The two of them nodded hard, curiosity written all over their faces.
So Lu Yang told them slowly and in detail, starting from the moment you entered the city gates.
They had gone to the prefectural city by land. On that road, when you reached the gate, you’d line up together with people from the surrounding villages. Farming seasons were roughly the same everywhere. Men rarely went into town during the summer; most of the people in line were women and fulang. They carried baskets of fresh vegetables and eggs; some had caught fish. Crowd after crowd went into the city to sell greens, eggs, and fish.
There were so many people in the prefectural city, and the demand for food was enormous. Even these small, scattered goods could easily find buyers. It wasn’t like their county town, where villagers bringing produce to sell were relying purely on luck.
The roads in the prefectural city were wider too. Like the county, most of them were still dirt roads, but they were more solid. When it rained, there was mud, but far fewer ruts and potholes.
That said, there were several main streets paved with stone slabs—near the prefectural academy, the magistrate’s office, and the docks.
Food and drink weren’t all that different from the county. Ordinary people lived there too. If you had money, you ate meat; if not, you ate vegetables. But restaurants were more expensive—on average, a single dish cost ten or twenty copper coins more.
There was more variety, though. In the county, Lu Yang had only seen donkey meat for sale a handful of times, and even then he’d only ever heard of donkey-meat flatbread. In the prefectural city, there were street vendors actually selling it.
There were more shops as well, and some of them were just converted homes.
They weren’t laid out like this shop of his, with a storefront in front and a courtyard behind. Instead, people would cut a window into the wall facing the street, stand behind it, and sell directly through the opening.
Because commerce was so lively, any trip outside meant being surrounded by cries of hawkers. Everywhere you looked and everything you heard was tied to buying and selling. The atmosphere was infectious—some people went out with no intention of shopping at all, only to get swept up in it, take an interest in some small trinket, and buy it if they had money in their pocket.
Lu Yang also told them about the bun and mantou stalls in the prefectural city.
“A single little street stall can steam more buns and mantou in a day than my whole shop,” he said. “I figure they do over forty baskets a day.”
That meant at least eight hundred pieces.
And there were rows and rows of stalls like that, too many to count.
Pomegranate couldn’t imagine it. “Do people in the prefectural city not eat real meals? Do they just eat buns and mantou three times a day?”
Lu Yang told them there were even more restaurants and wine houses than bun stalls.
Ginkgo tried hard to picture it. “Even if you went to the prefectural city as a beggar, you’d end up fat.”
With so many restaurants, there’d be no end of leftovers.
Lu Yang turned his head to look at him.
What an ambitious dream.
Watching the shop day after day was dull and endless. Because of what they sold, business only came at fixed times. The rest of the day was hard to endure.
Ginkgo and Pomegranate weren’t ready yet. Lu Yang didn’t allow them to do personal work. Even mending torn clothes had to wait until after hours.
One day, when they could run the shop on their own—when they knew what to say when customers came in, what to sell, and how to handle most requests—then they’d be able to sneak in some needlework during slow periods.
At noon, Lu Yang didn’t go home.
He cooked and ate at the shop, taking Pomegranate with him to teach him how to cook.
Kids from the villages usually knew their way around a kitchen. But poor families were used to scraping by, cutting corners everywhere.
The elders would make them do chores, but rarely let them handle the cooking. They were afraid the kids would sneak food or waste ingredients, and that they didn’t have a steady hand. As a result, their actual skills were pretty rough.
Lu Yang taught Pomegranate first and had Ginkgo watch the shop.
Dinner would be made by Pomegranate, and Ginkgo would be the one tasting it.
He only taught home-style dishes—no fancy, heavy ones for now.
At noon, he also needed to leave food for Lu Lin and Zhang Tie. Five people in total. He made three dishes and a soup, each in big basins.
He had just finished when Ginkgo shouted from the front, “Brother Lu! Brother-in-law is here!”
Usually they called people “brother” using their given name—Lu Yang should’ve been “Brother Yang.” But among relatives, he was referred to using Lu Liu’s name.
Lu Lin knew about that and had taught them to call him “Brother Lu.”
“Brother-in-law” was Xie Yan.
