On the eighteenth, Qin Xiaoman returned from the county blacksmith with a small grill and a large basket of fresh fish—ten in total.
The pressed oil would finally come in handy.
Du Heng planned to sell some grilled skewers during the temple festival. Night markets in the county sold roasted chicken, duck, and lamb skewers, and business was booming.
When Qin Xiaoman drove the ox home, Du Heng was already in the kitchen preparing the grill seasoning. Hot oil sizzled as it hit the chili powder, releasing an irresistible aroma.
Before even unloading the ox cart, Qin Xiaoman rushed in to watch, intrigued.
The rapeseed oil fried the chili beautifully, and Du Heng stirred it with chopsticks.
Qin Xiaoman clicked his tongue in admiration. If he hadn’t seen Du Heng cook before, he would never have guessed chili could be fried in oil. Luckily, they pressed their own oil; otherwise, spending over a hundred wen on a small jar to try this would have been painful.
“I’m back,” Qin Xiaoman said. “Everything’s been brought home.”
Du Heng followed him outside, helping to move the grill and then the water-filled barrel of fish. “Bought ten?”
“Yes,” Qin Xiaoman replied. “If we can sell them all, great. If not, the rest will make a stew.”
Du Heng smiled. “Sounds good.”
Qin Xiaoman also brought out a jar of soy sauce. Altogether, the day’s purchases cost over five hundred wen, the most expensive being the metal grill—over three hundred wen for just twenty-some inches.
The fish weren’t expensive; he bought them directly from fishermen by the river, five wen per jin. Each fish weighed three to four jin, so ten fish came to just about two hundred wen.
He also had a jar of premium soy sauce and planned to buy a few jin of pork from Qin Xiong.
The day’s expenses had been considerable. If not for Du Heng’s bountiful rapeseed harvest, Qin Xiaoman surely wouldn’t have dared to spend so much to prepare everything.
Before dawn the next day, they loaded all their supplies onto the ox cart and headed toward Yufu Temple.
They left early, though many others heading to set up stalls had left even earlier, carrying goods and torches along the official road. Du Heng didn’t drive the ox quickly but glanced at the passersby.
Among them were vendors selling incense and others selling food.
Fortunately, they had an ox cart; otherwise, leaving at this hour would have been too late to claim a good spot.
Along the way, people set up stalls in shaded areas along the wide road, and the noodle, tea, and porridge vendors had already arranged their setups.
Du Heng sighed. “We really should have gotten up in the middle of the night to come earlier.”
Farming was hard work, and merchants’ schedules weren’t exactly leisurely either.
Qin Xiaoman tugged at the ox. “You knew what time it was last night, right? And you still thought to come and claim a spot?”
Du Heng was momentarily speechless. He pinched Qin Xiaoman’s waist and murmured, “I told you I wouldn’t, so who was pestering me?”
“Was I pestering you? I just mentioned it once, and you agreed.”
Du Heng muttered, “Agreed? Don’t talk nonsense.”
They were whispering back and forth when suddenly a vendor by the road called out to them.
“You two selling grilled skewers?”
Qin Xiaoman was surprised the man knew what they were selling. The vendor explained, “I saw the grill on your ox cart. No offense meant; most of the prime spots ahead are taken. This area is still spacious. My wife and I run a tea and wine stall here—your setup nearby would bring in mutual customers, wouldn’t it?”
Du Heng, about to reply to Qin Xiaoman, felt as if his private thoughts had been discovered. His ears flushed, but he quickly regained his composure.
Tea and wine were mild; a little skewered meat went perfectly with it. Customers finishing grilled meat often wanted tea afterward, so their stalls could attract traffic for each other.
This arrangement also saved them the trouble of looking for a spot. Du Heng immediately agreed.
They parked the ox cart by the roadside and gradually unloaded their goods.
They hadn’t brought tables or stools, so setting up was quick. Qin Xiaoman tied the ox to a nearby tree, while Du Heng got the charcoal fire going.
In summer, dawn came early, and by the time they were ready, daylight had broken.
Passersby on the road became visible. Summer afternoons were hot, so farmers intending to pray would get to the temple early to avoid the heat and then return home to continue working.
The tea-and-wine couple’s son was fearless. Whether villagers or well-dressed city folk in carts passed by, he shouted energetically, drawing attention. Some actually stopped to buy tea.
Du Heng smiled faintly. Merchants’ children were bold indeed.
At the other end of the cart, he had already prepared a fresh fish, slicing it into pieces about the length of a middle finger, tossing them with a little ginger water to remove the fishy smell, then threading them onto bamboo skewers with Qin Xiaoman.
“You two selling grilled fish?”
The tea-and-wine vendor’s wife and son, seeing Du Heng handling the fish while there were few customers, gathered around to watch the spectacle.
Du Heng nodded. “Yes. Selling grilled fish slices and meat skewers.”
Aside from the fish, he had bought five jin of pork from Qin Xiong, already cut and skewered.
One jin of pork yielded roughly 25–30 skewers; Du Heng had prepared 30 skewers per jin, so over 100 pork skewers in total.
At market price, the five jin of pork would cost 150 wen. To break even, each skewer needed to sell for 2 wen.
