Chapter 50

Chapter 50: Eatery
The next morning, Qin Hui Yin and the others rode an ox cart into the county town just as the city gate creaked open.

They’d already asked around the day before. As soon as they rolled through, they went straight to the market, rented a stall, and unloaded their folding cart from the ox cart.

Once the cart was unfolded and locked into place, they hung the signboard—Always Smiling Eatery—then stretched a cloth banner across the front with the menu neatly written on it.

Most of the food had been prepared ahead of time. The Chilled Jelly Noodles, cold noodles, cold rice-skin noodles, and braised pork only needed to be portioned out, with a few bowls set aside as samples.

The spicy soup skewers were already cooked through, too. All they had to do was light the fire, bring the broth back to a lively boil, and keep the skewers simmering in the fragrant pot.

Tang Lu Wu had prepared 30 flatbreads in advance for the meat-stuffed flatbreads. If they ran out, she could bake more right there.

As for the grilled skewers—those had to be done on the spot. That was Qin Hui Yin’s job.

They’d divided the work before leaving, and now everyone fell into it without a word: hands moving, tools clinking, steam rising. In the span of a few breaths, their stall looked like it had been there all along.

By the time Qin Hui Yin coaxed the first true burst of aroma out of the grill, daylight had fully settled over the market. People streamed past with baskets and bundles, and the scent—smoky, salty, and rich with sizzling fat—worked better than any shouting. Heads turned. Feet slowed. A few people drifted closer as if pulled by an invisible thread.

A woman stopped in front of the grill, nostrils flaring. “Miss, what are you making? It smells incredible.”

“This is grilled meat,” Qin Hui Yin said, turning the skewers with quick, practiced hands. “Two copper coins per skewer.”

She lifted the lid of the pot beside her. A wave of spicy fragrance rolled out, the broth bubbling around skewered ingredients. “And these are spicy soup skewers. Meat skewers are two copper coins each, vegetable skewers are one. Cold noodles, Chilled Jelly Noodles, and cold rice-skin noodles are five copper coins a bowl. Braised pork is eight a bowl.”

Tang Lu Wu, cheeks already warm from the stove, slid a flatbread onto a board. Qin Hui Yin nodded toward it and continued, voice easy and bright. “We also have meat-stuffed flatbreads. Look—thick, filling, and there’s minced meat inside. We have sauce flatbread, scallion oil pancakes, and hand-grab flatbreads, too. Five copper coins each. Want extras? One coin for an egg, two for a portion of meat.”

County-town folk lived a touch more comfortably than villagers. Most had never seen food like this, and the smells were maddening. Curiosity became appetite in a heartbeat.

They barely had time to finish speaking before the first customer reached for a skewer.

Qin Hui Yin handed it over. The man took one bite, chewed twice, swallowed… then threw his head back and barked, “Give me 10 more!”

Everyone around him froze.

Ten skewers meant 20 copper coins—enough to buy more than a jin of meat. Was he out of his mind?

But shock never discouraged appetite. If anything, it made the crowd itch to know what he’d tasted. People began buying “just one” to try. One became three. Three became five. Anyone who wanted more had to get back in line, and within moments the grill was surrounded.

Tang Yi Xiao, seeing the crowd bunch up, lifted his voice with a warm grin. “Everyone—sirs, aunties, uncles, big brothers, big sisters—try the other dishes, too! They’re delicious as well!”

A woman craned her neck toward the pot. “That… ma-what… the soup smells good. I’ll try a skewer. Can you give me a bit of soup with it?”

Li Tao Hua’s expression turned troubled, as if she’d been asked for a precious thing. “Big Sister, this soup is especially nourishing. We simmered it for hours. We can only serve a bowl if you spend at least 10 copper coins.”

Then she leaned in, voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “But since you’re my first customer for the spicy soup… I’ll give you a sip to taste. Don’t tell anyone.”

The woman’s eyes lit up. “Just a sip?”

Li Tao Hua nodded solemnly. “Palace recipe. One sip and your skin will glow.”

“All right, all right—let me taste it. If it’s good, I’ll buy more.”

