At the hour of Chen, when the sky was just beginning to brighten and the chill was still biting—
The residents of Shuigu Street breathed out white puffs of air, hunched their shoulders against the cold, and had only just pushed open their doors when they all froze in unison.
An overbearing, unprecedented aroma—rich with the mellow fragrance of soy—spread outward from the newly erected stall at the street corner. It was utterly unreasonable in its intensity, forcing its way into everyone’s noses.
The brand-new plaque reading “Su Ji Kitchen” in gold characters on a red background gleamed in the morning light.
Beside it hung a calligraphy scroll, its strokes bold and flowing: “Warm Fragrance Fills the Shop.”
The stall was semi-open, with no doors—you could see straight through it at a glance.
Inside, Su Qingyan, dressed in a neat blue work outfit with a matching headscarf, was busy in the bright kitchen.
On the long worktable before her, white dough was kneaded, rolled, stretched, and pulled in her hands. Her movements flowed like water, rhythmic and precise. Beside her, on the stove, a large pot simmered with a milky-white broth, bubbling steadily as steam rose in thick clouds.
“What… what is she making? Why’s the kitchen set up right at the entrance?”
“Look at that wall! I thought it blocked the alley yesterday—why are so many people crowding in today?”
Curious neighbors couldn’t help but move closer.
The moment they stepped into the stall’s area, a wave of warmth rose from their feet, instantly driving away the cold.
“Oh my! Why is it so warm in here?”
“Touch this wall! It’s hot! Heavens—it’s actually warm!”
They gathered around the brick heating wall, touching it in amazement, their faces full of disbelief.
Su Mingxuan and Su Mingyue had already changed into matching “uniforms” like their sister’s, standing straight behind the counter. Little Su Mingyao, the family’s adorable “living signboard,” was held in Madam Wang’s arms, sitting snugly in the innermost corner, her cheeks rosy.
“Soy milk, two coins a bowl! Roujiamo, ten coins each! Set meal twelve coins—comes with a side of pickles!” Su Mingyue’s crisp voice rang out, instantly drawing everyone’s attention.
“Roujiamo? Not buns anymore?” an old customer asked curiously.
Right then, Su Qingyan pulled a golden, crispy flatbread from the oven. With a quick crack, she sliced it open, then scooped a generous spoonful of tender, melt-in-your-mouth braised meat from a pot that had been kept warm, its aroma utterly irresistible. Along with the thick, rich gravy, she stuffed it into the bread in one swift motion.
At that instant, the fragrance exploded into the air.
Gulp.
Someone in the crowd swallowed first. Then came a chorus of swallowing sounds, rising one after another.
“I’ll take a set!” A burly man who worked in river transport squeezed forward first, slapping down twelve coins on the counter.
Su Qingyan handed him the oil-paper-wrapped roujiamo and a steaming bowl of soy milk.
He didn’t even care about the heat—he grabbed the sandwich and took a huge bite.
Crunch!
The crispy crust shattered instantly, followed by the rich, savory flavor of the braised meat flooding his mouth. The bold taste swept through him, and he closed his eyes in bliss, chewing slowly as if savoring a rare delicacy.
He took a sip of the hot soy milk—the pure bean aroma perfectly balanced the slight greasiness of the meat, leaving only warmth and smooth richness behind.
“Damn! This is amazing! Way better than buns!” he shouted indistinctly, devouring it in a few bites. Then he slapped down another twelve coins. “Another set!”
With him as a living advertisement, a line quickly formed.
“One set for me!”
“Me too! In this weather, a hot bowl of soy milk and a warm sandwich—perfect!”
“Miss, hurry up! There’s a line behind me!”
Su Qingyan’s hands never stopped—baking, slicing, stuffing—her movements so fast they nearly left afterimages.
Her open-kitchen strategy now showed its full power.
Customers not only smelled the food—they could also see exactly how it was made.
They could see how clean the dough was, how enticing the braised meat looked, how deftly the young girl worked. Everything was clear.
It felt novel—and reassuring.
Soon, the line stretched from the storefront, turned a corner, and extended all the way to the alley entrance.
Across the street, in front of “Liu’s Pastry Shop,” the scene was entirely different.
Liu Sanniang stood at her deserted doorway, rubbing her hands together as she watched the bustling excitement at Su Ji Kitchen. Her face shifted from pale to green, then from green to purple.
Her oven was lit too, but the faint aroma of her baked goods was nothing compared to the domineering scent of meat from across the street—it was like the light of a grain of rice against the brilliance of the full moon.
Occasionally, a few passing outsiders would start toward her shop, but after sniffing the air, they would immediately turn and join Su Ji Kitchen’s line without hesitation.
“Bah! What’s so great? Just selling flatbread, acting like it’s some grand opera!” Liu Sanniang spat on the ground, her voice dripping with jealousy.
A longtime neighbor passed by, holding a roujiamo from Su Ji. Hearing her, he chuckled. “Now that’s where you’re wrong, Liu Sanniang. That’s called skill! Look at their stove—cleaner than your eating bowls! You can eat there with peace of mind!”
Another chimed in, “Exactly! And their service—the girl speaks sweetly, the boy calculates fast, and there’s even a warm wall to lean against. Spending money there feels good! Can you match that?”
Liu Sanniang was left speechless, forced to watch as her customers drifted away one by one.
She clenched her fists, her nails digging deep into her palms.
She wanted to curse, to rush over and flip that little brat’s stall.
But she didn’t dare.
What happened with Master Wu had already spread through the area. Everyone knew that although the Su family’s girl looked young, she was tough—and there seemed to be the shadow of the Xie household behind her.
What could a mere pastry shop owner like her use to compete?
She could only watch helplessly as her business was gradually devoured, until nothing remained—not even a drop of soup.
…
The popularity of Su Ji Kitchen lasted the entire day.
From morning until evening, the stove fire never seemed to go out.
Madam Wang handled payments and packaging, so busy her feet barely touched the ground—yet her smile was brighter than ever.
Su Mingxuan maintained order and served soy milk, his little face flushed with exhaustion but his eyes shining.
Su Mingyue’s voice was nearly hoarse from shouting, but every time a customer praised her as “such a clever girl,” she was filled with renewed energy.
Only when the sun began to set and the last pot of braised meat was sold did Su Qingyan finally straighten her aching back and let out a long breath.
The shop was a mess—but filled with the joy of a great harvest.
Scholar Su trembled as he carefully recorded each entry in the ledger.
When the final account was calculated, he looked up.
“Today… we sold 463 roujiamo, 480 bowls of soy milk, and 392 special set meals…”
He paused, took a deep breath, and gathered all his strength before announcing the astonishing figure:
“After deducting all costs, today’s net profit is… five guan and three hundred twenty coins!”
Five guan!
Clatter—
The rag slipped from Madam Wang’s hand. She covered her mouth as tears poured out—this time, tears of joy.
Su Mingxuan and Su Mingyue jumped up, hugging each other, laughing and shouting.
In just one day—
They had earned what used to take more than half a month of street vending to make!
Su Qingyan looked at her family’s happy faces and smiled as well.
She walked to the shop entrance, gazing at the gradually lighting lanterns and the bustling passersby outside.
At last, their Su family had truly gained a firm foothold in this prosperous city of Bianjing.