The sun rose higher, casting golden rays across East Market Street.
Inside Su Ji Eatery, the sounds of chatter, clinking bowls and chopsticks, and the slurping of noodles blended into a lively, vibrant symphony.
The stove fire in the kitchen burned brightly. In the front hall, the cash box chimed with the crisp, pleasant clatter of copper coins falling inside.
Zhou Yunniang lifted the lid of the cash box once more, and as she watched the growing pile of copper coins, her eyes suddenly reddened. She turned away, wiping her eyes with her sleeve, and when she turned back, her smile was even brighter.
"Customer, your fish congee—careful, it's hot!"
"Noodles are here! One bowl of Yangchun Noodles!"
Finally, the morning rush was over. It had been a long, long time since the shop had been this busy, and all three of them were thoroughly exhausted. Zhou Yunniang looked at her slender daughter with concern and said, "Nian He, don’t trouble yourself with the lunch and dinner services. There’s still broth left—your father and I can manage. You should rest. You’ve only just recovered; don’t overexert yourself."
Su Mo was indeed tired. Her wrists ached, her feet were numb from standing, and sweat beaded on her forehead, wiped away only to reappear. But her heart felt light, as if a long-held breath had finally been released freely and fully.
"Mother, I’m fine," she said, rubbing her lower back. Looking at the empty bowls filling the hall and the satisfied expressions on the departing customers’ faces, her weariness was wrapped in sweetness. "You and Father are the ones working hard. You still have lunch and dinner to manage."
"We’re not tired!" Zhou Yunniang insisted, though her eyes remained red—this time from joy. "You have no idea—when I was collecting money earlier, my hands were trembling… It’s been so many years, and this shop has never taken in so many copper coins in just one morning!"
Su Dashan was tidying the stove. He neatly arranged the used pots, pans, and utensils, scalded them with hot water, then picked up a cloth and polished the countertop until it gleamed. His movements were meticulous, as if he weren’t cleaning a greasy stove but handling something precious. When he finished, he straightened up and looked at his daughter, his gaze lingering on the sweat-dampened strands of hair clinging to her forehead. After a pause, he said, "Listen to your mother. Go and rest. There’s still… plenty to do later."
This was not up for debate.
Su Mo knew her father’s temperament and nodded. "Then I’ll go lie down for a bit. Mother, I’ve already soaked the rice for the fish congee—it’s in the basin. Remember to change the water after lunch. The fish slices are marinated and chilling in the well; take them out when you need them."
"I know, I know. Go on now!" Zhou Yunniang urged, gently pushing her toward the backyard.
Returning to her small, humble room, Su Mo closed the door, leaned back against it, and let out a long sigh.
She was truly exhausted, but the flame in her heart burned brightly.
Her gaze fell on the blurry bronze mirror on the table. The reflection was hazy, only faintly revealing the outline of a young girl. Su Mo reached out and lightly touched the mirror’s surface.
"Su Mo," she whispered to herself, "you can do this." Not Su Nianhe, but Su Mo—the Su Mo who had worked hard in modern kitchens, determined to create food that brought people happiness.
She lay down on the hard plank bed and pulled the thin quilt over herself. Her body was weary, but her mind was unusually clear. Thoughts swarmed in: Could she develop a few more toppings for the Yangchun Noodles? Could the fish congee be paired with some side dishes? The morning menu was too limited—should she add steamed buns or dumplings? But there weren’t enough hands…
As she thought, her consciousness gradually grew hazy. From outside the window came the faint sound of her parents speaking softly in the front hall, along with the sound of water and the gentle clinking of bowls and dishes, like a lullaby.
She fell asleep, a faint smile still lingering at the corner of her mouth.
In the front hall, Zhou Yunniang wiped the tables while unable to resist opening the money box for another look. The box was nearly half-filled with gleaming copper coins. She carefully stacked them neatly, stringing together a hundred coins per string, and found she had three full strings plus over twenty loose coins.
"Dashan, look," she held the money up to her husband, her voice hushed but unable to conceal her excitement, "and this is just the morning! Just from the breakfast market, we've earned over three hundred coins! That's as much as we usually make in a whole day!"
Su Dashan was sweeping the floor. Hearing this, he glanced up, grunted "hmm" through his nose, and continued wielding the broom. Only, his sweeping motions seemed a bit lighter than usual.
"You know, our Nian He…" Zhou Yunniang carefully returned the money to the box, locked it, and walked over to her husband, helping to turn the stools upside down on the tables, "after falling into the water that one time, it's like she's had an awakening. This skill, these ideas… I think she might even be better than you."
Su Dashan wasn't offended. He stopped sweeping, leaned on the broom, and gazed toward the small door leading to the backyard, silent for a moment.
"She is better than me," he said gruffly. After a pause, he added, "Her mind is calm, her hands are steady, and her thinking is sharp. That bowl of Yangchun Noodles… I couldn't make it."
Zhou Yunniang's eyes widened in surprise. She knew her husband's temperament best—stubborn, proud, and never one to admit defeat when it came to matters of the kitchen. Hearing such words from him was rarer than the sun rising in the west.
"So… from now on, should we let Nian He take charge of the wok during the breakfast market?" she asked tentatively.
"Hmm," Su Dashan replied, bending down to continue sweeping. "For the evening market… we'll see. If she's willing and wants to try new dishes, let her try."
A heavy weight in Zhou Yunniang's heart finally lifted completely. Overjoyed and unsure what to do with herself, she kept repeating, "Good, good! Our Nian He has promise! May our ancestors bless her, may the Kitchen God bless her!"
"Enough," Su Dashan cut her off. "Hurry up and finish tidying. The lunch crowd will be here soon. There's still a fish left from yesterday—I'll go clean it. You wash the vegetables."
Listening to his wife's tuneless but cheerful humming, the corners of Su Dashan's mouth lifted almost imperceptibly. He swept up the last bit of debris, leaned the broom against the wall, and walked to the doorway.
Butcher Zhang approached, swinging two liang of pork in his hand, greeting them from afar: "Shopkeeper Su! Do you still have any of that fish congee from this morning? Save me a bowl! I brought my own meat!"
Su Dashan nodded and hurriedly replied, "Yes, come on in."
Su Dashan turned and entered the back kitchen. Before long, he brought out a bowl of fish congee that had been kept warm on the stove. The congee was still warm, the rice grains glistening, the fish slices snow-white, sprinkled with bright green scallions.
Butcher Zhang didn't stand on ceremony. He picked up a spoon and began eating, praising between bites: "Fresh! The rice is cooked perfectly, the fish is tender! Four coins a bowl—worth it!"
Su Dashan sat down across from him, watching Butcher Zhang devour the food with gusto, listening to the satisfied slurping sounds. The vague, indescribable emotions in his heart slowly settled, transforming into a heavy, solid sense of contentment.
Throughout the day, both the congee and noodles sold well. The lunch and evening markets didn't offer fresh dishes, and with many eateries in the county, sales ultimately couldn't match the morning's success. After a busy day, the whole family was exhausted yet deeply satisfied.
Before bed, Su Mo said to Zhou Yunniang and Su Dashan, "Tomorrow morning, we’ll still sell noodles and porridge at the market. For the afternoon market, I’d like to add a dish of spring three delicacies. I’ll go early to buy the ingredients."