From that night on, as long as Su Chi wasn’t too tired, Xie Yushu allowed him to practice writing for half an hour before bed.
Su Chi sat up straight with proper posture, his back erect, holding the brush with decent form. His little face was taut with concentration, his eyes fixed intently on the practice sheets as he traced each stroke with utmost seriousness.
The candlelight fell on his face, illuminating an expression of intense focus mixed with gentle softness.
Xie Yushu leaned against the headboard, watching her husband’s absorbed and studious demeanor, unable to stop the corners of her mouth from curling up. It made her heart melt completely.
He had the makings of a good student—if he could receive an education, her husband would definitely be the kind of student teachers never had to worry about.
However long Su Chi wrote, Xie Yushu waited for him in bed. Throughout the waiting, she never once felt bored.
When he finished, Su Chi proudly showed off the several sheets of large characters he’d written, holding them up for Xie Yushu to see. She reached out, took them, and brought them close for a look.
The strokes were immature, but what mattered was the effort behind them.
It was already very good. She couldn’t ask for too much.
Xie Yushu nodded seriously: “Very well written.”
“Really?” Su Chi’s face flushed slightly at the praise, visibly excited.
Xie Yushu gave him an indulgent nod, then noticed something on his face and said, “Come closer.”
Su Chi leaned in, confused, not knowing what she was about to do. The next moment, a warm fingertip touched his brow—Xie Yushu rubbed her thumb across the edge of his eyebrow.
“How did you get ink on your eyebrow?” Xie Yushu showed him the ink smudge on her fingertip, her tone teasing.
Su Chi covered the spot she’d touched, trying to recall how he’d looked while writing. He must have accidentally brushed against it while grinding the ink.
“Wipe it off.” Xie Yushu pulled out a handkerchief from somewhere and carefully wiped his face clean.
The next moment, when Su Chi saw this handkerchief, his moist eyes widened slightly. After a while, they drooped with disappointment—as if displeased, or perhaps sad.
His subtle expression didn’t escape Xie Yushu’s notice. She keenly sensed the shift in his mood, cupped his chin, and asked: “Why are you upset?”
Su Chi pursed his lips, pointed at the handkerchief embroidered with a bamboo pattern in her hand, and said with a hint of grievance: “Where did you get this handkerchief?”
“I bought it at a shop, five wen each. What’s wrong? Don’t you like this one?” Xie Yushu asked, bewildered.
Seeing Su Chi’s strange reaction, Xie Yushu’s mind suddenly connected to something, and realization dawned: “No wonder you returned that handkerchief to me before. Is it the pattern you don’t like? How about we go buy one you like in a few days?”
Bought?
So it wasn’t the one Meng Dongxue had given her?
Su Chi secretly breathed a sigh of relief, but still spoke with a hint of sullenness: “Do you have any other handkerchiefs?”
“No, this is the only one I have.” Xie Yushu assured him.
That meant Xie Yushu hadn’t accepted Meng Dongxue’s handkerchief—the only one she had was this shop-bought one.
He was happy now, his voice soft and almost coquettish: “Never mind buying another. I think this pattern is pretty too.”
Xie Yushu listened, utterly confused, still unable to figure out what was going on with Su Chi. How could he like it one moment and not the next?
After this little interlude, Su Chi tidied away the brush and ink and got into bed.
He slept on the inside, Xie Yushu on the outside, holding each other as they drifted off.
Su Chi still hadn’t fully calmed down—his heart was still beating rapidly. He held Xie Yushu even tighter.
Burying his face in her warm embrace, he suddenly remembered that at noon today, before Xie Yushu left, she’d taken many buns from the shop. He hadn’t had a chance to ask her about it then, but now he was curious.
Xie Yushu held him close and explained in his ear: “I brought them for the employees to eat. They work very hard and need your buns to replenish their strength.”
Xie Yushu’s underlying meaning was that Su Chi’s buns were delicious.
Su Chi understood and smiled bashfully.
