It was already past noon. The street was gradually quieting down, with only a few scattered customers in the shop eating at a leisurely pace. Su Chi was much more relaxed serving them compared to the morning rush—no longer needing to grow four hands to pack buns and deliver wontons, and he even had time to tidy up the kitchen.
Using the residual heat from the stove, Su Chi made two small dishes and sat down side by side with Xie Yushu in the back kitchen to eat.
After a while, they finished eating and set down their chopsticks. Xie Yushu stood up and said to Su Chi: “I’m going to the shop to pick out an oil wok and a deep pot. With more people dining in, I’ll also get some extra bowls, chopsticks, and spoons. I’ll be right back.”
Su Chi nodded, stood up, and brushed off her clothes, straightening out the creases on her robe. He walked her to the door, then turned back to start working on the vegetable congee recipe.
First, he’d make two portions. If the taste was good, he’d scale it up to a big pot using the same ratio—no time wasted.
Su Chi washed the greens and taro. He chopped the greens into fine pieces. The taro were small—he removed the roots, peeled them, and cut them all into small chunks.
When the rice in the pot was almost fully cooked, he tossed in the greens and taro chunks to cook with the rice. Both were quick-cooking ingredients. Added at the very end, they turned soft and tender. After a moment, he sprinkled in salt and drizzled in a bit of sesame oil.
He scooped up a small spoonful, blew on it, and took a taste. The congee was warm and comforting, perfectly salted. The taro made the congee thick and creamy with its subtle earthy flavor, while the greens added their own fresh fragrance. Simple flavors, yet so delicious that Su Chi’s eyes squinted in delight.
The rich aroma of rice and greens drifted through the small shop. The customers still eating were drawn by this unusual scent and asked the shopkeeper what delicious food he was making.
Su Chi came out and said cheerfully: “It’s a new item I’ll be offering in the next few days—vegetable congee, with fried flatbreads. If all goes well, you’ll be able to try it tomorrow.”
Back in the kitchen, Su Chi finished the small bowl of congee. As he tasted it, he realized it could use some pickled mustard strips to add a savory, salty kick.
He could also add shredded pork and dried shrimp, but that would drive the cost up significantly—this set meal was meant to be sold in high volume with thin margins.
Meat and shrimp were fine for home cooking, but selling them in the shop wouldn’t be cost-effective.
The mustard greens were easy—they had plenty at home, a whole big bag from what his father had sent yesterday. But the fully flavored, ready-to-eat pickled mustard strips were nearly gone.
The mustard greens needed to be sun-dried for at least two days after washing, then sealed in a jar for five to six days. They couldn’t be used right away—he’d have to wait until the next batch was ready before adding them to the congee.
Later, when Xie Yushu returned with the wok, Su Chi quickly washed it, heated it with oil, and let the oil warm up slowly.
By then, the dough for the fried flatbreads had proofed nicely—soft, elastic, and rolled into thin sheets.
He took out a small bowl, cracked in two eggs, added a handful of chopped scallions, salt, and five-spice powder, mixed everything evenly, and folded it into the proofed dough, kneading it again.
The dough for fried flatbreads needed to be much softer than bun dough—so soft it wouldn’t hold a shape and would stick to the hands. But this was exactly the consistency that made the flatbreads fragrant.
Su Chi divided the dough into palm-sized pieces, pressed them flat, cut two short slits in each, and dropped them one by one into the hot oil.
The dough would instantly puff up in the high heat—flat pieces quickly floating on the oil, turning crispy and fluffy.
Using long chopsticks, Su Chi flipped each piece one by one until both sides were golden and evenly fried, then took them out.
These flatbreads fried quickly—before long, he’d made five or six. This was just a test batch, enough for him and Xie Yushu. The customers at the shop smelled them and all said they wanted some, but Su Chi had to tell them to come early tomorrow instead.
He and Xie Yushu each ate one and were both satisfied with the taste.
Su Chi’s mind moved quickly when it came to food. He thought the flatbreads could be made not only savory with scallions, but also sweet—sugar flatbreads made with white or brown sugar. Sugar was more expensive, so sweet flatbreads would cost one wen more than the savory ones.
Offering both savory and sweet options would cater to all customers’ tastes. These items could be sold not just in the morning, but throughout the day—and they were easy to make.
Su Chi opened the oil jar to check their supply. They were running low. He planned to start selling the congee set meal in the next day or two to see customer feedback before deciding how much oil to order from the oil shop.
He absolutely had to negotiate the oil price with the shopkeeper—otherwise, he’d be losing a lot of profit.
After closing the shop and heading home, Su Chi wasn’t in a rush to make dinner. There was still some time, so he went straight to the kitchen.
Several bags leaned against the wall on the floor—all from his father yesterday. There was simply too much, and Su Chi hadn’t had space to organize them, so they’d been left there for now.
He pulled out the hemp bag containing the mustard greens, carried it to the yard, and drew a basin of water from the well. He upended the bag with a splash—in an instant, the basin was full.
Su Chi first scrubbed them with a loofah sponge to wash off the mud spots. The water in the basin turned dark, so he replaced it with fresh water.