With that silver tongue, Li Tao Hua made her first sale.

Tang Lu Wu, meanwhile, hovered near her flatbreads, hands flour-dusted, shoulders stiff. People glanced at the breads, smelled the meat and oil, then drifted away again, pulled back toward the spectacle at the grill. Tang Lu Wu swallowed and looked from Li Tao Hua to Qin Hui Yin.

That mother and daughter pair could charm the birds out of trees. She and Tang Yi Xiao felt like fence posts by comparison.

No. She couldn’t stay like this.

She wanted to be someone people liked, the way Yin Yin was.

She drew a breath and forced her voice out, bright and shaky. “Auntie, my flatbreads are really worth it. One will fill you up. Uncle—buy one. If you buy two, I’ll charge you nine copper coins.”

“Eight.” The auntie didn’t even blink.

“Uh…” Tang Lu Wu’s eyes flicked to Qin Hui Yin, panic flashing.

Qin Hui Yin leaned close and murmured a few words in her ear.

Tang Lu Wu’s eyes widened. She straightened, face burning, and tried again—this time with a pleading smile. “Sister, maybe… give this auntie a cheaper price?”

“No,” Qin Hui Yin said calmly, not even glancing away from the grill. “Our costs are already high. If we lower it again, we won’t make a single coin.”

Tang Lu Wu swallowed, then turned back to the customer and began “persuading” her with all the earnestness she could manage. “Auntie, you look so kind. You’ll definitely come back and support us often, right?”

The auntie seized the opening at once. “Of course! We come into town all the time. From now on we’ll buy breakfast here. Little miss, give us a cheaper price. Let us taste it first—if it’s good, we’ll buy more.”

Qin Hui Yin finally looked over, brows lifting as if torn. “All right. But Auntie, you must not tell anyone. Four copper coins per flatbread means we don’t earn anything at all. We’re only covering the cost.”

“Deal, deal,” the auntie said quickly, already counting coins.

A burly man at her elbow frowned. “Hey—why does she get a discount? I want flatbread too. I want four coins each.”

“The discount is only for two flatbreads,” Qin Hui Yin said smoothly. “One can’t be discounted—it has to be five copper coins. You’re big and strong, though. You can eat two, right?”

The man hesitated, then grunted, “Then I’ll buy two.”

Tang Lu Wu’s face lit up like sunrise. “Elder Brother, which two do you want?”

Word spread fast: buy two, save coins, try two kinds. People who might not have looked twice at flatbread suddenly lined up just for the “bargain.” And once they were there, the smell did the rest.

At the side, Tang Yi Xiao’s bowls of noodles—slick with seasoning, bright with aroma—began drawing their own customers. A few people took one bite, then immediately asked for another bowl.

People loved a spectacle in any era. Where there was a crowd, others squeezed in to see why. Once they saw the line and the busy hands, they assumed it had to be good. They bought first and judged later.

A scholar in clean robes paused to read the signboard aloud. “‘Always Smiling Eatery’…” He smiled. “Interesting. Witty and light. I’ve never seen a stall named like this.”

“The characters are well written,” another scholar said, studying the strokes. “And this stall design is clever.”

“Look at the oil-paper wrapping,” a third added. “Patterns, and the shop name printed on it, too.”

“The boss has ideas.” The first scholar’s gaze slid over the stall. “Who’s the boss? Is it that beautiful woman?”

“She’s the oldest one here. The rest are kids. It has to be her.”

Li Tao Hua, hearing that, didn’t bother correcting them. She just smiled like she’d been praised on purpose.

Third Master Tang had already made a deal with Qin Hui Yin. He pushed a small cart through the streets with a pot of spicy soup skewers, selling by the bowl and taking a commission on whatever he moved.

By the time he sold out his pot, he was riding high on the day’s profit. He hurried back—only to find Qin Hui Yin and the others already packing up.

Everything was gone.

Business like this was worlds better than in the town. The town didn’t have as many customers, and the customers there weren’t nearly this willing to spend. What they’d sold today would’ve taken 10 days to move back home.