The vegetable prices were already low enough—any lower, and they might as well have grown them for free.
Lu Bai chimed in, “One time I was selling firewood. A whole cartload, and the guy only offered twenty wen.”
A full cart of firewood should go for ninety wen—eighty at the lowest. Ten wen was just insulting.
Lu Yang scratched his nose, looking a little awkward.
Back when he worked for the Chen family, he used to pull this kind of thing himself. Old Man Chen was stingy and always sent him out to haggle down prices—whether it was buying veggies or firewood. Lu Yang had taken his fair share of dirty looks.
But that didn’t matter anymore. Now, he had his own shop. He handled both the income and expenses.
This year, times were tight, so he did push the vegetable prices down a bit. But once Xie Yan started school, and his own pressure eased, he planned to be more generous.
He said, “When we get back to the village, come by our place first. We’ll divide up the money and settle the wages. Once everyone’s paid, they can keep picking vegetables. Da Song-ge, if you’re up for it, you could also swing by Chenjiawan or check out Lizhai.”
If someone was going to collect vegetables full-time, he couldn’t keep paying just fifteen wen a day—he’d have to raise the wage.
How much to raise it, Lu Yang would need to think over.
Lu Song agreed. After all, there were only so many vegetables. Once they were eaten, they were gone.
Pull a radish, and all that’s left is a hole in the ground. Harvest a head of cabbage, and there’s nothing but the stump. It’s not like chives that grow back after cutting.
They left town early that day, and by the time they returned to the village, the sky was already darkening.
Lu Yang got right to work counting money and splitting up the earnings.
First, they calculated the value of the vegetables. The Lu brothers had delivered three cartloads, fully packed—243 jin of cabbage and 160 jin of radish.
Cabbage sold for five wen per jin, radish for one and a half. With some odd weights that didn’t round nicely, they ended up with 1,457 wen total.
Lu Yang had said from the beginning that he’d take half.
When it came to money, even between brothers, it had to be clear-cut. He joked, “I’ll give you the extra one wen today—next time, you owe me.”
He handed over 729 wen to Lu Song. His hands were fast and practiced—he counted the coins while stringing them together. Eight strings total: seven full strings of 100 wen each, and one with 29 coins.
Earning over 700 wen in a single day had both Lu Song and Lu Bai grinning from ear to ear.
Until Lu Yang rained on their parade: “You’ll still have to split that when you get home—probably just a few dozen wen each.”
The two of them: “…”
They’d made two delivery runs that day, so the usual fifteen wen wage wasn’t enough. In town, manual laborers got 24 wen a day—not even enough to earn a full tael of silver in a month.
Lu Yang wasn’t rich, couldn’t afford to play the big spender. But since he was just starting out, he paid them the full going rate for a day’s work—24 wen for Lu Song.
Lu Bai had only made one trip, so he got the earlier rate of fifteen wen.
Lu Bai hesitated. “I was just helping out today. Big Brother said the veggies were selling fast and might not be enough. I had free time, so I figured I’d pitch in.”
Lu Yang insisted he take it. “Helping out is one thing. But this was business—if you put in the work, you get your share. You earned it.”
They tried to decline, saying they’d already eaten some of the meat buns.
Lu Yang just laughed. “You’re my cousins—what’s two buns? I didn’t even serve you a proper meal today. If you go home on an empty stomach, Uncle and Uncle Qing will say I have no manners.”
Of course not. Everyone knew they were just pitching in. Besides, they were the only ones who came home with silver in their pockets—who wouldn’t be thrilled?
The brothers didn’t stay long. If they sat any longer, the sky would be completely black, and it’d be tough getting home.
Once they left, Lu Yang recorded the earnings from Lujiatun’s vegetables in his account book.
After splitting the money and subtracting labor costs, he’d made 689 wen profit that day.
Lu Yang counted out some coins and strung them together before moving on to other accounts.
Xie Yan didn’t help with the money, just sat quietly to the side, watching.
Zhao Peilan walked over once the Lu brothers had left. When she saw the table covered in copper coins, her eyes widened in disbelief.
Neither she nor her son said a word until Lu Yang had finished counting.
Then Xie Yan spoke up, pride glowing in his eyes, his smile full of warmth. “Brother Liu is amazing. Looks like you made nearly a tael today.”
Lu Yang grinned so wide his eyes nearly disappeared.
“Just about a full tael!”
