CFJWF : Chapter 23

The two men set out, with Gouzi’s father leading He Zifeng to his house. Their homes were on opposite ends of the village, both on the outskirts. Gouzi’s father didn’t interact much with the villagers, and to He Zifeng’s surprise, he even owned a horse.  

Gouzi’s father swiftly hitched the horse to a cart and said, “This will make it easier to get to the county.”  

He Zifeng’s eyes lit up at the sight of the horse—much faster than an ox cart.  

Once they were seated, Gouzi’s father remarked, “If we’re going to the county, we might as well make the trip worthwhile.” He packed several bundles of leftover fabric scraps from the previous time. With so much stock, it would likely take a while to sell everything. The cart had enough room for two, and sitting outside was cooler.  

The horse cart sped along the road, the wind whistling past as it ran swiftly.  

Gouzi’s father, clearly proud of his cart, asked, “How do you like my horse?”  

“Not bad!” He Zifeng replied. “Did you buy it?” The horse was tall, but the cart was simple—a clear workhorse setup.  

Gouzi’s father chuckled, “I can’t afford to buy one; I rent it from the county’s horse market. Let me tell you, they’ve got quite the business model. I rent the horse, but I’m responsible for feeding it, caring for it when it’s sick, and making sure it doesn’t get overworked. And it costs me 800 wen a month! If the horse dies, I have to compensate them. It’s like bringing home a pampered ancestor!”  

Despite his complaints, Gouzi’s father looked pleased.  

“Well, it does make market trips easier,” He Zifeng said.  

Gouzi’s father grinned. “Exactly! On foot, it’d take at least two hours. With the cart, we’re there in less than one. I can’t manage without it now. But keeping a horse is expensive—just feeding it costs 200 wen a month. In total, about one tael of silver each month. And that’s for an old horse. A young, healthy one would cost even more. Besides, young horses are temperamental and hard to train. The old ones are easier to manage and eat less.”  

He Zifeng was increasingly interested and asked more about where to rent a horse and cart.  

Gouzi’s father, who had been traveling since he was fifteen, knew the county like the back of his hand. He talked about life in the county until they arrived.  

After unloading his goods at a rented courtyard, Gouzi’s father accompanied He Zifeng to handle their main task.  

In the county, there was a wide street designated for selling goods. Stalls lined the middle, leaving enough space for two horse carts to pass side by side. Shops flanked both sides of the street.  

Gouzi’s father, familiar with the system, led He Zifeng to the county office. There, they paid the fee and filled out some paperwork. Soon, a bailiff with a white paintbrush arrived to measure the stall space.  

The monthly fee for a stall was 200 wen, and while business was slow on regular days, it picked up during markets and temple fairs. The long street had only about a dozen stalls available.  

He Zifeng discreetly handed each bailiff measuring the stalls 25 wen. These workers, with little influence or income, were glad to receive the gesture. As a result, they marked out a larger-than-usual space for He Zifeng’s stall.  

He Zifeng also bought some seasonings and rented a small storage room in the county for 50 wen a month. The caretaker, an old man, gave him a key and explained that he could come and go through the side gate without disturbing the landlord.  

With everything settled, they returned to the village.  

Back home, it was time to eat. Qiu Yu’s roast chicken, which had smelled tantalizing even before it was fully cooked, was now mouthwatering. Alongside the white rice and local grain wine, it made for a satisfying meal. Gouzi’s father enjoyed the feast, and when there was some chicken left, Qiu Yu packed a drumstick for his son, Gouzi.  

Gouzi’s father tried to refuse. “Oh, I’ve already eaten so much—this is too much!”  

He Zifeng insisted, “It’s for Gouzi.”  

Seeing their sincerity, Gouzi’s father accepted with a laugh and left contentedly.  

He Zifeng, slightly tipsy from the meal, explained everything to Qiu Yu.  

“What should we sell?” Qiu Yu asked. Though he was skilled at cooking meat, he worried the costs would be too high for customers.  

After some thought, He Zifeng suggested, “Your chili sauce is excellent. How about making pancakes and spreading them with chili sauce for a rich, savory flavor?”  

Qiu Yu’s chili sauce was renowned, even winning over the picky Xiao Wanshi when they still lived with the extended family. It went well with anything.  

Smearing it on pancakes had been He Zifeng’s favorite way to eat it, and coarse grain pancakes would keep costs low.  

“But that’s a village dish,” Qiu Yu hesitated. “Will the county folks like it?”  

“We’ll just have to try.”

The couple spent a significant amount of money that day. Buying the chicken cost fifty wen. After paying for the stall rental, storage, gifts for the bailiffs, and seasonings, they were left with only 117 wen. Including the string of coins Qiu Yu had secretly saved, their entire household funds were meager.  

In the past, Qiu Yu cooked with whatever was available at home, but doing business was different—it required planning. He sent He Zifeng to buy mixed grains, fifty jin in total, for 100 wen. They paid another five wen to use the village millstone to grind the grains into fine flour, leaving no room for waste. Every coin now had to be spent wisely.  

With the stall paid for a month, their daily costs were five or six wen, so they were eager to start earning.  

The mixed grains were carefully chosen by Qiu Yu, and He Zifeng spent nearly the entire evening grinding them at the millstone. The resulting flour didn’t even need sifting. The wind blew it fine as mist, with no residue.  

When he returned home, Qiu Yu was already preparing the chili sauce. He had also bought a generous amount of soybean oil.  

