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

"When the porters on the docks were hungry and wanted something hot to eat, but didn't have much time to sit down and have a proper meal, buying a skewer of fried tofu and eating it on the go was the easiest thing to do."

Old Sun listened without interrupting.

"Let me do the math for you. The daily lodging tax is three coins, charcoal is ten coins, oil, salt, soy sauce and other condiments are seven coins, and a block of tofu is three coins. If you cut it into ten small pieces, you'll need ten blocks of tofu a day. That adds up to fifty coins a day."

"A small piece of fried tofu sells for one coin. If you sell a hundred pieces a day, you'll earn a hundred coins. After deducting the cost, you'll make a net profit of fifty coins. In a month, that's a thousand five hundred coins. Even after deducting some unexpected expenses, earning a string of cash shouldn't be difficult."

"The only big thing I need is a flat-bottomed iron pan. A new one costs two hundred coins, but if I find a secondhand one, I can get it for a hundred or so. Every morning I get up early to go to the market to buy tofu and fry it until the market closes at late afternoon."

Old Sun's Adam's apple bobbed. "Posting Division, thank you. In all my years, apart from when my wife was alive, no one has ever thought of these things for me."

Zhang Sanlang glanced at him and said, "You should focus on getting your back back healed. Once your back is better, everything else will be easier to discuss."

After leaving Old Sun's gatehouse, Zhang Sanlang didn't go straight back to the east wing. He walked across the courtyard towards the back wing. The back wing was at the deepest part of the old house, where the He family lived in three rooms, with several earthenware jars for pickling vegetables placed under the eaves.

Mother He was squatting under the eaves, fiddling with a row of small pottery jars.

Some were open, some were sealed with mud, and some were covered with coarse porcelain dishes. She held a pair of long bamboo chopsticks in her hand, brought them close to smell them one by one, and then used the tips of the chopsticks to pick out a little to taste.

"Grandma He." Zhang Sanlang walked closer.

Mrs. He raised her eyelids, wiped her hands with her apron, and smiled. "The post office is here. Did you finish the pickled radishes? I'll get you another jar."

Just as Zhang Sanlang was about to speak, his gaze was involuntarily drawn to the row of earthenware jars under the eaves. There were more than ten of them, some large and some small, and he then realized that they did not all contain pickled radishes.

Seeing him staring at the jar, He's mother straightened up with a smile, "These are all things that this old woman just messed around with."

Pointing to the jars, she recounted them with familiarity: "This jar is shrimp paste, made from small green shrimp caught in the Guangji River, chopped up, salted, and sealed; this jar is sesame paste, made from freshly ground roasted sesame seeds, perfect for mixing with noodles."

"This jar contains pickled garlic; the spring garlic has been soaking for several months and is now translucent. This jar contains chive blossoms; the tender tips of the chives are picked right now, mashed together with salt, and are best eaten with tofu."

"That large, rough porcelain jar contains mustard tubers. The mustard roots are pickled with Sichuan peppercorns and salt, so they're slightly salty. They're perfect for shredding and mixing with millet rice."

"The short, stout ones next to it are braised eggplants. Autumn eggplants are dried until wilted and then buried in a braising jar, where the saltiness seeps in. You take one out, tear it into strips, and steam it on top of millet rice; it's even more delicious with rice than meat."

"That long, thin jar contains pickled cowpeas. The cowpeas are blanched, soaked in lightly salted water, and left to ferment for a few days until they turn sour. They're then chopped up and stir-fried with other vegetables; the taste is absolutely delicious."

"The largest jar contains eight-treasure pickles, a mixture of shredded radish, shredded mustard greens, shredded ginger, garlic cloves, cucumber strips, and many other things. Each ingredient is added at a different time, and it takes several solar terms to pickle them together."

Zhang Sanlang, unperturbed by her rambling, listened with a smile as she explained, "Grandma He, these pickles you've prepared so meticulously, why don't you take them to the docks to sell? Or to restaurants?"

