The Xie household’s New Year’s Eve dinner was lively and full of cheer.
They’d moved to a new home, added several servants, the master’s business was thriving, the fulang had given birth safely, and the old master had come from the countryside to join them.
With more people this year, the New Year spirit was stronger than ever.
Wang Wen, as the family’s eldest, was overjoyed. He distributed plenty of bonus silver to the servants from his own pocket and also gave generously to the young couple.
They didn’t need his money, but they accepted it dutifully—for good luck and blessings.
With his little grandchild now in the world, he used money he’d saved over time—money the young couple had given him, which he’d barely touched, accumulating a tidy sum.
He used it to have a set of silver bracelets made for Tuan Tuan. Every day, he’d carry the milk-scented little bundle around the yard in the sun, never tiring of looking at him.
Ever since Tuan Tuan was born, Wang Wen had lost interest in the shop and household chores—having a grandchild was all he needed.
After the New Year, Su Chi’s body had fully recovered. He ate well and slept well, and his health was even better than before the pregnancy.
With his father and Xiuwei looking after Tuan Tuan, he could safely go out and manage the shop.
The shop’s accounts were delivered daily by Xie Jiu. He went through them diligently, knowing every entry—what came in, what went out—and keeping track of all expenses and income.
The shop’s daily income was steady, and its reputation in the county continued to grow. Customers all said the Su Family Bun Shop used quality ingredients and made delicious food.
While he was confined, Su Chi had been thinking about adding new items to the menu after the New Year.
Since autumn, the shop had been serving free bone broth with meals. Now he wanted to add lamb offal soup and lamb buns.
Lamb was nourishing in winter—warming for the stomach and body—perfect for the season.
Su Chi picked up his brush and listed a few ingredients on paper.
There were two good lamb shops in the county. The sheep were brought down from the north, with less gamey flavor and firm meat. The Xie household had bought from them a few times, and everyone loved it.
Su Chi took Xie Jiu to the shop closer to his bun shop to negotiate. He showed them a paper listing the cuts of fresh lamb and quantities needed daily.
He placed an order for two months—steady and paid promptly.
Seeing he was a major customer, the shop owner happily brought out her abacus and gave him a good price.
While she was calculating, Su Chi’s gaze landed on a large basin of lamb offal on the counter—fresh and neatly prepared, clearly from that day’s slaughter.
He turned and asked the owner, “How much for the offal?”
The offal was fresh daily—good stuff. The owner was confident in her products and generously let Su Chi touch them. She smiled and said, “These are excellent too. I can tell you’re a skilled cook, Fulang. Most people don’t know how to handle offal—they often make it too gamey or too strong. But someone who appreciates it won’t shy away from the work.”
She pushed the basin toward Su Chi and urged him to feel it: “Look at the color and freshness.”
Lamb was pricier than pork. Besides supplying restaurants, the shop only did small, occasional business. Today, with a big customer coming in, the owner tried hard to sell more.
But the customer had a fierce-looking guard beside him, keeping her from getting too close.
Su Chi didn’t answer right away. Instead, he pointed to an unassuming bucket and asked, “What’s in this?”
The owner followed his gaze to the bucket of offal and explained, “That’s broken bits—still good meat, but not pretty enough to sell. I was going to take it elsewhere to dispose of after closing tonight.”
“I’ll take the broken ones too.” Su Chi decided to buy it all.
He’d already planned it out as soon as he’d spotted that bucket.
Though the broken bits didn’t look great, mixed with the intact offal in the soup, they’d release just as much flavor. There would be no difference in taste, and the price could be negotiated down.
A bowl of offal soup with two kinds of offal would cost much less than pure lamb—affordable for ordinary families, letting them enjoy the savory taste of lamb, warm up, and satisfy their cravings.
That way, nothing went to waste, and the shop gained another source of income.
If the flavor was right, Su Chi wasn’t worried about sales.
