Just as the customer hesitated in front of He Mingyu’s stall, a commotion suddenly erupted from across the way. A young scholar in a Confucian robe picked up a bun, his brows slightly furrowed, his tone tinged with dissatisfaction:
“Is this truly a ‘Cicada-Wing’ bun? Why… it doesn’t look very translucent or thin. It seems like nothing more than an ordinary bun with a few extra pleats…”
The woman with high cheekbones turned pale, but she reacted quickly, immediately putting on a warm, enthusiastic smile, her voice raised: “Young master, you can’t say that. Our bun skin is thin, too… Besides, our buns are made with great care—every single one is thin-skinned and packed with filling. Just look at the size!”
As the woman spoke, the short man beside her immediately picked up a bun and weighed it in his palm: “Look at this! Solid and filling!”
“The most important thing is the honest price—eight cash for a whole steamer, and there are a full eight inside! Think about it, young master, if you go over there…” The woman gestured toward the opposite stall with her chin, lowering her voice to add dramatically, “The price is more than double! Studying is exhausting; shouldn’t you fill your stomach? Our buns are guaranteed to be a good deal!”
She spoke quickly and fluently, weaving in platitudes about “frugal living” and “honesty being what matters most.” The young scholar seemed slightly bewildered by this rapid-fire pitch; he hesitated for a moment, forgetting why he had come in the first place, and walked away in a daze.
He walked all the way to the grand gate of the Imperial Academy, head down, pondering his coursework, before he suddenly stopped. He stared blankly at the oil-paper-wrapped buns in his hand.
What was it he had wanted to buy just now?
Ah, right—he had wanted to taste the Cicada-Wing buns his classmates had praised, known for their thin skin, delicious filling, and exquisite appearance. How on earth had he ended up buying these thick-skinned, coarse-filled buns that prioritized nothing but bulk?
He looked up at the Imperial Academy plaque, then down at the unappealing buns in his hand. Unable to laugh or cry, he could only shake his head in self-mockery. Quite annoyed, he handed the buns to a little beggar gazing at him expectantly, straightened his clothes, and walked inside.
This little incident did not cause much of a stir. On the contrary, the woman’s loud pitch attracted quite a few customers. Although He Mingyu’s business was slightly affected, it remained steady. Two regular customers who had just finished breakfast were chatting while cleaning their hands with water.
“He Xiaoniang’s place is the real deal,” a slightly older scholar in a green robe remarked, wiping his hands. “Not only is the taste fresh and delicious, but the presentation is elegant, and the meat filling is firm and solid. When you bite down, it’s full of juice. It looks delicate, but one of them is actually quite filling.”
The other nodded in agreement: “Most importantly, it’s clean! Opposite, they claim to use wooden tongs, but when it gets busy, I clearly saw that man using his bare hands! There looked to be black grime under his fingernails; it’s off-putting just to look at. How could it compare to the cleanliness here?” As he spoke, his gaze fell on the long bamboo tongs He Mingyu used. They were wiped spotlessly clean, without a trace of oil, and she used them to pick up buns and steamed pork with a steady, swift grace that was faster than using hands.
This was no exaggeration. In her past life, the golden rule of her shop was cleanliness, and she maintained the same standards here. No matter how busy they were, food was always handled with special long bamboo tongs. Furthermore, the bowls and dishes were scalded with boiling water every day, and the table-wiping cloths were specially chosen plain cotton, washed and changed frequently.
Even the clean water prepared for customers to wash their hands was fetched by Shitou from the alley and changed regularly to ensure it was always fresh and clean.
At first, people only found it novel, and some students even thought it was unnecessary. However, after a few days, those accustomed to this refreshing, thoughtful service found that when they visited other stalls—if they saw greasy rims on bowls or no water to wash their hands—they would instinctively hesitate, wondering if they should return.
The hygiene standards He Mingyu quietly promoted had, without her realizing it, become a new benchmark in the minds of the Imperial Academy students.
Sending off the two regular customers, she glanced across the way during a lull. The man was shouting “eight for eight cash” at the top of his lungs, while the woman was flustered, trying to keep up with two or three customers.
She felt no real anger, just a sense of bewilderment.
Bianjing is so large. With its markets, docks, and city gates in the north, south, east, and west, there are countless bustling places full of people looking for a cheap, filling meal. If this couple had been willing to work hard and develop their own large-filling buns—even if they just mimicked the shape—they could have made a decent living at those places. She wouldn’t have minded at all; she might have even complimented them if she happened to pass by.
Yet, they specifically targeted this small patch of ground outside the Imperial Academy, insisting on fighting over these meager crumbs.
The customers here were mostly scholars and literati who cared about taste, cleanliness, and even refinement. Those looking for a bargain existed, but they were very few.
He Mingyu had carefully surveyed the area for a long time, understanding the preferences of these students before settling on the name “Cicada-Wing Buns.” She even added the poem-writing incentive, building her business bit by bit through taste and reputation. She had increased her inventory slowly, from twenty steamers a day, never daring to be overly reckless.
