Chapter 20

“…”

Qin Xiaozhu’s face turned pale. Just as he was about to speak, Qin Xiaoman returned, carrying the basket.

“What are you two talking about?”

Xiaozhu didn’t want to repeat himself. His chest felt tight—he was used to hearing village boys criticize Xiaoman, yet here was someone strikingly handsome, and his attention was on Xiaoman instead. Who could feel comfortable in that situation?

He snatched the basket. “Let’s go.”

Qin Xiaoman frowned and followed a few steps behind.

“What, are you planning to walk me out too?”

Qin Xiaozhu looked at Qin Xiaoman trailing after him and sneered, “It’s not your first time coming over. Why would I need you to see me off? I’m just heading out to pick some scallions for the noodles.”

Qin Xiaozhu snorted. With a man in the house, it was either meat or noodles; it was no wonder he’d eat them all. He dashed ahead.

Qin Xiaoman found him inexplicably irritating. Once they stepped out of the yard, they were about to go separate ways, but Qin Xiaozhu turned back and called out to him.

“When will that guest at your house be able to walk properly?”

“By the start of the new year, definitely.”

Qin Xiaozhu said, “I heard from Dad that the guy used to be the young master of a merchant family and even took the imperial exams. Once his leg is better, how can you keep him here?”

“What do you mean keep him? Once he’s walking, he’ll still help me with spring plowing.”

Qin Xiaozhu snorted derisively. “No idea why you’d even think you could keep him. Someone willing to be a live-in son-in-law like that—do you think you’re some kind of goddess or what?”

Qin Xiaoman bristled at the remark. He plucked two scallions from the ground and stood up.

Seeing him like this, Qin Xiaozhu felt intimidated. Realizing he couldn’t win an argument with Qin Xiaoman, he quickly said, “I’m just warning you to be careful. Why are you snapping at me? Who could handle a temper like yours?”

With that, he dashed off.

Qin Xiaoman glared after him, crouched back down, and resumed pulling scallions. His mood was sour, and he quickly grabbed a few before returning to the yard.

“Want noodles?”

Du Heng asked, looking at him. Unexpectedly, Qin Xiaoman snapped, “Who told you to pour him some water?”

“Huh?”

Du Heng was confused. “He can’t drink water?”

“Are you seriously asking if he can drink water?” Qin Xiaoman fumed. “Noodles? Forget it—just drink water then!”

With that, he stormed into the kitchen and slammed the door.

Du Heng thought to himself, Why is he in such a bad mood today?

On the twenty-eighth day of the twelfth lunar month, just before the New Year, Qin Xiaoman took the homemade pickles and headed to the county town for the last time that year. He planned to sell the pickles and buy the ingredients for the New Year’s Eve meal.

Du Heng’s leg had improved considerably, and he could now stand and take a few steps. He insisted on cooking the New Year’s meal himself, so Qin Xiaoman was just buying the necessary ingredients for the chef.

Although New Year’s meant the best meal of the year, there were only two of them at home, so they didn’t need to prepare too much.

Qin Xiaoman planned, besides the basic pork, to slaughter one of the old hens they raised for soup. Du Heng suggested buying just one fish for the New Year.

The Loxia County river had plenty of fish, and the price wasn’t high, but to make a truly delicious fish dish, the seasonings were the costly part. Qin Xiaoman had tried making fish soup before, but his cooking skills weren’t good; the fish didn’t taste fresh and had a strong earthy smell. Since then, even if the fish was cheap, he rarely bought it, though he personally loved fish. With Du Heng around this year, he could finally enjoy it properly.

Qin Xiaoman hitched a ride with Qin Xiong on the ox cart to the county. Along the way, Qin Xiong insisted he still come home for New Year’s Eve dinner, like every year.

“I’m married now; why would I go over and bother anyone?”

“What do you mean bother? You two haven’t even settled your matters. How are you married then?”

Qin Xiaoman didn’t want to hear his second aunt’s sneering at home: “Du Heng said he’d cook for me. I just want to eat at home. Besides, he’s modest; he wouldn’t want to eat at anyone else’s house.”

Qin Xiong snorted. “Indulge him then. A grown man like him, can he even cook properly? Even if he does, will it be edible?”

“He’s a good cook!”

Qin Xiong shook his head. Love really does make one blind.

“The other day I saw him able to stand and walk a few steps. That’s good, but I still have to remind you to keep an eye on him,” Qin Xiong said.

Qin Xiaoman frowned. “Why are you saying this too?”

“It’s not that I’m suspicious. People these days can be anything. I heard from Zhuzi’s father that he’s already learning to write a few characters, and it’s Du Heng who’s teaching him. He really is educated. When I went to the county office to ask your uncle about the situation, I also found out that the Du family used to be merchants.”

“That’s already been said. They didn’t hide it.”

Qin Xiong continued, “Although the Du family has fallen on hard times, they may still have relatives. What if some relative shows up? If it were just an ordinary powerless person, it’d be fine. Your father was educated; you know how rare that is.”

