The February air was biting, a late spring chill that cut through the bone.
Before the sun had even risen, the small vendors gathered by the deer fence tightened their tattered coats and pressed their felt hats down.
They craned their necks, staring toward Ye Jia. The wind seemed to conspire with them, carrying the irresistible aroma of frying oil and savory dough. Those who had left home in the dark without breakfast felt their stomachs growl at the scent. Even those chewing on their own homemade flatbreads couldn’t keep their eyes from drifting.
Ye Jia nudged Madam Yu, who was standing at the front. “Mother, start calling out.”
This was Madam Yu’s first time setting up a stall. Her face flushed crimson with embarrassment. “Call out? Say what?”
Ye Jia sighed. Still so concerned with appearances when we’re this poor.
She took a spatula in one hand and chopsticks in the other. As a golden-brown, fragrant shredded radish pancake finished frying, she flipped it into a bamboo basket. Then, she tapped the iron spatula against the rim of the pan—clang, clang—and shouted, her voice clear and bright:
“Fresh-off-the-griddle radish pancakes! Six copper coins each! Fragrant and delicious, only six coins!”
The shout rang through the early morning, jolting everyone awake. Even those who hadn’t noticed the commotion turned to look. The sight of the steaming pancakes made their mouths water.
Madam Yu struggled with her inner conflict, but Ye Jia showed no shame. She just kept shouting.
They hadn’t expected it to be this easy. But after just a few calls, two burly, bearded merchants approached them.
Ye Jia simply said, “Six wen for one, ten for two.”
The two men, their faces covered in thick beards, seemed truly famished. Huddled in the bitter cold, shivering and starving, they didn’t hesitate at the price.
“We’ll take four,” one of them said.
The radish pancakes were roughly the size of a coarse ceramic bowl—enough to fill a petite young woman, and three would sustain a grown man for a whole day.
Madam Yu’s heart leaped as she did the math: twenty wen. Shame was instantly forgotten. Her hands flew, grabbing the small bowl for the coins and wrapping the pancakes in oil-paper with practiced speed.
Once she had the twenty copper coins in hand, another burly man stepped forward. “Two for me.”
That was another ten wen.
Madam Yu was stunned. She’d never imagined the pancakes would sell so well so early in the morning. Once the first customer had broken the ice, a crowd began to form. These were all laborers who had come to town looking for work, men who could carry two hundred pounds for dozens of miles without breaking a sweat. Their appetites were enormous; no one bought just one pancake. They ordered two or three at a time.
By the time the gates of the deer fence opened, Ye Jia had already sold over twenty pancakes.
“Goodness, they really are selling like hotcakes,” Madam Yu murmured. She stared in disbelief at the small bowl, now brimming with over a hundred wen—all earned in less than an hour.
Ye Jia said nothing. The large iron griddle was a boon; it could fry a whole batch of cakes at once, allowing them to sell quickly.
Their activity was bound to attract the attention of the guards at the deer fence. Ye Jia wrapped four cakes and handed them to Madam Yu.
“Take these to the guards,” she instructed. “Even though we’re set up on the road and not inside the market, who’s to say they don’t control this stretch too? If they decide to cause trouble, we’ll be in a bad spot.”
Madam Yu understood perfectly. When doing business, it was always wise to grease the palms of those in charge first. Her initial shyness vanished as she balanced the tray of piping-hot cakes and headed toward the men.
The two guards had indeed been watching them. Their silence was merely a result of being caught off guard by the sight of a roadside stall. Once they’d processed the situation, they would surely move to shut it down. After all, if everyone set up shop outside the market, how would they collect their fees? The market existed specifically for vendors to do business; this was a blatant violation of the rules.
But when Madam Yu offered the four shredded radish cakes, their expressions softened instantly.
At first, the men feigned reluctance, pretending to refuse the gift. Madam Yu offered a few sweet words, and they finally accepted the cakes with a show of hesitation.
