Bread Stuffed with Skewers
Baxian Town, as the starting point of the Nantong Canal, was technically a town—but a bustling one.
From the docks to the town entrance, less than two li apart, both sides of the road were lined with stalls of every kind.
The Liu family’s pancake stall stood near the town gate.
Business was neither good nor bad.
There were simply too many vendors selling food nearby.
Some sold steamed buns, fried dough sticks, and meat flatbreads; others sold dumplings and noodles—“dumplings when you board, noodles when you disembark”—the two most popular choices among travelers.
Still, running a stall was better than farming.
Beiyang County had more mountains than fields. Each household’s share of farmland was small. Had a band of marauders not slaughtered the surrounding landlords twenty years ago, the villagers would have even less land in their hands.
When Liu Yi arrived at the stall, it was mealtime—but only two customers sat there.
He was used to it.
With no boats docking and no outsiders in town, and with food stalls crowding every corner, his parents sold roughly a hundred pancakes a day, earning thirty or forty wen. Not enough to grow rich, but steady.
After seeing off the two customers, Liu Mu asked, “Have you eaten?”
“I have.”
“Dry or porridge?” she asked, though before he could answer she had already lifted the quilt covering the basket and taken out a steaming pancake.
Liu Yi smiled and accepted it. “Dry food, of course. The men at home have to work the fields—how could they do that on porridge? Father steamed some spinach corn buns.”
Liu Mu rolled her eyes. “How could those buns compare to our pancakes? Eat.”
“I named you Yi so you’d one day eat sugar candy every day. Instead, you’ve ended up living on thin gruel.”
“Only at supper,” Liu Yi corrected with a grin.
Before she could scold him, he turned and asked her to take the clay jar from his basket.
“Mother, with this jar alone, the Ye family won’t just eat dry meals every day soon—they’ll even have meat now and then.”
“What’s inside—gold?” Liu Mu hefted the heavy jar skeptically.
Liu Fu chuckled. Liu Yi grinned. “Open it and see.”
Curiosity piqued, Liu Mu set the jar beside the basket and lifted the lid.
A rich, spicy fragrance enveloped her at once.
She gasped softly and peered inside.
On the surface floated bright red oil speckled with white sesame seeds. Beneath lay tender spinach and unfamiliar morsels soaked in sauce.
“What is this?” she asked in surprise.
Without answering directly, Liu Yi split the pancake in his hand. From his basket he produced a pair of long chopsticks he had prepared that morning. He placed a chopstick-full of spinach and one orchid skewer inside the bread, then tore the pancake in two and handed half to each parent.
“Father, Mother—try it.”
The red oil had already soaked into the bread, staining it a vivid hue and releasing a mouthwatering aroma.
The pancake had softened slightly under the quilt in the basket, losing its crispness but retaining a pleasing chew.
Liu Mu took a bite.
Chewy, fragrant bread blended with spicy spinach and the orchid skewer—plus the deep richness of sesame paste. The flavors burst together at once, satisfying and exhilarating.
The skewer, simmered long enough to absorb the sauce, was tender yet springy. When she bit into it, juices burst forth.
The unusual texture made her widen her eyes. She took another large bite without hesitation.
Delicious.
“Wha’s this?” she asked through a full mouth, pointing at the skewer.
“It’s called an orchid skewer,” Liu Yi explained. “Made from firm tofu, fried first.”
“Tofu?” Liu Mu stared in disbelief.
Liu Fu was equally astonished.
That was tofu?
Liu Yi nodded calmly, waiting until they had swallowed before adding casually, “Ye Li made it.”
Both parents froze.
Thankfully, neither had food in their mouths this time.
Liu Yi quickly explained everything, then asked, “Mother, shall we sell bread stuffed with skewers?”
“Of course we shall!” Liu Mu answered without hesitation.
Liu Fu considered. “At what price?”
“One wen for three tofu puffs. One wen for a larger orchid skewer. Spinach—one wen for a generous chopstickful.”
Ye Li had set the price.
Using soybean oil had reduced costs by one wen per jin. With firewood free and labor disregarded, cost per jin came to just over five wen.
