All eyes immediately focused on the small knife in Su Qingyan’s hand, its cold gleam catching the light.
With a flick of her wrist, the knife neatly sliced through a plump, fluffy brown sugar blossoming bun.
In an instant, the fist-sized bun was cut into over a dozen tiny squares, each no bigger than a fingernail.
She arranged the little squares neatly on a clean cloth, bleached white from repeated washing. Each cut revealed the enticing brown sugar swirls and airy texture within.
“Sister, I’ll help!”
Su Mingxuan somehow pulled out a small wooden board and, with a crooked yet careful hand, wrote “Free Tasting” on it with a charcoal stick, holding it high.
The crowd went wild.
Free tasting?
Was there really such a thing in these times?
Across the way, Liu Sanniang’s eyes twitched in disbelief. Hands on her hips, she sneered sarcastically to the neighbors:
“Oh, look, look! Can’t sell them, so now giving them away! I told you—who would pay five wen for a lousy bun? She’s just advertising for free; mark my words, she’ll cry later!”
Her sharp, piercing voice drew sneers from several passersby.
Yet the bold, sweet aroma from the buns paid no attention to her words—it invaded everyone’s nostrils, making their hearts ache with longing.
Su Qingyan ignored Liu Sanniang’s shouting. Calmly, she pulled a small clay stove from her basket, lit a fire, and set up a tiny pot.
The crowd wondered what she was doing. She added some water to the pot, then, like a magician, pulled out a handful of plump, glossy red beans from another bundle.
“Today, it’s not just brown sugar buns—we also have freshly made honey red bean buns!”
Her clear voice rang out. She kneaded a new dough, stuffed it with the red bean paste, and set the buns to steam.
The red beans, of course, were products of her space—full, sweet, and perfectly textured. As the steam rose, a richer, more complex fragrance exploded into the air!
If the brown sugar scent had been straightforwardly sweet, this new aroma combined the clear sweetness of the red beans, the caramelized fragrance of brown sugar, and the mellow scent of the flour. Layer upon layer, it was like a gentle yet commanding hand that grabbed the noses of passersby, refusing to let them move forward.
“My goodness… this smell…”
Grandma Lin sniffed eagerly, slapped her thigh, and shouted, “I’ve lived in Bianjing for sixty years, and this red bean scent is more authentic than that famous Sun family pastry shop under the bridge! Xiao Qingyan, did you learn this from the immortals?”
As a respected elder, her words carried weight.
The crowd began to waver.
“R… really that good?”“Smells amazing… but how does it taste?”
Su Qingyan smiled slightly, took a small coarse clay jar from her chest, and lifted the lid. An appetizing, tangy scent immediately poured out.
“Gentlemen, if you find the sweet too cloying, I also have homemade pickled vegetables, free for tasting. Eat them with the buns—you’ll feel just right!”
Extreme sweetness paired with perfect saltiness. One bun, two ways to enjoy.
At last, the porters and servants watching could no longer resist.
“I… I’ll try it!”
A man doing odd jobs at the Imperial Academy, accustomed to refined food, was now drawn by this simple, irresistible aroma. He stepped forward first, pinching a small piece of the brown sugar bun and hesitantly put it in his mouth.
The next moment, his eyes widened in astonishment.
The texture was unlike anything he had ever experienced—soft as biting into a cloud. The rich brown sugar flavor exploded on his tongue, and a warm current flowed down his throat, chasing the cold from his body.
His whole body froze, first in shock, then disbelief, and finally pure, overwhelming delight.
“My goodness!” he blurted, then quickly grabbed a piece of the pickled vegetable.
The pickles were crisp, tangy, and perfectly balanced the sweetness, bringing out a deeper, richer flavor of the dough. Sweet and savory, like fire and ice, it was heavenly.
“This is amazing! Absolutely amazing!” the porter cried, face red with excitement. He dug into his pouch and slapped ten wen on Su Qingyan’s stall.
“Miss! Give me two! One brown sugar, and… uh, when will your new buns be ready?”
“The red bean ones will take a quarter of an hour.”
“Then give me two brown sugar ones!” he shouted, fearing someone would snatch them.
Su Qingyan deftly wrapped two steaming buns in clean oil paper and handed them over.
The first sale was made!
Once someone dared to try, the rest hesitated no more and stepped forward to taste.
“Oh, really soft!”“The sweetness is incredible!”“With pickles, I could eat another one!”
However, the initial excitement did not immediately turn into booming sales. Many tried the buns, but few actually paid.
After all, five wen per bun was a significant expense for these poor laborers earning only a few dozen wen a day.
Half an hour passed, and the buns in the basket were barely fewer.
The wind grew colder. Su Mingxuan’s small face was flushed red, his nose rosy, yet he held the “Free Tasting” board upright, his little body standing like an unyielding pine tree.
Across the way, Liu Sanniang’s malicious laughter was unrestrained.
She carried a basin of black swill and deliberately dumped it on the snow near Su Qingyan’s stall, sending a foul stench into the air.
“Oh! Slipped!” she called, feigning clumsiness, while shooting a provocative glance at Su Qingyan. “You little beggar, why don’t you disappear? Your trashy little goods belong in this swill! Go back to your doghouse!”
Su Mingxuan trembled with rage, eyes red, and tried to rush forward, but Su Qingyan held him back.
“Don’t. Don’t waste energy on her—our mouths must stay clean,” Su Qingyan said calmly, not even glancing at Liu Sanniang.
Her focus was entirely on the street, where passersby streamed by.
It was the time when students from the Imperial Academy and the Guozijian were heading to school.
Young scholars in long robes and caps passed in twos and threes, their presence and the scent of inked scrolls making them feel out of place among the noisy marketplace.
Several slowed their pace, drawn by the buns’ aroma. But seeing Su Qingyan’s shabby stall and the nearby stinking swill, they frowned in disgust and hurried away.
Self-important scholars would never stoop to buying food from a dirty street corner.
Su Qingyan’s heart sank for a moment, but she quickly realized the key:
These students didn’t want the buns—they didn’t want to lose face.
They were rushing to school and didn’t have time for breakfast. A steaming, fragrant bun was tempting—but stopping to squeeze with porters and servants at a broken basket? Impossible.
The problem wasn’t the buns—it was their dignity.
A bold idea formed in Su Qingyan’s mind.
Calmly, she took out the steamed red bean buns, their hot steam rising like a beacon, and the fragrance intensified.
A slightly plump, round-faced scholar, unable to resist the aroma, stopped in his tracks. His Adam’s apple bobbed as his eyes fixed on the steaming buns.
“Ziheng, what are you staring at? Such vulgar food! Move along!” his companion scolded, pulling him away with disdain.
Exactly!
Su Qingyan’s eyes brightened.
She quickly reorganized the stall.
Then, under Su Mingxuan’s puzzled gaze, she pulled out stacks of neat, clean, slightly glossy oil paper from her bag.
This was no ordinary paper—it came from her space, delicate with a faint bamboo-wood fragrance.
Carefully, she wrapped a hot brown sugar bun in the oil paper, folding the corners and edges in one smooth motion. A simple street bun instantly looked refined, like a delicacy from a high-end eatery.
This early sense of “brand packaging” instantly elevated the humble stall.
Su Qingyan placed the neatly wrapped buns on the cloth, each looking like a carefully crafted gift.