Steamed buns could serve as a staple food, and they kept relatively well. Whatever the host family couldn’t finish, they could pass on to their servants—or give away as a favor.
In these times, nothing mattered more than food. How many people could afford to eat their fill? Sending rice or grain never looked like much unless you sent a lot. But buns—one basket already made for a generous-looking bundle. Naturally, they were the most common gift.
Good things came in pairs, and gifts were no exception.
One packet of sugar looked stingy; two packets were too expensive.
A single pound of pork looked shabby; two pounds were still too little—and buying more was all money.
But buns—buns worked at any scale.
For households they were on very friendly terms with, they usually brought over a large tray. Two trays made twenty buns. Only forty wen—more than enough to show courtesy.
For small errands, like delivering a message or an invitation, ten buns were fine. Two porcelain plates on a tray, five buns to a plate, and the gesture was complete.
For truly festive occasions—like a birthday celebration—birthday buns were carried in by the armload.
The smallest offering was six baskets, which was already the standard. With closer ties, people sent eight or even ten baskets.
These birthday buns were distributed afterward so all the guests could share in the elder’s blessings.
Wealthy elders especially liked carrying the same offerings to temples or Taoist monasteries. They would present the buns just as they were, as incense offerings. Whether monks, priests, or other worshippers ate them or gave them away for charity later, none of it was considered wasteful.
Spreading good fortune around was always a virtue.
Of course, buns weren’t the only option. Gifts differed depending on the relationship and the season. For New Year or festivals, there were other considerations.
Lu Yang realized there was huge potential in the bun business; he just needed connections. Wu Pingzhi said he was busy for now—after the upcoming exam season, sometime in the latter half of the year, he planned to make the rounds and rekindle family ties. By then, he’d help promote the business.
For now, they focused on the birthday-bun orders introduced by the restaurant’s manager.
The manager had ordered six baskets of birthday buns for pickup the next morning.
After a busy afternoon at the vegetable stall, Lu Lin and Zhang Tie kneaded and rested dough whenever they had free time. Once they finished for the day, Lu Yang counted the dough—it should be just enough. They closed early that evening and went to bed with his mother.
At dawn, they molded and steamed the birthday buns first. Once steamed, they transferred them to another pot to keep warm, then began steaming the buns and dumplings for the shop.
Ever since they started selling mini buns, the large meat buns hadn’t been moving as well. Only wealthier customers who wanted a hearty bite would occasionally buy one or two. Most of the sales came from the small meat buns.
As usual, Lu Yang made one basket of large buns first, then shaped the rest into small ones. Steam, shape, repeat—another basket of large buns, and the rest small.
They sold about two baskets’ worth a day, not much more.
Soon after they opened, Lu Lin and his wife arrived for work.
It was going to be a profitable day.
Lu Lin brought silver—he had bought Xie Yan’s old house in the village.
Half paid upfront, half due at year’s end.
Before long, the restaurant runner arrived for the birthday buns, paid on the spot, and also hauled away two large baskets of chives—about a hundred jin. They needed them for making chive-and-egg dumplings. The restaurant sold a lot of dumplings daily.
If they were making chive-egg dumplings… shouldn’t they buy eggs too?
Catching the hint, Lu Yang quickly asked, “Do you need fresh eggs? They just came in from the village.”
The runner laughed. “And here I thought you didn’t know how to do business—you’re pretty sharp!”
Lu Yang showed him the eggs. Only the big ones were set out for sale; small eggs made customers feel cheated. If they had to sell them too cheap, they might as well eat them at home.
The runner took a basket—fifty eggs.
Later that morning, Boss Ding came for buns again.
He bought mostly mini buns now; his son could eat seven or eight in one go. After buying the buns, he would circle the street to get a bowl of fermented bean juice before sending the boy to school.
Boss Ding sighed, “Shame you don’t sell bean juice.”
Lu Yang knew how to make it, but that would mean competing with the Chen family. He refused to make money off Old Chen’s specialty—wouldn’t be right.
Then his eyes lit up. “How about assorted mushroom soup?”
He’d had it at the Li village—eight varieties in one pot, rich and fragrant, as good as meat despite being vegetarian.
They told him the mushrooms could vary, but ones that added aroma and depth had to be included. The common version used three kinds.
It wasn’t hard. Clean a few types in the morning, put them on the stove, and simmer. He could even prep everything the night before and sell it in the morning.
Boss Ding had tasted it at a restaurant before. Smacking his lips at the memory, he nodded. “Whenever you make it, I’ll buy.”
What a kind elder he was.
Lu Yang promised to give him two bowls for free, which made Boss Ding beam.
After a long, busy morning, Lu Yang felt drained. Once lunch shifts were covered, he went home for a nap.
He slept over an hour. When he woke, the sky was still bright. He dressed, tied his hair, washed up, and sat outside the shop.
The afternoon business came in waves. Between customers, he stitched with his embroidery basket.
He was making clothes—for himself.
His esteemed scholar was getting more and more disobedient, even deliberately going against him.
He wanted to finish Xie Yan’s clothes first, but Xie Yan had silently packed them all and taken them to the private academy.
If he didn’t make himself new clothes soon, he wouldn’t have anything clean to wear!
Still, the thought made him smile even as he grumbled.
During a lull, Lu Lin fetched a basin of water from the back and wiped down the shop.
Feather dusters worked for light cleaning, but every few days they needed a proper wipe so everything stayed bright and tidy.
While cleaning the tables and jars, he said, “I’ll wash the empty steamers later and leave them to dry in the back. No need to keep steaming—we’ve got enough for today.”
Lu Yang agreed, then circled back to Xie Yan. “Brother Lin, do you know how to make dragon-phoenix soup? Xie Yan’s coming home tonight. I might as well stew it.”
Lu Lin laughed helplessly. “If you don’t know how, how could I?”
There were no actual dragons or phoenixes in the village.
Lu Yang had to give up and wait for Xie Yan to come home and make it himself.
His scholar took culinary ‘cultivation’ very seriously—but only when it came to medicinal soups. Regular stir-frying? Average at best.
Lu Yang was certain Xie Yan would return, but the message came only at dusk.
Wu Pingzhi’s little pageboy delivered it.
Lu Yang asked, “Is Young Master Wu coming home tonight?”
The boy shook his head. “My young master is studying. He’s not returning.”
So Lu Yang told him to wait a moment. In just that short time, he stir-fried a small bowl of chives and eggs, wrapped forty dumplings, and packed them up. He didn’t boil them—he sent them to the academy kitchen so they could steam or boil them as they liked.
He also added five large meat buns and two flower rolls.
If Wu Pingzhi felt generous enough to share, at least there’d be enough for a nighttime snack.
He gave the pageboy two large buns and three small ones as a tip. The boy accepted them with delight and whispered, “Young Master Xie is really impressive at the academy. Lots of people ask him for guidance. Those good-for-nothing county school brats tried to cause trouble—they didn’t even get to meet him before someone cursed them out! Everyone likes him. Don’t worry!”
Oh my, oh my.
Lu Yang couldn’t stop grinning.
If it wasn’t so late and if they had more buns left, he would’ve given the kid even more.
After sending him off, it was nearly time for Lu Lin to end his shift.
Before he left, Lu Yang pulled him inside and handed him some scraps of fabric.
“It’s not much, but enough to make shoes. Take it home, or leave it here and pick it up when you two move into town—your choice.”
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