When Ye Tao bought the prayer beads, the price of silver was very low, and the labor cost was about the same as the price per gram. In his mind, although silver was always mentioned alongside gold, it wasn’t actually that expensive.

He had given the bracelet to Chen Chuan with the idea of using it to cover a few meals, but judging by what Chen Chuan was saying now, it seemed to be worth quite a bit.

“How much can this bracelet sell for?”

“I don’t know.” Chen Chuan weighed it in his hand. “Let’s go ask at the pawnshop.”

A pawnshop was exactly that—a place where people pawned their belongings. It was Ye Tao’s first time setting foot in such a place; he felt both curious and self-conscious. Chen Chuan, however, seemed to have been there many times before; he led Ye Tao inside with confidence and only stepped forward once the people in front of them had left.

The counter was considerably higher than in most shops, but the shopkeeper was short; even standing on a platform of unknown height, he was only two inches taller than Ye Tao.

Chen Chuan placed the bracelet on the counter. The shopkeeper picked it up and examined it closely, then weighed it on a steelyard scale before quoting a price: “Five guan for a live pawn; add six hundred for a dead pawn.”

Ye Tao’s gaze lingered on the bracelet, and a faint sense of reluctance welled up inside him.

He’d thought about redeeming it from Chen Chuan once he had the money, and he’d also imagined that Chen Chuan might pawn it for wen before then—but he’d never expected it to happen right in front of him.

He looked away. He’d bought it on a whim—it wasn’t a family heirloom, nor was it a precious keepsake from his mother or grandmother. 

At the end of the day, it was just an ordinary bracelet—it would be nice to get some money for it.

Chen Chuan took the bracelet back. Ye Tao asked, “Why aren’t you selling it anymore?”

Chen Chuan replied casually, saying that silver was cheap right now, so it wasn’t worth it. 

Ye Tao’s bracelet was flashy—it had several pendants added to the basic design and weighed at least eighty grams. The shopkeeper had just weighed it, including the cord, and said it was a little over two liang. At five thousand six hundred for the whole thing, that worked out to two thousand eight hundred wen per liang if calculated at two liang.

Yesterday, the four of them spent only twelve wen on groceries for the whole day—how could that not be a good deal? Ye Tao suddenly felt like he’d gotten the short end of the stick.

But once you’ve given something away, there’s no taking it back—no amount of money could compare to a life-saving favor. Ye Tao was even more determined to earn money now.

Chen Chuan didn’t agree with him taking a job at the tailor shop. Why not go back and talk to Aunt Lin about it?

The rain was gradually letting up, and the large and small docks along the city’s waterways were starting to buzz with activity, with workers moving cargo in the rain. Ye Tao held out his hand to catch the raindrops: “The rain seems to be letting up. Are you going to work?”

“There are people at the docks who know me. I’ll either wait at the city gate bridge for a labor headman to come find me; going there on my own to take on work is likely to cause trouble.”

Ye Tao didn’t know there were such rules for odd jobs. He’d actually wanted to ask Chen Chuan if they were going to the seaport, but it looked like they wouldn’t be going today.

As they passed the Cart and Horse Inn, they came across an accident: two ox-drawn carts had collided. The oxen had reared up, the carts had overturned, cargo was scattered all over the ground, and someone was pinned beneath the wreckage.

Ye Tao shoved the pot into Chen Chuan’s hands, but Chen Chuan simultaneously held out his umbrella. Their arms clashed in midair; they exchanged a glance, and Chen Chuan said, “I’ll handle it.” 

Besides him, a few other men stepped out of the crowd. With so many people around, and his back injury not yet healed, Ye Tao didn’t push himself.

This was the Cart and Horse Inn, bustling with traffic. With the accident causing a traffic jam, pedestrians and cart drivers alike stopped to gawk. Ye Tao even spotted a few foreigners with high, arched eyebrows and deep-set eyes.

Adhering to the principle that everyone should watch together, he put away the umbrella that was blocking the way and held the iron wok over his head instead. The man in the white robe behind him gave him a thumbs-up.

“Make way, make way, the doctor’s coming.”

Officers from the City Magistrate’s Office soon arrived as well. They quickly handled the incident, cleared the road, and restored traffic.

