Shen Hai—that was the full name of Brother Hai—squatted by the wall, devouring the grilled fish delivered by idlers three times in a row until his throat burned from the heat. Reluctantly, he stopped, though he could have easily eaten for several more days without growing tired of it. But now, his room had accumulated three earthenware basins, which took up space. Unable to bring himself to throw them away, he carried them off to scrub, pondering what to use them for.
Though the basins were made of coarse pottery and crudely crafted, luck had favored him once—one of them bore a drop of emerald-green kiln glaze, lending the otherwise charred, rough basin a touch of rustic beauty.
As Shen Hai cleaned the basin and admired the glaze, an idea struck him: why not plant some dendrobium orchids in the finest one and place it by the window for a bit of charm?
Uncle Shen, who fancied himself a man of refined tastes, had filled his home with plum blossoms, orchids, bamboo, and chrysanthemums. Growing up around such influences, Shen Hai had developed a fondness for gardening and collecting porcelain and pottery—now even appreciating a humble fish basin.
Then, his fingers brushed against carved indentations at the bottom of the basin. Flipping it over, he belatedly noticed the small characters etched into it: "Shen Family of East Willow Lane."
Shen Hai stared blankly for a long moment before setting the basin back in his room and bolting straight for the dormitory.
Shen Ji had just returned from half a day of classes and was seated at the desk by his bed, meticulously copying the day’s new lesson into a self-bound blank booklet. In the margins, he added small red-inked annotations of Mr. Zou’s explanations for easier review later.
The youngest boy in the dormitory, eight-year-old Meng Honghe—only a year older than Sister Xiang—wore a pair of spectacles and had ranked seventh in the recent exams. He slept in the adjacent bed and now perched beside Shen Ji, munching on two sticky rice cakes while watching him write, oblivious to the crumbs and sugar dusting his clothes.
Accustomed to multitasking while caring for his younger sister, Shen Ji could effortlessly split his attention. Even as his brush moved steadily across the page, his left hand retrieved a handkerchief from his sleeve, which he handed to Meng Honghe without looking up. "Wipe yourself. You’ll ruin your clothes."
Meng Honghe hastily obeyed, then resumed eating—though he saved the second cake, wrapping it in the handkerchief and placing it on Shen Ji’s desk as a gift.
Among the five boys sharing the dormitory, Meng Honghe, spoiled by his family and inexperienced in chores, often struggled—too weak to lift water buckets, unable to wash clothes, and clinging to a pillowcase folded into a cloth mouse at night. The others mocked him behind his back as "Four-Eyes," but Shen Ji never treated him with disdain, so Meng Honghe naturally gravitated toward him.
After two days of the academy’s unpalatable meals left Meng Honghe with an upset stomach, Mother Meng began trekking several miles daily to deliver homemade meals and snacks by the school wall, collecting his dirty laundry in return. Meng Honghe would chatter to her about school life, mentioning how Shen Ji often looked out for him. From then on, Mother Meng packed double portions, always reminding her son, "Don’t be stingy—share with your classmate."
The sticky rice cakes were her handiwork: malt sugar boiled into syrup, mixed with steamed glutinous rice, then stir-fried until fully absorbed, pressed into squares in a mold. Chewy yet not sticky, sweet but not cloying. Meng Honghe adored them, certain they surpassed store-bought treats—though he wondered if Shen Ji, raised in a family that ran a food business, would find them ordinary.
Noticing the offering, Shen Ji thanked him without hesitation. "Smells delicious."
"Try it! My mother made it," Meng Honghe urged, eyes brightening.
"Later, after I finish this." Shen Ji dipped his brush and turned the page.
Pleased, Meng Honghe retreated to his bed to read.
Just as Shen Ji finished copying a section and took a bite of the cake, Shen Hai’s wail echoed through the window.