Entering the kitchen, He Zifeng was greeted by the increasingly rich and appetizing aroma of the sauce.  

“I bought it from Uncle Que,” Qiu Yu said.  

“His sauces are excellent,” He Zifeng replied. Uncle Que was skilled in sauce-making, just as good as their family’s recipes. However, without someone like Wan Hai to promote his product, Uncle Que’s reputation was limited to a few nearby villages. Being a solitary old man, he made just enough money to enjoy some liquor and meat, which satisfied him.  

“He even gave me two extra jin for free when I bought ten,” Qiu Yu added, likely aware of their recent troubles.  

“Uncle Que is a kind man. From now on, we’ll get our sauce from him,” He Zifeng said. That evening, they finished simmering the sauce and kneading the dough, preparing for the next day’s market.  

In the kitchen, He Zifeng suggested, “You stay home tomorrow; I’ll go to the market.” He was confident in making the pancakes since Qiu Yu had already prepared the sauce.  

“I want to go too,” Qiu Yu insisted. This time, he wanted to be involved. He Zifeng relented. “Alright, then let’s get to bed early.”  

As they lay down, their son Ranran came over, insisting on squeezing between them. The little one lay down, looked up, and asked, “Dad, where are you going?” The child had noticed the packed cart outside, ready for the market. Grabbing He Zifeng’s shirt, he gazed up expectantly.  

“Your little dad and I are going to the market tomorrow. I’ll bring you back some candy,” He Zifeng explained.  

“I want to go too,” Ranran said, his determination mirroring Qiu Yu’s.  

Qiu Yu added, “Ranran, be good.”  

The boy looked pitifully at Qiu Yu, his eyes downcast. Then he wiped his face with his arm, looking dejected. “But I want to be with Dad.”  

He Zifeng’s heart softened. “Alright, but you must stay close. If you wander off, the county’s kidnappers might take you, and then you won’t see Dad again.”  

Ranran hadn’t expected his father to agree so quickly and nodded vigorously.  

Qiu Yu frowned. “We can’t bring a child.”  

Ranran turned to Qiu Yu, declaring, “I’ll behave.” His face showed that if Qiu Yu refused, he’d burst into tears.  

Qiu Yu sighed, “You’re already four years old and still so spoiled.”  

Noticing they were still awake, He Zifeng snuffed out the candle. “Sleep. If you wake up early tomorrow, we’ll take you. If not, you’ll stay home, no crying. Good kids get candy in the evening.”  

“Okay,” Ranran said softly. Soon, the three of them, huddled together, fell into a peaceful sleep.  

He Zifeng, eager to start, woke early. As he moved, Qiu Yu woke too, though it was still dark outside.  

Lighting a candle quietly, He Zifeng saw that Ranran was still asleep. But as soon as Qiu Yu moved, the little boy stirred, holding tightly to Qiu Yu’s shirt. Groggily, Ranran sat up, yawning.  

“Sleep a little more,” Qiu Yu said, knowing it was too early for a child.  

But Ranran insisted, “I’m awake!” and reached out for Qiu Yu to carry him.  

Qiu Yu, seeing his sleepy son’s determination, looked helplessly at He Zifeng.  

“Let’s take him,” He Zifeng said. He carried the iron pot and supplies to the cart.  

Under the stars, they made their way to the county.  

Carrying Ranran, Qiu Yu realized the boy felt secure in his arms and soon fell asleep again. So, he continued holding him as they walked. The only sounds were the rustling leaves in the breeze.  

“Put him on the cart and cover him with my coat,” He Zifeng suggested.  

“I’m fine,” Qiu Yu replied. But soon, his arms grew sore. When He Zifeng took over, Ranran woke up. Looking up at the starry sky, he murmured, “It’s so pretty.”  

The parents chuckled at the child’s innocence.  

By dawn, they reached the market. Only a few other stalls were set up, mostly selling food—fried dough sticks and noodles. They quickly set up their stand with a stove beneath the iron pot and a large cutting board nearby. They had twenty pre-prepared dough pieces and half a bag of coarse flour. Using clean water from a well, they washed their hands and started kneading.  

Qiu Yu rolled out the dough, and He Zifeng cooked it on the stove. Their division of labor was clear.  

The street gradually became busier. Regular customers bought fried dough sticks and tofu pudding, some wrapping their purchases in oiled paper to take home.  

Since they were new to the market, a few people glanced at their stall but didn’t approach.  

Soon, the first pancake was ready. It was thick, with an outer layer that sizzled with oil bubbles as it came off the stove, crispy outside and soft inside.  

“Let’s eat first,” He Zifeng suggested, given the early hour and their long walk.  

Qiu Yu spread a layer of their secret chili sauce on the pancake. The heat brought out its fragrant aroma, drawing curious glances from nearby customers waiting for their fried dough sticks. The three of them enjoyed the rich, savory pancakes. He Zifeng quickly devoured half a pancake, while Qiu Yu ate his more slowly.  

As He Zifeng cooked the second pancake, a man who had just bought dough sticks walked over. “How much for a pancake?”  

“Six wen,” Qiu Yu replied.  

Hearing the reasonable price, the man said, “I’ll take one. I smelled it from a distance! Be generous with the sauce—I like it strong.”  

Since He Zifeng and Qiu Yu were busy making food, they had Ranran collect the money.  

The little boy, entrusted with such an important task, puffed out his chest and took his role seriously.

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