Chapter 14: Off to Set Up a Stall

“My dear, your cooking just keeps getting better,” Professor Wen sighed as he swallowed half a piece of radish, unable to hold back his admiration.

Wen Yao immediately glanced at Big Head and, seeing him wholly absorbed in his bowl, finally let out a breath of relief. Under the table, she kicked Wen Xiuyi and shot him a glare.

Wen Xiuyi only chuckled sheepishly.

A slip of the tongue, nothing more.

A pot of fish soup for a family of four, and nothing could be more satisfying. Big Head, in particular, sat on his little stool, clutching his belly, his lips smacking together as if he were still savoring the taste of the soup.

After the meal, Wen Yao soaked the rice to be steamed the next day, Wen Jun tidied the kitchen, and only then did the family sit down to count what little they had left.

After selling medicinal herbs and adding the money Big Head produced, they had less than four hundred coins remaining, all laid out on the table. The sight plunged everyone into silence.

“Father, Brother, tomorrow it’s up to you,” Wen Yao said, looking from the money to the two men.

Wen Xiuyi thumped his chest. “Don’t worry. My cooking may not rival yours, but I’ve been perfecting my fried rice for decades. Every grain is distinct, plump, and delicious.”

Wen Yao rolled her eyes without mercy, and Wen Jun struggled not to laugh.

Indeed, decades of practice—she and Wen Jun had eaten his fried rice for decades.

At the table, only Big Head tilted his head, looking at Wen Xiuyi in puzzlement.

Wen Xiuyi offered no explanation, simply reaching out to ruffle his youngest son’s hair. “Don’t worry. Tomorrow’s business will be booming!”

Since it was their first day setting up a stall, Wen Yao insisted on going along—not because she doubted Professor Wen’s cooking, but because she needed to see if their fried rice would actually sell. If business was slow, she’d have to find ways to attract customers.

Before dawn the next day, Wen Yao was already up. She placed the soaked rice in the steamer and packed up the ingredients she’d prepared the night before.

Wen Jun and Wen Xiuyi soon followed, loading everything onto the handcart.

Big Head was awakened by the aroma of rice drifting into the room. By the time he’d dressed, rubbing sleep from his eyes and following the scent into the kitchen, Wen Yao had already packed the steamed rice into buckets.

Wen Xiuyi stood by the stove, wielding his spatula with flourish, humming a tune that Big Head had never heard before.

The little boy, unable to speak, just stood by the door until Wen Yao noticed him.

She pulled Big Head onto a stool and, after wiping his face with a hot towel, waved at Wen Jun.

“Brother, come take a look at him,” Wen Yao said, pinching Big Head’s chin. “Open your mouth, Big Head.”

Obediently, Big Head opened his mouth. Wen Jun bent down, turning his head this way and that, but after a long moment, he closed his own.

Without any precise instruments, to be honest, there was nothing to be seen by mere inspection.

“Big Head, say ‘ah’ for me,” Wen Jun said, sitting down.

Big Head stared for a moment, then opened his mouth. “Ah.”

“Make it longer,” Wen Jun urged.

“Ahhhh…”

“Again.”

“Ah… ah… ah…”

“Say ‘brother’—‘ge, ge… ge…’”

Big Head was silent.

Wen Jun tried again. “Repeat after me—‘ge… ge ge…’”

Silence.

After quite some time with no progress, Wen Jun left, rubbing his forehead. “This unlucky kid.”

Once Wen Jun left, Wen Yao tried her hand, but after another long struggle, she too gave up when Big Head simply refused to speak.

Brother and sister huddled together, whispering. Wen Yao recalled the original novel’s description of Big Head’s speech. She couldn’t help but wonder whether the author had given him this trait only to abandon it later, or if something had changed in the story, because one day—on that very day, at that very moment—Big Head had suddenly and inexplicably begun to talk.

Wasn’t it strange?

At least one thing was certain: this child would speak someday. It was just a matter of time—they’d have to wait.

For breakfast, Wen Xiuyi cooked egg fried rice for the three of them. It was Big Head’s first time seeing such a dish: each grain distinct, coated in golden egg, topped with a handful of green onions for color—a feast for the eyes, nose, and taste buds.

If Wen Xiuyi hadn’t hurried him along, worried about being late to the city, Big Head might have counted every single grain in his bowl.

“Let’s go—to the city.” Once everything was in order and the house locked up, Wen Xiuyi lifted Big Head onto the cart, waved his hand grandly, and the family set out.

By this hour, the villagers were already up and working. Seeing the family’s procession, small groups gathered to talk.

Some were baffled. “What’s the Wen scholar’s family up to now? Are they moving out with all that stuff?”

Others sneered, “Good riddance. Maybe now the rest of the village won’t be led astray.”

Back at the old house, a boy about Wen Yao’s age ran home and went straight to the elders’ room.

“Grandfather, Grandmother—my uncle’s pushing a cart and took Big Head and the others with him.”

This was Wen Fa, the youngest son from the Wen family’s second branch, the same age as Wen Yao. His grandmother had sent him out to play early in the morning—and instructed him to keep an eye on the eldest branch.

Thus, as soon as Wen Xiuyi and the others left, Wen Fa hurried home to report.

Madam Luo stepped down from the kang and went to the door but saw nothing—the village paths twisted and turned, and the family was already out of sight.

She frowned. “Did you see what was on the cart?”

Wen Fa shook his head.

She beckoned him over, whispered a few instructions, and he ran off again.

Not long after, he returned, panting.

“The main door is locked, and both rooms are locked too.”

Madam Luo nodded, dismissing him, but her heart was restless.

Could the eldest really be planning to trick his children into something outside? Surely not—those were his own flesh and blood.

Meanwhile, the family of four had no idea what was happening back at the old house. With vigor and hope, they pressed on toward their new life.

Once in the city, Wen Yao and Wen Xiuyi took Big Head and the cart to the wharf, while Wen Jun went to collect the wok he’d ordered the day before.

From a distance, they saw Liuzi glancing around anxiously. At the sight of them, his eyes lit up and he ran over.

“Uncle Wen, I was worried you wouldn’t come!” Liuzi said, eagerly stepping in to help Wen Yao push the cart.

The tables and chairs were already set up at their stall, scrubbed clean, with a pile of firewood and wood shavings by the stove.

Wen Yao felt a warmth in her heart. “Brother Liu, you’ve gone to so much trouble for us—thank you. How much for the firewood? Let me pay you.”