Courtyard House: My Time Travel is a Bit Too Strong

"Old Li, what are you spacing out for? Forty yuan, take it out." Ma Tao laughed so hard his shoulders shook.

"I'll take fifty," Lin Quan grinned, his eyes crinkling at the corners.

"Old Li, I only need thirty." Liu Yu also revealed his hand.

"Give me thirty." Li Xiong revealed his hand, a "Bull Bull" hand, which was better than Liu Yu's.

They played until 11:30, when Lin Quan casually said "That's it" and got on his electric scooter and left.

"I had a lucky day today and made 1,300. I used to always get crushed, but I finally got my revenge and broke even."

A cool night breeze, refreshing and stirring up thoughts, suddenly roused Lin Quan, who began to sing:

"The night wind is biting, and I look back on the past alone. It is the me of the past, full of anger and resentment, false accusations and accusations, with a belly full of resentment and anger. I reacted very seriously to rumors, but I learned my lesson and received guidance from the scriptures..."

Without accompaniment, his voice was clear and strong, every word carrying power. He hummed as he rode, convinced that even the original singer would have to give way to this.

"What are you howling about in the middle of the night? Have you lost your mind?!" The neighbor's window slammed open, and a shout came crashing down on you.

"That's great! Keep it up!" someone shouted from another window, banging on the windowsill.

The city is so crowded it's hard to breathe, and the pace is as fast as a tightly wound spring—some people work nine-to-five, while others work from dawn till dusk.

People who can't sleep can hear even the ticking of a clock as nails hitting their forehead, let alone a sudden tune.

Lin Quan immediately shut up. The electric scooter, which had been swaying, became lighter and sped forward with a buzzing sound as soon as he stopped talking.

I drank a lot of beer and rice wine at dinner, and played a couple of rounds of Niu Niu. The effects of the alcohol had long since dissipated with my sweat.

The rice wine is mild, and the twelve bottles of beer are divided among four people, so each person only gets three bottles, which might make their face feel hot for a while.

I went back to my room, took a scalding hot shower, changed into clean clothes, and fell asleep immediately, sleeping soundly until the sun was high in the sky.

I rode my electric scooter to the market and brought back three pounds of scallions and five pounds of cucumbers.

"On the first day of business, we'll make ten servings of cold noodles."

A handful of noodles weighs one kilogram and sells for ten yuan.

Washing the pot, boiling water, cooking the noodles, scooping them out, drizzling oil, shaking them, and cooling them with a fan—this whole process took more than an hour.

Simmer for another two hours, and you'll have a pot of sauce and a jar of chili oil ready.

I washed the scallions and cucumbers; chopped the scallions finely and shredded the cucumbers; put them in bowls, divided them into bags, and sealed them. Everything was tidied up. I also bought masks and gloves on the way.

"I don't have a fixed stall; I go out at six o'clock sharp."

I glanced at my phone; it was almost 11:30.

He quickly sliced ​​cucumber into thin strips and placed them at the bottom of the bowl before mixing a large bowl of cold noodles.

He pushed open the door, moved out an old chair, sat down by the door, and slowly started eating, his lips curving into a wide smile.

The aroma was thick and strong, as if it had grown legs, spreading everywhere along the corridor, through window cracks, and around the corners of the walls.

Landlord Wang Hao had just returned from get off work when he sniffed the air, took a couple of breaths, and looked around: "Where's that smell coming from?"

"Brother Wang!" Lin Quan raised his hand to greet him.

"What should we eat?" Wang Hao's eyes were fixed on the bowl.

"I'm planning to set up a cold noodle stall, it's homemade. Brother Wang, want to try some?" Lin Quan asked as he scooped up a spoonful.

"Okay, one serving, how much?" Wang Hao's phone screen was already lit up.

"The price is ten yuan, this bowl is on me." Lin Quan's hands didn't stop, and in the blink of an eye, a bowl was served.

The aroma was enticing, and the color was refreshing. Wang Hao picked up a piece with his chopsticks, put it in his mouth, chewed it a couple of times, and his eyes lit up.

