Chapter Twenty-Two: Market Response

In the backyard, by the pond, Yang Cheng and Mei Yuchen were tossing stones, playing at fishing. It was quiet here; the backyard was so vast that several small courtyards stood empty, with no one assigned to live in them.

Suddenly, Mei Yuchen said, “Brother Cheng, you’re a good man.”

Yang Cheng looked at Mei Yuchen with a smile. “Oh? Why do you say that?”

“In this land of Flowing Clouds, it’s the law of the jungle, the strong are revered, and the weak are fated to be killed and oppressed. You’re like an anomaly here—like a glimmer of light in the darkness.”

Yang Cheng fell silent for a while, then asked, “So, tell me, why did your adoptive father hit you? Why did he drive you here?”

The handprint on Mei Yuchen’s face—apart from his mother, only Lu Baichuan in the backyard could have done it. His mother simply didn’t have that kind of strength, so it could only be one person. Yang Cheng had noticed it in the morning but kept quiet out of respect.

Mei Yuchen sighed and recounted what had happened earlier that morning. Yang Cheng shook his head. That Brother Lu really isn’t good at talking things through—since he can’t give guidance himself, he sends the boy to me.

Yang Cheng pointed to the grass, inviting Mei Yuchen to sit beside him.

“Let me ask you, did your father cherish you?”

“When he was alive, yes—he always cared for me.”

“Did he want to see you happy, or in pain?”

“Of course…” Mei Yuchen fell silent. In this state, he was certain his father would not have wanted to see him like this.

“If he knew how you are now, do you think it would pain him?”

Mei Yuchen said nothing.

“And does your mother care for you?”

“Do you think, seeing you brood in gloom each day, she feels any comfort?”

Mei Yuchen shook his head.

“And your adoptive father—he treats you as his own, though he’s not good with words and always wears a stern face.”

“Do you think he wants you to live entangled in hatred? If so, wouldn’t everything he risked his life for be in vain?”

Tears welled in Mei Yuchen’s eyes. “I’ve let them down. But I just can’t let go.”

Yang Cheng sighed. “No one can easily let go of such things. But now, your enemy is dead, your great vengeance avenged. What you lack is a way to release it. Think—why did such a calamity befall your family?”

“Because we weren’t strong enough. Even though my father was a master, he was outnumbered and isolated, which made others covet our treasures,” Mei Yuchen said bitterly.

“Yes. Things like this happen every day in the cultivation world. You’re just one among many. Right now, you’re not strong enough to deter others. But if you remain weak, someday you’ll face someone even stronger than your adoptive father. They might kill your adoptive father, your mother, and even me. You’ll still be powerless, and if you survive, you’ll bear yet another unforgettable pain.”

“So, you must let go. Your adoptive father has already avenged that past hatred. What you need now is to calm your heart and work to improve your cultivation. Your talent rivals Bai Muyun, the ‘Silver Threaded Jade Sword.’ You have hope of becoming stronger, even reaching the summit. Only then can you protect those you wish to protect, and prevent a second tragedy. But as you are now, you’re letting yourself go, ignoring your own gifts. So, for your own sake, for your family’s, make good use of your talent.”

Mei Yuchen closed his eyes. He seemed to see himself, if he continued down this willful path, losing his family again to new enemies, still powerless to stop it… Startled, cold sweat broke out on his brow.

He came to his senses. “I understand now, Brother Cheng.”

“From today on, I’ll let go of that hatred and work hard to improve myself.” Suddenly, Mei Yuchen felt much lighter.

“Good. I believe in you. And you must live happily—for your father, your mother, your adoptive father, and for me as well. None of us would wish to see you unhappy.”

Looking at Yang Cheng, Mei Yuchen said, “I will, Brother Cheng. I’ll protect you too—you’re too weak.”

“Uh…” Can we not talk about that? Yang Cheng thought. That’s a sore spot—of all the luck, to end up in the cultivation world as a good-for-nothing.

“I won’t let anyone extinguish that glimmer of light in the darkness,” Mei Yuchen said, gazing into the distance, his eyes resolute.

