Transmigrated into a minor official in a county government, with children at home waiting for rice t

After the end-of-duty bell rang, Zhang Sanlang packed up the case files and documents and went home.

We bypassed the main street and turned into Kujing Alley. At the entrance of the alley, a woman was squatting by the old well, drawing water, the well wheel creaking and groaning.

The door of the old house was ajar.

He pushed open the door and went inside; the courtyard was filled with the aroma of millet porridge.

happy Mei was squatting in front of the earthen stove under the eaves, stirring the pot, while Qing Ge was lying on the low table, drawing characters on the muddy ground with a twig. Hearing footsteps, Qing Ge threw down the twig and ran over.

"Dad's back!"

Xi Mei turned around, poked the fire in the stove with a poker, stood up and wiped her hands on her apron. "Dad, the porridge is almost ready. Aunt Sun came over today to help me cut some cloth, saying that it will take two or three days to make my winter clothes."

"Qing-ge'er's little jacket is simple, but adults' clothes are more complicated. Aunt Sun even taught me how to take measurements and draw lines on them."

As she spoke, she turned around and deftly took the iron pot off the stove, along with three rough earthenware bowls and three pairs of chopsticks, and arranged them on the low table.

Zhang Sanlang washed his face and sat down at the low table.

Three bowls of millet porridge, a dish of pickled radishes, and three pairs of chopsticks were neatly arranged on the table.

Qingge climbed onto the bench, picked up the bowl, blew on it twice, and stuck out his tongue because it was so hot.

happy Mei tapped the rim of his bowl lightly with her chopsticks: "Drink slowly, no one's going to take it from you."

Zhang Sanlang picked up the bowl and took a sip.

The porridge was thicker than usual, and the millet grains were a bit sticky. Stirring it with chopsticks wasn't as easy as usual.

Qingge picked up a piece of pickled radish and chewed it with a crunching sound. He mumbled that he and the boy next door had caught a grasshopper in the alley this morning and then released it.

While serving food to her younger brother, happy Mei'er chatted about everyday things.

What? Ah Yun's fingers are swollen from pasting cardboard boxes until midnight lately. What? Mother He's jar of pickled radishes is almost empty.

After chatting and laughing for a while, Ximei suddenly put down her chopsticks. "Dad, Grandpa Sun hurt his back while unloading cargo at the dock today. Sister Yun said he went to the clinic to buy some ointment this afternoon."

Zhang Sanlang stopped eating. "How badly are you injured?"

"Sister Yun said it wasn't too serious. She applied a plaster, and the doctor said it would be fine after two or three days of rest. When we came back, we were pushing an empty cart and didn't ask anyone to help us."

A short while later, Zhang Sanlang finished the remaining porridge in his bowl and stood up. "I'll go check on him."

happy Mei'er was clearing away the dishes. Qing Ge'er slid off the bench to follow, but happy Mei'er grabbed him by the back of the collar, saying, "Don't be silly, Dad has something to do."

Qingge pouted and sat back down at the low table, continuing to use a twig to draw words.

The gatehouse is located at the outermost part of the old house, right next to the courtyard gate.

Zhang Sanlang walked to the door and knocked on the door panel.

There was a rustling sound from inside, followed by Old Sun's voice: "Who is it? Come in, the door's not locked."

His voice was a little hoarse, unlike his usual deep and resonant voice.

He pushed open the door and went inside. A small oil lamp was lit in the room, its flame flickering.

Old Sun lay on his side on the wooden bed, an old burlap sash draped around his waist, and the room was filled with the strong smell of plaster.

"Uncle Sun," Zhang Sanlang sat down on the edge of the bed, "I heard you hurt your back, so I came to check on you."

Old Sun turned his head to look at Zhang Sanlang, his lips moved slightly, "Is such a small matter worth your trip? My house is a mess."

As he spoke, he tried to prop himself up, but Zhang Sanlang gently pressed him back down.

The movement was very gentle, but Old Sun fell silent, turned his head back to look at Zhang Sanlang.