The cleaned mustard greens piled up in the basin, each one round and chubby. Su Chi sat on a small stool, using the tip of his knife to remove the old roots, then carefully peeled off the rough outer skin, revealing the tender, pale green interior.
Now they were ready to be sun-dried. He set up a wooden rack, three tiers high, firmly placed in an open area of the yard. On each tier, he laid a bamboo tray and spread the mustard greens on top. There would be some sun over the next few days—they should be dry in about two days. Then he could slice them into strips, season them, and after a few days of pickling, they’d be ready to use in the shop.
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Early the next morning, Su Chi opened the shop even earlier than usual. The days were growing colder by the day. Before he left, Xie Yushu grumbled at him to add a padded jacket—it was cold outside—and he obediently did as he was told.
He lit the oil lamp in the shop and started the fire in the stove, and the place brightened up at once. Su Chi thought the warming vegetable congee would surely sell well and quickened his pace.
The newly purchased oil wok sat on a stove eye next to the steamers out front, sizzling and popping as the flatbreads fried. Hot oil bubbled with fine foam, and the flatbreads puffed into a beautiful golden brown. Wave after wave of fried dough fragrance drifted outward.
The sky wasn’t fully light yet—the street was still dark and nearly empty. But the aroma wafting from Su’s Bun Shop woke the street. Shop after shop unloaded their door panels and prepared to open for business.
The flatbreads fried quickly as long as the dough was proofed. Su Chi fished them out and placed them in bamboo trays, quickly filling two trays. He lined them up neatly and covered them with a cotton cloth to keep the heat from escaping.
In the back kitchen, the vegetable congee in the deep pot was also done, bubbling with a soft “glug glug.” Su Chi lifted the lid, added the seasonings, and stirred gently with a long spoon. The congee was thick with rice, the green vegetable leaves bright and inviting—appetizing just to look at.
He quickly wrapped a large platter of wontons, steamed the buns in the steamers, and once all this was done, customers began arriving one after another.
The first few customers were shopkeepers from nearby stores. They came almost every day to buy buns and five-spice eggs, saying his buns were so fragrant they could swallow their tongues—no other shop could compare.
Today, Su Chi also told them about the new vegetable congee set meal. It sounded like a good deal, but since they all had to tend to their own shops, they couldn’t eat the congee in-store. They just bought a few fried flatbreads and hot buns and left.
Then came a regular customer—Su Chi recognized her face immediately. She was very fond of wontons and had come to eat for several days in a row.
She was about to order wontons again when Su Chi smiled and interrupted: “We have a new vegetable congee and fried flatbread set meal. Would you like to try it, customer?”
Vegetable congee and fried flatbreads were both very ordinary things. The customer hesitated for a moment, thinking wontons would still be better, and was about to decline.
But when she heard Su Chi say a bowl of congee and two flatbreads would only cost six wen, she immediately changed her mind and cheerfully ordered the set meal, plus two five-spice eggs.
Su Chi ladled out a large spoonful of congee, picked up two flatbreads from the bamboo tray, placed them on a plate, and brought them over.
The customer found a seat, and before she’d even warmed the seat, Su Chi arrived with her order.
That was fast.
It was freezing cold outside, so she first warmed her hands on the sides of the bowl. The bowl was hot, instantly warming her hands. Then she picked up her spoon and brought a mouthful of congee to her lips.
She paused at the first taste.
This congee was truly fragrant. A thick layer of rice oil floated on top—the rice had been cooked until each grain bloomed. The greens were sweet, and the small chunks of taro had nearly melted into the congee, blending perfectly. One single sip awakened her taste buds.
It was uncanny—this shopkeeper made everything delicious. She’d had vegetable congee elsewhere before—ordinary, unremarkable, sometimes watery and thin. But somehow, in his hands, it became something extraordinary.
Remarkably fragrant, the rice thick and slightly sticky on the lips.
She took two more sips before understanding—the shopkeeper was generous with the rice. Other shops were stingy, using barely a handful of rice in a whole pot, leaving it watery and thin, nothing like this congee.
A few mouthfuls warmed her entire body. She picked up a fried flatbread and took a bite—the salt, scallion, and wheat flavors were perfectly balanced. The inside was incredibly soft, the outside crispy, growing more fragrant with each chew.
Then she dipped the flatbread into the congee. The scalding hot vegetable congee instantly softened it—the flatbread soaked up the congee’s liquid and its own oil. She took several big bites.
“Boss, your congee is perfectly cooked, and you’re generous with the ingredients. This flatbread is also more fragrant than what you get elsewhere. That set meal you mentioned really is a good deal.”
Su Chi was busy serving other customers and just smiled, too occupied to respond.
But hearing her praise, others were intrigued. Some who’d previously declined now ordered the so-called set meal that he’d been introducing.
Even those who didn’t buy the set meal bought several fried flatbreads, wrapped in oil paper and tucked into their pockets to share with family at home.
The sky grew brighter, and the crowd thickened. Soon, Su’s Bun Shop was surrounded by people.
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