Vegetarian buns were still two wen each, meat buns three wen, wontons twelve wen per bowl, and five-spice tea eggs two wen each.
Ge Shanyun ordered six of each type of bun, plus the other items, for a total of one hundred and four wen.
Since it was the shop’s first day open, and this customer was the very first one, and she’d bought so much all at once, Su Chi gave her a small discount, charging her an even one hundred wen—that is, one qian.
Having earned this much from the very first customer, Su Chi’s anxious heart finally settled a little.
After she left, more customers came by, curious about the newly opened shop. They looked, and as they looked, they started ordering buns.
Some of them were old customers he’d attracted with his “advertising” that day.
Some came inside to sit and eat, while others ordered takeaway and left.
With Su Chi’s strong recommendation, most customers who weren’t in a hurry ordered a bowl of steaming wontons and tea eggs to eat inside.
Su Chi quickly wrapped ten more portions of wontons.
Some customers waiting outside for Su Chi to package their orders couldn’t resist the aroma and ate the saucy meat buns right there. After a few bites, they couldn’t stop praising how delicious the saucy meat filling was.
Su Chi’s ears grew warm from the compliments. He just smiled and told them to come back if they enjoyed it.
He was indeed proud of these saucy meat buns. He used fine flour, which was fluffier and softer than the coarse flour he’d used at his stall before, and he was very satisfied with the saucy meat filling.
The meat filling for the buns also had its own rules—it was made by mixing half cooked meat filling with half raw filling, blended together. Raw meat filling, though tender, always felt like it was missing something; cooked meat filling was fragrant but could be a bit dry. Combining the two made up for each other’s shortcomings.
At the butcher shop, he’d specifically chosen shoulder meat—the pig’s front shoulder. First, he cut off the fatty parts on the sides, which made up about twenty percent, and diced them into small pieces. Then he cut the remaining eighty percent of lean meat into small chunks, and finally chopped everything together into a fine mince.
Half of the meat filling was put into a bowl to be seasoned, while the other half went into the wok for stir-frying.
He split a handful of pale green scallions in half lengthwise and cut them into rings; he grated ginger—larger than a thumb—into a paste, then added water to make ginger water. He poured the ginger water into the raw meat filling in two batches, added dark soy sauce for color, and mixed everything evenly.
Then he heated oil in the wok—adding both vegetable oil and lard—threw in the scallion rings to release their fragrance, stir-frying the rich scallion aroma into the oil. Once the scallions had been stir-fried until dry, he removed them and set them aside. Then he added the remaining half of the meat filling and continued stir-frying. Once the meat changed color and the oil was no longer cloudy, he added some minced ginger. The minced ginger here was only for removing odors and enhancing fragrance—you wouldn’t actually taste the ginger when eating.
When it was almost done, he added his own homemade bean paste, soy sauce, salt, five-spice powder, and a bit of sugar to enhance the freshness. He stir-fried until the meat took on color, turning a rich sauce-brown, then poured it into the other half of the raw meat filling and mixed everything together.
The saucy meat filling made this way was not only rich and oily, but also carried the smoky wok-heat fragrance of being stir-fried in lard. The rich, saucy oil from the cooked meat slowly seeped into the raw meat filling, while the raw meat’s fresh tenderness and juices in turn moistened the cooked meat, preserving plenty of broth. The result was tender first, then fragrant—an absolutely wonderful taste.
Even Xie Yushu, who was picky about food, said this saucy meat bun would definitely become the shop’s signature item, and told him to make it with confidence.
The saucy meat buns, with their oil-seeping wrappers glistening with grease, sold the fastest. While Su Chi cooked fresh pork wontons for customers, he found time to wrap more saucy meat buns. One whole basin of filling was almost gone.
The returning old customers all ordered a lot—usually a bowl of wontons and several buns—and when they left, they took away several more buns and tea eggs.
The five-spice eggs quickly ran out too, leaving only the leftover braising liquid. He hadn’t made many to begin with, and the very first customer had bought nearly half of them at once.
When other customers wanted to buy eggs, Su Chi could only apologize and say they were sold out, adding that he would make more tomorrow.
After one wave of customers left, three or four more arrived. Su Chi was so busy he wished he had four hands—fine sweat beaded on his forehead, but he didn’t have a free hand to wipe it away.
Today’s luck was truly good—the customers were willing to wait and were reasonable. If he’d run into an impatient customer who only knew how to rush him, that would have been really difficult.
“Two bowls of wontons and four mustard green and bamboo shoot buns.”
“Eight scallion and pork flower rolls and two saucy meat buns—boss, wrap them up for me.”
“Three red bean buns, two eggplant buns, and four more saucy meat buns.”
Several customers were waiting up front for Su Chi to wrap their buns, and he was too busy to leave his spot.
“I ordered four bowls of wontons—why hasn’t the boss brought them out yet?”
Su Chi had just finished wrapping the buns for the previous customer and collected the money, putting it into a palm-sized coin basket. Hearing the customer’s urging, he quickened his movements and soothed them: “Coming right up, please wait a moment—”
Just as he was about to turn and look at the customers, he saw Xie Yushu walk up behind him, sleeves already rolled up, clearly ready to help.
