When they arrived home, He Zifeng gently placed Little Ranran on his small bed. The little one was so exhausted he hadn’t woken up during the bumpy journey back.
Unloading the goods from the cart, He Zifeng turned to Qiu Yu and said, “You should go rest first.” Running a food stall was profitable but physically taxing. They’d been up before dawn, selling pancakes, and still had to grind flour, cook chili sauce, and knead dough—there was barely any time to rest. Even the strongest person would eventually feel the strain.
Though Qiu Yu was thoroughly exhausted after walking two hours under the scorching sun, he hesitated to leave all the work to He Zifeng. “Let’s finish up first, then I’ll sleep.”
“Be good,” He Zifeng said with a smile. “I’ll rest soon too.”
Qiu Yu was at his limit and, after some persuasion, finally agreed. He returned to the house, leaving He Zifeng to push the empty cart to the village to exchange it for fresh grains.
He bought three types of coarse grains, fifty jin of each, at two wen per jin. On his way back, he ran into the neighbor who’d lent him the cart.
“Auntie,” He Zifeng said, “why don’t you sell me this cart?” While it was common in the village to borrow tools, using the cart daily made it more practical to own it.
The neighbor waved her hand. “No need to pay. Just keep using it.”
But He Zifeng insisted. If he had to commission a carpenter to build one, it would take days. This cart, though old, was still in excellent condition and easy to pull.
The neighbor finally relented. “This cart was made by a skilled carpenter. The labor alone cost me five hundred wen. It’s sturdy and light. I wasn’t planning to sell it, but since you want it, three hundred wen will do.”
He Zifeng agreed, paid her promptly, and even brought the village elder to witness the sale to prevent future disputes.
After buying the grains, He Zifeng returned home to rest. Not wanting to disturb Qiu Yu, he quietly lay down beside him.
But Qiu Yu, sensing his presence, immediately turned over and nestled into his arms.
He Zifeng couldn’t resist planting a kiss on his wife’s forehead. Qiu Yu often teased that their son was overly clingy, but in truth, Little Ranran had inherited that trait from him.
The three of them, utterly exhausted, felt an unprecedented sense of comfort as soon as their heads hit the pillows and soon fell into a deep sleep.
He Zifeng woke to the aroma of food wafting through the air. By the time he got up, Qiu Yu had already prepared a meal.
After an hour’s nap, He Zifeng felt much more refreshed. He joined Qiu Yu for the meal, while their little “lazy cat” Ranran, now well-rested, sat obediently on his small bed. When He Zifeng approached, Ranran immediately raised his arms for a hug.
Holding his son close, He Zifeng felt a surge of tenderness.
After their meal, Ranran ran outside to play, while Qiu Yu got started on another batch of chili sauce, and He Zifeng took the grains to the village millstone to grind flour.
Since they had new orders for pancakes, they needed to prepare more than the previous day.
At the village mill, He Zifeng handed over the fee and got to work. The large stone mill was at the edge of the village, and with the farming season over, many villagers gathered around to chat.
Seeing He Zifeng grinding such a large amount of grain, someone asked, “What’s all this flour for?”
“I’m running a small business,” He Zifeng replied simply.
Uncle Niu, a kind-hearted elder, offered, “Let me help you with a few rounds.” After all, three sacks of grain would take ages to grind.
“Thank you, Uncle Niu, but I can handle it,” He Zifeng said, his strength evident as he worked steadily.
The villagers, watching his diligent work, began murmuring. “He’s not like his father at all.” Everyone in the village knew about the hardships of running a small business. Despite the He family owning brick houses and farmland, his father still badmouthed He Zifeng, calling him ungrateful—even after being given ten taels of silver. Since Uncle Fang gave him a thrashing, though, things had quieted down.
Uncle Fang had made it clear: if anyone dared bully He Zifeng again, he’d deliver another beating.
He Zifeng worked quickly, seemingly tireless. Occasionally, he exchanged a few words with the villagers. In the past, people thought he was aloof because of his family, but now they realized he was just naturally reserved.
