5
Doing Business Requires Strategy: The Secret Recipe of a Century-Old Store in the Provincial Capital
Early the next morning, when Wang Xiao got out of bed, her uncle and aunt had already left to return favors by working for others.
The two sisters quickly finished breakfast, not even bothering to wash the dishes, and rode their uncle’s bicycle to town to buy tofu. They were afraid that if they went too late, all the tofu would be sold out.
Chen Jingjing, sitting on the bicycle’s rear rack, asked curiously: “Sis, aren’t you a government official? Why are you doing business?”
In 1990, there were quite a few private entrepreneurs on the streets. But those were mostly people who couldn’t find formal jobs. It was actually quite rare for someone like Wang Xiao – a university graduate with official status – to dive into business.
Wang Xiao laughed: “Anyway, I’m just sitting around idle, might as well find something to do.”
Chen Jingjing asked curiously: “Then don’t you need to work? You’ll get fired if you collect salary without working.”
Wang Xiao burst out laughing, not worried at all: “It’s fine, I’m on vacation.”
She believed in Wang Da Die and Aunt Chen’s capabilities. Since they dared to send her to the countryside to lay low, they must have arranged everything properly.
The two sisters rode all the way to the market entrance before getting off and pushing the bicycle inside.
Good heavens, the market was really crowded, everyone carrying heavy bamboo baskets on their arms, with several people having tofu in their baskets.
The sisters didn’t dare delay and hurried to the tofu stall. Even so, when they arrived, only half a batch of tofu remained on the counter.
Wang Xiao immediately asked to buy it all.
But instead of being delighted, the stall owner glared and firmly refused: “If I give it all to you, what will others eat? No way, at most I can give you half.”
Someone nearby chimed in: “Exactly, every family needs to host banquets and serve alcohol.”
Wang Xiao had no choice but to reluctantly accept: “Half it is then. Do you have any fried green beans? I’ll take half of those too.”
The answer was no.
People in Zhou Town only fried tofu during Chinese New Year. Besides regular tofu, spiced dried tofu, and stinky tofu, the tofu stall had nothing else.
Wang Xiao paid five yuan for the remaining half batch of tofu, planning to fry it herself back home.
The stall owner, seeing them empty-handed and staring blankly at the tofu, was speechless: “You two didn’t even bring a pot? How are you going to carry 10 jin of tofu?”
Wang Xiao felt wronged – couldn’t 10 jin of tofu just be put in a bag? But looking at the white, trembling tofu blocks, she wisely kept her mouth shut. If they really tried to carry 10 jin of tofu in plastic bags, it would be completely crushed before they even left the market, let alone made it back to her uncle’s house.
In the end, the stall owner had no choice but to ask for their parents’ names, then used his own aluminum pot to pack the tofu for them to take: “Return it quickly, I need my pot.”
“Definitely, definitely,” Wang Xiao promised readily.
She still needed to buy seasonings. To make good braised dried tofu, spices were crucial.
However, she had overestimated Zhou Town residents’ purchasing power. The market didn’t sell bay leaves or cinnamon at all – only star anise and dried chili peppers. Zhou Town people didn’t need that many fancy things for cooking.
Wang Xiao had no choice but to settle for second best, giving up on vegetarian braised dried tofu. Instead, she went to the meat stall and got a large bone that had been cleaned of meat, planning to use it to make broth for braising the tofu, which would at least add some flavor.
Then her eyes fell on the chicken feet at the neighboring stall, and she got another idea, using the remaining money in her pocket to buy all the chicken feet. The prices here were amazing – chicken feet were considered meat dishes after all, yet they cost the same as tofu.
Chen Jingjing was puzzled: “Sis, weren’t you going to sell Braised Dried Tofu? Why do you need so many chicken feet?”
If it was for their own consumption, they couldn’t possibly eat this much. The days were still quite hot, and without a refrigerator at home, the chicken feet wouldn’t keep long.
Wang Xiao shook the bag in her hand triumphantly: “Just you wait.”
This was a little secret she’d mastered – braising chicken feet and dried tofu together created a unique flavor, absolutely perfect for rice.
By the time they returned to Qianjia Village, the sun was already high, and the dew in the courtyard had long dried. They quickly spread out the rice piled in the center of the concrete yard to dry, swiftly washed the pots and bowls, then moved on to today’s main event – frying tofu for Fried Tofu.
Truth be told, bustling around the stove didn’t match Wang Xiao’s pre-transmigration image as a white-rich-beautiful entrepreneur. But these were the three pandemic years. Not just small scenes like frying tofu – she’d even unlocked hardcore skills like making tofu from scratch.
The local area grew rapeseed, so they used rapeseed oil, which actually wasn’t ideal for frying tofu. But with limited conditions, you work with what you have. As long as the fried tofu drained well in bamboo baskets, the final braised flavor would be decent enough.
However, looking at this large basket of fried tofu, Chen Jingjing unconsciously swallowed and cautiously asked: “Sis, are we braising all of this?”
Could they really sell it all? There was so much, plus nearly 10 jin of chicken feet. Thankfully there were two stove burners and two pots at home, otherwise they probably couldn’t contain it all.
Wang Xiao was also startled by the amount of braised tofu in the basket. When she used to braise tofu before, it was always single-serving portions – she never realized 10 jin of tofu could produce so much fried tofu.
But it was already fried – it’s not like they could keep it overnight.
“No problem.” She maintained her calm, collected big-sister demeanor. “The market is ready, the consumers are established, we’re just filling a gap.”
