The rain continued into the next day. The village dirt roads were wet and muddy, soaked through—each step splashing yellow muck.
It wasn’t until midday that the rain finally let up.
Su Chi hadn’t set up his stall that morning. Instead, he enjoyed a rare day of rest at home, tending to household chores.
Wang Wen slept deeper on rainy days. After a few sips of congee and a small bowl of medicine, he’d fallen into a deep sleep. Su Chi tucked the blankets around him, closed the doors and windows securely against any blowing rain, and left the room.
Su Chi couldn’t sit still. After a bowl of rice porridge with pickled vegetables, he used the free time to take stock of the food left at home.
Besides the few jin of pork he’d bought and the basket of vegetables Xie Yushu had picked for him, there were jars of soybeans, mung beans, and red beans—he’d need to check them periodically for mold or dampness.
Sugar, salt, soy sauce, vermicelli, several large bags of flour, and jars of pickled and salted vegetables were all in good condition—enough to last a while.
There was also some kelp left. He’d already decided last night before bed: he would make spicy kelp and minced pork buns. That person liked spicy food.
He knew his buns were delicious in this flavor. His regular customers had been asking for new varieties, and he’d been itching to try something new—but he hadn’t planned to use this batch for sale. There was only enough kelp for a few people to eat; too little to sell.
He cut the kelp into thin strips, kneaded the dough, took down a piece of pork from the wall, minced it finely, and quickly prepared the filling.
His fingers moved swiftly and precisely, wrapping each bun with skill. They were thin-skinned and packed with filling—the stuffing nearly bursting out, yet the dough held perfectly without tearing.
Exactly three full steamers’ worth—every bit of kelp used, nothing wasted.
He lit the fire and stacked the three bamboo steamers one on top of the other, letting them heat slowly.
Once they were done, he took a large plate and prepared to bring some to Xie Yushu first.
He’d peeked at the Zhai yard a few times that morning and saw she hadn’t gone out all morning. She probably hadn’t started cooking yet—maybe still lazing in bed.
For some reason, that thought made him feel light.
Summer rain came and went like this—heavy and fierce when it arrived, quick to stop. It had poured from last night through this morning, and now, just like that, the rain had cleared and the sun was shining brightly.
Seeing the rain had stopped, Su Chi filled a large plate with buns and headed out.
When he knocked and she answered, Xie Yushu had clearly been awake for a while—she seemed to be writing something, with a smudge of ink on her face. Her eyes lit up at the sight of the plate of spicy kelp and pork buns, gleaming with the hunger of a wolf spotting prey.
He’d heard she could write and had studied—now he knew it was true. How impressive.
Xie Yushu hadn’t woken as early as usual today—rainy days made for especially good sleeping, so she’d stayed in bed an extra half hour. After getting up, she’d lounged around for a while, had a glass of water, and continued working on her business plan, revising as she went. Then came the knock at the door.
Looking at the plate of buns—which smelled absolutely divine—she was a little wary: “That’s a lot. Did you save some for yourself and your father?” She worried he’d given her everything.
“Father can’t eat spicy food right now. I kept some for myself—don’t worry.”
He’d made several steamers’ worth—even after both he and Xie Yushu had their fill, plenty remained.
Before he left, Su Chi pointed to his own left cheek. “You’ve got a little something there.”
She touched her face where he’d indicated and found the fresh ink smudge.
After delivering the buns to Xie Yushu, Su Chi wrapped up several more in oil paper and brought them to the village chief’s house, Aunt Gao the butcher’s, Aunt Zhang who sold him red beans, Uncle Qi who sold him vermicelli, and the Liu family who’d helped him so much.
Luckily, they all could handle spice—they accepted the buns with beaming smiles.
At the Gao family’s midday meal, they all ate Su Chi’s spicy kelp and pork buns, mouths greasy and happy, taking several bites before pausing to breathe.
When you tore open a bun, a puff of hot steam burst out. The filling was generous and tightly packed, holding together perfectly. The kelp had been cut into small pieces, glistening with appetizing oil. The pork was minced from good-quality cuts—two parts fat to eight parts lean—succulent and fragrant, each grain of meat distinct and aromatic.