"Brother Ji, oh Brother Ji, you’ve deceived me so cruelly!" Shen Hai shoved the window open, his plump upper body wedged in the frame, making his round head appear even rounder. His voice dripped with grievance. "That grilled fish was from your family! Why didn’t you tell me?"
"You never asked." Shen Ji polished off the cake in three bites, then turned to thank Meng Honghe again. Startled by Shen Hai’s sudden appearance, Meng Honghe brightened at the praise. "Right? I love them too! Next time, I’ll ask Mother to make extra!"
Still leaning on the windowsill, Shen Hai continued his lament. "And you made me treat you three times!"
Shen Ji raised an eyebrow. "You were the one who insisted—and begged me to join you."
"But it was your family’s!"
"You still had to pay."
"We’re cousins! If I’d known, you could’ve just asked an idler to fetch a portion from your sister. Why go through all this trouble?" Shen Hai grumbled.
Coolly, Shen Ji replied, "Brother Hai, did you only just remember we’re family? I lived in your house for three years, yet you never treated me as kin. Your family saw Sister Xiang and me as burdens. What, now that you’ve eaten three fish, everything’s changed? Weren’t you the one who looked down on me before?"
"You—" Shen Hai flushed, stammering, "That was so long ago. Why bring it up now?"
Shen Ji’s eyes glinted with scorn. "Three years isn’t three days or three months. My memory may not be as sharp as yours, but it’s not that bad." He paused, reining in his tone as he tidied his desk. "Brother Hai, I’d rather not revisit the past, but today, I’ll make things clear. After my parents passed, your father managed our shop. Sister Xiang and I stayed with you for three years—not as freeloaders, as you well know. When the shop burned down and your family stopped receiving rent, with no word of my sister’s return, you no longer wanted us. I might’ve understood that. But what if Sister Xiang and I had truly been left with nowhere to go? By the time your mother cooled off and thought to look for us, do you think we’d still be alive to stand here and speak to you?"
Shen Hai fell silent.
Shen Ji stacked his books, meeting Shen Hai’s guilty expression with a steady gaze. His tone remained detached, as if discussing someone else’s affairs, yet Shen Hai squirmed under it, regretting his impulsive visit. His foolish hope of securing future meals had backfired—now, he’d likely ruined any chance of them altogether.
"Aside from your sharp tongue, vanity, and love for showing off, you’ve never laid a hand on Sister Xiang. That’s why I’ve been able to keep my temper around you these days. But don’t mistake this for forgiveness—I simply have my own cherished family now and no longer care about you. So… don’t expect me to set aside old grudges and play at being brothers with you. As far as I’m concerned, we’re nothing more than the most ordinary classmates, and even that bond is thinner than water. If you ever come to my house to eat, don’t expect credit or discounts. Pay the full price, understood?"
Shen Hai had already managed to extricate himself and was silently retreating below the windowsill. He didn’t dare respond, slinking away in defeat.
Meng Honghe, gripping half a scroll of his book, listened with wide eyes, his spectacles sliding down his nose. He wordlessly pushed them back up, committing every word to memory.
If anyone ever mocked him again as "Four-Eyes," he’d follow Shen Ji’s example—responding with cool detachment, declaring them strangers whose words meant nothing to him.
Lesson learned. Meng Honghe nodded to himself, clutching his book.
In Willow East Lane, Shen Miao was inspired by a few customers who insisted on takeaway grilled fish despite having no seats. She realized delivering grilled fish wasn’t as troublesome as she’d thought. Locals would bring their own large bowls, but for those who didn’t have one, they could pay a ten-coin deposit to borrow a Shen’s Grilled Fish-branded clay pot, take it home to cook, and return it clean the next day to reclaim their deposit.
Some simply bought the pot outright, keeping it for future visits.
Later, Shen Miao commissioned an upgraded version from the kiln—lidded, with handles for carrying ropes, and polished smooth for an even glaze. She even had the potter carve a leaping fish emerging from flames, along with the inscription: "Shen’s Grilled Fish (Willow East Lane, Golden Beam Bridge, Yongkang District)." Her goal? Advertising through these pots, spreading her brand into every household.