Chen Chuan turned around and spotted the conspicuous head topped with an iron wok in the crowd, so he changed direction. 

Ye Tao: “……”

Without a moment’s hesitation, Ye Tao gave chase, holding the wok in one hand and an umbrella in the other. He hooked his elbow around Chen Chuan’s neck, caught him, and shoved the umbrella into his hands.

“I can’t hold it open with just one hand.”

Chen Chuan said, “I don’t think you need it.”

But he opened it anyway.

Car accidents involving two head-on collisions probably weren’t very common; even after they’d walked out of the city gate, Ye Tao could still hear people talking about it.

The waterwheel at the tofu shop had been repaired. When Uncle Zhou saw the two of them, he actually called out to Ye Tao: “Xiaotao, would you like some tofu balls?” 

Ye Tao remembered he hadn’t returned the tofu bowl from yesterday yet—he couldn’t possibly accept a free meal—so he hurriedly said, “I’ll bring the bowl back in a bit.” Uncle Zhou said there was no rush: “Has Zhenniang woken up yet? Call her over to eat some tofu balls.”

The two of them seemed very familiar with each other, so Chen Chuan asked, “Do you like donkeys, too?”

Ye Tao was puzzled: “What do you mean, ‘donkey’? I just came here with Zhenniang yesterday to buy tofu. As you’d expect from a businessman, he’s quite friendly.” 

“I heard he used to have a daughter about Zhenniang’s age.”

“In the past”—meaning she’s no longer with them now. 

Back when his grandmother was in the hospital, there was a little girl in the room next door who had a wonderful personality. The room was always filled with laughter and joy, but what Ye Tao saw more often were her parents and relatives shedding tears outside the room.

On her final day, even the medical staff—who were used to seeing life and death—had tears in their eyes.

Losing a loved one is already an indescribable grief, let alone when parents must bid farewell to a young child. Ye Tao sighed.

Zhenniang had gotten up early today; she’d already braided her hair and was stoking the fire.

Ye Tao had never started a fire before either; he used to squat by the stove with her, studying how to use the fire steel. It was a two-part lighter: a hard steel plate with a handle, a piece of flint, and a small pile of grass fibers and wood shavings to serve as fuel.

Striking the steel plate against the flint produced sparks that ignited the grass fibers.

Whether striking the steel plate or turning the embers in the straw and wood shavings into a small flame, it required a certain amount of skill. Zhenniang wasn’t very good at it yet, and Ye Tao was about the same; the two of them clinked and clattered away for quite a while before they finally got the fire going.

For breakfast, they had porridge again. Ye Tao didn’t have to worry about this; following the blacksmith’s wife’s instructions, he grabbed a handful of soot and rinsed the pot at the well. Only after washing it thoroughly did he pour hot oil to heat the pot.

Today they finally got to eat the stir-fried bamboo with pickled vegetables that they hadn’t managed to cook yesterday.

The small medicinal cauldron began simmering the herbs, while Lin Niangzi sat nearby sewing shoe soles for Ye Tao.

Chen Chuan motioned for Ye Tao to come inside.

“What’s up?”

“To apply the medicine.”

“I don’t want to,” Ye Tao said, his face full of resistance.

Lin Niangzi asked with concern, “Did Xiaotao get hurt?”

“It’s nothing—just a bump. A little bruise, but it’ll be fine in no time.”

Chen Chuan poured cold water on the situation: “His whole back is black and blue.”

Ye Tao retorted, “How could it be black? Purple at most.”

Lin Niangzi urged, “Let A-Chuan take a look—he’s studied martial arts under his master.”

Chen Chuan’s technique certainly didn’t seem haphazard—had he actually learned it from martial arts training? Ye Tao looked at him with newfound respect, then remembered the 600 he’d spent on the unopened package that couldn’t be returned. Hesitantly, he stepped inside the room.

A moment later, another blood-curdling scream rang out from inside the room.

“Chen Chuan!”

Ye Tao lay sprawled on the bed, his voice weak but menacing: “Don’t let me get my hands on you.”

Chen Chuan snorted derisively.