"How many days does the doctor say it will take for your injury to heal?"

"Li Yitie at the end of the alley said that I hadn't broken any bones, just twisted a tendon. He gave me a few acupuncture needles, put on a plaster, and said I would be fine in two or three days."

He paused for a moment, then said, "Zhang Shi, don't laugh at me. When I was younger, I could carry a whole bushel of grain on my shoulder and walk away. Now, when I'm unloading goods, I can't even hold a bag of rice properly before I strain my back."

Zhang Sanlang knew the weight of those words. Dockworkers relied on their strength for a living; their backs were their livelihood. If their backs were ruined, they were useless. "Uncle Sun, haven't you thought about finding another way to make a living?"

Old Sun smiled bitterly upon hearing this, raised his hand and gently pressed his waist, sighed and slowly sat up straight.

His sigh carried a sense of resignation and despair, as he poured out all the old stories that had been weighing on his heart for over a decade.

He doesn't necessarily have to do physically demanding work, but he doesn't know how to do anything else.

In his youth, he had a wife and land in the countryside. During the off-season, he would carry a load on his shoulder and walk from village to village selling honey cakes. He earned a living by working in the fields and carrying the load to make a living.

Later, when his wife fell ill, he sold the family's only five acres of land and spent more than 200,000 strings of cash to hire doctors. After more than half a year and dozens of doses of herbal medicine, she still passed away.

Instead, his son resented him, feeling that his efforts to treat his mother's illness were a bottomless pit, ultimately resulting in the loss of both his money and his mother, and even the sale of the land he had prepared for his own marriage.

The father and son had a big fight, and the son stole the last twenty-odd strings of cash in the house to join the army, and was never heard from again.

My spouse is gone, my son is gone, my land is gone, my money is gone...

He had no choice but to push an old wheelbarrow into the county town to find some manual labor to earn a living.

The room fell silent for a moment.

The light from the oil lamp shone on Old Sun's face, making his wrinkles appear even deeper.

"Why not sell honey balls in the city?"

Old Sun blushed slightly.

Fortunately, the oil lamp was dim, which concealed the truth. "These honey balls are nothing special. They're just local hawthorns coated with sugar frosting. There are many people selling them in the county town. Wang the Cripple at the street corner can sell dozens of balls a day."

Hawthorn berries are coated with icing sugar.

As Zhang Sanlang listened to the description, the image of candied hawthorns he had seen on the street before came to mind; back then, people called them "honey tarts."

This stuff really doesn't have any barriers to entry. The hawthorns are from Juancheng, and the maltose is readily available from the general store. Anyone can make it.

There are at least fourteen or fifteen stalls selling honey balls in the county town. Old Sun, a clumsy and awkward old man from the countryside, carries his load and tries to compete with others for business, so naturally he can't sell any.

He mentally assessed the commercial tax situation near the dock.

Turn east at the East Wharf, near the Guangji Bridge, there's an empty stall. It belonged to a pancake vendor who owed taxes and had his tax certificate revoked.

The dockworker's head was surnamed He, and he had several henchmen, all of whom were local hooligans.

The laborers received no stipends and relied entirely on the headman to siphon off a small portion of their ill-gotten gains. They were arrogant in front of the vendors, but would put on a smiling face in front of the yamen officials.

After a moment's thought, Zhang Sanlang brought up the matter of the empty stall. He knew He Lantou, and his servants would give him face. Taxes were unavoidable, but he could set up the stall for a hundred coins a month, a reduction of half compared to others.

Old Sun's eyes lit up, but quickly dimmed again. "But...but I only know how to make honey balls, I don't know how to make anything else."

Zhang Sanlang thought for a moment and then laughed, "Uncle Sun, it's just a snack, nothing too fancy. The important thing is the stall itself. If you don't have any ideas, why not try making fried tofu first?"

Cut the tofu into thick slices, place them on a frying pan, fry until golden brown on both sides, sprinkle with salt, brush with a layer of fermented black bean sauce, and skewer them with bamboo skewers.