Qin Xiaoman lay on the soft couch, his back propped up with a thick quilt and two pillows placed on top, reclining there in perfect comfort.
On his left was a bowl of salt-and-pepper soybeans Du Heng had stir-fried. On his right were winter tangerines bought in the county.
Huzi hopped around happily beside the couch, wanting to jump up and snuggle with Qin Xiaoman. He had never been allowed on the couch, though, and even in his excitement he only dared to put his two front paws up on the edge.
When Qin Xiong came in carrying a basket of pig heart and lungs, he was greeted by the sight of Qin Xiaoman lounging there in broad daylight. He stared in disbelief. “What is this—you’ve turned into some old master already?”
“Du Heng’s in the kitchen, swinging the fire tongs till they’re about to smoke, and you’re not even going to help. Instead you’re lying here eating and lazing around.”
As Qin Xiong spoke, he grabbed a handful of the salt-and-pepper soybeans from the stool and tossed them into his mouth. Just as he was about to comment on how crisp they were, he heard Qin Xiaoman say, “He’s the one who told me to lie here. We went to see a doctor, and he said I’ve got a baby and need to rest properly.”
“Really?!”
“Could it be fake? They prescribed a whole basket of medicine for me to take.”
The soybeans in Qin Xiong’s mouth nearly sprayed out. “That’s wonderful news! Your father had so few descendants—if he knew he had a grandchild, he’d be over the moon!”
As he spoke, Qin Xiong shoved the basket of pig heart and lungs into Qin Xiaoman’s hands. “No, I have to go light some incense for your father right now and tell the two of them this good news. And I’ll bring you some more meat—now that you’re pregnant, you need to nourish your body properly!”
“With this much already—hey, Second Uncle!”
Before Qin Xiaoman could finish speaking, the tall, broad-shouldered Qin Xiong was already striding out the door. By the time Du Heng heard the noise and came out, the man was long gone.
“Second Uncle really is something,” Qin Xiaoman said.
He handed the pig heart and lungs to Du Heng. “He’s so happy you’d think it was his own grandchild.”
“Good news makes everyone happy,” Du Heng replied, taking them. “Perfect timing—I’ll use the pig lungs to stew radish soup for you.”
Qin Xiaoman nodded. He didn’t keep lying on the couch but went into the kitchen with Du Heng instead. It was warm by the stove, even more comfortable than the main room.
With the initial joy of having a child fading a little, Qin Xiaoman became more rational. As he fed firewood into the stove, he said, “Having a child is good, of course. Spending money on medicine because the pregnancy isn’t stable is one thing, but at this rate I probably won’t be able to do any heavy work. That means we’ll be delayed on both ends.”
It hadn’t been easy to save up a bit of money. With a child to raise—and with plans to support Du Heng’s studies—their finances were going to feel tight again.
After returning from the clinic, Du Heng had also thought things through late into the night. He was determined not to let Qin Xiaoman go into the fields alone to do heavy labor anymore. But farming was the household’s most reliable source of income, and the land still had to be worked.
“Either we hire people to do all the farming, or we find tenant laborers,” he said.
Qin Xiaoman shook his head. “Hiring people to work the land is a lot of trouble—you’d have to hire them countless times during spring plowing and autumn harvest. Handing the land over to tenant laborers would be much easier. You wouldn’t have to worry about anything, and come harvest time you could just go collect grain like the village head. But now the court regulations have changed—ordinary households aren’t allowed to privately hire tenant laborers.”
In the past, as long as you had money and land, you could hire tenant farmers to work for you. At harvest time, the tenants would hand over grain to the landowner. That had been during the years when wars and refugees were common. Displaced people, desperate to settle down but without land of their own, became tenant farmers.
Compared to ordinary peasants, tenant farmers had much harder lives. In addition to paying three-tenths of their grain as tax according to imperial law, they also had to hand over another three-tenths to the landowner renting them the fields. Only the remaining four-tenths were theirs. There was almost no chance to sell grain for money—it was barely enough to feed their own families.
Taxes were often paid short, so they had to borrow money or grain, falling into a vicious cycle. In the end, tenant farmers became completely dependent on the landowners and, over time, sank into slave status.
