Chapter 15 Utterly Delicious!

Liuzi scratched his head sheepishly and waved his hand, “No need, really. I just helped out a bit this morning since I came early and had nothing to do. Besides, you bought so much yesterday, giving you some firewood is nothing. These wood shavings are great for starting a fire.”

Liuzi’s family were carpenters, so the firewood was clearly scraps and offcuts, and the wood shavings were indeed excellent for kindling.

“Then I won’t be shy about it. I’ll treat you to lunch,” Wenyao replied, always grateful for kindness and eager to reciprocate sincerity.

Her words made Liuzi feel even more embarrassed, as if he was angling for a meal, though he did want to try it.

“Alright then, I won’t stand on ceremony. Uncle Wen, let me help you.”

Wenyao placed a small stool under the big tree and told Datou to sit there and not wander off. She then joined the others to help.

By the time Wenjun returned with the pot, the stove was already burning. The large pot they brought from home sat on the stove, simmering soup.

Their soup was complimentary—buy a fried rice, get a bowl of soup. Three eggs, a handful of cabbage, a dash of oil, and it was already quite good.

It was nearing noon, and more people passed by. Many glanced at their stall, but only briefly before moving on.

Wenxiuyi, apron tied around his waist and a scarf wrapped over his head, stood at the stove with a spatula, waiting for customers.

Yet not a single person came.

Liuzi gave an awkward laugh; after all, he’d claimed yesterday that there were plenty of people here, but now the first day brought not even one customer.

“Uncle Wen, maybe the timing isn’t right yet.”

Wenxiuyi was calm and comforted him, “It’s alright. This is how it goes in the beginning.”

Wenyao’s eyes shifted as she suggested, “Dad, Datou must be hungry, and Liuzi and all of us have been busy all morning. Why don’t you fry us a bowl of rice?”

“Alright,” Wenxiuyi replied, rolling up his sleeves and setting to work with the spatula.

Cooking oil was scarce, so a small spoonful of pork fat went into the pan, and the aroma wafted far and wide.

Wenxiuyi was deft and fluid in his movements, drawing the attention of many passersby, who stopped to watch curiously.

Wenyao noticed the reactions, a smile tugging at her lips. Human nature was like this: when a familiar place changed its business, curiosity was piqued. This was the moment to show people what they were doing, so that naturally, some would try it.

When a pot of fragrant egg fried rice was finished and Wenxiuyi sprinkled a generous handful of chopped scallions, someone even exclaimed, as if the scallions perfected the dish.

Wenyao, Wenjun, Datou, and Liuzi each received a bowl.

Wenyao boldly dragged a stool to the front and ate, exaggerating her praise to Datou, “This is so delicious! Dad’s fried rice is amazing!”

Unfortunately, Datou was too busy devouring his meal to respond.

Liuzi was even more dramatic, eating and shouting, “Uncle Wen, this rice is incredible! So hot, but so tasty! Absolutely wonderful!”

Compared to them, Wenjun was more reserved, quietly eating with his bowl, but his speed made it clear to onlookers just how delicious the rice was.

“Boss, what are you selling?” Finally, the first customer approached, dressed like a local vendor.

Wenxiuyi wiped his hands on his apron, lifted the cloth covering the side dishes, and explained, “Dear customer, we’re making fried rice. Look, our rice is steamed gently over a slow fire, never overnight. The vegetables are fresh too. Would you like to try?”

Liuzi, seeing who it was, spoke up before swallowing his mouthful, “Brother Liu, it’s really good! Try some!”

The vendor surnamed Liu swallowed his saliva; he’d been out since early morning and was indeed hungry. He asked, “How much does it cost?”

“Vegetable fried rice is ten coins, egg fried rice twelve coins per bowl, add meat for fifteen. Soup is free.”

The vendor hesitated, “That’s pretty expensive.”

Liuzi chimed in, “Brother Liu, it’s not expensive. The rice is substantial, and Uncle Wen’s cooking is excellent.”

Tempted by Liuzi’s words and his own hunger, the vendor finally said, “Alright, I’ll have an egg fried rice,” handing over twelve coins to Wenxiuyi.

Wenxiuyi pointed to a clay jar by the stove, “Just put the money there. One egg fried rice coming up, please wait a moment.”

This was their first real sale, so Wenxiuyi handled it with utmost care, even showing off his skill with a flourish of the pan, earning applause from the gathered crowd.

When the egg fried rice was ready, everyone watched eagerly as the vendor surnamed Liu tasted the first bite.

He felt nervous, but as the rice touched his tongue, the aroma exploded on his taste buds.

“Delicious!” he managed, mouth still full, before burying his head in the bowl.

Wenxiuyi smiled with pride. He might not excel at much, but his fried rice was truly unmatched.

With the first customer not only eating but confirming its tastiness—and the price was reasonable—more people began to line up.

Those who wanted to save money ordered vegetable fried rice, those who indulged chose egg fried rice, and some even tried the meat version.

Before noon, word spread across the docks that there was a fried rice stall here with exceptionally tasty food.

Wenyao and Wenjun busied themselves wiping tables, collecting bowls, and washing dishes. Datou was left with Liuzi, who somehow produced a wooden toy, leaving Datou happily playing beneath the tree.

As noon arrived, curious workers who had heard about the fried rice came in groups.

By midday, the large tub of rice they’d prepared was completely sold out; latecomers didn’t even get a taste.

None of the family expected their first day to be such a success.

“We’re truly sorry, it’s our first day and we didn’t prepare enough rice. Tomorrow, tomorrow you’ll definitely get some. We’ll save a portion for you,” Wenxiuyi said, grinning from ear to ear as he sent off disappointed customers, then cheerfully hung up the closed sign and hurried to show his children the day’s earnings.

“How did we do, Yaoyao?” Wenxiuyi’s eyes sparkled as he looked at the jar of coins, ignoring the soreness in his arms.

The jar was half full of copper coins. Wenyao hadn’t counted them, but based on the amount of rice prepared—fifteen jin, enough for a hundred servings—even at the cheapest vegetable fried rice, they’d earned at least a thousand coins, not to mention the pricier egg and meat fried rice.

Wenyao raised a finger, excitedly declaring, “At least this much.”

She was itching to find a quiet place and count the money.