Chapter 28: Oily Broth Noodles

Zhang Jinlan slipped the copper coins into her pouch. She hefted it in her hand—so heavy!

With a delighted smile, she tucked the pouch away, slung the bamboo basket onto her back, and took her granddaughter by the hand as they left.

This street connected three alleys.

One was Zaonao Alley, the morning market where they had just sold eggs. Another was Wanliang Alley, where men carried sacks of grain and found day labor. The third, on the very edge of town, was Wugu Alley.

But Zhang Jinlan ignored them all.

Instead, she led Jiang Fubao back to the six-way crossroads.

There she chose Baishi Street—literally, Hundred Foods Street.

As the name promised—hundreds of foods.

It was just like the food courts in a modern mall: the basement or the top floor, where every stall was something delicious.

Snacks, eateries, taverns—everything gathered here.

The moment they stepped into the street, Fubao’s nose twitched.

Scents everywhere!

Steamed buns, pastries, candied fruits… rice cakes, flatbreads, wontons…

So many aromas mingling together, swirling right into her little nose.

Her stomach gave a loud growl.

“Grandma, what are we eating?” she asked, hungry.

“Silly child, didn’t I tell you? Oily broth noodles. We’re almost there. That stall’s been around for over a dozen years. When your father was little, he loved it most. Time flies—it’s been three years since we last ate there. Don’t know if the taste has changed.”

Unlike her booming cries when selling eggs, Zhang Jinlan’s voice here softened to a hush.

She leaned down to speak close to Fubao, her eyes darting around.

The street was crowded.

She had to watch her granddaughter carefully, lest some kidnapper snatch her away.

After less than a hundred meters, Fubao spotted the stall.

A wooden pole propped up a cloth canopy to block the sun. Beneath it sat three tables, each seating four.

Hanging at the side was a small wooden sign, no bigger than a modern phone, painted with three characters: Oily Broth Noodles.

It was past lunchtime, so all three tables were empty.

Jinlan picked one at random and sat with her granddaughter. She set the bamboo basket onto the table and called out:

“Old Sun! One bowl of noodles, and an extra bowl and chopsticks—I’ll share with my granddaughter.”

Clearly, she knew the stall owner well.

“Alright, big sister! Haven’t seen you in ages—your granddaughter’s grown this big already? Like a little lucky doll! She’ll be a beauty one day, and when she marries into a rich family, you’ll live in comfort.”

The old man’s voice rang out cheerfully.

Though three years had passed since Jinlan last came, he recognized her instantly—proof she had once been a frequent customer.

At the compliment, little Fubao tilted her chin proudly.

The original Fubao really was adorable, a perfect blend of her parents’ best features.

Big eyes and a delicate jaw from her mother Zhang Yanzi.

A small, straight nose, plump lips, and fair skin from her father Jiang Siyin.

Even if she grew up awkwardly, she could never be ugly.

Unless she ballooned into a two-hundred-pound ball.

“Yes, it’s been years. How’s business?” Jinlan asked.

“Not as good as before. Times are hard—grain prices keep rising. My noodles are up to three coppers a bowl now. But since you’re an old friend, I’ll give you extra.”

While her grandmother chatted with the vendor, Fubao quietly watched the stall wife cooking noodles.

The noodles had been hand-rolled and cut in advance.

After about five or six minutes, a huge bowl was set on the table.

It was massive, almost the size of the soup bowls Fubao had used back in modern times.

“Here you go, a clean bowl and chopsticks. Eat your fill!” Old Sun chuckled, placing them in front of her. He gave her chubby cheek a gentle pinch.

“Thank you, Grandpa Sun,” Fubao said sweetly.

The man was about Grandma’s age. Since Grandma called him “Old Sun,” he must be surnamed Sun. So she addressed him as “Grandpa Sun.”

“What a clever child! Only three, right? Already knows my surname. Big sister, you’ve raised her well—this girl’s bound for great things.”

“Haha, my Fubao has always been like this—well-behaved and smart. Let me tell you, she’s blessed too. The day she was born, auspicious clouds gathered over our house. That’s why I named her Fubao. And you know what? Whenever we go out, she just happens to find bird eggs—quail, pigeon—you know how expensive those are! My Fubao finds plenty, though no one else can.”

All elders share one trait: when among others, they can’t resist bragging about their children and grandchildren.

Zhang Jinlan was no exception.

And Old Sun, with decades of noodle-selling experience, knew just how to keep the conversation flowing.

The two of them traded compliments back and forth until Fubao’s cheeks turned scarlet.

“Grandma, let’s eat,” she blurted out, trying to cut the boasting short before her head swelled too big.

“Alright, alright, let’s eat. Old Sun, here’s the money—three copper coins, not a coin short. Count them.”

Jinlan pulled out three coins and handed them over.

It was obvious enough—who needed to count?

Anyone else might have rolled their eyes.

But Old Sun wasn’t anyone else.

After more than twenty years of business, he knew exactly how to put people at ease.

He accepted the coins with a grin.

“No need to count—I trust you. You could even pay after eating, it’d be the same. We’ve known each other too long—you’re family.”

A single sentence, and everyone left comfortable.

Fubao noticed it all.

No wonder this man’s stall had lasted so many years.

The real skill wasn’t just noodles—it was in dealing with people.

“Come, eat. Afterwards we’ll walk around the market,” Jinlan said, lifting her chopsticks to slurp up the steaming noodles.

One old, one young—their appetites were small. Sharing one bowl was just right.

“Does it taste good?”

“Good. Grandma’s noodles are good too,” Fubao replied between mouthfuls, barely looking up.

She was starving—she had only drunk water on the road, hadn’t touched the flatbread. Her belly had been empty.

“Then later I’ll buy half a jin of meat. Tonight we’ll have shredded pork noodles.”

Jinlan smiled, gentle as spring water—so different from the fierce woman who had cursed out loud by the bridge yesterday.

“Okay~” Fubao answered softly.

Grandmother and granddaughter soon polished off the bowl.

“Grandma, wipe my mouth.”

The oily broth had been cooked with lard. After eating, her lips were slick with grease.

There were no napkins here. She could only turn to Grandma.

Quickly, Jinlan untied a cloth from her waist and wiped her granddaughter’s mouth.

It wasn’t silk or gauze—just plain hemp cloth, worn white from washing.

It scratched harshly, like a bath towel in modern times.

Fubao’s lips stung, and she had to lick them a few times before the pain eased.

“Grandma, let’s go,” she urged eagerly. She couldn’t wait to explore the street.

“Alright, wait for me to strap on the basket.”

A quarter of an hour later, the pair were strolling leisurely down the bustling street.