The Silly Zhu’s wife had sold him a small cart of vegetables—not much, but enough to bring in 262 wen. Split in half, that meant 131 wen profit.
For now, Lu Yang didn’t plan to pay her wages just yet—he wanted to save that up and make a big move. He intended to make those coins count.
He was a man who didn’t blur the lines—he knew exactly why he dealt with the Silly Zhu’s family. A bit of contact didn’t erase old grudges. The accounts would still be settled when the time came.
He strung those 262 wen into two bundles.
The money from dry goods was easy to calculate: sunflower seeds earned 2 wen per jin in profit, peanuts and red dates each brought 1 wen per jin.
All ten jin of sunflower seeds and peanuts sold out. Red dates sold seven jin. Altogether, he made 37 wen in profit.
He strung that amount separately.
Then came the buns. He hadn’t made many today—just sixty. Two were eaten by his cousins, two by him and Xie Yan, so 56 were sold. At 5 wen each, that brought in 280 wen.
Flour, meat, oil, salt, and other condiments cost about 110 wen in total. Lu Lin and his wife’s kneading labor cost 16 wen.
They didn’t sell a huge number, but still had to prep the dough. After all costs, the buns made a profit of 154 wen.
Altogether, they made 1,050 wen that day.
Lu Yang didn’t let it go to his head. Having grown up in the Chen family’s tofu shop, he knew business was unpredictable—some days were good, others weren’t. You couldn’t count on earning like this every single day.
Honestly, the vegetable sales had been a stroke of luck.
He had only expected to make a little bit—he hadn’t imagined such a big windfall. And because people who bought veggies spread the word, it was free advertising. By the end of the day, all the neighbors knew his bun shop sold produce too.
There weren’t a lot of vegetables, so this wouldn’t last. He’d make what he could in the short term, then return to regular business.
The buns, though, were steady. Every customer who tried them said they were good, and they all sold out.
The dry goods helped pad the income. Sure, it was only a 30-something-wen profit today, but that was in just one day. Even with conservative estimates, he could probably make 500 wen a month from them.
He’d urge Luo Dayong to finalize the deal on the rice and flour soon—once that was done, the shop would be on solid ground.
Another day, he’d steam several baskets of buns and not sell them—just give them away. Let Luo Dayong bring his colleagues from the yamen for a treat—his treat.
With the constables watching out for the place, no street punks would dare cause trouble.
Aside from the ongoing village drama, everything else was going great.
Day one of opening the shop—a roaring success.
That night, they’d cook some meat to celebrate.
After dinner, the three of them finished eating, and Lu Yang and Xie Yan returned to their room. They still had chicken soup to enjoy for the celebration.
Xie Yan had even picked up a bit of a spoiled streak—he wouldn’t drink unless Lu Yang watched him.
And if he wanted to be watched, they couldn’t blow out the candle. Lu Yang, usually so thick-skinned, was blushing under his gaze.
Somehow, that just made the chicken soup taste even better. One bowl wasn’t enough—he went in for seconds.
Last night, Lu Liu had already stir-fried and simmered the pork tripe. He didn’t know how to make tripe soup properly, but Li Feng told him to blanch it first, then stir-fry before stewing. That made sense to him.
He’d felt a little embarrassed admitting he didn’t know how to make tripe soup. After all, his older brother had grown up in town—he’d probably eaten tripe plenty of times. Even if he hadn’t, he’d at least know how to make it. Unlike Lu Liu, who had spent his whole life in the village and hadn’t seen half the ingredients city folks were used to.
But Li Feng didn’t find it strange at all. After explaining how to stew it, he even reminded him that tripe cooks quickly and needs to simmer on a low flame.
Lu Liu had successfully made it through another day, and he was thrilled.
The tripe was stewed in a clay pot. When he checked it that morning, some of the water had boiled off. He didn’t want to reheat it and risk cooling it too much, so he didn’t switch to a smaller pot. Instead, he wrapped the pot with straw rope, nestled it into a small basket, and padded it with rice straw. Once they finished breakfast, Li Feng would carry it to the new village for his mother.
After feeding Erhuang and washing his hands, Li Feng came over for breakfast. Seeing the tripe soup packed up so tightly and not even a single bowl dished out, he chuckled.
“Go on, serve yourself a bowl to taste.”
Lu Liu answered with a soft “Mm” and dished one out for him.