The star was the chili oil—Su Chi’s own blend, mixed with chili powder into the filling, fragrant beyond belief. Combined with the savory freshness of the kelp, the buns were both savory and aromatic. Anyone could eat several in one go.
The Gao husband took a big bite, chewing as he praised, “Look at Chi-ge’er’s buns—big, packed with filling, and incredibly delicious. Who knew kelp could go in buns? And with chili and so much pork—fantastic! Why didn’t I ever think of that?”
His wife, the Gao woman, ate without looking up, responding between bites, “What would you have thought of? It’s already a miracle you don’t just boil everything. How about braised bamboo shoots with pork tonight?”
Even though their family had plenty of meat, her husband’s cooking was nothing to write home about—just frying in oil with a splash of water. She shook her head at the thought. At least this dish would be passable.
The Gao husband agreed readily: “Fine.”
Their youngest daughter had gobbled down her bun in a few bites, then looked longingly at her father. “Father, I finished mine—I want more!”
Knowing his picky daughter, and seeing her actually eager to eat, he quickly told her to finish her regular meal instead. “There’s none left. There are five of us, and Chi-ge’er sent exactly five buns. Finish your rice.”
At that, the girl pouted miserably: “It’s not good—your cooking isn’t good, Father! I want more of Chi-ge’er’s buns!”
Her father didn’t indulge her. “Fine—your mother said we’re having bamboo shoots with pork tonight. You—” He shot her a threatening glance, then looked pointedly at the bamboo switch by the wall.
One look from her father, and she knew what he meant. She straightened up immediately: “I’ll eat! I’m eating! Don’t hit me, Father!” She forced herself to eat, though her rice now seemed even more unpalatable compared to those delicious buns.
Before the family had even finished their meal, a person walked in unannounced through the gate.
“Eating well, Aunt Gao?”
The Gao woman set down her chopsticks and asked, “Something I can help you with, Su Fūlang?” Why would someone come calling during mealtime?
It was Cai Zhi.
Most farming families ate around the same time—it was rare for someone to drop by during another family’s meal.
Cai Zhi smiled. “Nothing much—just wanted to ask if you have any pig ears. I’d like to cut half of one.”
Just thinking about it irritated him. Su Ping and their two daughters were picky eaters, constantly complaining that their food was bland and they wanted something with more flavor. Only Sheng-ge’er had any sense—he never said such things and even comforted his sisters. But even he wasn’t happy with the meals.
Things used to be easier—they could go to Chi-ge’er’s for some vegetables or meat buns to liven up their meals. But now Chi-ge’er had grown more guarded around them, and it was harder to get things.
Frustrated, he’d left his own midday meal unfinished to buy half a pig ear to braise.
They couldn’t afford the spices for braising, but Chi-ge’er had them—he’d spotted some the time before and had asked for a bit. This time, he could put them to use.
A single pig ear wouldn’t be enough for five people, and he only wanted half. The Gao husband, amused by their stinginess, commented with a hint of sarcasm, “Five people in your family—will half an ear be enough?”
Cai Zhi knew he was buying too little and could only smile. Glancing at their lunch, his eyes landed on the large meat buns in everyone’s hands. “Oh, eating so well—such fragrant buns. Did your family make them this morning?”
“Chi-ge’er brought them over. Didn’t you get any?”
The Gao woman’s words were cut short by a nudge from her husband under the table. She realized she might have said the wrong thing.
Cai Zhi froze for a moment, then understood—these were indeed Su Chi’s buns. No wonder they smelled so good.
But Aunt Gao’s words felt like a slap to his face.
It seemed to mock their Su family: even the Gao family, who had no blood relation to Su Chi, received his big meat buns—so why didn’t his own relatives get any?
Cai Zhi forced a smile and said lightly, “Of course we have some. Chi-ge’er is so filial—he always makes sure his aunt and two cousins get anything good. He’s probably bringing them over right now—I should head back and check.”
With that, he lost interest in buying pig ears. Holding back his anger, he left the Gao house.
On his way home, the more he thought about it, the more resentful he became. He cursed Su Chi under his breath.
