Chapter 23.1: Sausage and Sliced Pork Hand-Pulled Noodle Soup

Chef Li of Bright Moon Pavilion was a renowned figure in Huai’an Town.

Any dish he tasted, he could replicate perfectly within days.

So no one imagined that Chef Li would fail this time.

“This doesn’t look right at all,” the young servant muttered, leaning in for a closer look, his expression barely concealing his disdain.

“Can we really serve this?” he asked, glancing up.

Chef Li knew better than anyone that this wouldn’t do, but the deadline had arrived. There was no point in delaying further.

For five days, he had tried every method imaginable. It was just pork stuffed into sausage casings, then steamed or boiled—yet the result was nothing like the original, not even in appearance.

As for the so-called sausage casings, he had bought pig intestines as well as chicken and duck casings, but none of them worked.

Chef Li was convinced the problem wasn’t his fault. The shopkeeper must have been swindled—there was no such thing as “sausage casings.”

Carrying the bowl himself, Chef Li said, “Let’s just go with this.”

The two climbed the stairs. As they reached the door, the servant hesitated and stepped aside. “You go first.”

Chef Li couldn’t miss the servant’s intention—he was afraid of being scolded.

But this had nothing to do with the servant. If he wanted to avoid trouble, Chef Li couldn’t blame him.

Chef Li carried his homemade sausage into the room. As expected, it wasn’t long before the sound of shattering porcelain echoed from within.

The servant standing outside breathed a sigh of relief. Thank goodness I didn’t go in there.

Manager Ren, already impatient, scowled at the “sausage” on the table, his eyebrows furrowing deeply.

“This is what you made?” he demanded, his voice sharp and rising in pitch.

Chef Li tried to explain, “The meat is all top-quality pork, but the casing… I truly don’t know what it is. Even the thinnest duck intestines couldn’t achieve such a texture.”

Manager Ren waved for someone to clear the revolting sausage away.

“Are you saying there’s no such thing as sausage casing in this world?” he asked, scrutinizing Chef Li.

Chef Li couldn’t produce such a thin yet durable casing. He nodded, then shook his head. “Shopkeeper, the man who spoke so confidently about sausage casing that day must have been sure no one else could replicate it.”

After all, one bite of the sausage revealed it was made with pork, which meant the casing was the real key.

Manager Ren recalled the day he had cautiously inquired about the casing. Without hesitation, the young woman had uttered the word “casing.”

Now, reflecting on it, he realized the sausage’s secret truly lay there.

No wonder those two had been so agreeable that day. He had invited them to the restaurant and talked for so long, yet they sold him only two links of sausage. They showed no urgency, nor did they press him to buy more.

They’re truly cunning, Manager Ren thought bitterly. I underestimated them.

Meanwhile, far away in Yongyang Village, Su Yi’an never imagined Manager Ren had completely misunderstood her intentions.

Regardless, the outcome was inevitable. The restaurant manager would never stoop to buying sausages from her.

“You may leave,” Manager Ren instructed. “If our buyers encounter those two in the market these next few days, have them purchase more sausages. But don’t let them know it’s for our restaurant.”

Chef Li nodded briskly. Such matters had to remain confidential. Revealing it would damage the restaurant’s reputation.

With the idea of setting up a noodle stall in town, the He family began preparing day and night.

They needed not only noodles and sausages but also a cooking pot, a stove, bowls, and chopsticks.

Looking at the sheer amount of equipment, they realized transporting it all to town would be a major challenge.

Mother He hesitated. “Shouldn’t we wait until after the New Year, when the weather improves?”

The supplies wouldn’t fit into two back baskets, and they were incredibly heavy. Carrying them to town daily would likely exhaust them before they earned a single coin.

Su Yi’an, however, remained resolute. Winter was the best season for hot noodle soup—just the time people would crave a steaming bowl.

“Mother, we can’t delay any longer. Let’s go as many days as we can before the New Year,” Su Yi’an said firmly.

“I want to go too! I can carry things,” He Ningwen chimed in, her small face eager.

Mother He worried—her daughter had only just recovered from illness. But with only two adults, they couldn’t possibly transport everything themselves. After much thought, Mother He decided to accompany them.

Su Yi’an immediately objected. Anyone could go to town—except Mother He. Her presence was indispensable at home.

It wasn’t that she didn’t want to work alongside her mother, but the family needed her there. Everyone else could leave, but not her.

“Mother, you should stay home these days,” Su Yi’an said firmly. “If Sister-in-law goes into labor, the younger ones wouldn’t even know where to find a midwife.”

Six-year-old He Xingchen, twelve-year-old He Ningwen, and He Songyuan, bedridden with a broken leg—if something went wrong, who could help?

He Songyuan quickly grasped Wan Xu’s hand. With her pregnancy advanced, they had to be prepared.

Childbirth was never easy. Wan Xu had struggled when giving birth to He Xingchen years ago. Given their poor conditions, He Songyuan dared not think what might happen if complications arose.