In no time, the first batch of food supplies was ready. One hundred shops across the eastern, southern, western, and northern districts sent people to the old residence to collect their orders early in the morning. On the first day, all the shopkeepers were anxious, each collecting only enough for about a hundred people, wary of taking too much in case it didn’t sell.

The old residence had now become a full-fledged distribution center. Steward Yang had demolished all unnecessary rooms; aside from two rooms left for the staff, the rest were converted into storage. Payment and distribution were handled—today was mainly about completing that first transaction.

Old Yang himself oversaw everything, greeting and sending guests off with a smile. As people left, he reminded the shop assistants, “Three days from now, there will be a second product launch—your boss is cordially invited.” He repeated the new address several times for emphasis.

At Flowing Cloud Pavilion, Boss Zhu was up before dawn, urging his assistant to pick up the goods. He wanted to offer his guests a breakfast like no other. He remembered the young master of the Yang family saying that this would eventually draw regulars from the neighborhood, and at the time, he’d been excited. As time passed, though, doubts crept in—he couldn’t shake the feeling that he’d been taken in. Ah well, might as well try it out.

A hundred servings wasn’t much, really—fifty dumplings and fifty bowls of noodles. At dawn, he had his assistant shout, “Nothing’s tastier than dumplings! Come and try!” Passersby and guests preparing to go out heard the cries and gathered curiously.

Boss Zhu knew a thing or two about business—he’d arranged for relatives and friends to pose as customers. As the crowd grew, one relative picked up a dumpling, popped it in his mouth, and exaggerated his enjoyment. “Delicious! So fresh and tender—nothing beats these dumplings!”

On the other side, a large bowl of noodles was doused with sizzling oil, the aroma of spicy oil wafting through the air, making people swallow involuntarily.

When they asked the price, it was twenty silver coins per serving—not expensive for the guests staying at the inn, so many were willing to try. Even young noblemen passing by couldn’t resist a taste and lavished praise. Remembering their elders and family heads, they bought a few more portions to take home, hoping to win some favor.

The morning’s hawking drew in quite a few affluent passersby. Not many people knew about it yet, but by noon, they’d sold thirty or forty portions.

At lunchtime, as Boss Zhu was still feeling anxious, one of the young noblemen who’d come in the morning returned, bringing a group of friends. More and more of the morning’s customers brought others along, some not only eating in but packing up several servings to take away.

Soon, everything was sold out. Boss Zhu could only apologize repeatedly and promise to reserve some for them tomorrow—there would be none available tonight.

A local family, the Wang clan’s kitchen steward, came by to order fifty servings each of dumplings and noodles, saying the master’s children had lost their appetite lately. If they liked tomorrow’s meal, they’d place regular orders with Boss Zhu and have their own staff cook it.

Wiping the sweat from his brow, Boss Zhu promptly instructed his assistant to tell Steward Yang to double—no, quadruple—the order for tomorrow.

Boss Zhu was well-liked, and several neighboring shopkeepers he knew eyed his business all day, coming over with eager smiles to inquire. Patting his belly, Old Zhu grinned, “Sorry, I’ve already paid handsomely for the exclusive rights. Within a two-mile radius, you’ll have to buy from me.”

The next day, most shops doubled their orders; some even quadrupled or quintupled them. Fortunately, they’d been forewarned—otherwise, there would surely have been a shortage. That very afternoon, several business-savvy shopkeepers approached Old Yang to request a franchise. The young master had already authorized Old Yang to handle all contracts. According to the agreement, seventeen more shops sufficiently distant from the original franchisees were selected; after paying eight hundred spirit coins each, they signed up to begin receiving supplies the day after next.

Those who missed the chance to join were full of regret—why hadn’t they attended that product launch sooner? Old Yang quickly followed up with a bit of promotion: “Everyone, don’t be anxious. If you missed out this time, there’s still a chance at our new product launch in two days. Though it won’t be dumplings or noodles, we’ll have other delicious options—nothing inferior. Your presence is most welcome.”

By the third day, they had already expanded to seventy-nine shops.