That heartless thing—giving his big meat buns to unrelated outsiders, while his own blood relatives got nothing?
Unacceptable!
His family couldn’t be the ones to lose out.
After Cai Zhi left, the Gao husband couldn’t hold back anymore. He stood up, hands on his hips, and shot his wife a disapproving look. “Why did you have to tell him that?! Now you’ve made trouble for Chi-ge’er!”
“My fault, my fault—I spoke too fast,” the Gao woman said regretfully.
No matter how much Su Ping and Cai Zhi played the friendly, honest couple in the village, anyone close to Su Chi knew exactly what kind of people they were.
Whenever Su Chi had good food, they’d put on the airs of elders and bring their little daughter over to take and eat. If Chi-ge’er refused, they’d badmouth him. Everyone saw it—though when they told others, many didn’t believe it.
And that Su Sheng everyone praised—in the Gao husband’s eyes, he was no good either. No matter how much he played the sweet, obedient, polite boy, he saw right through him.
Taking advantage of Cai Zhi’s absence, he let loose.
“Pfft—a whole family and they only come to buy half a pig ear. If it weren’t for your easygoing nature, no butcher in town would sell just half!”
“Yesterday you even let Sheng-ge’er take a jin of meat home. I bet Cai Zhi’s just going to send it to his own parents in the neighboring village. He won’t even feed his own daughters properly—just throwing them a pig ear. What kind of father is that?”
“Always eyeing Chi-ge’er’s little savings—shameless!”
“After Su Hui passed, Chi-ge’er and Wang Wen were left alone, just scraping by—and Wang Wen got sick. Su Ping hasn’t been a good sister. How did her sister treat them when she was alive? And look how they treat Chi-ge’er in return!”
“Just wait—I’m telling you, karma will catch up with them.”
The Gao husband spat in the direction Cai Zhi had gone, then shut the gate firmly, finally letting out his frustration.
—
Xie Yushu cracked an egg and made a bowl of sour soup to go with the spicy kelp buns. Halfway through her meal, Ye Youchun arrived.
She’d come in a hurry, panting as she asked anxiously, “My family said you came looking for me yesterday afternoon. Do you have work for me?”
She looked at Xie Yushu with burning intensity.
The night before, she’d come home from the ferry completely soaked. The ferry had let the stevedores leave early, but Ye Youchun had stayed to haul a few more sacks for extra copper, braving the pouring rain.
When she got home, her family forced her to drink a big bowl of ginger soup to ward off the cold. As her younger brother Youzhi brought her dry clothes, he told her that a good-looking woman from the Zhai house had come looking for her—there was work, and copper coins to be earned.
The moment she heard “copper coins,” she wanted to rush out into the rain, but her grandmother had stopped her with a firm scolding.
That’s why she hadn’t come yesterday and was only now getting here.
She hated this weather. When it rained, there was less work at the ferry—and less work meant fewer copper coins.
She had little land at home. After tending to the crops, she’d go to town and the ferry to find work.
She didn’t mind going hungry or working hard herself—but her grandmother and little brother couldn’t. They were the ones in her family who could least afford to go without food.
She was afraid that if she came too late, Miss Xie would have already given the work to someone else.
Seeing her arrive, Xie Yushu invited her in to discuss the matter in detail.
The job was simple: she was to relay messages between He Chao, who ran a stall at the ferry, and Xie Yushu, and also keep an eye out for news from the Du family.
It was easy work—just traveling between the ferry and the Zhai house to pass along information. Ye Youchun agreed readily.
As payment, Xie Yushu wrapped up three large meat buns from the plate and handed them to her. “Here—take these for your brother and grandmother.”
She’d asked Su Chi about Ye Youchun’s family earlier and learned there were only three of them.
Ye Youchun refused the generous offer. “You don’t need to—I haven’t even started working for you yet. I can’t take these for nothing.”
“They’re not for you—they’re for your brother and grandmother. Take them.” Xie Yushu didn’t waste words, pressing the buns into her arms.
At the mention of her family, Ye Youchun wavered. After a moment’s hesitation, she accepted them and thanked Xie Yushu.
