Before they knew it, the second year’s spring had arrived. The sun was noticeably warmer—just a walk outside would leave your forehead damp with sweat.
The morning crowds grew larger, and the Su Family Bun Shop was as busy as ever—full both inside and out. They’d recently added something new to the menu.
The shop now served tofu pudding in two flavors: savory-spicy and sweet.
This spring was a bit warmer than previous years. A few days earlier, a customer who’d bought buns asked if they had anything cool and refreshing. Su Chi took note and immediately thought of tofu pudding.
That very evening, he made both savory and sweet versions for the family to taste. After unanimous praise and several empty bowls, he decided to add it to the menu.
Though tofu pudding wouldn’t bring in huge profits, it could attract a steady stream of new customers—well worth the effort.
Besides, it was simple to make and didn’t interfere with the bun and soup business.
He’d started just selling a small amount to test the waters—for that first customer and a few others. But word spread quickly, and more and more customers came for the tofu pudding, young and old alike. Business was surprisingly good, so he officially added it to the shop’s offerings.
He did the math: each serving brought in a little over half its price in profit—a bit more than he’d expected. And many customers who came for the sweet tofu pudding also bought buns and other items, adding to the steady income.
The fresh tofu was delivered daily from a bean mill two streets away. The shop owner made it fresh each morning and sent it over in buckets.
The sweet tofu pudding sold well, and the savory version was no slouch either—largely thanks to Su Chi’s excellent seasoning.
The savory-spicy tofu pudding wasn’t complicated. The key was having all the toppings ready in small bowls.
At the bottom of the bowl went a spoonful of soy sauce, half a spoonful of vinegar, and a small spoonful of chili oil. Then came a few scoops of smooth, white tofu pudding, topped with scallions, pickled mustard greens, crushed peanuts, and a small pinch of dried shrimp—done.
The chili oil and pickled mustard greens were both homemade, delicious and well-reviewed by customers.
Su Chi also had Xie Jiu collect dried osmanthus from farms outside the city, and bought several jars of locust flower honey from a beekeeper. He simmered a small pot of osmanthus honey himself.
The honey was thick, fragrant, and sweet, studded with golden osmanthus blossoms—beautiful to look at and mouthwatering to smell.
He made several batches and stored them in jars, keeping one for home.
The kitchen cabinet always had locust flower honey and other tree honeys, alongside various sweet sauces Su Chi had made—it was practically a dedicated sweet section.
The bean mill’s tofu pudding had a rich, pure bean fragrance, quivering softly in the bucket. A spoonful slid down your throat so smoothly it was gone before you knew it.
Four scoops of tofu pudding, topped with a spoonful of osmanthus honey—that was the sweet version. Customers with a sweet tooth loved to order it.
The little one at home also loved locust flower honey. When he was very small, Su Chi would let him lick it off a spoon as a treat. Once he’d licked it clean, Su Chi would take the spoon away, not letting him have too much.
Xie Yushu had warned him about the dangers of too much sugar, which scared Su Chi into strict enforcement.
When the little one got a bit older—past a year old—Xiuwei would make him a bowl of fragrant osmanthus honey water under his fulang’s watchful eye.
Clear, sweet, and refreshing—Tuan Tuan would sip it slowly, his little feet swinging with delight.
Because his father didn’t let him have too much, he drank it very slowly, as if reluctant to let the wonderful taste slide down into his stomach.
After finishing, he’d smack his lips and show his empty bowl to his father. But his father would heartlessly take the bowl away, refusing to add more, tapping his soft little nose and telling him he could have more in a few days.
Of course, Xiuwei had his fulang’s permission, and he got a bowl too.
·
One day, at lunchtime, Xie Yushu came home from the workshop just in time to eat.
When Su Chi saw her back, he smiled and snuggled with her for a bit, then sent her off to wash her hands. When she returned, he rolled up her sleeves so she could eat.
Tuan Tuan could now sit at the table with them in his high chair.
The high chair had been another of Xie Yushu’s designs, custom-made by the carpenter.
Its base was higher than a regular chair, with legs splayed wide for stability—no matter how much the child wiggled, it wouldn’t tip over.
The tray was wide and had added friction, easily holding several small bowls.
Tuan Tuan sat securely inside, wearing the little blue bib Wang Wen had sewn for him, patting his hands together—adorable—his eyes fixed on his empty bowl.
On the table were scallion-oil broad beans, braised bamboo shoots, stir-fried river shrimp, sliced meat and tofu pudding, and a steamed fish that Su Chi had specially ordered for Tuan Tuan—just a touch of soy sauce, nothing else, yet wonderfully fresh.
When the meat-and-tofu dish came out, Su Chi topped it with minced garlic, sesame, and crushed dried chilies, then doused it with a sizzling ladle of hot oil—aromatic and mouthwatering.
Spring broad beans were especially fragrant. Su Chi spooned some of the scallion-oil bean broth over Tuan Tuan’s rice, stirred it, and added a few pieces of deboned fish dipped in sauce, feeding him bite by bite.
Tuan Tuan was over a year old now, past the stage of just milk and rice porridge—he could eat soft foods.
He sat obediently as his father fed him, his little mouth chewing away happily. When his bowl was empty, he pointed at the adults’ dishes with his tiny finger, asking for more.
Su Chi laughed and called him a “little greedy cat,” then peeled shrimp for him. River shrimp were small, and he tore them into bite-sized pieces.
This season’s shrimp were especially fresh—a quick stir-fry made them delicious, and the little one loved them, eating one after another.