Xie Yan had gone home at noon and hadn’t seen Lu Yang, so he came to the shop instead. Sure enough, he found him there.
When Lu Yang saw him, he smiled. “The sun’s brutal at noon—hot and far. Why’d you run all this way?”
Pomegranate was still in the kitchen. Xie Yan put on a proper front, looking almost respectable.
“I had something to talk to you about.”
Pomegranate could read the room just enough. He went to the front to watch the shop and left them to eat.
As soon as he was gone, Xie Yan moved to close the door.
Lu Yang leaned back against the stove, arms crossed, lifting his chin at him.
“Go on. Let me hear what serious business you’ve got.”
Xie Yan came over and pulled him into a hug, then bit his lips.
Heat rolled off him. Even his clothes were scorching. The moment he stopped moving, sweat poured out of him. One kiss, and he was drenched.
Lu Yang laughed and wiped his face and neck with a sweat cloth.
“It’s too hot. Don’t come over at noon anymore. We already leave early and come back late together. The nights are longer than the days—let’s skip this midday stretch.”
Xie Yan missed him—missed him unbearably.
Writing didn’t help. Drawing didn’t help. He had to see him in person before his heart would settle.
His clothes were soaked through.
Lu Yang reached back and gave him a squeeze. “You’re weak.”
Xie Yan kissed him again.
Lu Yang asked what he’d come for.
Xie Yan said he needed to eat his fulang to replenish himself.
Impressive.
“Why don’t you drink some chicken soup instead?”
Xie Yan refused.
“A scrawny chicken won’t make good soup.”
Lu Yang pinched his waist. “You dare make fun of me?”
Xie Yan grabbed his hand. Both of their palms were damp.
“Wash up and eat, okay? You should eat more.”
Lu Yang couldn’t eat much. After washing his hands, he only served himself half a bowl of rice.
Summer dragged people down. Xie Yan was already starting to miss winter.
In winter, Lu Yang had a better appetite.
When it was cold and steaming soups and rice were set on the table, Lu Yang didn’t need to be urged—he’d naturally scoop himself a bowl.
In July, Lu Yang would be tied to the shop for a while, spending his afternoons there.
Sometime in mid to late month, Xie Yan would head to the prefectural academy—half a month, maybe a full month—before coming home again.
Another separation.
They both knew time was short, but neither of them said anything.
Lu Yang brought up clothing. “My embroidery isn’t that great. When it’s done, just wear it underneath and add a robe on top. I should finish before the end of the month.”
Xie Yan wasn’t in a rush. He just wanted to wear matching mandarin-duck clasps with Lu Yang.
They finished lunch quickly, then went to the front to switch places with Ginkgo and Pomegranate.
It was too hot to sit by the door at noon, so they sat inside, farther from the stove.
Xie Yan looked around the shop. He could barely remember what it used to look like.
All he remembered was the first time he brought Lu Yang here after they married—Lu Yang had kept him in the shop, set up a table and chairs for him, and piled a stack of manuscripts in front of him to read.
So much time had passed. All they’d done was add a stove, and even now the walls inside weren’t plastered.
But business had taken off, and the regulars were used to it.
Coming here felt as natural as if the shop had been open for ten years. No one minded how old or rough it looked.
Xie Yan had roughly calculated the accounts. With the advance payments and profit shares from the remaining four volumes, he’d earn around eight hundred taels.
He asked Lu Yang, “When the time comes, should we buy a shop in the prefectural city?”
Lu Yang didn’t give him a straight answer, only said they’d see when the time came.
Seeing how confident Lu Yang looked, Xie Yan really wanted to know what he was planning.
He liked listening to Lu Yang talk about the future—this and that, setting the big direction first, then breaking everything down into smaller goals. Completing each one felt deeply satisfying.
But Lu Yang wouldn’t tell him.
“I’ve got a big plan. Don’t ask.”
That big plan would put pressure on Xie Yan.
Whether they settled in the prefectural city or eventually made a home in the capital, it all depended on Xie Yan getting good exam results.
With good results, they could buy a shop in the prefectural city.
Without them, they’d only be able to rent a shop or a stall.