In the end, he got the intact offal, the broken bits, and the fresh lamb at an excellent price. The shop agreed to deliver before dawn each day, and Su Chi carried some home for tonight’s dinner.
After buying the lamb and offal, Su Chi also went around the market, buying up all the tender young sand-onions from several stalls.
Xie Jiu followed with the cart, now piled high with goods.
Back home, Su Chi washed his hands. It was still early, so he went inside to play with Tuan Tuan for a while.
Tuan Tuan lay contentedly in his cradle, layered with three or four soft cushions. When he saw his familiar father come in, his little legs kicked happily, and he began to babble and smile.
Su Chi jingled a rattle by the cradle, and Tuan Tuan grinned, showing his pink, toothless gums.
His mouth, fresh from being fed, still had traces of milk. He occasionally blew milk bubbles, his little hands reaching out, trying to grab the rattling toy in his father’s hand.
Su Chi wiped the milk from Tuan Tuan’s mouth with a clean cloth and gently poked his son’s soft cheek—softer than the tenderest tofu, with a rich, milky scent.
The cradle had been custom-made by a carpenter to Xie Yushu’s own drawings, using the finest wood, and had been finished long before Tuan Tuan was born.
The oval-shaped cradle was smooth and rounded at every edge. At the head, a curved stand held several rows of small, light-colored wooden blocks, strung together on fine cords—they made a soft sound when gently tapped.
Xie Yushu had chosen the wooden blocks carefully and coated them with a non-toxic clear oil. They made a muffled clatter when they bumped together.
Tuan Tuan lay inside, and the first thing he saw when he opened his eyes was the little wooden blocks hanging above him. When no one was playing with him, he’d reach out his little hand and tap them himself. When he got tired, he’d sleep. When he woke, there was warm milk to drink and his father’s soft embrace. At night, his mother would come home and shower him with kisses, calling him her good, quiet baby.
Tuan Tuan was a well-behaved little one—usually very calm, rarely crying. When he did, it was mostly because he needed a change or was hungry. Once he was clean and his belly was full of warm milk, he’d stop crying, curve his little mouth back into a smile, and giggle at his mother, father, and grandfather.
He was such an easy baby.
Su Chi gazed affectionately at Tuan Tuan’s sleeping face, his little lashes resting gently, his breath carrying the faint scent of milk. He leaned down, rubbed his nose against the baby’s forehead, and kissed the plump, milk-scented back of his hand again and again before reluctantly getting up and quietly slipping out to the kitchen.
In the kitchen, Shan Ge’er and another helper had already washed and prepped the lamb and sand-onions, and kneaded the dough—everything was ready for the fulang to take over tonight’s dinner.
Though they had more household staff now, and Su Chi could have left the cooking to them, he still insisted on doing it himself whenever he had time. He also took care of all of Xie Yushu’s personal matters—never delegating them to anyone else.
Su Chi rolled up his sleeves, tied on his apron, and had already decided: tonight they’d try the sand-onion lamb buns and lamb offal soup. If everyone liked them, they could be added to the shop menu in a day or two.
With swift, decisive chops, he minced the lamb into a fine filling, chopped the sand-onions, mixed them together, and added a spoonful of hot oil—stirring until the filling was slightly sticky.
The dough wrappers were already rolled out. The three of them worked together, wrapping quickly. Before long, the counter was covered in plump little buns.
Steam rose from the stacked baskets as they were set to cook. Soon, the kitchen was filled with the mingled aroma of meat and onions.
The other two helpers swallowed hard.
In another pot, the lamb offal soup was simmering.
Su Chi had already had them prepare the offal according to his method—rinsed a few times in water, rubbed thoroughly with coarse salt, and rinsed again until the water ran clear.
Once washed, the offal went into a large basin. Su Chi sliced the tripe into strips, the intestines into small pieces, the heart and liver into thin slices—everything neatly cut.