But then he remembered the word “employees” she’d just used and asked her what it meant.
“They’re the people working under me. I bought a base for processing seafood near the ferry, in a village. They’re all helping me with the work—they’re our people.”
Xie Yushu didn’t keep anything from Su Chi. He’d find out sooner or later anyway—might as well tell him now. Although she hadn’t officially received any orders or made money yet, that was only a matter of time.
Su Chi looked up at her, startled. He hadn’t realized his wife had quietly accomplished something so big over these past few days.
“Base?” he asked again.
Xie Yushu explained slowly: “Mm, it’s a compound in the village that used to be used for processing fish. I bought it from the previous owner. It has a very large drying yard. Once things settle down over there, I’ll take you to see it.”
Su Chi was delighted, his eyes brightening: “Alright.”
He couldn’t help but ask curiously: “How much did you pay for it?”
“Only sixty guan.” Xie Yushu said it as casually as if it were sixty wen.
Su Chi’s eyes widened in surprise: “That… that expensive?” He looked at Xie Yushu with concern. “Then—”
Xie Yushu tapped the tip of his nose, as if intuitively knowing what he was worried about: “The money will all be earned back. Don’t worry about it. You’re always worrying over nothing—don’t you trust me?”
Su Chi buried his face in her shoulder and said he trusted her.
Xie Yushu kissed his earlobe: “Alright, time to sleep.”
·
Working against the clock, Zhou the Carpenter had finally finished sanding and polishing the last batch of items Xie Yushu had ordered over these past two days. She was now helping Xie Yushu load the items onto the ox-cart
The quality of Zhou’s work was even better than Xie Yushu had estimated—they should be very durable. She settled the final payment without hesitation.
The ox-cart swayed along as Xie Yushu transported the last batch of items to the bluestone compound.
In the courtyard, her few employees had already been busy early on, each doing their own tasks in an orderly fashion.
With this empty courtyard, these few people, and a pile of newly made racks, her dried seafood business was officially open.
He Chao and Aunt Hong San had purchased a total of over 1,600 catties of kelp from the villagers. It looked like a lot, but in reality, it would be dried in just a few days, and they’d need to keep buying more.
Aunt Hong San was the technical backbone, while He Chao, Father He, and Xiu He formed the group of apprentices and formal employees.
He Chao and Father He had it easier—they’d already been drying under Third Aunt for some time and could now handle the work on their own.
This was Xiu He’s first time doing this kind of work. Third Aunt guided him attentively, and he listened carefully, learning quickly.
Before drying, they washed all the kelp thoroughly. The kelp surface had sand and mud—some people didn’t care about that, but Xie Yushu did. She made sure they cleaned everything properly, removing all the grit before drying.
Her business was primarily selling to merchants, who then sold to well-off families. Those well-off families had standards for their food—not only did it need to be delicious, but it also had to be pleasing to eat. So the first priority was ensuring cleanliness.
This wasn’t just being responsible to customers—it was holding themselves to a higher standard.
When Xie Yushu explained these things to them, they didn’t fully understand, but they grasped the key point: make sure it’s clean.
Seeing her employees working so diligently, Xie Yushu, as the boss, couldn’t slack off either. She headed to the ferry to drum up business.
Zhong Shangren, whom He Chao had mentioned before, was supposed to return in a few days. She might as well go over and try her luck—perhaps she’d run into her.
This person had previously told He Chao to set aside a batch for her, making her Xie Yushu’s top candidate for her first major customer.
At the ferry dock, cargo ships were moored in small clusters. Xie Yushu walked to the spot where He Chao had previously set up his stall and waited. They’d met here last time—that person should remember this place.
She looked around, and sure enough, she spotted a middle-aged woman in neat attire walking toward her location.
Zhong Shangren had hurried over as soon as she got off the ship, thinking about the dried kelp. She hoped there would be stock this time—she planned to buy more.