And the other side? On their wooden cart, the steamers were stacked high—she estimated at least seventy or eighty. She couldn’t help but wonder: if they didn’t sell out by evening, what would they do? Keep lowering the price? Or find somewhere else to sell them? He Mingyu didn’t know.
Although the business across the street was far inferior to their own, the low price of “eight for eight cash” did indeed siphon away some customers. Today, it took an extra quarter of an hour to sell out their usual inventory. Although Shitou and Yingzi didn’t say anything, they lacked their usual excitement; their faces were tight, and a faint look of worry lingered in their expressions.
When they returned to Donglizi Alley with the cart, Wu Chunlan was already waiting at the courtyard gate, her face wearing an unmistakable, joyful smile. She hurried over and said, “You’re back? How was today? I have great news for you!”
“What is it? Did you manage to get some unusual seasonal vegetables?” He Mingyu parked the small cart at the gate and asked.
Wu Chunlan’s features relaxed with a proud, triumphant air: “You wouldn’t believe it. This morning when I went to pick up vegetables, Auntie Zhou saw me and wouldn’t let me go, praising us for the fair prices we offered last time. Everyone in the village is thanking her!
“I thought to myself: running back and forth every other day is wearing out my shoes and delaying housework. So, I took the courage to suggest to her that in the future, she could help me collect eggs and greens from the village—radishes, cabbage, spring bamboo shoots, or any fresh seasonal leafy vegetables. She could bundle them together, and I would pick them up every five days, keeping the price as we agreed.”
She chattered on, still immersed in the scene: “And guess what? Sister-in-law Wang heard it and slapped her thigh in agreement. She said it made things easier for her, too, not having to worry about selling things in small batches. You have no idea how much traveling this saves! From now on, I only go every five days—I can easily haul the vegetables back, and the price is the same as buying them individually. Isn’t that wonderful news?”
“I was thinking about this the whole way home. This is great—now I can free up more time to help you watch the stall, or practice the dough-rolling technique you taught me at home…” She grew happier as she spoke, completely failing to notice the unusually silent faces of the three children and their expressions of wanting to speak but holding back.
Only after she finished did she belatedly sense that the atmosphere was wrong. Shitou and Yingzi were drooping their heads. The smile on Wu Chunlan’s face froze instantly, and she grabbed He Mingyu’s hand: “Yuniang, what’s wrong with you all? Did something happen?”
Before He Mingyu could speak, Yingzi blurted out the story with a mix of anger, exaggerating how the stall across the way had imitated them, undercut their prices, and impacted their business. Shitou added gloomily from the side, “They even cursed at us…”
Wu Chunlan’s face turned pale, and her earlier joy vanished: “This… what are we going to do? They are selling so cheaply; from now on… will anyone still come to buy ours?”
She suddenly remembered the vegetable purchasing plan she had just finalized, and felt endless regret: “Oh! It’s all my fault! I just agreed with Auntie Zhou to go every five days. What… what if we can’t use all those vegetables? Am I…”
He Mingyu looked at her mother’s sudden panic and the worried little faces of the two children. Her heart softened. She put down what she was holding, took her mother’s hands, and comforted her: “Mother, don’t worry, it’s fine. This kind of situation is unavoidable in business, and didn’t we anticipate it? Look, didn’t they hit a snag today?”
She helped her mother sit down and continued explaining in a relaxed tone: “I don’t know if you remember, Mother, when we first started the stall, you asked why we didn’t sell sour soup noodles or chive boxes.”
Wu Chunlan nodded: “Of course I remember.”
“Actually, today’s events are the reason why,” He Mingyu smiled. “Whether it’s sour soup noodles or chive boxes, they are very easy to start. The only difference is the seasoning; if someone researches them carefully, they are very easily stolen by others.”
She looked toward Wu Chunlan with a hint of playful teasing: “But the Cicada-Wing buns are different. This dough is a genuine craft. Think about it: you love me, and you’ve been learning from me early every single morning for ten days now, with me guiding your hands. Even now, if you roll ten sheets, don’t you still tear two or three?”
“The secrets involved aren’t that easy to grasp. Besides, they have no one to teach them. If they want to learn the essence, they have a long way to go!” At this, He Mingyu couldn’t help but feel a bit proud. If it were so easily stolen by others, she wouldn’t have needed to open any chain restaurants in her past life.
“Mother, set your mind at ease.” She reached out to pinch Yingzi’s round cheeks: “And you two, why are you pulling such long faces? Smile for me!”
Wu Chunlan thought about the scenes of herself learning to roll the dough and couldn’t help but nod. Her tense expression gradually relaxed, and Shitou and Yingzi blinked, the worry on their faces slowly replaced by conviction.
However, as He Mingyu washed up alone, looking at her calm reflection in the water, she felt a ripple of concern.
Even so, the competition had begun, and the low-price strategy had indeed siphoned off some customers. Though they survived today, it was inevitable that this would affect their business in the long run.
It seemed that relying solely on Cicada-Wing buns and steamed pork with flour was not stable enough. It was time… to think of other ways to expand their business scope.
She just didn’t expect the failure of the opposite stall to come so quickly.