blacksmith’s wife rounded down the price, charging only 370 wen and throwing in a wooden pot lid for free. After spending over 300 wen, the money pouch Chen Chuan had brought with him was suddenly empty.

Ye Tao had originally wanted to suggest buying a new bamboo bed while they were at it, but he didn’t voice it. He glanced sideways at the person beside him: Chen Chuan was tall, with a well-developed frame and broad shoulders, but upon closer inspection, he wasn’t particularly stocky—he was only seventeen or eighteen. 

Even during his toughest times, Ye Tao had never worried about putting food on the table. Chen Chuan was still in high school, yet he was already responsible for supporting a family; Ye Tao couldn’t in good conscience let him support him. 

“Earlier, Matchmaker Zhang took me to check out the tailor shop. The boss is offering nine hundred a month to start, going up to eighteen hundred once I’m up to speed, plus one meal a day. Why don’t I…”

Before Ye Tao could finish speaking, Chen Chuan interrupted him: “The city won’t work.”

Quanzhou City had three sets of city walls, arranged from inner to outer as the Inner City, the Outer City, and the Wing City. The Inner City and Outer City were both fairly well-organized, while the Wing City had originally been the Foreign Quarter, located south of the Outer City, where merchants from various countries gathered; later, city walls were added to completely enclose the area.

However, people still habitually referred to the Wing City as the Foreign Quarter. Chen Chuan explained that “inside the city” referred to the area enclosed by the second set of city walls.

The Zhong Family Tailor Shop was located within the city.

Ye Tao tried to persuade him: “Are you worried about me going to the Outer Harbor? I’ll definitely be back by nightfall.”

Chen Chuan remained unmoved. With no other options, Ye Tao asked bluntly, “So are you planning to support all four of us on your own forever?”

Chen Chuan fished a familiar-looking string of beads out of his money pouch, twirled it between his fingertips, and said meaningfully, “If I ran into a few more like you, I could support eight.”

Ye Tao：“……”

His good intentions were taken for granted!