Last time she’d taken back a few catties, using them for soup or cold dishes. Her whole family loved them—her husband had specifically told her that it was rare to get such high-quality seafood in their inland prefecture. The weather was getting cold, and winter was coming—she should bring back more to store at home for gradual consumption.
After trying it herself, Merchant Zhong also understood the value of those few catties of dried kelp. This time, besides bringing some for her family, she wanted to stock up plenty to sell to others.
This product had a market in their region—it was valuable and had good sales channels. No worries about not being able to sell it.
But when she arrived at the spot, instead of that dark-skinned young man from last time, she saw a striking young lady. She stepped closer and looked her over, then asked: “Where’s that young man who had the stall here before?”
Xie Yushu was certain now—this was the Zhong Shangren who’d done business with He Chao before. She smiled calmly: “He Chao works under me. I’m his boss.”
Merchant Zhong immediately understood—this was the real person selling the dried kelp.
She dispensed with pleasantries and got straight to the point: “How much stock do you have?”
Xie Yushu did a quick calculation. Third Aunt had given her the specific ratio: ten catties of fresh kelp yielded four catties of dried kelp—a yield of forty percent. They had over 1,600 catties on hand. Accounting for loss, Xie Yushu rounded it down to an even 1,600 catties—that meant 640 catties.
“Six hundred and forty catties,” Xie Yushu replied.
“That much.” Merchant Zhong’s eyes flickered with barely concealed delight.
Then she waved her hand decisively: “I’ll take it all.”
“Forty wen per catty,” Xie Yushu quoted a firm price.
She’d recently changed her mind. She’d previously thought selling above thirty wen would be profitable, but now she felt she could sell at forty or even fifty wen.
Putting aside the fact that it would be hard to find anyone else providing dried kelp of this quality—
This wasn’t modern times. In the modern era, kelp production was high and technology was good—compressed dried kelp rolled off assembly lines every day, making even dried kelp cheap.
Moreover, this time they’d purchased only the best parts of the kelp from the villagers, unlike before. The finished dried product would be even more outstanding than before.
The merchants who came to buy were all middlemen, buying low and selling high, pocketing the price difference. What did they have to lose? They didn’t have to pay for labor, or the production site, or spend time on production. No matter what Xie Yushu charged, they’d still make a tidy profit.
Therefore, Xie Yushu abandoned her previous idea of small profits on high volume.
Forty wen per catty wasn’t expensive. Merchant Zhong’s thinking aligned perfectly with Xie Yushu’s—whether it was the original thirty-five or the current forty, she could still make money.
“But you’ll have to wait a few days. The goods aren’t ready yet.”
Merchant Zhong expressed her understanding. Drying always took some time—she could wait.
Six hundred and forty catties, at forty wen per catty, came to a total of twenty-five guan and six qian. Merchant Zhong paid two guan as a deposit and told Xie Yushu to deliver the dried goods directly to the ferry in a few days. She would be staying there for a few days.
Xie Yushu accepted the money and told her not to worry.
·
At the Zhao household on Qingshui Lane.
It happened to be mealtime, and Zhao Shunshan had come home from the restaurant to eat.
On the table was a thin, watery rice porridge, accompanied by a plate of pickled vegetables that had been sitting for who knows how long—their color had turned dull—plus half a bowl of scorched stir-fried meat, clearly the result of too much heat and not watching the pot.
Zhao Shunshan took one look and slammed her chopsticks heavily on the table: “What is this you’ve made? Is this even edible?”
Chen Yun had just finished washing the clothes, his two hands red from the cold. He was holding a bowl of steamed egg custard he’d made for their daughter, and replied with irritation: “If you don’t like it, don’t eat it. This is all we have.”
“What about the wages I put you in charge of?”
“How much can your wages be? Don’t you think household expenses cost money?”
Zhao Shunshan was momentarily at a loss for words. Winter was approaching, and families in town were starting to stockpile firewood. She noticed that under the kitchen eaves, there was more than twice the usual amount of firewood and knew her husband wasn’t lying.
