By this time, the celtuce and cucumbers were ready. Qin Suian and the others squeezed out all the excess water, packed them into the jars that had been completely dried in the sun, then poured in the cooled sauce until the vegetables were fully submerged before sealing the lids.
“They’ll be ready to sell tomorrow,” Qin Suian said, looking at the six jars full of pickles, her heart filled with anticipation for the next day.
In truth, these lightly pickled celtuce and cucumbers could also be considered pickled vegetables or cold dishes.
But in Qin Suian’s view, cold dishes were more seasonal, while pickles could be sold year-round. That was why she wanted to focus on “pickles” as her main business—it would provide a steadier long-term income.
It was already May, and summer came early in Honggang County.
The nights were still fairly cool, but the days had already turned scorching hot. Selling refreshing pickles to go with rice or porridge was perfect weather for it.
Once the weather grew even hotter, Qin Suian planned to introduce cold dishes. Those had the real profit margins.
In her previous life, though, things had happened by accident. Instead of succeeding with cold dishes, she had ended up making pickles instead.
Later, when the internet exploded and information became easily available, by the time she learned how to make proper cold dishes, snack shops and restaurants already filled every street and alley. Cold dishes were no longer anything special.
Besides, that business required manpower and energy. Qin Suian had been alone then, so she never pursued it further.
But this time, with her two daughters helping, it seemed entirely possible.
Early the next morning, the three of them got up to make breakfast.
Xiaomei woke up first and started the fire to cook porridge while frying several egg pancakes.
Qin Suian took a pair of chopsticks that had been sterilized in boiling water and picked out a bowl each of pickled celtuce and cucumbers from the jars.
“Just the smell alone makes me hungry,” Xiaojuan said as she squatted nearby, inhaling the tangy aroma wafting from the jars. Her appetite instantly increased.
Xiaomei had already set the white porridge and egg pancakes on the table. Qin Suian placed the two bowls of pickles down as well, picked up a strip of pickled cucumber, and took a bite.
Not bad at all—sour, spicy, crisp, refreshing, and appetite-whetting.
Xiaomei and Xiaojuan also tasted them, and sure enough, they were wonderfully refreshing and delicious.
Xiaojuan already had a hearty appetite to begin with. Accompanied by the pickled celtuce and cucumbers, she quickly polished off an entire bowl of porridge in just a few bites.
“This feels amazing!!” She immediately went to serve herself another bowl, this time slowing down to savor it properly.
“It’s really delicious. When I first got pregnant, I couldn’t eat anything. Even plain porridge made me nauseous. This is so appetizing,” Xiaomei said, already in love with the flavor.
She knew how to make small pickles too, but the taste was nowhere near as good as her mother’s. Once you tried Qin Suian’s version, it was impossible to forget.
Qin Suian revealed a faintly proud smile. This was the result of over ten or twenty years of experience, plus constant improvements to the recipe. It wasn’t something just anyone could replicate.
After breakfast, Xiaomei stayed home to watch the house while Qin Suian placed two jars into the carrying baskets she had prepared the day before. Using a shoulder pole, she carried them out with Xiaojuan.
Xiaojuan was responsible for carrying the bowls, chopsticks, table, and stools.
The two of them arrived at the market near the docks and picked a spot that wouldn’t block any storefronts before setting up their stall.
This marketplace had originally just been a street where people casually sold vegetables. Over time, it gradually became an actual market.
Previously, most storefronts had been closed. Only after things opened up again did the place slowly regain its liveliness.
Years later, this area would be redeveloped into an old-town commercial district. Some old buildings would be preserved, and Qin Suian’s pickle shop would eventually rent one of them—a tiny storefront only two meters wide. Business would never become booming, but it would remain steady enough to become one of the old familiar shops on the street.
Still, the dockside market now looked very different from what it would become more than a decade later.
The Huaishan River ran through the entirety of Honggang County, making water transportation highly developed. After the docks were built, many merchant ships traveling north, south, east, and west passed through here. Combined with the county’s thriving textile and machinery industries, Honggang County was considered quite prosperous.
Because generations of travelers and locals had mingled here, the food culture blended flavors from all directions. People ate both rice and noodles, and there were lovers of salty, spicy, sweet, and sour foods alike.
Naturally, that also meant there was no single unified taste preference in Honggang County.
On the other hand, it showed how accepting people were—as long as something tasted good, it would be welcomed.
Qin Suian took out the jars and filled two serving basins, placing them on the table.
She also prepared a small sample bowl, a bamboo toothpick holder, and beneath the table, a small wooden bucket specifically for discarded toothpicks.
Then she set out a simple handwritten sign made with a brush:
“Suian Pickles — 1 Mao per Bowl”
The spot Qin Suian chose was at the corner of an alley in the market.
Around her were vendors selling vegetables, fruits, chicken, duck, fish, and meat.
There were also people selling clothes, handmade bamboo baskets, and embroidered children’s hats, shoes, and clothing. Most were selling goods they had produced themselves.
When the other vendors noticed newcomers setting up, many glanced over curiously to see what they were selling—hoping it wasn’t the same as their own goods.
Those who could read relaxed once they saw Qin Suian was selling pickles.
There didn’t seem to be anyone else selling pickles in this market.
But would anyone even buy pickles?
Didn’t most people just make them at home?
Who would spend money on something like this?
Though small stalls looked simple and easy to run, anyone who lasted in business had reasons for their success.
You couldn’t just slap your forehead, sell something random, and expect to make money.
One older woman selling handmade bamboo products became especially curious about Qin Suian’s stall.
She herself carried bamboo crafts to market every day, and selling just a few baskets or bamboo scrubbers was already considered decent business.
She noticed that Qin Suian and the younger girl were probably mother and daughter. Their clothes were patched, suggesting they had only recently come from the countryside to set up a stall. Even so, their courage was admirable.
“Suian Pickles! Come try them for free! One mao a bowl! If they’re not delicious, you don’t pay!” Qin Suian called out brightly once everything was arranged, attracting nearby shoppers and passersby.
Just like her personality, her voice was loud, cheerful, and carried far.
People passing by turned to look at the mother and daughter. Both wore light-colored headscarves with no loose hair exposed. Though their clothes had patches, they were washed spotlessly clean, giving the impression of people who cared about hygiene.
Then they noticed the sign in front of the table:
“Suian Pickles — 1 Mao per Bowl.”
Simple and straightforward.
“What kind of pickles are these?” an older woman carrying a basket asked as she approached, apparently planning to buy breakfast to take home.
“This is pickled celtuce, and this is pickled cucumber. Want to try some, big sister? It’s free,” Qin Suian greeted warmly with a smile.
“We eat celtuce and cucumbers every day. What’s so special about your pickles? One mao a bowl isn’t cheap. Fresh cucumbers are only five fen a jin,” the woman said as she picked up a toothpick from the table, speared a strip of cucumber, and popped it into her mouth.
The cucumber was indeed crisp, fresh, spicy, and flavorful. The taste was unique enough to be unforgettable after one bite.
It really was different from homemade smashed cucumber salad.
At home, people usually just mixed cucumbers with garlic, sugar, and vinegar. It tasted fine too, but the flavor wasn’t nearly as layered as Qin Suian’s version, nor was it as crisp.