After she left, Xie Yushu continued her meal, realizing that both times she’d won someone over, she’d used Su Chi’s buns.
What a coincidence.
The reason was simple: Xie Yushu genuinely believed Su Chi’s buns were too delicious to resist. Using such wonderful food to win people over was only natural.
After all, no one could refuse his cooking.
The sun was growing stronger. It didn’t look like it would rain again, so everyone came out to air their bedding and clothes, and to stroll about.
The Su family yard, freshly washed by the rain, glistened wetly.
Su Chi used a large broom made of bound branches to vigorously sweep the standing water off the ground. The rough branches scraped against the earth, making a harsh, grating sound.
Suddenly, an even sharper, deliberately raised voice cut through the noise from outside the gate.
“Chi-ge’er, that wasn’t very kind of you.”
Su Chi stopped sweeping and looked up. It was his uncle Cai Zhi.
Cai Zhi stood with his arms crossed, chin raised, looking like a prosecutor interrogating a criminal. He looked at Su Chi as if he were some heinous villain.
He pushed open the wooden gate, crossed the threshold, and stormed up to Su Chi, dropping all pretense of decency. He launched into a tirade:
“I heard you’ve been generous—giving buns to all sorts of people. Several households, they say, each with big meat buns as big as their faces. Have you forgotten your own aunt’s family? Your two little cousins go hungry every day, waiting for their Chi-gege to bring them meat buns—how can you be so heartless? Is that how you treat your family?”
“Chi-ge’er, think about it—your aunt and your mother came from the same father. They’re sisters, bone of the same bone. How close they were! How did she treat our family back then? And how do you treat your mother’s only sister?”
“You’re so cruel!”
After flinging his insults, Cai Zhi finally vented some of his resentment. His eyes darted hungrily toward the kitchen, as if trying to will buns into existence.
It was always the same scene every time he came. Su Chi was tired of responding. He ignored him, continuing to sweep, and only after a long pause said flatly, “I only gave them to the neighbors who’ve helped us. Didn’t you get some meat from Aunt Gao’s place?”
When his uncle mentioned his late mother, Su Chi’s heart tightened. His grip on the broom handle hardened.
“That little bit of meat isn’t enough for our family! You bought a whole eight jin—no one else in the village buys that much!”
Su Chi’s expression remained blank. “It’s for bun filling—for selling.”
Every time, it was the same argument. And every time, Su Chi explained that it was for his business, not for personal consumption. But his uncle seemed to never understand, always harping on.
He was about to tell him to leave when Cai Zhi suddenly changed his tune. His voice dropped, his face took on a wounded look, and his tone turned almost tearful:
“I’m not really after your buns—I’m just heartbroken. Heartbroken that you, a young man, have no room in your heart for your aunt or your two cousins, yet you’re so generous to outsiders. How can anyone else compare to family?”
As if moved by his own words, Cai Zhi pretended to dab at dry eyes, all the while sneaking glances at Su Chi’s reaction.
But Su Chi wouldn’t even look up at him—just kept his eyes down, focused on sweeping the ground with that old broom, utterly unmoved.
Cai Zhi’s anger flared. He quickly switched to an even more heartbroken, grief-stricken expression, raising his voice another notch as he piled on the accusations.
“So heartless. I see you truly don’t care about your aunt or your cousins.”
“When your aunt and I are old and gone, we’ll go down and ask Su Hui how she raised such a son.”
Cai Zhi seemed genuinely furious—his chest heaved as he glared at Su Chi, as if trying to bore a hole through him.
Su Chi still ignored him, unhurriedly going about his work, treating Cai Zhi like thin air. He figured the man would just exhaust himself and leave.
His indifference enraged Cai Zhi, who lunged to snatch the broom and throw it away—but was stopped by a voice that was now somewhat familiar to him.
“No need to wait—you can go down and ask right now.”
Su Chi recognized the voice immediately. He stopped what he was doing and turned toward the gate—it was Xie Yushu.
Seeing her, he felt a slight sense of relief, but also a pang of embarrassment. He didn’t want her to hear his uncle’s cruel words.
He didn’t know when she’d arrived or how much she’d overheard.
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