Xie Yushu had been busy all morning, and by the time they sat down, she was ravenous. She ate ravenously—the tofu pudding especially hit the spot.
Between bites, she glanced at father and son and said with a hint of sympathy for Su Chi: “Little Tuan Tuan, when are you going to learn to feed yourself? Your father works so hard feeding you.”
Tuan Tuan, chewing on the shrimp his father had just given him, tilted his head and looked at his mother. Then he grabbed a peeled shrimp from his bowl and held it out to Xie Yushu: “Mama~ eat…”
Xie Yushu nearly melted from the cuteness. She gently pinched his round little cheek: “So good—you eat it yourself.”
The tofu pudding went so well with rice that she ended up eating two full bowls before finally putting down her chopsticks.
After finishing, she took over the feeding from Su Chi: “Let me do it.”
Su Chi watched Tuan Tuan enjoy his meal, feeling content. He wasn’t all that hungry either—Tuan Tuan was almost done anyway, so he picked up his own chopsticks and ate.
“Good boy, one more bite,” Xie Yushu said, scooping up the last of Tuan Tuan’s food and popping it into his mouth. “All done! Well done!”
Tuan Tuan swallowed and started giggling, saying in his baby voice: “Well done~ Tuan Tuan~”
He loved mealtimes—his mother, father, and grandfather always praised him, and it made him so happy.
Xie Yushu and Su Chi watched him with adoring eyes, their hearts melting.
She collected the bowls and chopsticks and remembered the letter she’d received a few days earlier. She mentioned to Su Chi: “Grandmother and the others are asking when we can bring Tuan Tuan to Jiangzhou for a few days. They miss the little one.”
Su Chi felt torn at the thought. He looked at their child with concern: “Tuan Tuan is still so young.”
The journey to Jiangzhou was long; he worried the baby might get jostled and sick—the thought broke his heart.
Xie Yushu had the same worry. She placed her hand on his reassuringly: “That’s what I thought too. I wrote back and told them we’d wait until Tuan Tuan is a little bigger. They’ll understand.”
“That’s good, then.” Su Chi nodded.
He knew the Xie family were kind, loving people who adored Tuan Tuan—they wouldn’t be upset with them.
Their love for Tuan Tuan was clear from the hundred-day banquet.
On Tuan Tuan’s hundredth day, the housewarming and the banquet were held together—and it was a grand affair.
Xie Yushu had sent invitations to every household on Hedong Lane. Those who could make it all came.
Xie Yushu’s business had grown significantly, and she’d long established herself in Tang’an County. She was always invited to every merchant meeting.
She’d also developed a new product: dried small fish, chewy and glazed with a thin layer of sauce—particularly delicious. It was often out of stock in the county, and the workshop was working overtime to keep up.
Everyone in the lane knew the Xie family’s kelp and seaweed business was booming. Families with business ties had long received their invitations.
But those connections alone wouldn’t have brought them all.
At first, people had sneered behind the Xie family’s back—wondering why the fulang of such a successful household would open a bun shop, something they considered beneath them.
Of course, after tasting the food from Su’s Bun Shop, no one mentioned that again.
It was genuinely delicious—better even than their own cooks.
The Xie fulang was also warm and generous. He was always experimenting in the kitchen and would send portions to every household in the lane.
They appreciated it and would send gifts in return.
Sometimes they’d invite him over to their homes. Over time, everyone grew familiar, chatting and laughing together, sharing stories about raising children.
And they’d all seen Tuan Tuan.
He was the most beautiful little baby—with such fine features. The whole lane agreed: he was the prettiest child they’d ever seen.
When they looked at their own rowdy kids, they couldn’t help but sigh.
Almost every household came with their families, each carrying gifts.
The banquet Xie Yushu hosted was impeccable—everyone enjoyed the fresh and interesting dishes and couldn’t stop talking about them afterward.
The two most respected elders from Jiangzhou had also arrived a day early to see the baby, bringing half a carriage full of carefully chosen gifts: tiny clothes, a longevity lock, little toys—all precious items.
The Xie family matriarch and her husband couldn’t get enough of Tuan Tuan, taking turns holding him and urging each other to hand him over. They ended up staying at the Xie residence for several days before finally leaving—and only because Xie Yushu promised to bring Su Chi and Tuan Tuan to Jiangzhou for a visit once the baby was a little older.
Tuan Tuan spoke earlier than most children. By eight or nine months, he could already say “Mama,” “Baba,” and “Grandpa,” and even call out Xiuwei’s name—though it came out more like “Xiuwei” with a lisp.
Besides his parents and grandfather, Xiuwei was the one who spent the most time with him, always treating him with the utmost kindness. The little one adored him.
Every time Tuan Tuan called him “Xiu~wei,” Xiuwei understood. He’d crouch down beside him, his heart full, and softly call him “Little Master.”
Tuan Tuan drank milk and ate eggs every day without fail. His little body was strong and healthy, creamy white and sturdy—the sweetest, most beautiful child on Hedong Lane.
He also learned to walk earlier than most. His chubby little feet would pad across the soft matting, wobbling step by step from one end of the room into his father’s arms, where he’d be caught in a warm embrace.
Su Chi would pull out his handkerchief, wipe the drool from Tuan Tuan’s chin, and kiss his tender cheek, saying proudly: “Tuan Tuan is so good!”
His mother would clap and lift him high, praising her little one for being so amazing.
Tuan Tuan would beam with happiness and snuggle contentedly in her arms.
Leave a Reply