Mother He clapped her hands, as if amused by these words, "Zhang Si, you are a kind person, but what do you think a restaurant is? High-ranking officials and nobles would never look at this pickled vegetable, their tables are set with mutton and fish sashimi."

Even the poorest common people will pickle vegetables in their jars. Although the taste may not be good, they are still good to eat with rice. Who would spend money to buy someone else's?

"Salt is so expensive, I only use it to smell it. Seasonal vegetables don't keep well either. Radishes are only available for one season, mustard greens for one season, and once they're out of season, they're gone."

"These jars of food look like a lot, but they're just enough for my own family and a few more to give to relatives and neighbors. It's just that everyone has different tastes, and you can't really tell good from bad. Anything that goes well with rice is good stuff."

She wiped the bamboo chopsticks on her apron. "To be honest, it's just that this old woman has a sweet tooth. Back in the countryside, life was tough, so we tried every possible way to pickle vegetables and store them. When we had a lot, we would pickle them in different ways."

"When I got tired of pickling radishes, I pickled mustard greens; when I got tired of pickling mustard greens, I pickled eggplants. Decades have passed in the blink of an eye, and looking back, I'm amazed at how many different kinds of pickles I've made."

After listening, Zhang Sanlang suddenly gave a self-deprecating laugh.

He recalled his limited social experience from his later life: brand premium, differentiated competition, and the lower-tier market...

The sight of these pickled vegetables in front of Mother He's row of jars became a joke. This era had its own logic: salt was expensive, vegetables were cheap, and every household pickled vegetables, mostly to add a salty flavor to their meals; no one would spend money to buy pickled vegetables from someone else.

"Grandma He, do you sell your eight-treasure vegetables? I'd like to buy some to make porridge."

Mrs. He waved her hand, "What are you selling? If you like it, I'll scoop a jar for you."

As he spoke, he turned and went into the house to take out a small earthenware jar. Using bamboo chopsticks, he picked out shredded radish, shredded mustard greens, shredded ginger, and cucumber strips from the eight-treasure vegetable jar, selecting a little of each and arranging them neatly, filling the jar more than halfway.

Zhang Sanlang took the jar and pulled out a small string of copper coins from his sleeve.

Twenty coins.

"Posting officer! You're insulting this old woman! A small jar of pickled vegetables isn't worth twenty coins!"

He's wife came out of the house at some point, smiling and saying that Zhang Tiesi was too kind, while taking the string of copper coins and putting them into her bosom.

"Zhang Tiesi is such a kind person. My grandma has been pickling vegetables all her life and she's never seen anyone who knows their stuff so well. Try it and see if you like it. If you need more, come and buy more."

The smile on He's mother's face faded slightly.

She glanced at her daughter-in-law, then at Zhang Sanlang, her lips moved, but she ultimately said nothing.

She simply pushed the jar towards Zhang Sanlang, telling him to come back for more after he finished eating, and not to be polite with the old lady.

Zhang Sanlang saw this but said nothing.

He carefully put the jar away, nodded to Grandma He, and said, "Grandma He, this eight-treasure pickled vegetable is the best I've ever eaten. I'll come to buy it often from now on, so please make more."

Mother He stood on the veranda, rubbing her hands, watching him walk out of the back room.

He's eldest daughter-in-law counted the copper coins over and over again, muttering that Zhang Tiesi was really generous, but was interrupted by He's mother: "You should say less."

He's eldest daughter-in-law pursed her lips, stuffed the money into her bosom, and went back into the house. He's mother squatted alone under the eaves, playing with the bamboo chopsticks she had just tasted, and didn't get up for a long time.

Two days later, it will be the Mid-Autumn Festival.

The county government office was given a day off.

Early in the morning, Zhang Sanlang took Ximei and Qingge out the door.

The festive atmosphere was strong on the main street, and lanterns were hung at the entrances of all the well-known shops.

The mooncake stalls were crowded with people, and vendors selling pomegranates and autumn pears carried their wares along the street. Iron woks for roasting chestnuts were sizzling over a high flame, with sand and maltose sizzling inside. The sweet aroma mingled with the autumn breeze and wafted across half the street.