He couldn’t see the man’s face clearly—but her smile was bright, vivid, dazzling. It was the smile of a woman who had married the man she truly desired.

He could not quite say what he was feeling—only that it was far from pleasant.

When he looked at Fan Changyu again, the corners of his lips pressed downward unconsciously.

After speaking, Fan Changyu saw that Xie Zheng hadn’t responded at all—instead, he was staring at her with a dark expression. She waved her hand in front of his eyes. “Did you hear what I just said?”

Xie Zheng came back to himself and quickly gathered his thoughts. “What did you say?”

Fan Changyu looked at him suspiciously. “What were you thinking about just now?”

Xie Zheng replied, “Nothing. I just woke up—my mind’s a bit dull.”

Fan Changyu had her own days of poor sleep and grogginess, so she didn’t doubt him. She got back to the point: “I need you to help me write a few words.”

Xie Zheng asked, “What words?”

Fan Changyu said, “Shopkeeper Yu said today’s business is in competition with Zuixian Pavilion—we can’t fall behind. Our braised meat needs a proper signboard like Wang Ji’s. Shopkeeper Yu left us a space outside the main hall to sell the braised meat. It’s too late to have a plaque made, so we’ll hang a cloth banner with writing for now.”

Xie Zheng nodded. “Have pen, ink, and cloth ready?”

“Shopkeeper Yu already prepared them,” Fan Changyu answered.

“Then let’s go,” Xie Zheng said.

The servants’ quarters for Yixiang Tower were right behind the establishment, so it was convenient. They used that same back alley to buy vegetables or carry out slop water; after all, the pavilion’s rear gate opened there.

As Fan Changyu and Xie Zheng stepped out, they happened to meet the men hauling away the slop.

During New Year’s Eve and New Year’s Day, the haulers had stayed home for the holiday, so Yixiang Tower’s slop had gone uncollected. That morning, they were finally removing it.

Luckily, the bitter winter air had kept it from smelling.

The alley was narrow, so when the slop cart passed, they had to press close to the wall. Otherwise, it would be easy to get splashed by the filthy barrels.

Just as the cart was nearly past them, one wheel struck a stone. The whole cart jolted, and the lid of the nearest barrel bounced up—slop spilled out in a splash.

Xie Zheng’s brows knit. Quick as lightning, he pulled Fan Changyu toward him.

She stumbled straight into his chest, hard as stone, just as the slop splattered onto the spot where she had been standing a heartbeat earlier.

The old man driving the cart turned and apologized repeatedly. “So sorry, so sorry! The wheel hit a stone—did it splash on you?”

Xie Zheng glanced at Fan Changyu’s skirt hem. “No, it didn’t. You may go, elder.”

Only then did the old man flick the reins and continue on.

Fan Changyu remained silent, and Xie Zheng suddenly realized he was still gripping her wrist. A tremor passed through his chest; he released her at once, hiding his hand behind his back. His palm felt seared. “You—”

He managed only one word before falling silent.

Fan Changyu lowered her head. Two drops of blood from her nose fell onto the thinly iced blue-stone pavement. Her expression was one of utter despair.

She had hit his chest so hard that she’d given herself a nosebleed.

After two beats of silence, Xie Zheng said, “Apologies.”

Fan Changyu answered thickly through her nose, “It’s fine,” but the pain in the bridge of her nose brought tears to her eyes—reflexive, shimmering, and pitiful to see.

She pulled out her own handkerchief and dabbed at the blood in a hurry, but no sooner had she wiped it clean than more began to flow. Tilting her head back to stop it, she was suddenly pressed forward again by a firm hand at the back of her head.

Xie Zheng said, “Don’t tilt your head when you have a nosebleed.”

Fan Changyu could only hold the handkerchief to her nostrils, muffled and dejected. “First thing in the morning and already seeing blood… looks like bad luck’s coming my way.”

“I’m sorry,” Xie Zheng said again.

Fan Changyu gave a helpless little sigh. “I was joking. How could I have bad luck? I’m blessed by the stars—fortune comes to me daily!”