Qin Xiaoman impatiently said, “Got it, got it. If he really wants to leave, what’s the point of holding him back? He’s not a criminal.”

Qin Xiong sighed. “You’re too straightforward. If you weren’t this way, you wouldn’t have ended up with Zhao Qi…”

Seeing Qin Xiaoman’s face fall, he stopped himself. “Ah, never mind. I heard from your second aunt that the Zhao family has been busy matchmaking in December; it seems they might have already agreed on someone.”

Qin Xiaoman realized why Zhao Qi hadn’t been bothering him for a while. It turned out his mother had set him up. He didn’t feel sad about it; if anything, his heartbreak had been exhausted during that winter quarrel. Now, things with Du Heng were going well.

“Eventually, marriages have to be arranged. How are elder and second brother’s matches going?”

“They’re still looking,” Qin Xiong said.

Qin Xiaoman said, “Why don’t they hire a matchmaker sooner? If it drags on until spring planting, it’ll be hectic.”

Qin Xiong smiled. “If it can be settled by spring, that’s good. You know your elder and second brother; both are reserved, not the type to win over women easily.”

“Elder and second brother are dependable. Slick talkers can only flatter others.”

Qin Xiong said, “If they’re reserved, fine. But half as good-looking as Du Heng? No need to worry. I don’t even know who those two inherited their looks from; back in the village, I was one of the best-looking men around.”

Qin Xiaoman cast a glance at the fierce-looking Qin Xiong and gave a dry laugh, rare for him not to jab at his uncle’s sore spot.

He knew that whenever he talked with his uncle, distant villagers who didn’t know better would think the two were fighting.

They quickly reached the county town and, as usual, parted ways on the main street.

The town was unusually crowded today, everyone out buying the last of their New Year’s goods. Qin Xiaoman noticed red lanterns hanging along both sides of the street, a festive cheer the countryside couldn’t match. He thought he might as well buy a couple to take home after selling his goods.

“Big brother, business is booming at the shop today!”

Qin Xiaoman greeted the chef he usually dealt with at the Hongyun Restaurant. Setting down his basket, he noticed the man, but he didn’t respond.

“Big brother, I brought ten more jin of pickles. Take a look.”

Qin Xiaoman stepped forward proactively.

“No need, we don’t need them here.”

Qin Xiaoman was puzzled. On his previous visits, the chef had been eager to take his pickles. Why, just a few days later, was he showing such a different attitude? Their pickles had clearly sold well before.

“Why wouldn’t you want them? Did I do something wrong?”

The chef, hands on his hips, was busy directing the kitchen staff. Irritated, he said, “We don’t need your pickles anymore.”

Qin Xiaoman still didn’t understand, spotting a waiter carrying a tray with a dish of pickles: “But you’re using some right now.”

“I said, are you hard of hearing or what?” The restaurant was busy, and the chef didn’t want to deal with Qin Xiaoman. He pointed to the stove in the back kitchen. “I already told you—we have our own pickles here.”

Qin Xiaoman paused. Now he understood: they had copied his recipe and ingredients. Naturally, they no longer needed to pay for high-priced pickles from outside.

He felt a pang of disappointment but knew he couldn’t make a scene. Frustrated, he left the restaurant carrying his basket.

“If this place doesn’t want mine, I bet others will!”

He tried another restaurant. The staff were polite and welcoming.

“Sir, would you like to dine in, or take the dishes home?”

With New Year approaching, some families ordered ready-made dishes to take home.

“I’m not here to eat. I have premium pickles.”

Before he could even show them, the attendant said, “Chili oil sauce? We already have that.”

“Already have it?” Qin Xiaoman blinked in disbelief.

The attendant explained patiently, “Yes. Recently, Hongyun Restaurant sold some, and many eateries bought quite a lot.”

Hearing this, Qin Xiaoman felt his spirits sink. As expected of business people—just a few days and they’d cornered the market, making a tidy profit. He had once naively thought of opening a shop or selling his recipe to restaurants, but it wasn’t that simple, as Du Heng had warned.

He sighed, carrying his pickles from shop to shop. After an hour, he sold some at a low price—eighteen wen—but was left with about two jin. He transferred these to a small jar and took them to Sunflower Lane to give to his uncle, who worked as a clerk.

His uncle was a respected figure in the county, and though he wasn’t distant from the village relatives, Qin Xiaoman often brought seasonal vegetables and fruits when visiting. His second uncle also frequently sent fresh meat. There were still connections.

Today, his uncle’s house was already bustling with guests, so Qin Xiaoman didn’t go in. He left after dropping off the jar.

His mood was sour. He knew he couldn’t make money from pickles anymore, and losing this major source of income was disheartening for anyone.

“New Year prints for sale! Beautiful, fresh designs!”

The call sounded familiar. He looked over and saw Wang Zhuzi from his village.