As tenant farming spread, many merchants and landlords continuously annexed land. Free peasant households rapidly declined, weakening the court’s centralized control.
A few years earlier, to curb land annexation and protect the gentry’s interests, the court decreed that only those with the rank of xiucai or above—those who held genuine scholarly degrees—could gather tenant laborers to farm their land. Ordinary people were forbidden from privately hiring tenants.
And that xiucai degree had to be earned through the examinations—degrees bought with money didn’t count.
For a time, this cleaned up many merchants and landlords.
There used to be more than one landlord in Luowan Village. Besides the Li family, there were others, but they declined after being targeted by these policies.
Li Family’s fourth son was a xiucai, but some said his degree had actually been bought with money—the name Li Si did not appear on the posted examination lists.
By the rules, the Li family shouldn’t have been allowed to hire tenant farmers. But Li Si’s father-in-law was a xiucai, and the family had smoothed things over through connections. Presumably, they had opened a path through the county office, turning a purchased degree into one treated as earned, thus preserving their right to hire tenants.
Even so, a bought degree was still technically against the law. But given the Li family’s power and standing, no one in the village dared say anything.
Outwardly, the Li family also kept the matter of tenant farmers out of the open. Everyone in the household pinned their hopes on Li Si passing the xiucai exam for real as soon as possible, so they wouldn’t have to keep skirting the law.
“When my father was alive, during the years after my younger father passed away, he couldn’t manage all the fields by himself and actually did hire tenant laborers,” Qin Xiaoman said. “After he died, though, we could no longer use them.”
Thinking back to those days with tenant farmers, the household had been like a small landlord’s estate. The tenants fawned and flattered, afraid they wouldn’t be given land the following year. During holidays, they brought gifts, and whenever there was anything big or small to do, they came to help without even being asked.
Unfortunately, those good days hadn’t lasted more than two years.
Du Heng let out a soft sigh.
Qin Xiaoman raised his eyebrows. “Then how about asking my uncle if he can help us smooth things over? After all, my father was a xiucai when he was alive, wasn’t he?”
Du Heng waved his hand. “That’s not something we should trouble your uncle with. It’s against the law, after all. If the villagers found out, it wouldn’t be good. If the authorities don’t investigate, that’s one thing—but if they do, it’s a sure catch. We’d be dragging your uncle into trouble. Even if he were willing to help, we shouldn’t take advantage of family ties like that.”
Qin Xiaoman nodded. His uncle’s own life wasn’t easy either. “Then let’s settle on hiring help for now. Maybe after I rest and recover for a couple of months, I’ll be fine. Even in winter, we can find people to help turn the soil. If we give the villagers some firewood, and since we have an ox to plow, the work won’t be hard. People will be willing.”
Du Heng thought the same. For light work that could be handled by offering a bit of goods in return, it was best not to spend money if they could avoid it. When spring plowing came, they could then pay to hire people.
But before spring, even though the next few months would be relatively idle, they still needed to find something to do—preferably something that could bring in some extra income. Once the new year arrived, expenses would only increase.
After some calculations, selling firewood, grain, or vegetables from the fields simply couldn’t compare to making prepared food.
Du Heng decided to go to the county to set up a small stall again. Back during the temple fair, he had made several hundred cash in a single day.
It wasn’t like farming, where planting could eventually bring in a large sum, but crops had long growth cycles, required constant effort, and were bound by the seasons.
Setting up a small stall in the county town didn’t earn much in a single day, but the money came quickly, and they could see their earnings daily.
After the autumn harvest, the household had plenty of ingredients on hand. Du Heng planned to make food using what they already had—better to use their own supplies than spend extra money buying more. He tried to make full use of everything available.
The sweet potatoes dug up that month were fresh, juicy, and sweet. Du Heng was particularly attentive to the starch contained inside. Making starch from sweet potatoes was simple: clean the potatoes, mash them with water into a slurry, then strain to separate the potato pulp from the liquid. Let the liquid sit, and the white powder that settled at the bottom was the starch. After draining the water, the starch could be dried for later use.