The bleeding seemed to have stopped, though her nose still felt sore and stuffy. Removing the handkerchief, she sniffed softly. “Guess it’s blessings and misfortunes going hand in hand. I dodged being splashed by that slop water, only to smash my nose on you instead. But I’d rather a nosebleed than a bucket of swill on my head—so really, I came out ahead!”

Afraid he would still feel guilty, she even flared her nostrils twice to show him. “See? It’s stopped—”

The last word caught in her throat.

Xie Zheng had taken the handkerchief from her and was gently wiping the traces of blood from beside her nose. “There’s still a bit left here. Don’t breathe too hard—it’s only just stopped.”

Even through the fabric, she could clearly feel the pressure of his fingertips.

He was, without doubt, someone favored by Heaven at birth—sword-like brows, star-bright eyes, features finely cut yet free of effeminacy. A light breeze brushed past him, stirring his sleeves and the loose strands at his temples. From atop the wall, a dry branch quivered and released a single brown leaf that drifted down between them.

Fan Changyu suddenly felt like a lobster that had once brandished its claws with pride, now struck dumb and unsure how to move them.

When Xie Zheng drew back his hand and saw her staring blankly, he asked, “Still hurt?”

Fan Changyu shook her head, half teasing. “If your temper stays this gentle, you’ll never lack for girls who like you.”

For a fleeting moment, something cold passed through Xie Zheng’s gaze. His dark eyes slid to her; the fingers still holding her handkerchief twitched lightly as he replied with a thin smile, “Then I’ll borrow your good words.”

Fan Changyu blinked in confusion. She’d meant it as a compliment—why did he suddenly sound so sharp?

They entered Yixiang Tower through the back door. While Xie Zheng wrote on the triangular cloth banners Yu Qianqian had prepared, Fan Changyu, remembering he hadn’t eaten, went to the kitchen to fetch some steamed buns and porridge for him.

By the time she returned, several servants had already gathered around to watch, and even the accounting clerk was praising his elegant calligraphy.

When the ink had dried, the shophands helped hang the banners.

Fan Changyu took one look—just the four plain words Fan Ji Lu Rou (Fan’s Braised Meat), yet under his brush they came alive: bold strokes, flowing energy, every line full of strength. Hung in four triangular pieces of red cloth, they looked finer than a golden-lacquered plaque.

Pleased, she handed him the bowl of porridge and the buns. “Here, eat something to fill your stomach.”

Yu Qianqian happened to pass by the hall, saw the crimson banners with those beautifully written characters, and clicked her tongue in admiration, praising Fan Changyu for finding herself a good husband.

She even offered a clever suggestion: “Sister Changyu, you should have a batch of paper bags made later, and print these characters—your husband’s handwriting—on the seals. Whenever someone buys your braised meat, pack it in those. You’ll outshine Wang Ji in no time.”

Most vendors sold cooked food wrapped in oil paper; Fan Changyu’s shop did the same. That oil paper, impervious to grease, had one smooth side for wrapping the food and one rough side facing outward.

Fan Changyu also noticed that Yixiang Tower’s hotpot bases were packaged in paper boxes—each printed with elegant floral-and-bird patterns and bound with fine hemp twine tied into beautifully intricate knots she had never seen before.

Yu Qianqian had especially asked her to braise an extra pot of meat to be left at the storefront for sale.

A sudden idea flashed through Fan Changyu’s mind. While Xie Zheng was drinking his porridge, she slipped out, and when she returned, she was carrying a stack of oil paper and a roll of thin hemp twine.

She cut half a jin of pig head meat, wrapped it carefully in the oil paper, and tied it with a neat little knot. It looked quite proper—only, the oil paper bore no Fan Ji inscription.

Just as Xie Zheng finished his porridge and pickles, he looked up to find Fan Changyu gazing at him with bright, burning eyes.

“Yan Zheng,” she said, “why don’t you help me write a few more words?”

Xie Zheng: “….”

By noon, before the banquet began, he had written on over a hundred sheets of oil paper, inscribing the words by hand on the rough side.