She raised the deposit to fifteen coins, and surprisingly, the takeaway service thrived. Many households sent servants to buy the fish and kept the pots, never returning for the deposit.
The improved packaging didn’t just boost convenience—it also made Shen Miao’s grilled fish seem cleaner and more refined than competitors’. And yes, she now had competitors!
Several noodle shops near Golden Beam Bridge had copied her clay pot method, even adding noodles to their grilled fish. At first, they matched her price of ninety-eight coins per pot. But when Shen Miao held firm and turned her small shop’s limitation into a takeaway advantage, they slashed prices to eighty-nine coins, even hiring street hawkers to shout promotions—clearly aiming to challenge her.
Still, Shen Miao’s secret broth and spices kept her ahead for now. The others improvised with mutton broth and braised meat flavors, playing to their strengths. While not as perfectly balanced as Shen Miao’s rich, spicy broth, they weren’t bad.
If this continued, her unique edge would fade.
Aunt Gu fumed, sitting in the yard while helping Shen Miao prep vegetables. She spent half an hour cursing the rival shops without repeating a single insult, even suggesting sending her burly relatives to "have a word" with them.
"Don’t be angry. This was bound to happen, and it’s hard to stop," Shen Miao said calmly, watering her vegetable patch with a smile.
Aunt Gu clutched her chest. "I’m furious, and you’re laughing?"
Shen Miao truly didn’t mind. She’d seen this before—like in her past life, where every milk tea shop copied each other’s fruit teas. If she fought every imitation, she’d never stop.
"Should we lower our prices too? So many people are flocking to the cheaper options—it’s maddening," Aunt Gu whispered.
Shen Miao shook her head, finishing her watering before hanging the gourd dipper on the wall—one of her quirks. She hung everything: kitchen knives, ladles, spatulas, even rags, all strung up in rows. The yard was no different—broom, dustpan, baskets, hats, even basins. Aunt Gu often wondered if the ground was cursed, but over time, she found the tidiness oddly satisfying.
Seeing Shen Miao so unshaken, Aunt Gu relaxed slightly, though she still sighed.
"If we play the price-cutting game, lowering a few coins today and more tomorrow, we’ll shut down sooner or later," Shen Miao said, washing her hands. "Don’t worry, Auntie. I’ve got a fun solution. Mind the shop for me? I’m off to the kiln and Mi’s Woodcarving Workshop."
In her past life, the food industry was even more cutthroat. Price wars were the dumbest strategy. Shen Miao leashed Lei Ting, figuring she’d walk the dog along the way.
Aunt Gu watched as Lei Ting lunged forward, only for Shen Miao to yank him back with a few loops of the rope around her hand.
The girl’s strong! Aunt Gu thought, recalling her own tumble. Then again, she’d seen Shen Miao hoist entire vegetable crates like they were nothing.
Shen Miao set off with the dog. It was early June, and Bianjing City was filling with lotus lantern vendors. The annual Lotus Festival was coming—on the twenty-fourth, crowds would flock to Golden Pond to boat, admire lotus blooms, and float lanterns on the river, celebrating all day.
There was still over half a month until the Lotus Viewing Festival, which should leave enough time. Inspired by this, Shen Miao recalled the wildly popular milk tea bags and tote bags from a later era and decided to seize the opportunity to organize a festive-themed event.
To attract customers, it wasn’t enough to just serve good food—marketing was equally important.
Shen Miao first went to a pottery kiln to commission a batch of "festival-limited edition" ceramic pots. She instructed the potter to carve a design of "fish playing among lotus fields" on them, with the lids shaped like lotus leaves. A touch of green glaze was applied, and she even added a lotus-stem handle, giving the finished pots a rustic yet refined charm. She deliberately ordered only a few dozen, aiming to create an exclusive, limited-edition appeal.
