Everyone ate their fill at lunch and eagerly fought to clean up the dishes, refusing to let the boss’s fulang lift a finger.
Su Chi was led back to the office by Xie Yushu to rest.
She brought in a charcoal brazier and added a few lumps of charcoal. Once they were glowing red and the room was warm, she sat back down beside him.
She never used the brazier when she was alone in the office—found it too fussy. But today, with Su Chi here, she didn’t want her fulang to catch a chill.
“Well, now that they’ve tasted your cooking, they won’t want to eat the base meals anymore.” Xie Yushu turned to him, her tone lazy, her eyes smiling.
Knowing she was teasing him, Su Chi wasn’t upset. He tugged on her fingertips and swayed them gently: “It was only once—you’re exaggerating.”
Xie Yushu placed a soft cushion on the armchair for Su Chi to rest on, saying she’d finish up her work in the afternoon and they’d head home early together.
“No rush,” Su Chi said, his body warming up as his eyelids grew heavy. “I’ll stay with you—no matter how late.”
He’d come today intending to spend the whole day with her, not planning to leave right away. He’d stay through the afternoon too.
Lunch and the break combined lasted about an hour. Aside from Xiu He, Xiuwei, Xin Miao, and his child—who lived in the yard—the others were all local villagers living not far from the base, so they headed home.
When work resumed in the afternoon, everyone was fueled by that hearty meal—full of energy and working with extra vigor.
When Su Chi woke, he had nothing to do. Xie Yushu told him to stay cozy in the office by the fire, but he wouldn’t have it.
Since the shop was in Chen Fulang’s capable hands today and he had free time, he went to the sorting area to help out.
The work there wasn’t difficult—just required careful hands. Everyone assigned to that station was a meticulous ge’er or fulang.
They were currently rushing to fulfill the Tang family’s large order.
Last time, the Tang family steward had taken a small sample back to Tang Zhiyi. She’d had the kitchen cook it immediately and fell in love with its unique flavor on the spot.
A seasoned businesswoman with a sharp nose for profits, she knew with one bite that this would sell well. Without hesitation, she’d signed a contract with Xie Yushu for a thousand jin, urging her to ship as soon as possible.
This product was novel and scarce on the market—not just for the New Year season, but for everyday sales too.
Xie Yushu priced it at two qian per jin—two hundred wen—several times higher than dried kelp. A truly high-margin product.
But she dared to set that price because she knew people would still buy it.
Dried laver was even more economical than dried kelp—tear off half a palm-sized piece and you could make a big pot of soup. A single liang of laver could last a long time.
The households buying novel items were well-off families, after novelty and prestige. Wouldn’t they love a fresh, high-quality dried good like this?
With the New Year approaching, Xie Yushu was also preparing gift box sets.
She wasn’t foolish—having been steeped in modern commercial concepts for over twenty years, she knew the huge profit potential.
During the holidays in the modern world, supermarkets and platforms put out all kinds of beautifully packaged gift boxes early on. She’d just follow that model.
During the New Year, households visited each other frequently—paying respects and exchanging greetings. It wouldn’t do to show up empty-handed. Families with a bit of spare cash would buy things they’d normally hesitate to splurge on, to save face in front of relatives.
And Jiangzhou was a land of fish and rice—the whole prefecture was prosperous. There’d only be more buyers.
Xie Yushu had it all figured out.
Her plan was to go to a wooden box workshop and commission custom New Year gift boxes—simple yet elegant, nothing too ornate.
The interior would be lined with red-gold paper, festive and noble-looking. Inside would be a generous portion of dried laver, wrapped in indigo paper—the color of the sea—both tasteful and a nod to the product’s origin. On the top left corner of the box, the words “Xie’s Seafood” would be stamped in gold characters on red paper—and it’d be perfect.
The dried laver sold at Qingshi Base came in several weight options: half a liang, one liang, two liang, half a jin, and one jin. Buyers could choose whichever they wanted.
For large orders, the buyer could specify the weight per portion—and that was exactly what the sorting and packaging team was for.
Tang Zhiyi had ordered the one-liang and two-liang sizes.
Aunt Hong pulled the freshly dried trays of laver out of the kiln one by one and passed them to the sorting area, where everyone got to work.
The sorting area was in a side room on the west side—warmer inside. Each person held a pair of scissors. Once the laver had cooled completely, they cut each whole sheet into the required size and weight.
Round sheets didn’t need cutting—just weighed to one or half a liang.
For square sheets, a crisp snap of the scissors made clean, even edges with no crumbs, then weighed and stacked neatly.
Nearby, oiled paper was ready for wrapping. Su Chi helped with packaging.
He placed the laver in the center of the paper, folded it just as He Chao had taught him, brushed a little paste on the center, and stuck on a red paper label printed with “Xie’s Seafood.” The portion was packed.
