He was generous with lard, sugar, and tangerine peel. On the surface, the costs added up, but spread across each individual bun, they became negligible.
Su Chi had carefully calculated the cost of his red bean buns.
The red beans he bought from Aunt Zhang cost less than three wen per jin. After washing, soaking, boiling, and removing the skins, one jin of beans yielded over eight liang of paste. He used thirty grams of filling per bun—a generous amount—so one jin of beans made thirteen to fourteen buns, costing less than 0.2 wen per bun.
Adding in the flour, lard, sugar, and tangerine peel, the total cost per bun came to less than half a wen. He sold each for two wen, giving him a profit margin of 75%—a very healthy return.
When he first started, everyone thought his prices were steep. His buns cost two wen each, while other stalls sold three for two wen, or even one for a single wen.
But once people tasted the difference, customers who didn’t mind paying for quality flocked to Su Chi’s stall.
His red bean buns were always popular. The jar of red bean filling was always the first to empty each day.
After the small crowd of customers dispersed with their warm buns, another customer came up and ordered one red bean bun and two large meat buns.
“Eight wen,” Su Chi said, his hands busy pleating a meat bun. He’d finish that one, then grab the customer’s order.
After reflexively quoting the price, he looked up—and saw it was Xie Yushu.
As she was about to pull out her money, Su Chi hurriedly stopped her. “Y-You don’t have to pay.”
“What, you’re letting me eat for free?” Xie Yushu smiled at him, her brows relaxed and her lips curved. Her gaze was direct.
Just a few days ago, he’d barely acknowledged her—and now he was refusing her money? What had changed?
That dazzling look caught Su Chi off guard, making his heart flutter. He didn’t know what “eating for free” meant—he simply explained patiently, “Last time, you told me to open the window in Father’s room. He was much more comfortable that night, and his coughing eased. I won’t take your money today.”
His father felt better—that made him happy. He didn’t have much to offer in return, only these buns, which weren’t worth much anyway.
He wrapped up her order and handed it to her, then lowered his head and focused on shaping the next bun, as if afraid to meet her probing, curious gaze.
A moment later, the dull clink of copper coins landed on the counter.
Su Chi’s hands stopped. He looked up to see Xie Yushu’s retreating figure and the eight copper coins lying on the board.
He picked them up. Even these few coins seemed to carry the warmth of her touch.
Xie Yushu wasn’t one to take advantage of others. His household was no better off than hers—at least she had only herself to feed. But Su Chi had a seriously ill father to support, and life was clearly hard for him. She’d seen it with her own eyes.
When she unwrapped the oil paper, she was surprised to find—besides the three buns she’d ordered—two extra vegetarian buns.
Her gaze softened involuntarily. Taking a freshly steamed meat bun, she ate as she walked toward the ferry. Today, she had some information to gather.
The temporary morning market at the ferry was as bustling as ever, with all kinds of fresh seafood on display. Xie Yushu picked a stall that looked honest and asked around.
At the far edge of the market was a slow stall, its owner calling out with great effort, but passersby didn’t spare him a glance.
The stall owner was a young man, a couple of years younger than her. He was dark-skinned and honest-looking, clearly from a poor fishing family, and he flashed two rows of white teeth at everyone who passed.
Xie Yushu walked over to his stall.
Finally getting someone’s attention, He Chao greeted her enthusiastically, “What can I get you, miss? This is the freshest fish—I caught it myself at dawn.”
Xie Yushu cut straight to the point: “I don’t want to buy fish. I’d like to ask you something.”
He Chao didn’t seem disappointed that she wasn’t buying—he was still warm and welcoming. “Go ahead.”
“Are you familiar with this area? I don’t just mean the ferry, but the surrounding villages too.”
“Of course I am! I’m from Qianwan Village, just nearby—I grew up here.” He Chao perked up at the question, straightening his back and opening up. “I can even dive for fish. Not just the ferry and the villages—I know the town inside out too. I know what every alley sells. Ask me anything.” He was full of confidence.
Scattered around the ferry, besides the largest town of Songwan, were many villages of varying sizes, all built around the ferry as a hub. To get the information she needed, she had to find a local.
This was exactly what Xie Yushu wanted—someone familiar with the surrounding villages.
The original owner only knew the town and the ferry well, living a two-point life between Songwan and Mapu Ferry. But that wasn’t enough for Xie Yushu—she needed a living map.