Chen Siwu had come back with a “big catch.” According to him, he’d caught two—he’d given one to the fisherman and brought the other back for Aunt Lin to eat. But Aunt Lin didn’t know how to cook fish—not even Chen Chuan was very good at it—and every time, the fish ended up falling apart.

They’d have to rely on Ye Tao.

As several pairs of eyes turned toward him, Ye Tao cleared her throat: “Let’s braise it, then.” They still had some dried ginger and garlic cloves at home, and soy sauce too.

Ye Tao went to the small market at the end of the alley to browse and pick out a bunch of water spinach—the flavor depends mainly on the sauce, and if the fish is cooked well, the water spinach will taste good too. 

A large bunch of water spinach cost only two wen; he asked the vendor for a few scallions and garlic cloves as a bonus, and the side dishes were all set.

Ye Tao loved fish. Before his grandmother fell ill, he didn’t know how to cook. He’d heard her say that store-bought fish didn’t taste like home-cooked food, so he tried buying a fish to pan-fry himself—only to discover just how dangerous it was; if you weren’t careful, the oil would splatter everywhere.

Later, he cooked braised pork, shrimp in oil, chicken with tofu, and spare ribs soup… all dishes he loved to eat, while his grandmother preferred vegetarian meals. 

The fish Chen Siwu brought wasn’t even half as long as Ye Tao’s arm, but the plate at home was so small that a piece of the tail stuck out over the edge, making it look much bigger than it actually was.

As the cook, Ye Tao took the first bite. Just as he expected. 

It was a recipe passed down from his grandmother. Although the soy sauce was different, the flavor wasn’t much different—if anything, it was even better. After all, the fish sold at the market are all farmed, and their flesh can’t compare to this purely wild variety.

The others at the table—perhaps they loved fish as much as Ye Tao did—had devoured half the fish in no time after it was served. Just as they were about to turn the fish over, Lin Niangzi stepped in to stop Chen Chuan and Chen Siwu. 

Chen Siwu said with a grin, “Auntie, I don’t sail—I just haul cargo.”

Lin Niangzi replied, “We don’t need you for that either.”

After flipping the fish, she served Ye Tao a large piece first: “Why isn’t Xiaotao eating any himself? Your cooking skills are just as good as A-Chuan’s father’s.” 

Ye Tao finally had a chance to ask, “Isn’t he home?”

Judging by Aunt Lin’s careful preparation, he assumed he’d gone out to sea—Quanzhou had a thriving maritime industry, so there were likely many seamen. Lin Niangzi’s smile faded slightly: “He’s gone.”

There was a moment of silence at the table. Chen Chuan picked up the entire fish head with his chopsticks, leaving the plate looking half-empty. Chen Siwu snapped out of his daze and quickly grabbed the fish tail, while Zhenniang didn’t want to be outdone and shakily placed a large piece of fish into her bowl.

Aunt Lin laughed again: “Eat slowly—watch out for the bones.”

Ye Tao suddenly realized that Chen Chuan’s concerns made sense.

He had come here to help out with the work in the first place, and as things stood, what Aunt Lin needed most was for him to cook. If he went to work at the tailor shop, he definitely wouldn’t be back in time for lunch—so what would the family eat for lunch?

Should Aunt Lin and Zhenniang continue to eat only two meals a day?

Even if he cooked it ahead of time, it just wouldn’t be as good as a fresh meal.

Quanzhou has a hot and humid climate, and since it’s summer now, vegetables don’t keep well if left out for too long.

Ye Tao had taken care of his grandmother before and knew that people with weak constitutions should eat small, frequent meals and eat while the food is still hot.

He’d better think of another solution.

The plate of fish was cleaned out completely, leaving only the bones; not even the broth was left, so he scooped it into a bowl and mixed it with rice. Zhenniang made a wish: “Brother Xiaotao, let’s have fish again tomorrow.”

Ye Tao asked with a smile, “No more tofu?”

Just as Zhenniang was hesitating, he added, “I can also cook pork and eggs.”

Zhenniang hadn’t eaten meat in a long time and had almost forgotten what it tasted like; hearing him say that, she suddenly wanted to eat everything.

Chen Siwu asked, “So can you cook oysters? I know a place where there are plenty of them. Next time we go oyster hunting, I’ll bring some back.”