Starch had many uses: it could be used in pastries or to coat food for frying. It was also commonly seen in the market. However, one pound of sweet potatoes only yielded about two ounces of starch. Fortunately, the sweet potatoes were plentiful, so it was worth the effort.
Du Heng took twenty pounds of sweet potatoes to make starch. Though the process wasn’t difficult, mashing the potatoes required effort, so he first cut them into chunks and crushed them with a stone roller. The potato mash could be washed and strained three to five times to extract as much starch as possible.
The filtered water was collected into several basins to help the starch settle more quickly. After a couple of hours, a layer of white starch formed at the bottom. Pressing it with a finger revealed it was soft yet firm, like kneaded dough.
By the end of the day, they had mashed all the sweet potatoes. The next morning, they poured off the water, leaving only the starch. The starch came out in solid chunks, which they broke into smaller pieces for drying. Winter weather made it difficult to dry outdoors, but over the stove, it dried completely in a day or two.
Qin Xiaoman woke late, rubbing his hands as he entered the kitchen. He saw Du Heng pressing the starch in a bamboo basket, which crumbled into powder with a touch.
Du Heng noticed Xiaoman and pulled him closer under the stove. “We had a small cart made yesterday. Once it’s delivered, we can head to the county town to sell.”
“When are we going? I’ll go with you.”
Du Heng had no intention of leaving Xiaoman at home alone. Going together made managing the stall easier, and preparing the items beforehand would prevent exhaustion.
“All right, we’ll go together then.”
While waiting for the cart, Du Heng stayed busy. Most of the time he and Xiaoman prepared ingredients at home: grinding beans, mixing spices… the chores, though small, piled up quickly.
After a few days, everything was ready. Early one morning, they bundled the goods tightly and loaded them onto the ox cart to head to the county.
At the end of October, it was still cold before dawn. The cart felt as if it had been pulled straight from an icehouse; even sitting on it through thick clothing, the chill still crept through. Du Heng had sewn two cushions from scrap fabric for sitting, which came in handy. He also padded the ox’s knees with thick cloth, since the household relied on the animal’s strength—if it got injured in the cold, trouble would follow.
By the time the sun had risen, winter daylight was still gray and dim. Seeing Du Heng and Xiaoman preparing to leave, even the ox seemed ready to go. Tiger, their dog, jumped at the cart, wanting to join, but Xiaoman shooed him back.
Xiaoman was bundled thickly, wearing a heavy wool hat. Having grown up mostly without hats—only as a child when his father carried him—he initially found it itchy and uncomfortable. But once on the cart, facing the cold wind, he realized the hat’s usefulness.
These days of eating and resting had put some flesh on him. Even with his usual sleepiness, he felt more alert. Going out to sell small goods was also good exercise for his body. His eyes sparkled, and he didn’t mind the cold; he was eager for this little venture.
Drawing on their previous experience selling at the market, Du Heng had scouted the route ahead of time. They chose a spot on a street where no stall fee was required.
Coming in from the village, they were among the earliest to reach the town, but by the time they got to Old South Street, the market was already lively. Steam rose from large steaming baskets, and breakfast stalls were open, serving noodles and hot tea to many customers. The once noisy street now carried the warmth of daily life.
The street was lined with other small stalls selling simple snacks: pancakes, roasted sweet potatoes. It was comforting to see.
Du Heng unloaded their custom cart from the ox. Their cart had two boilers: a deep one and a shallower, wide one.
The deep one was for braised foods, the shallow one for frying snacks.
The braising stock, prepared at home, was in the deep boiler over a small charcoal fire, covered tightly. Chicken feet and pork offal, prepared the day before, were now reheating and ready for sale. In winter, everyone loved something hot—cold food, no matter how tasty, lost its appeal.
The fire under the deep pot couldn’t be too strong, or the offal would overcook. Seeing it boiling, Du Heng moved some coals to the shallow boiler, which held half a pot of oil at a low temperature. This way, food could be fried on demand, and customers wouldn’t have to wait long.