However, Du Heng and Qin Xiaoman had checked the night market in the county; pork skewers there sold for 3 wen each, and the pieces were smaller.
With the festival crowd willing to spend, Du Heng planned to sell them for 5 wen each, adjusting later if necessary. Less, he wouldn’t worry about.
“Fish slices? Never seen that before. If grilled well, they’ll sell fast,” the vendor politely commented.
Du Heng smiled. “The fish is cheap.”
Both knew business, and they shared a knowing look.
“Old man, come help! Don’t just stand there,” the vendor called. He looked up and went to work.
The fish was inexpensive but sizable. Removing the heads and bones, three jin of fish became two jin of usable meat. Even so, they couldn’t price it too high, or customers would think it wasn’t worth it.
Du Heng planned to sell two fish skewers for three wen and some seasonal vegetables for one wen per skewer.
With preparations complete, they set the food on the grill, and the number of passersby increased.
“What kinds of skewers do you have? Lamb?”
Du Heng quickly replied, “No lamb, but we have—”
Before he could finish, the man turned and walked away.
Du Heng felt a bit deflated. Qin Xiaoman, carrying the skewers, raised an eyebrow and shot the man a discreet glare.
“No matter,” Qin Xiaoman muttered, sticking out his lips. Then, like the vendor’s son, he ran to the roadside to call out to customers. He even brought the cardboard megaphone he had used selling bamboo shoots in the county.
Sure enough, passersby had no resistance to the paper tube’s amplified voice.
Seeing people gathering, Du Heng timed it perfectly, sprinkling some spices onto the charcoal and fanning it, letting the aroma waft through the air.
The smell drew customers in naturally.
“We have signature grilled fish slices! Affordable, two skewers for three wen. Come taste some fresh fish!”
This time Du Heng was smart and delivered the message in one breath.
“Also, pork skewers and seasonal vegetables!”
People passing by glanced at the prepared fish skewers. Most were wary of fish, associating it with a strong smell, rarely finding well-prepared ones.
For shops in the county, reputation mattered, but a roadside stall was just a one-time business; no one expected gourmet quality.
Du Heng’s boasting didn’t convince passersby that the food was delicious, but the low prices caught their attention. One man said, “Then we’ll try two skewers of fish, five pork skewers, and five vegetable skewers.”
He then went straight to the tea-and-wine stall for a bowl of liquor.
Seeing the man take the pork skewers—five wen each—without even a glance, Du Heng guessed he was from the county and made a mental note of his face before quickly returning to grilling.
The weather was hot, the fire strong, and the meat slices thin. A quick brush of oil on the iron grates and a few flips, and the pork cooked through. The fish slices went on last; the flesh turned translucent over the flames, then milky-white as it finished. A dab of secret sauce at the end brought out a mouthwatering aroma.
Far more enticing than sprinkling on dry spices, especially when the pork skewers sizzled with a little fat, dripping oil—passersby couldn’t help swallowing.
Du Heng plated the cooked skewers and handed them over. “The fish is best eaten hot,” he reminded.
The man, drawn by the aroma from afar, glanced at the skewers but initially grabbed the pork. Du Heng didn’t insist on which to eat first and turned back to his work.
“Two pork skewers, one vegetable skewer…”
Once the stall was running and the aroma wafting, no further shouting was needed. People would naturally approach, drawn by the smell, and request what they wanted. Qin Xiaoman stayed on one side, keeping order and noting customer orders.
“The man from before wanted ten fish skewers.”
Du Heng turned. The man grinned, “The fish isn’t fishy at all—tender and smooth!”
Those waiting for skewers nearby heard this and immediately salivated, eager to try.
Children drawn by the scent were already lingering, and once they heard the reasonable prices, their attention shifted to the vegetables. At one wen per skewer, they still had a few coins to spend. After eating vegetables, they craved meat; some pooled money to get two fish skewers as a treat. Soon, the first batch of fish sold out, and Qin Xiaoman went to prepare more while Du Heng worked nonstop.
The morning was cool at first, but after mid-morning, the sun climbed, and their backs were soaked from the heat and smoke. They barely noticed, busy attending customers.
“Isn’t that Du Heng and Xiaoman? Wow, this little couple knows how to hustle. Selling grilled skewers too, the aroma alone is impressive—Du Heng really knows his stuff.”
Two women from the village who had come to pray laughed and chatted. Another voice interjected, “Aren’t people supposed to eat vegetarian at the temple festival? Isn’t selling this disrespectful to the Bodhisattva?”
“It’s said that wine and meat pass through the stomach, but it’s the Buddha’s heart that matters. They aren’t monks in the temple, so there’s no need to follow those rules. Besides, look at all the people buying—it’s their choice,” one of the women replied.
“If you’re craving, just buy some. Maybe the couple will even give you a fairer price. No need to scold them here,” another added.
“Eh, you!”
Zhao Qi had also come to the temple that day. Hearing the villagers’ chatter, he had been standing nearby for a while, watching the couple work energetically.
The little business was going well. In the heat, Qin Xiaoman’s feet never left the ground, and sweat dripped from his forehead. Usually carefree, he still paused to wipe Du Heng’s sweat and fan him. A strange, indescribable feeling rose in him.
Noticing two men whispering and pointing ahead, he drew in a breath and stepped forward.