He brought a large pot of water to a boil with ginger slices, Sichuan peppercorns, and scallion sections. When it was rolling, he added the offal, skimming off the scum. After a high boil, he had Shan Ge’er reduce the fire and let it simmer slowly over medium-low heat.
By the time it was done, the broth had turned a rich milky white. He added only salt and white pepper—and it was already wonderfully fresh.
When the first batch of sand-onion lamb buns came out of the steamer and the lid was lifted, the white steam cleared to reveal soft, thin-skinned buns with green filling showing through.
He had them taste first—both of them mumbled “delicious” and “amazing” between bites.
At dinner, basket after basket of buns was brought out. Xie Yushu alone ate plenty, and Su Chi kept piling more onto her plate, worried she wouldn’t have enough.
Everyone ate buns and drank the fresh, tender offal soup—completely satisfied. Even his father had two bowls, exclaiming how delicious it was.
Su Chi served Xie Yushu a second bowl of offal soup and smiled: “Tomorrow I’ll make the lamb ribs—braised until fall-apart tender. You’ve been working hard lately. I’ll also make a fish to help you recover.”
Xiuwei, eating with his head down, shook his head silently at his fulang’s words.
Didn’t the boss eat well enough every day?
Besides looking after the little master, his fulang spent all his time inventing new dishes for the boss.
Short of serving dragon meat, how much more nourishing could it get?
His fulang was always worrying.
That night, as Xie Yushu held him in bed, she murmured, “Lamb is so expensive—will it be a loss?”
Making money from the shop didn’t matter so much—she was more worried her fulang would be disappointed if his carefully crafted buns and soup didn’t turn a profit.
Su Chi lay contentedly in her arms, a little drowsy: “Trust me—it won’t.”
Xie Yushu pressed a kiss to his forehead: “Alright.”
·
The Su Family Bun Shop officially launched lamb offal soup and sand-onion lamb buns.
Outside the shop stood a large signboard painted with simple illustrations of the soup and buns—drawn by Xie Yushu the day before. Su Chi had loved it at first sight and wanted it out front right away.
A few brushstrokes sketched a steaming soup bowl filled with offal, with two round, pleated buns beside it.
Xie Yushu’s drawing was simple, vivid, and instantly recognizable.
Above it, big characters read: Lamb Offal Set Meal.
The soup alone was thirteen wen per bowl. The sand-onion lamb buns were six wen each.
The set meal—two buns and a bowl of soup—cost twenty-two wen, one wen less than buying them separately.
The soup could be bought alone, as part of the set, or taken away in a customer’s own bowl.
Su Chi had calculated it carefully—this way customers could taste the freshness of lamb without it being too expensive. On a winter day, a meal like this warmed the tongue, the hands and feet, and the entire body.
The lamb buns were about the size of a ge’er’s fist. A pound of lamb could make quite a few, and with the sand-onions added, far from losing money—if they sold well, the profits would be considerable.
On the very first day, sales exceeded Su Chi’s expectations—even better than he’d imagined.
Basket after basket of buns ran out. The four shop workers were rolling wrappers, filling buns, steaming them, and cashing out customers at a frantic pace—their hands nearly catching fire.
Su Chi was in the back, ladling out soup. His arm barely paused, the ladle clinking against bowls, and the large pot emptied again and again.
He didn’t leave the shop until well past noon.
·
That afternoon, Sun Wuyou came to the Xie residence. She and Guizhi had sent someone to buy several lamb offal set meals earlier, bringing a taste of the real world to their family’s dull palates.
After a rest, they came over again.
Su Chi had been run off his feet in the morning, so Xie Yushu had ordered him to take a nap—she’d watch the baby.
The weather was fine, warming the courtyard. Xie Yushu brought Tuan Tuan outside to soak up the sun. The little one lay in his cradle chair, reaching up at the little wooden blocks above him, his chubby hand waving as he glanced at his mother.
He liked the sound—not too sharp, just a soft clunk that made him feel comfortable.
He smiled at the two visitors now and then.