When Yu Qianqian passed by again and saw Fan Changyu’s improvised solution, she smiled. “Truly, husband and wife of one heart—their strength can cut through gold.”

Noticing that Fan Changyu’s knots were a little crooked, she even bent down to show her how to tie them properly. “Loop this string around from here, then tie it this way—looks much better.”

Fan Changyu thanked her sincerely, but Yu Qianqian clapped her on the shoulder and said, “Thank me for what? We’re all working together today. If your braised meat loses to Wang Ji’s, my face would be the one to fall.”

By late morning, Yixiang Tower was bustling with life. Guests began to arrive one after another. There were over ten attendants assigned to receiving them—male guests were welcomed by waiters, and female guests by neatly dressed maidservants.

Both waiters and maids carried themselves with poised grace, smiling warmly but without servility, unlike the staff of ordinary taverns.

For ladies sensitive to the cold, the restaurant even prepared hand warmers—truly thoughtful.

Fan Changyu couldn’t help saying to Xie Zheng, “Yixiang Tower is the grandest restaurant I’ve ever seen.”

“It’s acceptable,” Xie Zheng replied.

In the capital, there were establishments even finer than this one, but for such a provincial town, opening a restaurant of this standard meant that the lady shopkeeper indeed possessed considerable capability.

Fan Changyu gave him a sidelong glance. “Why is it so hard for you to say something nice?”

“When you’ve seen better,” Xie Zheng said, “you won’t praise everything you see.”

“.…”

So that was a jab, wasn’t it?

Deciding not to argue, she fell silent. But they didn’t stay idle for long, as someone soon came asking, “How much for your braised meat?”

Only today did Fan Changyu learn that Yixiang Tower priced their braised meat at one hundred coins per jin—twice the rate she usually sold it for.

After she nervously quoted the price, the young servant didn’t even try to bargain and immediately ordered three jin.

Fan Changyu froze for a moment before hastily slicing and wrapping the meat, still dazed. Was doing business under Yixiang Tower’s name really this easy?

When the servant had left, she whispered to Xie Zheng, “This is the first time I’ve sold braised meat at such a high price. I feel a bit guilty.”

“Look at the wine seller beside you,” Xie Zheng said.

The wine stall belonged to one of the county’s most renowned old distilleries—and their business was even brisker than hers.

Fan Changyu watched for a while but couldn’t figure out what he meant. “What about them?” she asked.

Xie Zheng lifted his gaze to her. “Didn’t you notice that one small jar of wine costs nearly a tael of silver?”

Fan Changyu nodded quickly like a pecking chick. “I did—but wine’s supposed to be expensive, isn’t it?”

Xie Zheng gave a short, amused breath. “Expensive? In what way? Wine is nothing more than grain and yeast brewed together. Its cost is likely lower than that of your meat.”

Fan Changyu thought about the price of pork versus grain and realized—he actually had a point.

Xie Zheng continued, “Whether something is cheap or expensive depends on whether people will buy it. If a crowd of people is willing to pay high prices, the thing becomes valuable. But if everyone only offers low prices, then it’s worthless.”

Fan Changyu nodded half in understanding, half in confusion.

After a few more sales, she gradually began to grasp the idea herself.

The people dining at Yixiang Tower were all wealthy families—none of them short on money. Most of them carried the mindset that “expensive means good.” For such people, value for money wasn’t a virtue but a warning sign.

If something they usually bought for high prices was suddenly offered cheaply, their first thought wouldn’t be that they’d gotten a bargain—it would be suspicion that something must be wrong with it.

Thinking about that, she began to understand why the dishes at Yixiang Tower were all priced higher than those at ordinary restaurants.

The quality of the food was one reason, but another lay in human vanity. Yu Qianqian had turned Yixiang Tower into a place where only the elite dined. Spending lavishly there didn’t just buy exquisite food—it purchased the feeling of being above others.

Before the banquet started, business at Fan Changyu’s stall was quiet. The few sales she made were from passersby buying something to take home for the New Year feast.