Afterward, she headed to Miss Mi’s woodcarving workshop to prepare a "Shen’s Membership Puzzle Handbook." Using leftover wood scraps from the workshop, she planned to make small wooden puzzle pieces. Becoming her VIP member would not only grant festive discounts but also allow customers to collect a puzzle piece with every order of grilled fish. Completing the entire puzzle would earn them coupons or exclusive merchandise...
Hmm… what kind of merchandise would work best?
Shen Miao walked along, leading her majestic black dog, lost in thought.
A grilled fish-themed pouch? With summer approaching, perhaps small folding fans? Or… maybe she should ask Miss Mi about the cost of producing wooden grilled fish badges or keychains with strings…
Alternatively… she could launch a "membership blind box" event! After seven check-ins, customers could draw one blind box. Shen Miao narrowed her eyes, planning to combine the tactics of later-era collectible cards hidden in snack packages with the gimmicks of modern blind box brands.
This was getting interesting.
She chuckled to herself, her smile carrying a hint of cunning.
After all, she had been obsessed with collecting cards as a child! To complete the set of Water Margin hero cards, she had begged her grandfather to buy her an entire box of snacks. Perhaps that was the earliest form of blind boxes?
On top of that, this festival campaign might just be the push needed to establish the "Shen’s" brand in one go.
A price war? Storming competitors’ shops? No, no—it was far too early for direct confrontation.
Though challenges loomed ahead, Shen Miao was in high spirits, even feeling a surge of excitement.
As she passed the bustling slave market, she peeked inside. Bianjing City’s human trade was massive, and with the ongoing war in Qinzhou, the number of displaced people—either selling themselves or being sold—had surged. From a distance, the market looked densely packed.
If she could acquire the neighboring shop, she might need to buy two or three servants. The kitchen was a critical area, and she needed a sous-chef—a position requiring unwavering loyalty.
Previously, she hadn’t bought servants, believing she could manage alone and hesitant to navigate the unfamiliar master-servant dynamic. Of course, money had also been tight—back then, buying people was expensive.
But now… Shen Miao paused to eavesdrop on a conversation between a slaver and a buyer. The price for a young, able-bodied laborer had dropped to ten taels of silver, and women were even cheaper.
Recently, grilled fish shops had sprung up like bamboo shoots after rain, pushing Shen Miao to make a decision: she could no longer delay expanding her shop! If seating remained limited and takeout orders couldn’t keep up, customers would inevitably be lost—no amount of promotions or gimmicks could compensate.
Moreover, since introducing grilled fish, out-of-town visitors had started flocking to her shop—a new trend indicating her growing reputation. Relocating now, at the peak of her success, would be like cutting off her own arm, causing significant losses.
The day before, Shen Miao had crouched in the vegetable cellar, recounting her savings. The twelve taels of gold earned from the Feng Family could be exchanged for 240 strings of coins. From her stall, recipe sales, and noodles, she had saved another 120 taels of silver, plus the 80-odd strings earned from grilled fish and other miscellaneous income.
After deducting operating expenses, her available funds fell short of 500 strings.
1,500 strings—with bargaining, she might shave off some, but the gap was still enormous. Such a hefty sum might even be beyond the lending capacity of the Xingguo Temple monks.
Now, her only hope… Shen Miao suddenly remembered the invitation Yan Shu had slipped her on opening day—the Xie Family banquet.
In a few days, on the fifteenth of June, the long-awaited banquet would finally take place.
Initially, Shen Miao had hesitated about attending. The Xie Family’s circle was filled with the wealthy, noble, and official-class families—a world apart from hers. As the saying went, "Don’t force yourself into circles that aren’t yours." She’d stick out awkwardly, unable to blend in.
Most importantly, it would waste a whole day she could’ve spent earning money at her shop.