“Mother, don’t worry,” Su Yi’an reassured her. “If this venture doesn’t work out, we’ll abandon it.” Truthfully, she wasn’t confident. The town was full of food vendors. She wasn’t sure she could attract enough customers.

With the matter settled, Su Yi’an couldn’t resist He Ningwen’s insistence and reluctantly agreed to take her along.

Before dawn the next day, the three of them set off with heavy baskets on their backs.

The oxcart driver barely glanced at them. Winter trips to town were rare, and every extra fare counted. They had already spent six copper coins before earning a single one.

Upon reaching town, Su Yi’an didn’t head straight for the bustling market. Instead, she asked He Yunhuai to take them to the small river where he used to carry sacks.

“Second Brother, is this where you were beaten?” He Ningwen asked, reluctant. She feared running into the group who had attacked him, though she didn’t know what they looked like.

He Yunhuai remained silent.

“No, it wasn’t here,” he finally said. He had never told his family the full story—who had beaten him or why.

The attackers weren’t from this area. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have brought them here.

Su Yi’an overheard but didn’t press. Some things were best left unsaid.

Her mind was on setting up the stall. She surveyed the surroundings. While there were other food vendors, none sold noodle soup.

“Sister Su, there are so few food stalls here. Do you think anyone will buy our soup?” He Ningwen asked, bundled in a thick padded coat and sturdier shoes.

Su Yi’an wasn’t sure. Laborers rarely spent coins on food, preferring to bring meals from home.

“Yes,” He Yunhuai said, scanning the area. “There are laborers and conscripts here, and they all buy food.”

Whether they’d buy their food depended on how appealing it was.

Su Yi’an found a sheltered spot and set up the small stove and iron pot. Then she went to the well to fetch water. The town relied on well water—free but a bit of a walk.

Once everything was ready, she lit the stove.

He Ningwen focused on tending the fire, feeding small pieces of firewood into the stove. They had carried the firewood from home—also free.

Seeing the two women busy, He Yunhuai stood awkwardly to the side. “What should I do?” he blurted out.

Su Yi’an was kneading dough, preparing to flatten it into thin cakes and slice them into noodles. There wasn’t much else to do.

After a moment, she said, “Go wander by the river. If anyone looks interested in buying food, bring them over. And don’t forget to tell them how delicious our noodles are.”

He Yunhuai: …

Though a bit embarrassed, he went off. Su Yi’an didn’t expect him to bring anyone back.

A few meters away, an elderly couple ran a stall selling momo. They looked older than Mother He.

“Sister Su, why are they staring at us?” He Ningwen whispered. She shifted uncomfortably and tried to hide behind the stove.

Su Yi’an had just rolled out the dough into a thin sheet, ready to fold and slice. Hearing He Ningwen’s words, she paused and glanced over.

“Maybe they’re just curious,” Su Yi’an replied. Every new stall meant one less customer for them.

“Sister Su, she’s coming over,” He Ningwen whispered, tugging at her sleeve.

Before the noodles hit the water, the woman approached. Su Yi’an noticed her hesitation and guessed what she wanted.

Sure enough, the woman asked, “Miss, how much for your noodles?”

“The same as at the market,” Su Yi’an said with a smile. “Five wen for vegetarian noodles, seven wen for meat noodles.” A cheerful attitude was essential for business.

The price was fair; vegetarian noodles cost the same throughout town. But seven wen for meat noodles? What kind of meat were they using?

The woman pulled out five coins. “Miss, my family sells steamed buns—one coin each. Could I trade two buns for a bowl of meat noodles?”

Su Yi’an, making her first sale, agreed. “Alright. I’ll finish cutting the noodles and put them in the pot right away.”

The woman returned to her stall and wrapped two steamed buns in oiled paper, then brought them back.

The buns were larger than expected—almost palm-sized.

“Auntie, wait here. I’ll bring the noodles to you when they’re ready,” Su Yi’an said. With practiced ease, she sliced the dough into uniform strands.

Using bamboo chopsticks, she tossed a portion into the boiling water.

The woman nodded and returned to her stall.

Su Yi’an washed the bowl and chopsticks, added a spoonful of homemade seasoning, and ladled in hot broth.

When the noodles were cooked, she scooped them into the bowl.

“Sister Su, how many slices of sausage should we add?” He Ningwen asked, pulling out a plate of glistening, pre-sliced sausage.

Su Yi’an picked up five slices and arranged them neatly on top. “Five is enough—they’re thin.”

A single sausage could yield nearly fifty slices. At two wen per bowl, each sausage brought in nearly twenty wen, with a profit of ten wen—more than selling whole sausages.

The noodles themselves were profitable too. Firewood and water were free; only the flour and seasoning cost money. A bowl of plain noodles earned at least three wen.

“The meat noodles in town cost seven wen and only have four slices of meat,” He Ningwen said. “They look thicker, but the taste is nothing special.” She had once thought town noodles were delicious, but now, recalling them, they seemed ordinary. Sister Su’s noodles were still the best.