Qin Rong had kept her stall open for the entire day, steaming several batches of qingtuan (green rice balls).

In just one day, all the 70 to 80 qingtuan she brought with her were completely sold out.

She estimated that she’d earned close to two taels of silver, with at least one tael in profit—more than she usually made on market days.

However, qingtuan couldn’t be sold for long.

At most, she could sell them for another two or three times.

Her stash of salted duck eggs was also running low.

The fifth batch was already fermenting, but it would take at least another ten days before they were ready.

By then, qingtuan would be out of season.

Tired from the day’s hard work, Qin Rong decided to buy a few servings of wontons to bring home for dinner.

To her surprise, even more people came to buy qingtuan the next day than the first.

Some had even heard about it from the east street and made their way over just to line up for them.

She was caught off guard by the rush. By midday, all the qingtuan were sold out.

“Xiaoshan, we’re having braised pork rice today. Once we finish selling tomorrow’s last batch, we’ll take a day off,” Qin Rong said.

“Alright!” Yu Xiaoshan had been working the stall with Qin Rong for almost two months now and had become much more steady and reliable.

Qin Rong went to the butcher to buy two and a half jin (about 1.25 kg) of half-fat, half-lean pork belly, then stopped by the grain and oil store to pick up various seasonings.

Since starting the food stall, the household went through spices quickly.

Now that the business was becoming stable, Qin Rong tried not to use ingredients from her spatial stash unless absolutely necessary—those items couldn’t be replenished, and once they were used up, they were gone for good.

For braised pork rice, the meat quality was key.

Qin Rong diced the pork belly into small cubes, blanched them, and also chopped up some rehydrated dried shiitake mushrooms.

Once the wok was hot, she added oil, then the drained pork belly, frying it until golden.

She tossed in the diced mushrooms and gave it a few good stirs before adding hot water, soy sauce, rock sugar, and a bit of salt.

Soon, the wok started bubbling with a “gudugudu” sound, and the rich aroma of stewed pork wafted through the kitchen, spilling into the courtyard and beyond.

The scent attracted more than just Chen Fuzi’s (the teacher’s) grandson, Bao—Chen Fuzi himself was drawn over.

He kept a stern face but muttered inwardly: Why does it smell so good?

Xiao Bao often caught whiffs of delicious aromas from the neighboring yard, but this time it was especially irresistible.

He tugged on Chen Fuzi’s sleeve, pouting. “Grandfather, I want to eat meat.”

Chen Fuzi’s eyes widened.

He wanted to eat too, but it wasn’t his cooking. “Bao, a true man doesn’t throw tantrums over a bite of food.”

“But…” Bao’s eyes widened, “I’m not a man yet! Grandpa, I want meat.”

Madam Chen sighed and said, “Today’s Bao’s birthday. Why don’t I go ask the young lady next door if she’s willing to sell us a bowl?”

Chen Fuzi deflated slightly.

Bao was a pitiful child.

With a sigh, he said, “Alright, go ask—but if she says no, then let it be.”

Madam Chen nodded and took Bao to knock on Qin Rong’s courtyard gate.

Qin Yue opened the door and, seeing it was Madam Chen, smiled warmly. “Hello, Madam Chen. Is there something I can help you with?”

Madam Chen had always been a straightforward woman.

She smiled and said, “Your cooking smells amazing today. I wanted to ask if we could buy some from you?”

Qin Yue thought for a moment and replied, “Please wait a moment, Madam Chen. This is just our family’s meal, but I’ll ask my sister if there’s enough to spare.”

“Thank you.”

Soon after, Qin Yue came back with a small bowl of braised pork rice. “My sister said she didn’t make much today, but this serving is for you. We’re neighbors—no need to pay. We’ll be selling this at the stall in a few days. If Bao likes it, Madam Chen can come buy some then.”

Madam Chen quickly said, “That won’t do!”

Qin Yue laughed heartily. “It’s fine, Madam Chen—just a bite of food.”

Hearing that, Madam Chen didn’t insist. “Alright, thank you then.”

Though Bao was drooling with hunger, he had been raised well by his grandparents.

He politely cupped his hands and bowed to Qin Yue.

With his chubby cheeks and adorable features, he looked like a porcelain doll.

Qin Yue burst into laughter at the sight of his serious little gesture.

Finally able to taste the cooking from next door, Bao and Madam Chen returned home and sat quietly on the bench.

Madam Chen handed him a spoon with a smile. “Bao, go ahead and eat.”

Bao obediently scooped up a spoonful of rice drenched in meat sauce and offered it to Chen Fuzi, then gave another to Madam Chen. “Grandpa, Grandma, let’s eat together.”

Madam Chen’s eyes instantly welled up.

She nodded repeatedly, choking back tears. “Yes, yes, eat.”

Chen Fuzi was also moved.

After Bao’s mother passed away, his father remarried a woman named Zhang.

Zhang treated Bao well at first, but after having a child of her own, she started neglecting and abusing him—scolding and even beating him.

Eventually, Chen Fuzi started to notice and was furious.

What shocked him even more was when his son said—right in front of Bao—that he hated the boy.

He blamed Bao for his mother’s death and said that without Bao, he and his first wife would still be the perfect couple.

Chen Fuzi hadn’t realized how deeply his son resented the child.

Bao was still small but seemed to understand.

He wiped away his tears, took Chen Fuzi’s hand, and asked if Grandpa could take him away.

Chen Fuzi was extremely disappointed in his son.

He reflected that perhaps he had been too obsessed with the imperial exams in his younger years and failed to raise his son properly. His son had once claimed to love Bao’s mother deeply, but only two years after her passing, he married someone else.

In truth, he had simply been too weak to face life and dumped all the blame on the child.

With a sigh, Chen Fuzi took Bao away.

Since then, Bao had never mentioned his father again. Even when his father and stepmother brought Bao’s younger half-brother to visit for New Year, Chen Fuzi didn’t even let them in.

If they’ve abandoned the child, then the father has no place here either.

Chen Fuzi had lived a long life, teaching generations of students, yet he had failed to properly raise his own son.

He no longer cared about honor or who would perform his funeral rites.

He feared nothing in life—and even less in death.

After all, he still had Bao.

Bao was a good child, and he would raise him well.