“You take care of the customers out front. I’ll deliver the wontons.”
Su Chi was startled for a moment, then said in a gentle voice: “Why are you here? I can handle it—go back and rest.”
Xie Yushu didn’t say anything, just squeezed his hand. She picked up the four bowls of fresh pork wontons he’d already filled with chili oil and black scallion oil, and carried them over to the four customers who’d been calling out.
“Your four bowls of wontons. Please enjoy.”
The four customers, seeing their wontons had arrived, stopped urging and buried their heads in their bowls, slurping up the broth.
One of them couldn’t help slapping his thigh as he drank: “This broth is really fresh! And with that black scallion oil added—it’s both fresh and fragrant. I want another bowl.”
“This chili oil is fragrant too—aromatic and bold, without covering up that fresh taste of the broth. I’ll have another bowl too.”
Some customers who hadn’t had enough ordered another bowl of wontons. Others, reluctant to spend more money, brazenly asked Su Chi if they could have another serving of broth.
Su Chi agreed. It was just a bowl of broth, hardly any cost, and it kept customers happy—quite a good deal. He thought he might as well offer free refills on broth from now on.
Some particularly curious customers asked Su Chi what exactly the broth base was made of, that it was so delicious.
Su Chi only gave a rough description of the visible side dishes and seasonings, without mentioning the core ingredients. This both satisfied the customers’ curiosity and made him seem like an approachable shopkeeper, making customers more willing to return.
This broth base was an excellent secret recipe that Xie Yushu and Su Chi had spent several days perfecting together.
The clear broth used pork bone broth as its foundation. At the bottom of each bowl, they first placed a piece of lard the size of a fingernail, then added chopped scallions, a small pinch of dried laver, a few drops of sesame oil, and a little salt—this was the basic flavor base.
The chili oil was made by Su Chi himself, with a pure chili fragrance and a less harsh spiciness.
The black scallion oil, in particular, was a great recipe provided by Xie Yushu. They used shallots to make it—and as it happened, the vegetables Wang Wen had sent included shallots. Shallots had a more intense, pungent flavor than other types of scallions.
They added white scallion sections and a tiny amount of ginger and garlic, then pounded everything into a paste. Using a fine-mesh gauze cloth, they squeezed out the excess moisture from the scallion paste. This not only shortened the cooking time but also helped the paste keep longer.
Next came the frying process. In the wok, they put nine taels of vegetable oil and one tael of lard. First, they added half the scallion paste and quickly stirred to break it apart. Once large bubbles appeared in the wok, they added the other half of the paste. They waited patiently until the paste turned a golden brown—then they added a small amount of dried shrimp crumbs, a handful of fine pork cracklings, sesame seed crumbs, and crushed peanuts. Finally, they added an appropriate amount of five-spice powder, stirred everything evenly, and let it cool before pouring it into a jar.
This scallion oil wasn’t just for the shop—it could also be added to noodle soups, tossed noodles, or cold dishes to enhance the flavor.
There was also a spoonful of their exclusive fresh powder. Xie Yushu had ground dried shiitake mushrooms, dried shrimp, and dried laver in a mortar into a fine powder so fine that ordinary people couldn’t tell what it was. This was the key to the delicious broth—it enhanced the freshness by more than just a little.
Naturally, these dried ingredients ground into powder weren’t cheap. The cost was somewhat high, but when spread across each spoonful after simmering, there was definitely still profit, so Su Chi was generous with it.
The dried shrimp and dried shiitake mushrooms were also from their household stock—the dried shrimp they had to buy; the shiitake mushrooms were easier, as several aunties in the village grew them. The price was a bit steep, but the flavor was excellent, so Su Chi decided to buy more in the future.
The dried laver was delivered by He Chao the day before—several large sheets of it. He said that Third Aunt, following Xie Yushu’s advice, had dried the wet laver into dried sheets, and it worked on the first try. He also said it was a great product.
The wonton wrappers were also made by Su Chi. He made them extremely well—thin as a single layer, easily broken with a bite.
Although the shop’s wontons sold for twelve wen per bowl—two wen more than other shops—there was a reason for the higher price. Just the amount of meat in the filling was more than what others gave, not to mention the fresh powder and black scallion oil. No customer who tasted them would feel they weren’t worth the price.
Su Chi wrapped buns, packaged orders, and handled payments out front, while Xie Yushu delivered wontons to customers, collected money, cleared bowls and chopsticks, and wiped tables in the back. The two worked in orderly coordination through the peak rush.
After that, only a few scattered customers remained—one person could easily handle it.
“Have you had breakfast?” Xie Yushu asked Su Chi after clearing the last dine-in customer’s bowls and chopsticks.
Su Chi shook his head guiltily, then asked if she had eaten.
Xie Yushu let out a sigh: “I ate before I came over. I knew you’d be too busy to eat. Eat something now—I’ll handle things in the shop.”
Seeing the slight displeasure in Xie Yushu’s brows, Su Chi tugged at her clothes pitifully: “I’ll go right away.”