Finally, it went into bamboo baskets, ready to be hauled to the warehouse or sent directly to the ferry for delivery.
It was simple work, and Su Chi got the hang of it quickly.
He looked at the four characters on the label and immediately recognized Xie Yushu’s handwriting.
The script was free-flowing and elegant, with bold, forceful strokes that exuded a sense of untamed spirit—different from her usual dignified, refined hand.
Su Chi was almost certain she’d changed her style deliberately to complement the product.
He Chao noticed him staring at the label and explained that their boss had written it herself, then had it carved into a wooden block for printing. Not only were the characters beautiful, but it also improved what she often called “work efficiency.”
He added that many big merchants and business owners had praised the calligraphy, saying it looked impressive.
Su Chi gently traced the characters with his fingertip, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.
As they worked, a commotion came from outside—more people had arrived, and Xie Yushu was speaking with them.
It was Stonemason Wu and her apprentices, who’d built the drying kiln a few days earlier.
The Tang family had ordered a large quantity, but the base only had one kiln—nowhere near enough to keep up. Xie Yushu had called Stonemason Wu back to discuss building two more.
Even with two extra kilns, it would still take about ten days. There was no rushing it. Fortunately, Tang Zhiyi was very satisfied with the finished product and didn’t push.
Su Chi was focused on his work, oblivious to a small figure approaching his feet. Suddenly, his leg felt warm, and a crisp, childish voice came from below:
“Brother!”
He looked down to see a child hugging his leg.
A little dark head nuzzled affectionately against the crook of his knee. Su Chi smiled: “Did you mistake me for someone else? I’m not your brother.”
At those words, Xiuwei snapped out of it, looked up at Su Chi, and quickly let go in alarm.
“It’s alright.” Seeing the boy flustered, Su Chi soothed him first, setting aside his work for a moment. “I know you—you’re Xiuwei.”
He was the well-behaved little ge’er at lunch, whose older brother was Xiu He—likely the most skilled ge’er here, and one of his wife’s “adopted” capable subordinates.
Realizing he’d mistaken his brother and that this young boss’s fulang knew who he was, Xiuwei felt a little shy. His hands clasped together unconsciously: “Mm, I’m Xiuwei.”
“I know you too—you’re the boss’s fulang,” Xiuwei said softly, tugging gently at the hem of Su Chi’s clothes. “Su Fulang, your cooking was delicious—the best I’ve ever had.”
Su Chi laughed at his words, warm and gentle. He softened his gaze and patted his head: “How old are you?”
“Almost ten.”
Su Chi paused—ten years old?
But the boy looked so small for his age. At ten, he should have been taller.
Xiuwei hadn’t meant to mistake him. The boss’s fulang had looked so much like his brother from behind as he worked at the table. He’d just woken up and missed his brother, still groggy, and accidentally hugged the wrong person.
He saw how handsome the boss’s fulang was and that he wasn’t angry. His courage grew, and he linked fingers with him, sitting close and whispering softly.
Su Chi didn’t stop working as he listened—folding oil paper while the boy chatted. His expression was soft as an early spring breeze.
Xiuwei was still young, and Xie Yushu hadn’t had him do any work since he’d come here.
But he was a grateful child. Since he couldn’t do heavy labor, he helped with simple, light tasks—fetching things for the aunties, fulang, and older brothers at the base, or sticking labels on goods with his brother.
He even took care of the room he shared with his brother—making the bed, sweeping, washing clothes, and tidying up with surprising skill.
He’d grown bolder here than at home—simple-hearted and hardworking. Everyone at the base liked him, and he never caused his brother any worry.
He sat obediently beside Su Chi all afternoon, quiet and well-behaved, occasionally handing him things or helping press down the paper. It seemed he’d completely forgotten about his brother Xiuhe—until Xie Yushu came to take Su Chi home.
Before leaving, Su Chi patted his head and said goodbye, promising to bring him snacks next time.
Xiuwei tilted his head up, eyes bright, watching them until they disappeared from sight, then skipped back inside.
On the ride back to town, the carriage swayed and jolted as the wheels bumped over the dirt road, occasionally scraping against stones.
Inside the carriage, Xie Yushu held Su Chi’s hands to warm them: “You like Xiuwei?”
Su Chi nodded, his voice soft: “He’s a good child—just a bit thin.”
Xie Yushu didn’t say anything more. She just pulled him into her arms, her gaze resting on his smooth, dark hair, a thought stirring in her mind.
The carriage swayed a while longer, and Su Chi murmured from her embrace: “What would you like for dinner?”
Xie Yushu, thinking of his tiredness, replied gently: “Just something simple—you must be worn out today. Let’s rest early.”
“Alright.”
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