But now, she felt a twinge of sheepish motivation: she wanted to seek investment.
She wondered if she could find an opportunity to pass a word to Mama Xi, Madam Xie’s attendant. First, to check on the progress of the instant noodle workshop, and second, to discuss whether she could advance her 30% share of future profits. Though the workshop was still under construction and its profitability uncertain, she could propose deferring her dividends for years to repay the advance.
She had already handed over the instant noodle recipe, along with three flavor variations—chicken broth, braised, and pickled cabbage. Madam Xie had mentioned sending them to Youzhou for Lady Xi’s trusted chefs to master, but she didn’t know if they’d succeeded yet.
Lost in thought, she arrived at Miss Mi’s woodcarving workshop. Stepping over wood shavings and scattered lumber, she navigated like an explorer in a maze, asking several apprentices before finally spotting Miss Mi lying on her back beneath a massive rosewood cabinet door, carving intently.
Shen Miao crouched down and grinned. "Xiao Mi."
Engrossed in her work, Miss Mi took a moment to turn, blinking in confusion before her face lit up. "Shen Miao! What brings you here?"
It had been a while since they’d last met. Miss Mi had recently taken over her father’s legacy, focusing on large furniture pieces and abandoning her stall at the bridge market to dedicate herself to her first masterpiece.
Meanwhile, Shen Miao had been swamped with her shop, only catching snippets about Miss Mi’s life during daily chats with Mei Sanniang, the drinks vendor.
If not for today’s visit to commission "grilled fish merchandise," who knew when they’d have reunited?
Yet despite the time apart, Shen Miao felt an instant warmth upon seeing her.
In this era, women who could wholeheartedly pursue their passions were rare. She counted herself lucky—and so was Miss Mi. By chance, her father had no sons, and by chance, her talent was extraordinary. That was why he could pass his craft to her, allowing her to move freely in the workshop like a man. Otherwise, women wouldn’t even be allowed inside.
Seeing Miss Mi was like spotting a candle bravely glowing in the shadows—a sight that brought instant delight.
Shen Miao carefully discussed the designs for the punch-card puzzle and blind box cards with Miss Mi, also reminding her to incorporate anti-counterfeit features. After paying a deposit and confirming the delivery date, Shen Miao strolled back, lost in thought.
Halfway home, Lei Ting paused to relieve himself under a tree. Shen Miao stood idly by, her mind still churning through a whirlwind of tasks.
First, she pondered the details of the upcoming event—she ought to draft a proposal later to iron out the specifics. Second, she mulled over how to convince Madam Xie to part with such a hefty sum. Shen Miao racked her brain: How had she persuaded investors and partners in her past life?
Her grandfather once told her that when asking for help, one must always consider the other person’s concerns.
If she bluntly asked to borrow a thousand strings of cash, even the monks at Xingguo Temple might drop their incense burners in shock. For common folk, that amount was a lifetime’s earnings—let alone repayment. So perhaps a different approach was needed. Shen Miao mused: What if Madam Xie willingly purchased that "prime property" and then leased it to her? That wouldn’t count as a loan, and Madam Xie wouldn’t have to worry about the noodle shop failing to turn a profit.
The shop itself was real. Given Bianjing City’s ever-rising property prices, buying it would hardly be a loss. While reselling might be tricky, renting it out wouldn’t be an issue. The location near Jinliang Bridge was decent—even if Madam Xie didn’t lease it to her, someone else surely would. As for whether it was truly a "prime property," that depended on Shen Miao’s skills—something Madam Xie already knew well.
But then again, Madam Xie didn’t have to buy it. The Xie family likely had no need for such a modest shop.
So that was the crux: How could she persuade her angel investor to purchase a property she didn’t even need?
Shen Miao was so engrossed in rehearsing her pitch that she barely noticed Lei Ting finishing his business. The dog tilted his head curiously at his motionless owner, even letting out a soft whine—his eyes practically shouting, "I’m done, why aren’t we moving?"