Her tone softened: “I heard a new bun shop opened on the street, and the wontons there are supposedly delicious. When should we go have a bowl?”
She’d also heard recently that the old woman who used to sell sauce noodles had moved away, replaced by a young husband selling buns. Everyone who’d eaten his buns and wontons said they were delicious, and that the five-spice eggs were so perfectly braised—the shopkeeper was generous with the spices.
Chen Yun shot her a sideways glare and snapped: “I heard that shop charges twelve wen a bowl. If we go, that’s twenty-four wen for the two of us—and our daughter will want some too. Count how many copper coins that would be? What household can afford to eat like that?”
He’d also heard about this new shop. Word was that business was booming. He felt a pang of dissatisfaction—why did they charge twelve wen when other shops only charged nine or ten?
The family only had so much money—they simply couldn’t afford to eat out like that.
“Fine, fine. You always have an argument. I can’t win against you, alright?” Zhao Shunshan took a big mouthful of the already-bitter pickled vegetables and washed it down with rice.
As they chewed their tasteless meal, they once again caught the mouthwatering aroma of food wafting from the Xie household.
For the past few days, the alley had been filled with the scent of cooking from the newly moved-in Xie family. One whiff and you knew there was plenty of meat involved—the smell was enough to steal anyone’s soul away.
They all knew that the Xie family’s husband was an excellent cook, kind and easy to get along with. But they rarely saw his wife—no one knew what she was busy with.
The sound of their daughter crying came from the room. Chen Yun stopped paying attention to his unreasonable wife, picked up the steamed egg custard and a small bowl of hot noodle soup made with fine flour, and headed to his daughter’s room.
Their daughter had developed a fever yesterday. He’d gone to the newly opened pharmacy to get medicine, decocted it for her, coaxed her to sleep, and now it was time for her to wake up.
Chen Yun wasn’t a good cook, but normally the family could eat his food. However, now that their daughter was sick—so young and with her taste buds more sensitive than usual—she pushed away the bland noodles her father tried to feed her: “Don’t want it, don’t want it. Not tasty.” She turned her head away, completely resistant.
Chen Yun felt deflated and could only coax her: “Be good, sweetheart. Eat a little first. Father will buy you something delicious tomorrow, alright?”
The daughter looked at her father. She knew he wouldn’t lie to her, so she obediently ate half.
·
The next day, Chen Yun finished decocting the medicine, went back to check on his daughter who was still sleeping soundly, took a large bowl from the kitchen, and headed to that bun shop.
The shop’s business was even better than he’d imagined. All the tables and chairs inside were full, and a crowd was gathered around the steamers. The young shopkeeper showed no sign of panic, calmly packing buns and serving wontons to customers in an orderly manner.
When it was his turn, Chen Yun was surprised to realize that this shopkeeper was none other than his neighbor, Husband Su.
He exclaimed: “It’s you? Husband Su.”
Having a neighbor he saw regularly come to support his business, Su Chi smiled warmly: “Husband Chen.”
Seeing the bowl in his hand, he asked: “What would you like?”
Chen Yun counted out twelve copper coins and handed them over: “One bowl of wontons, please.”
“With chili?” Su Chi took the money and asked.
Chen Yun shook his head: “My daughter is sick at home. She can’t eat spicy food.”
Su Chi took his bowl, ladled a serving from the steaming pot—no chili, just the right amount of broth, with ten plump wontons floating on top—and handed it back with a reminder: “Careful, it’s hot.”
Chen Yun received the full bowl of steaming wontons. The broth had a slightly milky white color, and through the thin wonton wrappers, he could see the pink meat filling inside. Unlike other shops that were stingy with the meat, every single wonton here was round and plump—too big to finish in one bite. Tiny droplets of black scallion oil floated on the surface. It smelled fragrant, and looked even more so.
He quickly covered the bowl, afraid the steam would escape, and hurried home.
Leave a Reply