"How was it?" Lin Quan asked with a smile.

"This is amazing! This is the first time in my life I've ever had such an addictive cold noodle dish," Wang Hao blurted out.

"The noodles are dried noodles bought from the market, which I cooked myself; the oil is freshly made at the supermarket, costing over ninety yuan a barrel... As for the seasonings, I tweaked a recipe passed down from the Ming Dynasty palace," Lin Quan said seriously.

"No wonder it smells so incredibly good." Wang Hao nodded vigorously.

Uncle Wang Daxiang, who was passing by, caught a glimpse of Wang Hao eating heartily with his bowl in hand and casually remarked, "Hao, it's not even mealtime yet, and you're already eating?"

"Second Uncle, this cold noodle dish is amazing, want a bowl?" Wang Hao wiped his mouth.

"How much?" Wang Daxiang asked, limping as he strolled over.

"Ten yuan," Lin Quan answered crisply.

"Give me a bowl." Wang Daxiang took out his phone and scanned the code with a "beep".

"Ten yuan has arrived via QuickPay." The crisp notification sound rang out on time.

"That's a really generous portion." Wang Daxiang took a bite, his eyes immediately lighting up. He casually asked, "Do you have any sugar?"

"Yes." Lin Quan turned around and took out a jar of white sugar from the cupboard.

"This cold noodle soup is so authentic! Give me three more servings!" He took out his phone and scanned the thirty yuan note with a "beep".

"I'll have two too." Wang Hao didn't try to get a freebie and paid thirty yuan by scanning the code. His self-built house has four floors—he lives on the second floor, and the first, third, and fourth floors are all rented out.

Wang Daxiang had only taken a few steps with his cold noodles when he ran into an acquaintance who asked him about it, and he casually mentioned it to him.

The long-time residents of the urban village were all fellow villagers who farmed together in the past, and they saw each other all the time.

Within minutes, a dozen or so people who were too lazy to cook came to the door.

"I've heard it's delicious, we have to try it!" the neighbors said, laughing.

Every family lives in a building, and the rent alone is tens of thousands of yuan per month. A bowl of cold noodles only costs a few yuan.

In less than an hour, not a single grain of cold noodles remained in the stainless steel bucket.

"I'm so sorry, we're sold out." Lin Quan scratched the back of his head, feeling apologetic to the customers who had come empty-handed.

A middle-aged man in a gray shirt next to me asked, "Made to order now, how long will it take?"

"About twenty minutes," Lin Quan thought to himself.

"Then I'll wait." The man simply sat down on the small stool by the door.

Lin Quan didn't close the door; he turned around and went inside to boil water for noodles.

The guests glanced around the room: the floor was sparkling clean, a bucket of vegetable oil sat in the corner, priced at over ninety yuan in the supermarket; health certificates, hygiene permits, and business licenses were neatly arranged on the table, all of which were valid.

He cooked three portions of dry noodles, poured hot oil over them, stirred them evenly, spread them out to cool, and finally packed them into twenty-seven servings.

He was generous with his money; a handful of dry noodles would normally yield nine portions, but he made three times that amount.

After seeing off the last customer, Lin Quan sat on a small stool and tallied the accounts.

"The payment via QuickPay came in at 880, and I received 280 in cash, totaling 1160; the cost of thirteen bowls of noodles was 130, and the seasonings, food containers, water, electricity, and gas added up to a little over 200—a net profit of over 900?"

He took a breath, pushed his tricycle straight to the market, and bought fifty bundles of noodles in one go.

I used thirteen at noon, and only seven are left. They won't last until tonight.

"We have enough scallions today, we'll get more tomorrow; we'll buy a few more pounds of cucumbers."

Back in his rented room, he immediately set up a pot and cooked thirty bowls of noodles.

Few people return to the village at noon; most tenants are still at work.

"Luckily, the bucket is big enough, otherwise it really wouldn't have been able to hold it all."

It was only a little past 4:30 when someone knocked on the door to buy noodles.