But Shen Miao was deep in thought.
After a hesitant pause, Lei Ting lifted his leg again, straining to squeeze out a few more drops. Glancing back, he saw Shen Miao still frozen in place. With a resigned yelp, he barked loudly: "I’m really done now! There’s nothing left! Woof! Woof woof!"
"Oh, you’re finished? Let’s go then…"
Finally snapping out of her daze, Shen Miao tugged his leash and headed home.
Days passed in a blink. Shen Miao held her ground—unlike other noodle shops, she neither slashed prices nor made any drastic moves, simply selling what she could each day. By the time the festive edition clay pots, punch-card puzzles, and blind box cards arrived at her shop, everything fell into place just two days before the Xie family banquet.
Perfect timing, she thought. Once this event was over, she could focus fully on securing investment.
The next day, she promptly hired a few quick-tongued loiterers to act as human loudspeakers outside her shop and along the streets.
Across Jinliang Bridge, Kang’s Noodle Shop sprawled over three units, boasting a two-story building akin to the Wei family’s pastry shop. With both common seating and private rooms, it was the largest noodle-focused eatery in the area, once bustling with endless customers.
Then Shen’s Noodles appeared out of nowhere—a tiny shop barely ten paces wide—and somehow left Kang’s struggling to keep up. Worse, Shen’s kept pulling surprises: one day selling this, the next day that, whimsical yet endlessly inventive. Just as Shopkeeper Kang was still puzzling over her instant noodles, she rolled out grilled fish!
Not only did Kang’s business dwindle, but some customers even had the audacity to bring Shen’s grilled fish into his shop, ordering just a couple of side dishes and a bowl of noodles while feasting on her food right under his nose!
Forcing a smile, Shopkeeper Kang asked one such diner why. The answer? Shen’s was too crowded, and they couldn’t resist the craving.
It was a slap in the face!
Shopkeeper Kang had enough. He sent his staff and cooks to secretly buy Shen’s grilled fish multiple times, dissecting everything from the fish to the vegetables and seasonings.
Within four or five days, his chefs had mostly cracked the recipe—save for the exact ratios of the crispy skin and fermented black bean broth.
Hah! This wasn’t so hard after all. Without hesitation, Shopkeeper Kang added grilled fish to his menu, even enhancing it with minced lamb and bone broth. Not only was his version more generously portioned, but he deliberately undercut Shen’s prices!
After tasting Shen’s fish himself, Shopkeeper Kang grudgingly admitted her culinary skills were impressive. But as he set down his chopsticks, a chilling realization struck him: if she kept this up, the other noodle shops would be left scraping her leftovers.
So he shared his roughly reverse-engineered recipe with fellow shopkeepers, rallying them to sell the dish together and squeeze her out!
What began as an attempt to humble Shen’s unexpectedly turned profitable—Kang’s grilled fish, despite thinner margins, sold so well that the earnings piled up.
And Shen Miao? Whether intimidated or helpless, she did nothing as her business was cannibalized.
Shopkeeper Kang watched his shop fill with customers again, sleeping soundly these nights.
That morning, under clear skies, he hummed a tune and sauntered across the bridge, eager to glimpse Shen’s Noodles’ decline—perhaps even catch Shen Miao fretting in despair!
He scoffed inwardly. His shop was big enough to endure losses. But that inexperienced girl? She must be losing sleep by now.
Dressed in sleek, new russet silk, he strutted confidently toward Willow East Lane—only to find a crowd gathered at the market entrance.
Shopkeeper Kang’s eyelids twitched.
Pushing forward, he heard a loud hawker’s cry:
"New at Shen’s! Golden Soup Lotus Root Grilled Fish—tangy, spicy, unforgettable!"
"Join Shen’s membership today—no fee! Exclusive gifts and discounts await. Don’t miss this rare chance!"