Before long, Su Chi was sitting in the back kitchen, quietly eating wontons with thin wrappers and plump fillings, while secretly watching Xie Yushu efficiently pack buns for customers out front. A hint of sweetness welled up in his heart.
The thick stacks of bamboo steamers out front were nearly empty of buns. Customers who came later couldn’t choose their preferred flavors and could only buy whatever buns were left. They muttered that they’d definitely come earlier tomorrow—they’d heard this newly opened shop had excellent food, but by the time they arrived, the wontons, tea eggs, and saucy meat buns were all sold out.
Still, the remaining vegetarian buns they bought were delicious too.
Today’s first-day stock was almost completely sold. Both of them let out a sigh of relief at the sight of the several large basins, all empty.
They hadn’t prepared much of each filling today. The saucy meat basin had long since run dry. The red bean buns also sold very well—Su Chi had scraped every last bit of red bean paste out of its basin. The other vegetarian buns were also popular, and the green pepper and eggplant buns were unexpectedly the best-selling of the lot.
The last portion of fresh pork wonton filling had been eaten by Su Chi himself, and the basin that had held the meat filling was scraped completely clean.
Looking at today’s results, Su Chi gradually gained a sense of what to expect. He thought he should prepare at least fifty eggs tomorrow to have enough to sell.
Su Chi didn’t plan to throw away the tea egg braising liquid. He would save it and use it as aged broth for the next batch. All he had to do was strain the liquid carefully through gauze—removing the sunken eggshells, and the tea leaves, stems, and spice dregs floating on the surface.
This way, the tea egg braising liquid would become clean again. Tomorrow, he’d just need to add a little fresh spice and water, then bring it to a boil again.
Handled this way, the braising liquid would be very resistant to spoilage. The liquid would become aged broth, and whatever was braised in it would be even more flavorful and rich than the first time.
This was something Su Chi’s mother, Su Hui, had taught him. Su Chi greatly admired his mother—he felt she could do anything, and everything she made was delicious.
It was a pity she would never see her beloved child, whom she’d doted on since childhood, now with his own wife, running such a proper shop.
Su Chi’s mood suddenly dipped. Xie Yushu noticed and took his hand, asking with concern: “What’s wrong? Are you exhausted?”
By now, all the customers had finished eating and left—only the two of them were in the shop. Su Chi gently rested his chin on Xie Yushu’s shoulder: “Mm, a little tired.”
“Then let’s not open the shop this afternoon. We’ll go buy tomorrow’s supplies first, then go back and rest?” Xie Yushu wrapped her arms around Su Chi’s waist and leaned in to whisper the suggestion in his ear.
Su Chi was tickled by the breath of Xie Yushu’s words and suddenly didn’t feel sad anymore: “Alright. Tomorrow I want to make fifty eggs. Let’s go buy eggs and some meat.”
Then they washed the bowls, basins, and various utensils in the sink together. Once everything was tidied up and they’d fitted the wooden door panels onto the shopfront, they went to the town market stalls to look at fresh eggs.
When the farmer heard the young couple ask for fifty eggs right off the bat, she was delighted and readily offered a discount. The original price was three wen for two eggs—she gave them a good price of one wen each.
Xie Yushu knew that egg prices here weren’t cheap. These were eggs from farmers who raised chickens and ducks at home—they’d save up eggs for several days to fill a basket and bring them to town to sell.
Unlike modern factory farms that could produce a steady stream of eggs every day, where an ordinary egg cost only three to five mao, these were much more expensive.
But at one wen per egg, with their shop selling at two wen each, they’d be losing money—they still had to factor in the cost of spices, and they really wouldn’t make much.
Xie Yushu asked the woman if she could give them an even better price if they supplied fifty eggs to their shop every day.
The woman’s heart stirred at the offer—this was a rare opportunity for a steady, long-term arrangement. Her yard was quite large, with several chicken coops, and her chickens were healthy and well-fed. They laid eggs consistently every day—supplying fifty eggs daily would be more than manageable.
In the end, the egg seller gave Xie Yushu fifty eggs for thirty wen—which worked out to just over half a wen per egg.
Xie Yushu quickly finalized the deal with the woman, asking her to deliver the eggs to Su’s Bun Shop every day. The woman was easy to deal with, and seeing the large daily order, she readily agreed.
They also went to the spice shop to bargain. Spices weren’t something ordinary households could afford to buy every day. When the shopkeeper saw it was them again, she lowered the price even further than last time. She did the math carefully—even with the price reduced, she’d still have a steady daily income, which definitely meant profit. So the spice shopkeeper immediately agreed, afraid of losing such a reliable customer.
With eggs cheaper and the spice price settled, their profit margin on tea eggs was secured.
When Su Chi first said he wanted to sell tea eggs, Xie Yushu had worried they wouldn’t make much money from them.
But Su Chi had thought it through. He explained to her that the goal was for customers to enjoy the flavor and come back to their shop more often—they wouldn’t just buy tea eggs; they’d definitely buy other things too. And the profit on those other items was substantial, so they wouldn’t lose out.
Seeing that Su Chi had such a plan, Xie Yushu felt deeply comforted. Her husband truly knew how to do business.
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