Seeing her cousin blinking in confusion, she kindly translated into simpler terms: “The grandpa who sells braised tofu can sell a whole bucket every day – what we have is nothing in comparison.”
“But we’ve never sold braised tofu before. People don’t know us – will they actually pay for it?”
“They will.” Wang Xiao was fully confident. “Consumer habits are already established. Without option A, consumers won’t stop consuming – they’ll directly choose substitute B.”
“What about the chicken feet? Nobody sells Braised Chicken Feet. Braised food shops only have Tiger Skin Phoenix Claws, which I think are pretty bland, and not many people seem to eat them either.”
“It’s fine.” Wang Xiao encouraged herself and her cousin. “It’s busy season now – every household wants to eat well. We’re delivering to their doors – someone will buy.”
What counts as good? Different standards apply to different consumer groups. For example, during the busy farming season in the village, heavily sauced, richly flavored foods that quickly replenish lost salt are popular. Braised chicken feet that those with strong teeth can chew down to the marrow are exactly the kind of rice-perfecting神器 people want.
At 3 PM, the stove was officially lit. An hour and a half later, even before lifting the lid, the rich aroma of braised food filled the entire kitchen.
When the lid was finally lifted – wow – Chen Jingjing was the first to lose control, her mouth instantly flooding with saliva.
“Here, try one.”
Wang Xiao picked up a braised chicken foot and brought it to her cousin’s mouth. Chen Jingjing quickly tasted it and immediately discovered a whole new world. Good heavens, she’d eaten chicken feet before – her mother occasionally made soybean stew with chicken feet – but the flavor was nowhere close to this.
How could chicken feet be so fragrant, so fresh, so spicy—sizzling with such rich flavor?
Even after devouring one chicken foot, her tongue and entire mouth were fully occupied, yet she couldn’t resist reaching for a second.
Ah, it would surely taste even better with rice.
Wang Xiao raised her eyebrows triumphantly. Ha, it seemed her skills were truly undiminished. Even though she hadn’t cooked for over half a year before transmigrating into this book, her creations were still top-notch.
She called out to her cousin, “Let’s go sell these early before people finish preparing their dinners.”
With two large pots of braised goods, they had to use a bicycle. Otherwise, neither of them could carry the load on a shoulder pole.
This was just as well—they could sell one aluminum pot’s worth and return to refill another. Otherwise, their braised dishes, containing meat, would develop congealed white lard if left to cool, ruining the flavor.
The two sisters first pushed the bicycle to sell in their own village. Chen Jingjing felt too embarrassed, silently pushing the cart, completely unlike her bold cousin who shouted at the top of her lungs, “Braised dried tofu for sale—fragrant braised dried tofu—”
Chen Jingjing found it strange that her cousin didn’t mention the braised chicken feet at all. In her opinion, while the braised dried tofu from the same pot wasn’t bad, it was truly a tier below the chicken feet.
But before she could ask, an excited child came running over, turning back to shout toward the house, “Grandma, there’s braised dried tofu! I want some!”
An elderly woman who had returned early to prepare a feast for workers muttered, “Didn’t they say they weren’t coming to sell today? Oh—Jingjing, what is this?”
Chen Jingjing’s face flushed crimson, leaving Wang Xiao to handle everything: “Grandma, try our braised dried tofu. It’s made from a century-old recipe from a provincial capital shop—absolutely delicious. We have braised dried tofu and braised chicken feet, the kind people line up for in the provincial capital.”
Chen Jingjing was stunned. A century-old recipe? Her aunt was a factory doctor at the steel plant, her uncle an eighth-grade fitter—both capable people, but neither had ever worked at a braised food shop. Where did her cousin get this recipe?
Wang Xiao continued without batting an eye, “Grandma, this is genuine century-old craftsmanship. The master chef from that shop retired and kept visiting my mom for acupuncture treatments. He felt bad seeing how much I loved their braised food and secretly shared the recipe with my mom. You can’t find this flavor anywhere else.”
Only then did Chen Jingjing understand. Her mother was right—she must get into college in the city someday, just like her aunt and cousin. Only by reaching places of capability could one meet more capable people and live a capable life.
Look at her cousin—she even managed to obtain a secret recipe from a century-old shop!
Ahem. In reality, this “secret recipe” was something Wang Xiao could easily find dozens of online before transmigrating, though she had tested and refined it.
The so-called century-old shop secret was just a marketing gimmick to build credibility.
She couldn’t compare to Grandpa Tofu who had decades of business experience and already built a reputation with loyal customers.
To sell braised food, she had to maximize her advantages to gain consumers’ trust.
What were her advantages?
Being a college student? No!
Although college students in 1990 were highly valued—worthy of being called “heaven’s favorites”—this identity offered no advantage in selling braised food. On the contrary, people typically saw college students as impractical types who’d mistake salt for sugar while cooking.
Her greatest advantage at this moment was her origin from the provincial capital, which naturally bestowed upon her an aura of prestige. Just as Shanghai goods symbolized high-end products in this era, a century-old establishment from the provincial capital was inherently a glittering golden sign.
Don’t doubt it—human instinct drives us upward.
Back when Wang Xiao was live-streaming sales, there were two types of sweet potato crisps. They came from the same origin, used identical processes, and were produced on the exact same assembly line. Neither had a significant brand reputation, yet because the former was labeled as “Agricultural College Snacks,” even though it was 10% more expensive than the latter, its sales were several times higher.
Now, standing before the elderly rural woman, she was confident the old lady would be intrigued by the craftsmanship of a century-old shop from the provincial capital.