Ye Tao guessed he was talking about raw oysters; even if not, it must be something from the coast. He’d grown up by the sea—what kind of seafood didn’t he know how to cook?

He nodded confidently: “I can cook it.”

In the end, Chen Chuan didn’t stay home to rest for a full day. After the rain stopped in the afternoon, he went with Chen Siwu to load goods for a porcelain kiln they knew.

Ye Tao went out for a walk. Since getting into town was inconvenient, he figured he could always find work somewhere outside the city. But after walking around in circles—his unpatched shoes nearly worn through—he still hadn’t found a suitable tailor’s shop.

He spotted a few shops selling ready-to-wear clothes: one was a dye house that mainly sold and dyed fabric; two specialized in collecting and refurbishing used clothing; the rest were very small in scale, with no more than a couple of items in stock and far fewer styles than he’d seen in the city. Shops of this size were mostly run by individuals or families and didn’t hire outside workers.

This area is too close to the city; those who can afford it would simply go into town to shop, leaving mostly the lower-class people without property, whose spending power is limited.

When Ye Tao returned and asked Lin Niangzi about it, she explained, “Some tailors who can’t keep up with orders will find people they trust to help them out. It’s mostly wedding gowns, winter clothes, or the latest fashions—things that are generally quite difficult to make.”

Isn’t that just outsourcing?

But it was the kind of work he couldn’t land—Ye Tao’s face darkened with disappointment.

“You’re in such a hurry to find work—are you short on money? I have some here; would a hundred wen be enough?” Lin Niangzi set down the shoe sole she was almost finished sewing and got up to fetch the money. 

“It’s not about the money,” Ye Tao explained. “I’m just looking for some work to do—at least enough to support myself.”

His basic needs are now taken care of—Lin Niangzi makes his shoes, and his only daily expense is one wen coin to use the restroom.

“Did A-Chuan say something? You don’t need to worry about him.”

“Nothing.” Although Chen Chuan kept track of the expenses and hadn’t actually refused to pay, the back-and-forth between him and Ye Tao when he asked for money felt more like playful banter than anything embarrassing.

“Then what’s the matter?” Lin Niangzi looked worried. She, more than anyone, didn’t want Ye Tao to leave. Not to mention herself—if Zhenniang kept eating as before, she’d grow up as thin as a bean pole. A-Chuan had always had a hearty appetite and a sturdy build since childhood; with the two of them side by side like that, anyone who didn’t know better would think their family was mistreating their daughter.

They have to keep him here.

“Are you worried the family doesn’t have enough money? A-Chuan brings in four or five guan a month working in the Inner Harbor, and even more in the Outer Harbor. Earlier, when I was sick, we had to buy medication. Now that I’m well again, once I finish these few doses, I won’t need to buy any more—we’ll save a guan or two on medicine.”

Ye Tao hadn’t realized Chen Chuan earned so much. It seemed that manual labor, no matter where it was done, was never quite enough but still better than nothing. With such earnings, the household was still penniless—Lin Niangzi must have been quite ill before.

He shook his head: “I can’t very well let Chen Chuan support me—he’s even a bit younger than I am.” His pride wouldn’t allow it.

Upon hearing his reason, Lin Niangzi understood: “Then just take your time finding a way to make a living. If you’re willing, I can teach you embroidery—though my eyes aren’t what they used to be, so I can’t teach anything too intricate.”

Ye Tao already had a plan in mind, but learning an extra skill was certainly a good thing, so he happily agreed: “Thank you, Aunt Lin.”

Seeing that he took her advice, Lin Niangzi breathed a sigh of relief. She handed him the money after all and said with a smile, “You call me ‘Aunt,’ so I can’t let you do it for nothing. Take this and use it.”

Fearing that Ye Tao might refuse, she added, “It was my oversight earlier. Even Zhenniang has times when she wants to buy snacks, let alone someone your age—you always need a little money on hand.”

“I don’t need that much.”

Accustomed to paper bills, a hundred copper coins seemed like a lot to him. Ye Tao untied the string of coins, counted out ten wen, and returned the rest to Lin Niangzi. Surely ten days would be enough to enjoy the freedom of going to the bathroom whenever he wanted, right?