“Do you know any families that dry kelp, seaweed, or other dried seafood?” Xie Yushu asked.
He Chao’s eyes lit up. “Miss, you’ve come to the right person! I do know a few families with that skill—right in our village, Qianwan.”
Kelp was cheap—straight out of the sea, it hardly sold for anything. Adding the labor of drying could fetch a few extra coins, but the work was hard and the return took time. Few were willing to do it.
Xie Yushu was eager to see for herself: “Can you take me to your village?”
She then pulled out a large meat bun as her “consultation fee.”
He Chao was taken aback by the unexpected bun from the good-looking young woman. He recognized it—it was from that young man’s stall in town.
Many people at the ferry loved those buns. He often saw others stuffing their faces with them, too overwhelmed by the flavor to speak.
One day, when business had been slightly better than usual and he’d made a little money, he’d closed up early and went to town to buy two meat buns—one for his father, one for his sister. He’d just smell them. His family could barely afford pork once a year; most of what they ate was small, unsold fish mashed into a salty paste, eaten with plain rice.
He’d told his father he’d bought three, so he’d eat without worry. But his little sister He Xi knew better; she broke off half of hers and said if he wouldn’t eat, neither would she. Only then did He Chao take the half and take a big, satisfying bite. That rich, savory meat flavor was still fresh in his memory.
“This…” He Chao stared at the meat bun, at a loss for words.
Thinking he wanted more, Xie Yushu crouched down, looked over his small stall, and bought a bucket of mixed small fish.
The small fish were cheap—less than twenty wen for a whole bucket. She handed twenty wen to He Chao.
Dazzled by his first sale of the day and the warm bun in his hands, He Chao immediately agreed to Xie Yushu’s request. He packed up his stall and led Xie Yushu to his village.
Along the way, they chatted and exchanged names.
Xie Yushu pointed out that his fish were small while others sold bigger ones, which explained his slow business.
At that, He Chao deflated. He knew it himself.
Other families went fishing together as a group, or pooled money to buy fishing boats to sail out to sea.
His family was small. His mother had died at sea years ago in a storm. His father was frail, managing the household and caring for his younger sister, who was only eleven. The whole family’s burden rested on his shoulders alone.
Every day, by the time he reached the public fishing grounds, all the big, good fish had already been caught. All that was left were fish smaller than a palm—or even smaller.
Qianwan Village was some distance from the ferry. Xie Yushu was a woman—strong, with good endurance and a steady pace. He Chao, meanwhile, was used to the daily walk. They talked as they walked, arriving before long.
Unlike other men, He Chao didn’t worry about being too close to women. His family was poor and needed money—he had no time for such taboos.
Xie Yushu, for her part, hadn’t even thought about it. Male-female boundaries only crossed her mind intermittently—especially when she ran into a certain someone.
As they entered the village, the air was thick with the faint, briny scent of the sea.
Qianwan Village didn’t look as prosperous as Qingluo. There were no neat fenced yards, no abundant racks of dried mountain goods, no peaceful, orderly atmosphere.
The houses here were scattered and low, shabby in both structure and yard. The walls seemed built from seaside rubble mixed with clay. Under every eave hung patched and repatched fishing nets, and by every door lay dried fish rejected by merchants and reeking fish baskets and crab traps.
At this hour, children and husbands were returning from the tidal flats, carrying buckets and baskets, their backs loaded with heavy seaweed. Their catches—oysters, small green crabs, shrimp, clams—filled their baskets. The lucky few even brought back large octopuses.
The women returned later, hauling heavy, dripping catches to sell at the ferry or at their own stalls. That was their family’s main income.
Xie Yushu hadn’t realized that two villages in the same town—one at the eastern edge, the other at the western—could have such a stark disparity in wealth.
Seeing her surprise, He Chao volunteered some information about Qianwan Village.
“Those who live by the mountain live off the mountain; those who live by the water live off the water”—the saying held true.
Qingluo Village, backed by mountains with abundant streams and fertile soil, could live easily off farming. But Qianwan’s fishing families had no land, only the sea. They survived by fishing and gathering seafood, always at the mercy of the weather—and when the weather turned bad, lives could be lost.
After this brief introduction, He Chao continued leading Xie Yushu to the households that dried kelp.
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