Sun Wuyou and Guizhi crouched by the cradle, marveling at the little milk-bun. He really was a stunningly beautiful baby.
Tuan Tuan suddenly reached out to Xie Yushu, wanting to be held.
She lifted him out of the cradle, one hand supporting his head and the other cradling his bottom—as practiced as any seasoned fulang.
Sun Wuyou was amazed: “You’re so good at it—my mother was never this smooth with me.”
Guizhi added, “Miss, I heard the matriarch was too busy when you were little to hold you much.”
When they reached out to touch Tuan Tuan, Xie Yushu turned away sharply and warned them: “Don’t touch. Your hands are dirty—my baby can’t handle it.”
Babies were too fragile, and adults carried too many germs. Xie Yushu wasn’t about to let them.
Sun Wuyou looked at her hands: “Are they that dirty? I washed before coming. Xie Da, you’re so fussy.”
They laughed and chatted in the yard when Sun Wuyou suddenly remembered: “Xie Da, when are you having the housewarming and the hundred-day celebration?”
Xie Yushu had already planned it: combining the Xie residence’s housewarming with Tuan Tuan’s hundred-day banquet—making it a grand affair to bring blessings.
“Next month—together with Tuan Tuan’s hundred-day celebration.”
Su Chi had agreed. He’d said he’d do the cooking for the hundred-day feast himself.
·
Xie Yushu had a rare stretch of rest, staying home with Su Chi and the baby for two days.
Tuan Tuan lay in his mother’s arms, his chubby little hand clutching a strand of her hair, tugging and giggling with his toothless mouth—adorable and proud.
A baby had no real strength. Xie Yushu didn’t mind, letting him grab whatever he wanted, even tilting her head with a smile, praising him for his strong grip.
But Su Chi put down his account book, gently pried the little hand away, revealing the baby’s soft pink palm.
He pretended to scold: “Don’t pull Mommy’s hair—it hurts.” Then he wiped the drool from the baby’s mouth with a handkerchief.
Tuan Tuan was fast and strong; Su Chi had felt the sting a few times. But whenever he said that, Tuan Tuan let go immediately.
Seeing his father was playing with him, Tuan Tuan let go of his mother and lunged into Su Chi’s arms.
Su Chi caught the soft little bundle, rubbing his nose against the baby’s fluffy head. The feigned sternness vanished, leaving only tenderness and adoration.
He settled the baby in his arms, both hands supporting his little bottom, and gave him a gentle bounce, murmuring: “He’s gained weight again.”
Xie Yushu’s sharp ears caught it. She reached over and gently pinched Tuan Tuan’s cheek—so soft you could see the tiny blood vessels beneath. The feeling was so wonderful she couldn’t help herself, until his little face scrunched up, and she reluctantly let go.
“He’s growing fast—Tuan Tuan loves his milk, four or five feeds a day, never misses one. He’s sturdier than the Tang baby.” Xie Yushu was pleased. “I chose the dairy well—good quality milk. When he’s bigger, we can mix it with rice porridge.”
She thought for a moment and added: “But we shouldn’t stop the milk—he can drink it forever.”
Su Chi agreed, gently bouncing the little milk-baby, his eyes soft as he cooed: “In a few months, you’ll get rice porridge and a bit of egg yolk—we’ll make you nice and plump, okay?”
Tuan Tuan didn’t understand, but he could tell his father was happy. He smiled too, clapping his little hands together, then leaned in and chomped down on Su Chi—no teeth yet, just leaving a wet, drooly mess.
Su Chi rubbed his nose against Tuan Tuan’s, and the baby giggled, letting out soft little sounds.
Xie Yushu watched them from the side—Tuan Tuan’s little fists clutching his father’s collar, his eyes wide and bright. She couldn’t help smiling, not saying a word, her heart full to bursting.
They were everything to her.
Outside, the weather was perfect; inside, laughter filled the air. Everything was just right.
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