Ye Li sold to Ye Liang at eleven wen per jin to ensure the Ye family could profit too.
Seasonings were expensive—soybean oil and sesame paste were no small indulgences. To achieve rich fragrance, oil and sesame could not be spared.
At three puffs per wen, sixty per jin meant twenty wen revenue. After deducting four wen for seasoning and eleven wen for wholesale cost, the Ye family could earn five wen per jin.
As for labor and firewood—if no coin was spent, it was not considered a cost.
“Hmm… workable,” Liu Mu concluded after a moment’s thought.
Their pancakes, not pure white flour but mixed with cornmeal, weighed about three liang each and sold for two wen.
For just one additional wen, customers could transform an ordinary pancake into something extraordinary.
Neither parent objected.
Liu Yi stepped to the front and began to call out boldly:
“Bread stuffed with skewers! Spicy red oil bread stuffed with skewers! Free samples—come taste, no need to buy! Take a look, take a look—free tasting!”
His voice rang clear and confident.
“Free tasting” was irresistible.
Passersby and neighboring vendors alike turned to look.
A middle-aged man driving a mule cart had already passed the stall, but at the call, he turned back. Four or five others gathered.
Liu Yi recognized him—Zhu Xing, owner of the town’s oil press.
“Boss Zhu! Care to try our new red oil bread stuffed with skewers? Look at the color—delicious. Free tasting.”
Zhu Xing had already noticed the jar’s contents. The appearance alone was enticing. Though he had eaten breakfast, his stomach stirred again.
“Fine. I’ll try.”
“Free samples are usually spinach only,” Liu Yi said cheerfully, “but since you’re our first customer, you may try a tofu puff.”
Zhu Xing pinched the puff between his fingers, inspected it closely, then popped it into his mouth.
Without bread to dilute it, the spicy richness exploded—juicy, savory, with the tender chew of tofu beneath.
His eyes widened.
Spicy—
but extraordinarily good.
Before swallowing, he asked, “How much?”
“Three tofu puffs for one wen. Orchid skewers—one wen each. Spinach—one wen per chopstickful.”
Liu Yi added, “Though made of tofu, these are fried. And look at the seasoning—real oil, real sesame paste. We barely make anything at this price.”
Zhu Xing ran an oil press himself; he could tell oil from water.
Liu Yi wasn’t lying.
The lingering heat scratched at his appetite like a kitten’s paw.
“One pancake,” he said. “With some of that tofu.”
Liu Yi beamed.
Behind him, Liu Mu and Liu Fu quietly exhaled in relief.
It had sold.
Confidence meant little until coins changed hands.
Liu Yi filled the pancake with three tofu puffs and one orchid skewer.
Seeing the bread soaked in red oil made Zhu Xing hungrier still. “Another one. And add spinach.”
“Yes, sir!”
Four wen for one. Five wen for the other.
An auspicious beginning.
Now that Zhu Xing bit deeply into the bulging bread, sauce staining his lips, chewing with clear satisfaction, onlookers felt their throats tighten.
It was impossible not to crave.
Before Liu Yi finished serving him, two others called out:
“Boss, one for me too!”
Liu Yi’s smile widened further.
So smooth. Too smooth.
—
At the Jiang household—
Jiang Mai sat at the table, his gaze drifting from garlic-sautéed tofu to corn-and-bean pulp cakes, then settling on the willow baskets atop the stove.
Two baskets. One full. One half empty.
Today’s sales were slightly better than yesterday—thirteen jin sold so far.
“Eat before it cools,” Ye Li urged.
Jiang Mai picked up his chopsticks and bread reluctantly.
He worried.
What if the tofu puffs did not sell? If they failed, he and Ya-ge’er would refuse wages tomorrow.
Strange, too.
He was nearly sick with worry—yet this man remained calm, gentle as ever.
He glanced at Ye Li, who ate heartily, bread and tofu alternating without concern.
Jiang Mai’s brows knitted.
Just then, a voice rang from the courtyard gate.
“Li-ge’er? Are you home?”
His eyes lit up.
Dropping his chopsticks, he dashed outside.
Had the tofu puffs sold—or not?
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