Once the flour was ready, he loaded it onto the cart and headed home. On the way, he ran into Wan Hai.
Though their friendship was superficial, Wan Hai always acted like an older brother. After the thrashing He Zifeng gave him last time, Wan Hai bore a grudge. Now, at the sight of He Zifeng, he turned and left without a word.
The encounter was awkward, but He Zifeng didn’t care. When he arrived home, the courtyard was filled with the rich aroma of chili sauce.
Qiu Yu had bought fifty jin of sauce, with Uncle Que adding another ten as a gift. The sixty jin of sauce had been fried and stored in small jars.
“The fried sauce won’t spoil easily,” Qiu Yu said. “It’ll last at least two days.”
Afterwards, they quickly got to kneading dough. Qiu Yu planned to prepare one hundred pieces, but He Zifeng insisted on making one hundred and fifty.
By the evening, after a simple meal of dough dumplings, they began counting their money.
Despite spending on grains, oil, and the cart, they still had over 1,100 wen in hand. Tomorrow’s sales would be pure profit.
Qiu Yu’s eyes sparkled with joy. “I thought selling food wouldn’t make much money. But we’ve already broken even in just one day!”
The villagers always said small-time vendors barely scraped by, and if they were unlucky, they’d even lose money. They’d believed it, but now, having done it themselves, they realized they’d been misled.
“If they didn’t spread those rumors, everyone would be doing it, and no one would make any money,” He Zifeng said with a chuckle. “At this rate, we’ll save five hundred wen a day. In two months, we’ll have enough to build a house.”
Qiu Yu nodded enthusiastically.
The next day, they woke up early. Little He Ran also got up and wasn’t as groggy as the first day, helping He Zifeng and the others carry things.
They set out early as a family.
Even though they left the village early, the road between the village and the county was rough. By the time they arrived, the other food stall owners had already set up.
He had stored most of the heavy cooking utensils elsewhere the previous day, so the cart only carried sauces, a large iron pan, and dough for the pancake skins, making it much lighter.
As soon as they set up their stall, a customer came over and said, “I thought you weren’t going to open today! Quickly, give me three pancakes.” The speaker was a repeat customer from yesterday, who had taken one home, and it was gone as soon as the family shared it.
He Zifeng began frying pancakes.
The customer quickly bought three pancakes and left, delighted.
Soon after, He Zifeng and Qiu Yu busily fried more pancakes, fulfilling an order of forty pancakes placed by some guards from the security bureau.
He Zifeng’s pancake-making skills had greatly improved. He expertly managed the process so that the outer layer became crispy without burning. This type of pancake required skill: too much oil would make it greasy, while too little could burn it. Controlling the heat was crucial.
Each pancake, brushed with the secret sauce, released an irresistible aroma.
They were busy nonstop. Occasionally, a couple of new customers would stop by and buy one or two pancakes.
The stack of forty pancakes, piled one and a half feet high, was impressive. This time, they didn’t cut the pancakes, making it easier to count.
Soon, Brother Liu, the middle-aged guard from yesterday, came over with Xiao Li and Xiao Hu, carrying the pancakes wrapped in oil paper. Liu cheerfully paid the remaining 120 wen and said, “We have heavy tastes. Could we buy some of that spicy sauce too?”
He Zifeng scooped half a bowl of sauce into a clean bowl and said, “Here, no charge. Just return the bowl tomorrow.”
The chili sauce, with its rich red oil, was the soul of the pancakes and smelled incredibly fragrant.
Back at the security bureau, the guards had prepared porridge early. They rarely gathered together like this when they weren’t out on duty. After being tempted yesterday, they had been eagerly waiting for breakfast.
As soon as the pancakes arrived, everyone grabbed one. They weren’t shy, rolling them up and taking big bites. The natural sweetness of the grain shone through, and the pancakes, though slightly dry, were perfectly complemented by a sip of porridge. Even those who usually skipped breakfast were eating enthusiastically.
