The next day, Shu Rui stir-fried minced pork with pickled beans and kneaded dough to make hand-pulled noodles. He prepared a bowl to deliver to the guest in the Bamboo Room upstairs.
Lu Ling woke early to deliver willow brushes and green salt for the man in the shared dorm and asked if he wanted breakfast. When he knocked, the man was still snoring loudly. Upon hearing the question, he muttered something about payment or free service, then flipped over, buttocks raised, and went back to sleep. He refused breakfast entirely.
With that, Shu Rui made the noodles and served a bowl to the Bamboo Room guest, then ate one himself with Lu Ling. Afterwards, Lu Ling went to the martial arts school.
Shu Rui cleaned the dishes. The shared dorm door opened, and the man from before waddled out.
“Smells good! Why’s it so fragrant so early?” he exclaimed, sniffing toward the kitchen.
Shu Rui finally saw the guest Lu Ling had complained about. The man wasn’t ugly—features were proportionate, and his figure average—but he was unclean. Oily hair, yellow teeth, and a faint sour stench made him unpleasant to be around.
Shu Rui, who valued cleanliness above all, resisted gagging only through sheer self-control. No wonder Lu Ling had complained nonstop; even a handsome man who avoids bathing is frustrating. Last night, Shu Rui imagined what state the bedding must have been in after one night.
Shu Rui said, “I just stir-fried the minced pork with pickled beans for breakfast.”
The man rubbed his flat belly. “Make me a bowl, then I’ll eat and leave.”
Shu Rui reminded him, “Eight wen per bowl—will you pay?”
“Eight wen it is,” the man said.
Shu Rui stood guard for the final shift and called the man to wash up before taking a seat, but the man ignored him, going straight to the hall. The willow brushes for brushing teeth were unused, and his swaying, unwashed waistband carried the lingering smell of filth.
Shu Rui didn’t mind that the man had taken the brushes—after all, they were meant for the guests. What troubled him was that the man neither washed his feet at night nor rinsed his mouth in the morning, and when reminded, he feigned ignorance. It was truly exasperating.
Shaking his head, Shu Rui went to heat the water. Once it began to boil, Qing arrived.
“I’ve already arranged for someone to do the laundry,” Qing said. “It’s Madam Lu from our alley. She’s very thorough. I came early; she hasn’t even fed her two children yet. I explained where everything should go, and she’ll be here shortly.”
Shu Rui nodded. “Good, no rush.”
Qing rolled up his sleeves and got to work. Seeing Shu Rui pouring the minced pork with pickled beans over the noodles, he carried the bowl into the hall.
Soon after, he ran back into the courtyard, eyes wide with surprise. Shu Rui knew what had startled him but only shook his head in helplessness.
The man had finished his noodles, drank all the broth, left eight wen on the table, and departed without lingering. The man in the Bamboo Room finished his breakfast, tidied up, and descended to bid Shu Rui farewell.
By evening, the inn had quieted again, leaving only Shu Rui and Qing. Shu Rui hurried upstairs to collect the dishes and take them back to the kitchen, when he heard Qing shout.
“My heavens! This guest’s hair must have rubbed off on the pillow—the fresh, clean pillow now has a dark yellow stain!”
Qing held the pillow carefully, wrinkling his nose at the sour smell, quickly pulling it away.
Shu Rui entered the room and immediately caught the unpleasant odor. He lifted the bedding from the platform—what a stench! Though not as badly stained as the pillow, the foot area was covered in dead skin and filth. He quickly opened the windows wider.
Their moods sank. Everything in the inn had been carefully prepared, and to see it soiled was infuriating.
Working swiftly, Shu Rui and Qing stripped the sheets and covers, removed the pillowcases and inserts, all needing proper washing and airing.
They carried the bedding outside just as Madam Lu arrived at the inn. Shu Rui exchanged polite words and offered her a bowl of tea, then said, “Yesterday’s guest was inconsiderate, the bedding got a bit soiled. I brought a bag of herbs for you to soak in hot water. I’ll add a little extra money for your trouble.”
He didn’t hide the dirt but explained the stained areas clearly.
Madam Lu looked it over and said, “This isn’t too dirty. I’ve washed far worse. I’ll soak it in the herbal water, and it’ll be spotless for the innkeeper.”
“Good. Once it’s washed, let it dry. When Qing finishes work, I’ll have him check it. If all is well, we’ll settle the payment. He can bring it back to the inn tomorrow.”
“Very well.” Madam Lu agreed, packed the bedding into her basket, and quietly praised Qing as she left, saying he had gained much respect working outside.
“It’s nothing to do with me—just that our innkeeper treats people well,” Qing replied, hiding the small satisfaction he felt. “Go home and tend to your children; I have work to do.”
Qing and Shu Rui meticulously cleaned the used platform twice each, applied flea-repelling herbs, aired the room, and burned incense for an hour before finishing.
By comparison, the Bamboo Room upstairs was immaculate and easy to manage.
Shu Rui had anticipated a tiring opening, but he hadn’t imagined it would be so mentally exhausting. Fifty wen was truly hard-earned.
After tidying the room, he prepared food again—there was no real time to rest.
Business today was slower than the first day’s grand opening, with only four tables served at noon. Qing had some free hands and stood by the door, trying to attract customers, though the ten-li street was unusually quiet.
Yang Chunhua mentioned that a stage had been set up in the city for a performance by a troupe from the west side, drawing many people away, leaving their alley quiet.
Shu Rui sat at the counter and calculated the accounts. Having gotten up early and worked hard all morning, the midday sun and cool autumn weather made him sleepy. Only counting profits kept him alert.
From yesterday’s opening, meals had brought in three guan six wen. Deducting the cost of ingredients, the net profit was two taels eight wen. But this didn’t include firewood, labor, or taxes, nor the cost of guest drinks. Outside the rooms were 230 wen, minus twelve wen for laundry. Shu Rui leaned against the shelves and calculated roughly three guan earned.
Relaxing his feet, he realized this small day’s profit nearly matched Lu Ling’s monthly wage. Still, he reminded himself it was just the opening; business would likely normalize. Already, on the second day, midday revenue had halved.
Shu Rui set aside one guan two wen as Qing’s wage for last month. Just as he finished, he overheard Qing talking with Yang Chunhua at the door and joined in.
“Is the troupe very famous?” he asked.
Yang Chunhua said, “Very! Even officials and wealthy households have listened to them. There’s a leading actor, Young Master Mei, performing today.”
Shu Rui asked, “Is this for a festival? Why set up a stage outside?”
“To celebrate the autumn harvest. It’s an annual event. The more people know them, the higher their fees become for performances.”
Shu Rui thought that thriving markets meant frequent performances, a lot of entertainment to see. If they could be recommended by performers, it would bring more business to their inn, easier than shouting in the street for customers. Yet he knew famous performers wouldn’t advertise a small inn without a substantial fee.
“Do you still have bamboo shoots braised with pork?”
As Shu Rui pondered, a storyteller arrived, balancing a small stool under his arm and carrying books, interrupting him.
“Yes, braised to perfection—best with rice. Please, make yourself comfortable,” Shu Rui said.
The storyteller glanced at the posted price sign. “Ten percent discount?”
Shu Rui replied, “That’s the price. Since it’s a new opening, all meals are discounted for seven days.”
“Perhaps a pot of tea too—later I’ll go perform, and I drink a lot.”
“No problem.”
Shu Rui called Qing to fetch the tea and invited the man into the inn.