“We’ll save a spot for you inside,” one of them told her as she turned to leave.
As the saying goes, a soft mouth eats, but a short hand takes. After accepting the men’s gifts of food, Ye Jia and Madam Yu knew they had to return the favor.
Madam Yu returned to the stall beaming. In the short time she’d been gone, Ye Jia had sold another dozen or so pancakes. The other vendors weren’t all struggling; the fish and meat sellers, in particular, were generous with their purchases. Besides, Ye Jia’s pancakes were truly exceptional—the crust was crisp and flaky, the filling fresh and fragrant. They tasted far better than anything the vendors made for themselves. Some even preferred them to meat.
Once the first customer praised the food, the word spread through the bustling crowd. Everyone who had been watching the commotion now wanted a taste. Neither Madam Yu nor Ye Jia had expected this. Half of the hundred pancakes Ye Jia had prepared the day before were gone before the Kaiwa Market had even officially opened.
After a moment, the gong sounded. The deer fence was pulled back, and the crowd began to filter inside. Only then did Ye Jia and Madam Yu start packing up. They carefully moved the stove onto their wheelbarrow, mindful of the heat. The stove was still burning, and any sudden jolt could tip it over and cause a nasty burn.
They pushed the cart with extreme caution. Thanks to the pancakes Madam Yu had distributed earlier, the gatekeepers had already cleared a prime spot for them inside.
Ye Jia noticed the burly man who had helped them eyeing their basket. She quickly made him two more cakes.
The man knew each cake sold for six coins. He’d already eaten two and was now taking two more, effectively paying them twelve coins—more than the fee merchants paid to set up stalls. He didn’t mind the heat of the cakes, wrapping them in oil paper and stuffing them into his tunic.
“Will you be back tomorrow?” he asked. “I’ll save you two a good spot.”
Ye Jia beamed. “Thank you, sir, for your kindness.”
The man, having eaten his fill and heard her flattering words, walked away happily with the cakes tucked away.
This was Ye Jia’s first time running a business. Though she was bold, she was still testing the waters. She had only made a hundred cakes to start, planning to make more tomorrow if they sold well. To her surprise, their stall was empty in less than an hour. They had sold out completely, leaving Madam Yu without even a single bite.
After all that work, Madam Yu was starving, but her heart was full of joy.
She clutched the bowl of copper coins, a smile plastered on her face all morning. They had earned over six hundred coins. At this rate, they would recoup their investment in just a few days. She felt a twinge of regret—if she’d known the cakes would sell so well, she would have made more yesterday.
“Today is a happy day,” Ye Jia said. “We should eat something good to celebrate.”
Madam Yu remained unusually silent. Her daughter-in-law was spending money a bit too freely, but she was also hardworking and capable. After all, Ye Jia had earned it; she could spend it however she pleased.
Ye Jia didn’t pay any mind to her mother-in-law’s inner grumbling. “Hurry up and put that money away,” she told her. “We’re in the tile market—you’ll get your pockets picked if you aren’t careful.”
Ye Jia took twenty coins and headed to a nearby pork stall to buy a cut of meat.
The butcher, who had just eaten a few of Ye Jia’s cakes and found them delicious, asked as he sliced the meat, “Will you be selling these again tomorrow?”
Ye Jia beamed. “Of course.”
As she turned to pay, her eyes fell on a large bucket of pig offal beneath the stall.
In these lean times, people craved fatty meat. Life was hard, and everyone lacked proper oils and fats in their diet. The best cuts of pork and mutton were naturally the fattiest, their richness a rare treat that could satisfy any craving. Offal like this, however, was seldom eaten. It was difficult to clean properly, and if prepared poorly, it stank.
Because of this, it was cheap. For just ten coins, the butcher let Ye Jia carry the whole bucket away.
During the spring plowing season, the tile market was a chaotic mix of goods. There were vendors selling everything from seeds to young seedlings.
A small packet cost over a dozen copper coins, which seemed expensive.