The aroma of the braised pot was irresistible. Even from a distance, the rich, warm scent of the spices and simmering meat could draw people over.
“Braised food? What do you have?”
Before Du Heng’s stall was fully set up, someone had already followed the smell over. He quickly put down his things and lifted the lid, letting a cloud of steam escape. The rich fragrance spread through the air, making passersby stumble slightly as they approached.
“Chicken feet and pork offal.”
Du Heng stirred the contents of the deep pot with a spatula, lifting out a few golden-brown pieces of offal. The clean, plump intestines bounced slightly in the pot, making mouths water just from watching.
“Our braised food is fifteen wen per portion. The offal is cut into pieces; chicken feet are five wen each.”
A man, drawn by the smell, couldn’t resist. “Give me a portion of the pork offal to try.”
“Coming right up.”
Qin Xiaoman had already set up three small tables behind the stall, only enough to seat a few customers. Small stalls like theirs didn’t aim to be fully packed; even a few customers were enough.
Du Heng deftly scooped out intestines, hearts, and lungs, while Xiaoman laid a few slices of braised bamboo shoots and lotus root at the bottom of the clay bowls. The chopped offal went on top, and he ladled a little hot braising stock over it. Each bowl arrived at the table still steaming.
The man inhaled deeply, feeling content. Just eating the braised food alone would be a treat, but he also ordered a bowl of plain noodles from the neighboring stall.
“People in the county town have some money to spend. A breakfast of noodles costs six wen, a portion of braised food fifteen wen—so about twenty wen in total.”
Xiaoman, helping Du Heng, quietly mentioned something about the preparation for frying snacks.
Du Heng glanced at him. “Life in the county town is certainly better than in the village.”
Xiaoman smiled. “Once we have enough money, we’ll live in the county town too.”
“Sounds good.”
Du Heng placed the prepared small fish on the cart. For frying, they had small crucian carp, larger fish chunks, dried tofu, and pork strips; for vegetarian options, sweet potato balls and sticks.
Meat and vegetables that needed marinating were prepped, mashed items were ready, and items coated in starch could go straight into the oil. Some fish and meat had been pre-fried; if someone bought them, they could be quickly re-fried to achieve crispiness.
Their cart, capable of both braising and frying, was a novelty and drew attention. Soon, customers began asking questions.
“Everything fifteen wen per portion? I don’t want the small fish—can I get the fish chunks instead? I don’t like small bones.”
“Can you mix braised and fried items in one portion?”
“This fried meat smells amazing! Crispy even better than in the restaurants! The fish chunks are golden, crispy outside, tender inside.”
The variety at the small stall attracted more people, bringing a stream of mixed requests. Du Heng patiently answered each question and worked methodically.
Both braised and fried items were priced at fifteen wen per portion. Visually, the fried food seemed more expensive, but Du Heng had calculated the cost: a packet of braising spices wasn’t cheaper than the plain oil used for frying. In reality, the costs were comparable.
He carefully portioned each dish, ensuring a balance of meat and vegetables. Each portion cost fifteen wen, leaving about five wen profit after accounting for expenses—a modest margin, enough to sell at volume without upsetting customers.
“I want sweet potato balls. Can I get a portion alone?”
“Yes.”
“I’ll take the braised food to go.”
Customers jostled, ordering what they liked. Xiaoman handled payments and served those who stayed. Counting out fifteen wen per portion required care, slowing things down a bit, but no one complained.
Some diners added a scoop of braising stock to their bowls, happily sitting down. Others sent food back to their masters, with a delicate hand from a sedan chair reaching out to collect it.
The braised chicken feet had been stewing long enough to be flavorful and tender. The meat clung slightly to the bone, melting in the mouth with each bite. Many loved this, but eating it in the street felt unrefined, so most bought and left.
Even well-off young ladies and gentlemen, though fond of street snacks, wouldn’t buy directly, leaving such foods to the commoners.
Xiaoman noticed several servants coming to buy items for their masters. The sedan chairs waited impatiently, and delicate hands would appear briefly to take the food.
