Chapter 25: Buying a Pig’s Head

The market was not far, and they arrived shortly. In winter, there were few vegetables to begin with, and now even fewer vendors remained at the market. Wenyao circled around but saw nothing she wished to buy, so she took Wenjun straight to the meat stalls.

Wenyao had a sharp eye, able to tell at a glance whose meat was fresh and whose wasn’t. In this weather, meat left hanging outside or stored in a well could usually last a few days without issue, and those unskilled would not be able to discern freshness just by looking.

After making a round, Wenyao chose a stall with relatively few customers—indeed, no one was at this particular stall at the moment. The vendor was a man in his thirties, and whether all butchers were built this way or not, he was even more robust and imposing than Li San, with a square face that exuded an air of uprightness.

Wenyao and Wenjun approached. She was short, and as she drew near, she craned her neck to sniff at the meat on the chopping block.

As expected, her judgment was as keen as ever; the meat here was the freshest.

The man wasn’t annoyed by Wenyao’s little inspection. Unlike the previous stalls where she’d barely approached before being shooed away, this vendor’s attitude was much more amiable.

“Little girl, don’t worry. All my meat is slaughtered the same day—absolutely fresh,” the man said, his voice hoarse yet kind.

Wenyao straightened up and smiled. “Uncle, how much is your meat per catty?”

“Twelve copper coins per catty. Choose as you like—every piece is fresh,” Butcher Zheng replied, turning over the meat for Wenyao to see.

She scanned the selection; the quality was good, but none suited the braised dishes she had in mind. Finally, she spotted a bucket next to the stall, filled with pig offal, but no pig’s head.

“Uncle, do you have a pig’s head?” she asked.

Butcher Zheng was taken aback. Other than large restaurants, few people ever asked for pig’s head.

“I do, but I didn’t bring it today. You want a pig’s head, little girl? It’s not as tasty as pork belly, you know.”

Wenyao worried it might have already been sold and asked, “Uncle, is it fresh?”

Butcher Zheng smiled. “Of course. I slaughter pigs fresh each day—half goes to the restaurants, the rest I sell myself. If there are leftovers, I take them home and sell them cheaply to neighbors. The Zheng family has sold pork on this street for decades—honesty for all, young or old.”

Wenyao was delighted. “Uncle, I’ll take a pig’s head. Also, are you selling this pig offal?” She pointed at the bucket.

Butcher Zheng was somewhat surprised. Most customers only bought prime cuts, but this little girl wanted what others shunned.

He was candid. “Little one, most families don’t buy pig offal—it’s not tasty.”

He wasn’t wrong; the offal had a strong odor, hard to remove no matter how it was cleaned. Only families with no other option would buy it, and he usually had to nearly give it away to get rid of it.

“They just don’t know how to cook it. Uncle, I want these two. Give me a good price,” Wenyao began to haggle.

Butcher Zheng glanced at Wenjun—after all, in his eyes, Wenyao was just a child, and it was best to check with the adult.

Wenjun simply smiled. “Uncle, sell as my sister says.”

Butcher Zheng laughed. Very well—if the grown-up agreed, he couldn’t refuse the business.

“All right then. The pig’s head is ten copper coins per catty, and the whole bucket of offal for fifteen coins. Do you want it now?” Butcher Zheng asked.

Wenyao’s eyes lit up. Such a large bucket, at least ten catties, and only fifteen coins—it was a real bargain.

“Uncle, really fifteen coins for this?” she pointed at the bucket.

Butcher Zheng laughed heartily. “If I say fifteen, it’s fifteen. Don’t worry, I’m not cheating you.”

“Uncle, then I’ll take all your pig’s offal every day from now on,” Wenyao exclaimed, delighted at the deal.

He was surprised. “Girl, what do you need so much offal for?”

Braised large intestines, of course. Just thinking of the fragrant dish made Wenyao swallow her saliva. “To make something delicious, of course.”

Seeing her excitement, Butcher Zheng could only shake his head with a wry smile. Many had tried cooking offal, but the taste remained, and unless a family was truly destitute, no one wanted it.

He neither agreed nor refused, only saying, “How about this—you buy it today, and if your family doesn’t scold you and you still want more tomorrow, come back and I’ll give you the same price. Is that all right?”

Wenyao sensed his goodwill and did not insist. At worst, she’d bring him some braised intestines tomorrow as thanks for his honest business.

“All right, then weigh it up for me today,” she said.

Butcher Zheng called over a nearby vendor and asked him to fetch the pig’s head from his home.

While they waited, Wenyao and Wenjun made another round of the market, buying two chickens and several catties of dried tofu when they saw it for sale.

By the time they returned, Butcher Zheng’s family had brought the pig’s head, tied with a thick straw rope and hung at the stall—a massive sight, quite intimidating.

Wenyao was very satisfied and immediately asked Butcher Zheng to weigh and tally the purchases.

When the other stall owners saw Wenyao actually buy the pig’s head and all the offal, they regretted not treating her better earlier, realizing too late that the plainly dressed little girl was a real buyer.

Before leaving, Wenyao said to Butcher Zheng, “Uncle Zheng, remember to save it for me tomorrow. My brother and father sell fried rice at the dock. After you close, just bring it there—ask for the Wen family’s fried rice and someone will show you.”

Butcher Zheng understood at last—they ran a stall, which explained how they could use so much. Still, seeing Wenyao’s earnestness, whether or not she would need more, he agreed. If her family didn’t want it, he could always take it back.

“All right, I’ll remember. How are you getting home? Can you carry all this?” he asked, looking at the slender siblings.

Wenyao transferred what was in Wenjun’s basket to her own, placing the offal at the bottom and the pig’s head on top, filling it completely.

Seeing they could manage, Butcher Zheng said no more, waving them off. Wenyao and Wenjun, backs laden with full baskets, returned to the dock.