The middle-aged men could manage one and a half pancakes, while the younger ones easily devoured two. They ate quickly and eagerly, and when they went for more, there were none left.
Though they were almost full, they still craved more. One sharp-eyed guard noticed Liu not eating pancakes but instead dipping a bun into the sauce with his chopsticks, enjoying it intently.
“Brother Liu, what are you eating?”
“Something delicious,” Liu replied. “This is the sauce I got from the pancake stall owner. Turns out it’s great with buns too.”
Buns were plentiful at the security bureau; they had hired a cook who steamed buns daily. Upon hearing this, everyone grabbed some buns. Dipping them into the sauce, they were amazed at how even plain buns became delicious.
“We should buy some of this sauce.”
“It’d be great with rice.”
“It’d work with noodles too.”
The younger guards brainstormed ways to use the sauce, while their seniors laughed at their enthusiasm.
Liu enjoyed the sauce so much that, after finishing his bun, he cleaned out the bowl with another bun. Then he said, “I’m going to buy more.”
Carrying a small jar, he headed out.
He Zifeng’s savory pancakes were gaining a reputation. Many customers from the previous day returned, and new ones wanted to try them.
Business was booming. They sold whole pancakes but also catered to poor county students who came to study and couldn’t finish a whole one. For three wen, they’d sell half a pancake, and for two wen, they’d cut an even smaller piece.
Many customers paired a two-wen piece of pancake with a bowl of tofu pudding from another stall, filling up for just three wen.
Qiu Yu stayed busy brushing sauce, cutting pancakes, and rolling dough. Even when the sun rose high, when the early crowd usually dispersed, there were still ten people in line. Someone shouted to buy three more pancakes.
“How many are left?” Qiu Yu asked.
He Zifeng opened the box containing the dough and counted twenty-two portions. He resumed frying, knowing there was enough for those willing to wait.
With so few left, they prioritized customers who paid in advance. Many quickly handed over their money.
“Are they really that good?” someone nearby asked.
“Absolutely! I bought two yesterday, and my younger brothers said it wasn’t enough. They told me to buy more today.” The pancakes, large and satisfying, were popular whether eaten hot or cold.
Hearing this, a few passersby decided to try some.
“We have six pancakes left. Who wants them?” He Zifeng announced.
“I’ll take one,” said one passerby.
“Two for me.”
“I want one too.”
“I’ll take the rest,” another declared.
All 150 pancakes were sold out.
Though they had more dough, the blazing sun was rising, and He Zifeng refused to endure the midday heat like yesterday. They wrapped up early, reasoning that maintaining a steady business over time was better than exhausting themselves in one day.
As they packed up, Liu arrived, returning the bowl. “I’ll order another forty pancakes for tomorrow. Also, my brothers love your chili sauce. Could you sell us some?”
Fortunately, Qiu Yu had made extra sauce the previous day. Calculating the cost, He Zifeng said, “Thirty wen per jin. It lasts about seven days, and in a sealed jar in a cool place, even longer.”
“I’ll take one jin. I brought my own jar.” He Zifeng weighed the jar, filled it with sauce, and charged Liu thirty-five wen.
Liu paid and left happily with his jar.
Others followed suit, buying smaller portions of sauce. In no time, He Zifeng had sold over ten bowls of sauce, using up all their containers. Customers promised to return the bowls the next day.
On the way home, He Zifeng told Qiu Yu, “Let’s limit ourselves to 150 pancakes a day from now on.” That way, they wouldn’t overwork themselves. With the pancake and sauce sales, they had made over one liang of silver, netting a profit of 600–700 wen after costs.
Qiu Yu agreed happily.
After walking for a long time, they reached home. Qiu Yu went out to buy more sauce ingredients, while He Zifeng stayed home to work, laying their son down to sleep in a small bed. Then, he noticed a shadow moving outside.
He immediately went out, catching someone who tried to flee. It turned out to be Liangzi, a village troublemaker. Liangzi, unfamiliar with He Zifeng’s intimidating presence, stammered nervously, “Second Brother He, why are you grabbing me?” He tried to act casual.
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