Ye Jia thought of the large empty plot in the Zhou family’s backyard and bought a small packet of Bai Song seeds, a packet of Wash-Intestine Grass seeds, and a packet of radish seeds.
After some research, Ye Jia discovered that Wash-Intestine Grass was actually chives, known in later generations. In this place, it was also called Grass Stalactite and Yang-Raising Grass. With so many names, she hadn’t recognized it.
The aroma of chives was truly fragrant. If she could get some, chive and egg pancakes might sell even better than radish pancakes.
As Ye Jia pondered this, Madam Yu’s smile faded when she saw Ye Jia carrying a bucket of dirty offal. But Madam Yu was in a good mood, so she held back her comments. Ye Jia didn’t bother to explain. On second thought, she went back to the old man selling sheep and bought half a bucket of goat’s milk.
The mother-in-law and daughter-in-law returned to the village just after the hour of the Monkey. The sun was high, and they were greeted by the morning glow. Both were beaming with joy as they returned home.
Ye Jia and Madam Yu worked together to carry the stove and pot back. Rui’er rushed out of the east room on her short legs. The frying pan still smelled of oil. Ye Jia set down the meat and goat’s milk. She had Madam Yu take the offal to the well while she went to the back kitchen to boil the milk.
Nutritional replenishment was a long-term process, not something that could be achieved in a single drink. Regardless of the gamey taste, the whole family would have to persevere.
She set the goat’s milk to boil and brought out the bowls of millet porridge she’d prepared earlier that morning.
They each ate a bowl to tide them over. Lunch would be ready soon, and she planned to cook something special to treat them. Life in the countryside seemed to loosen one’s inhibitions; even eating felt more liberating than before. Ye Jia, who had never carried a bowl around while walking, found herself doing just that as she wandered into the backyard. Sipping her porridge, she stared at the plot of land, figuring she’d find a villager to help plow it later.
Zhou Jingchen watched her walk by, sipping from a coarse earthenware bowl. Her refined movements clashed with her aimless wandering. Seeing her brow furrowed in deep thought, he couldn’t help but twitch his lips.
“Jia-niang,” he called.
Ever since he’d started using her name, calling her “Jia-niang” had become natural for him. “Could you help me outside?”
Ye Jia took another sip of porridge and stared at him for a moment. Then, she finished the bowl in a single gulp, lifted the curtain, and went inside. She grabbed his arm, draped it over her shoulder, and helped him out.
Rui’er struggled to drag a stool after them, watching as Ye Jia half-carried Third Uncle to a sunny spot by the wall. Grunting with effort, she dragged the stool over to them.
As she pressed him down, Zhou Jingchen looked up at her. “What are you looking for in the backyard?”
Ye Jia was a pure science student. Her only experience with planting was raising cacti. Now she faced a problem: if she hired someone to till the soil, how would she even plant the vegetables? In her mind, it seemed simple enough, but reality was a different matter.
“You…” Ye Jia frowned, sizing him up from head to toe. “Do you know how to grow things?”
Zhou Jingchen understood immediately. Ye Jia wanted to plant something in the backyard. In his past life, the prince regent had tended to flowers and plants. Outsiders rumored that his temperament was cold and his hands were stained with too much blood. He had also faced this same dilemma, later frequently visiting the White Elephant Temple to meditate with the grandmaster and tending to orchids and peonies for a time. In his spare moments, he cultivated them to refine his character, eventually developing a real passion for it and growing many unique specimens.
He nodded. “I know a thing or two.”
Ye Jia’s eyes lit up. She immediately grabbed his hand, which was resting on his knee.
She understood him. For a reserved person like Zhou Jingchen, saying he knew “a thing or two” meant he was an expert. Then, to his astonishment, she reached into her own robes and pulled out three small packets, placing them in his palm.
“Wonderful! I’m counting on you to make these grow!”
Zhou Jingchen’s hand was still cradled in the young woman’s palm.
…
Is this Lady Ye a bit different from what I remember?