By midday, after a long morning, the crowd thinned. Xiaoman, with the baby inside, found himself hungrier than usual, his appetite larger than before. He went to the neighboring noodle stall early and brought back two bowls.
At the small table behind their cart, they ate together. Every exhale produced a puff of white in the cold air. Xiaoman glanced at the nearly depleted ingredients on the cart, then at Du Heng across from him, and smiled. “Business is really good today.”
Du Heng chuckled. “We spent days preparing for this.”
Xiaoman sipped his soup, discovering a piece of fried meat Du Heng had made at the bottom of the bowl. Freshly fried, soaked in soup, it was tender like soft meat.
The money they had earned was already stashed in a pouch tied to Xiaoman’s waist—a heavy reminder that their hard work had not been in vain.
He wanted to count exactly how much they had earned, but it was considered bad luck to do so out in the open. Just like flaunting wealth, showing money to strangers could attract the wrong kind of attention.
After finishing their noodles, the afternoon business was slow and scattered. Qin Xiaoman found it interesting to cut meat and fry snacks for the customers. With few people around, there was no rush, so he decided to take over the work himself.
Du Heng let him, finding himself bored. He pulled a notebook from his clothes and settled at the low table behind the stall to read. He had anticipated having idle moments at the stall, so he brought the notes he had taken from his studies—making sure even downtime wasn’t wasted.
The winter air in the county town was bitterly cold. At home, he could stay warm by the fire in the kitchen or with a brazier under his feet in the bedroom, but out here there was no such comfort. Standing or sitting still for long left him chilled to the bone; after a while, his fingers turned blue from the cold.
He glanced at a bare old pear tree nearby, its branches black against the winter sky. Two shriveled, wind-dried pears still clung to it, swaying in the breeze. Beneath the tree, a few men, also small vendors, huddled together to warm themselves.
They had apparently found some old iron basins and dry pear branches, which they set alight. The flames crackled brightly, and even from afar, it looked warmer than other spots.
Du Heng drew a deep breath, the cold air stinging his nose and making him shiver.
“Young man, come over and warm yourself by the fire!” a middle-aged man called out.
Without hesitation, Du Heng walked over. The moment his hands touched the fire, he felt alive again.
The other vendors looked at him. “You’re new here?”
“Yes,” he replied.
“Just looked unfamiliar. Your stall’s business is really good! Is that your husband?”
Du Heng glanced back at Xiaoman, still busy, and nodded with a smile.
“Couples working together, that’s great. If it weren’t for my wife needing to care for our child, we’d both be out too. Cold weather, and the child needs to stay warm, else risk catching a chill.”
“Exactly. My second child had a cough a few days ago. Today, the husband took him to the clinic—probably cost a few dozen wen.”
Du Heng listened, realizing these men were all just trying to make a living.
After chatting a bit, one of them asked, “You’re a scholar, right?”
Du Heng smiled. “I plan to take the imperial exams… but who knows?”
“I thought so—you looked like someone used to studying,” the man said.
The men now regarded Du Heng with more respect. “Truly diligent.”
“To support a family, there’s no choice. Better than doing nothing.”
“Running a small stall isn’t too bad, but watch out for ruffians coming to extort money.”
Du Heng’s ears perked up. “Ruffians? Really?”
“Occasionally. Just leave early if they show up, don’t worry too much.”
The men chatted a while longer. Du Heng warmed his hands by the fire, realizing just how cold it was. “Do you know if any place nearby sells hand warmers?”
One man lifted his chin. “The general store ahead has them.”
Back at the stall, Xiaoman had just finished serving customers and turned to check on Du Heng, only to feel a pair of warm hands covering his ears. He looked up to see Du Heng smiling at him.
“Your hands are so warm!” Xiaoman said.
“I was warming them by the fire,” Du Heng replied. He kept his hands cupped around Xiaoman’s cold ears until the chill was gone, then handed over a small handwarmer filled with hot water.
Xiaoman squeezed the warm handwarmer and held Du Heng’s hand. The two of them sat close together at the low table, one of Du Heng’s hands holding the notebook, the other cupped around the handwarmer with Xiaoman’s hands.
The winter wind was biting, but their hearts were warm.