Chapter 100: The Invincible Vegetable Market

The Yutang Chunnan Restaurant sits in the very center, transformed into a small pavilion nestled beside a pond, complete with two ornate birdcages showcasing classic South Cage craftsmanship. The decor carries a deeply classical elegance, with every chair crafted from pure redwood. Encountering the waitstaff evokes a profound sense of stepping back in time—the men dressed like traditional waiters, the women like maids, moving with quiet efficiency as they serve tea and pour water with unflagging diligence. On each table rests a folded newspaper alongside a full array of tea sets.

The dishes arrive in abundance: phoenix claws, spare ribs, crab roe siu mai, crispy roast pork buns, signature swan puffs, crispy roast suckling pig, crab roe xiaolongbao, golden crispy tofu, and more. Over a dozen baskets grace the table. The crab roe siu mai reveal a perfect interplay of lean and fat pork, releasing juices so fragrant and savory they burst directly onto the tongue, lingering with an unforgettable aftertaste. What sets the crab roe apart is its restraint—it never overwhelms but instead softens the pork’s inherent richness, sharpening every note of umami.

The dry-steamed dumplings here are handmade one by one, each unique. A small spare rib appeared among them, adding a pleasant surprise. Honey-glazed phoenix claws, praised by Cai Lan as the undisputed pinnacle of the classic, carry a distinctive flavor found nowhere else. The first bite carries a taste unlike any other, braised until meltingly tender with fruit peel or star anise. The flavors remain rich and satisfying. Dry-fried beef noodles, when transferred to the bowl, carry no trace of oil, the beef retaining just the right chew while chives gently counterbalance any richness. The only shortcoming is a touch lacking in wok hei, the fire still slightly underdone.

Shrimp dumplings boast skins fried until perfectly crisp, melting at once in the mouth. The filling contains ample seafood without excess flour, generous and satisfying. Osmanthus cake shines with crystalline clarity, jelly-like in texture; the first bite releases the full seasonal perfume of osmanthus. Sha Qima arrives light and crisp rather than hard, its texture echoing egg custard with sweetness perfectly balanced. After such a satisfying feast, one still feels the appetite unsatisfied, yet satisfied nonetheless. Boat-shaped porridge, steamed spare ribs, three-sauce rice noodle rolls, crab roe xiaolongbao, spare ribs and phoenix claws rice, durian puffs, milky yellow glutinous rice balls, and countless others followed.

Leaning back against the chair, a contented burp escaped. The seat faced the floor-to-ceiling glass windows, offering a sweeping view of the surging Pearl River. The meal concluded, the bill totaled nine hundred and sixty yuan. Full and content, one steps out to digest the experience.

Driving to Huangsha Market, the nation’s foremost seafood gathering place. Known as “seeing domestic seafood in Guangzhou, prices in Huangsha.” Chen Xiaoqing once observed that the best way to understand a city lies in its wet markets.

At four in the morning, the lingering aftertaste of fish, shrimp, crab, and shellfish still dances on the tongue. Local residents stroll home in small groups. Hundreds of delivery trucks laden with seafood from every corner of the world approach from every direction, their fresh vitality dripping down the entire street as thousands of tons arrive with the dawn.

At six in the morning, freshly landed seafood settle into position while collection vehicles from every seafood restaurant in the city stream into the market. A salty, oceanic breeze carries on the air. The sun rises just above the White Swan Pond. Stall owners step into the muddy dawn to begin the day’s labor.

No one has witnessed Huangsha Seafood Market in silence. The daytime bustle of cars and crowds blends seamlessly into the noisy nights, the unspoken 24-hour supply and all-night operations quietly sustaining the live seafood that defines Guangzhou’s palate.

Guangzhou possesses a free-spirited temperament. In the early nineties, music teahouses, night markets, and dai pai dong formed the three pillars of urban life, dai pai dong the most comfortable and intimate.

After exploring Gao Di Street, the most convenient meal is a dai pai dong lunch on Hui Fu West Road. Couples strolling along the Pearl River most cherish this: emerging from the theater at dusk on Xi Hao Er Ma Road, walking into the small hours until Sha Ji Yong, sharing a bowl of boat porridge—pure romance.

Gradually dai pai dong could no longer satisfy those with refined palates. Those who had prospered first began emulating the Sai Kung pier’s model of specializing in seafood. Using warehouses at the Da Sha Tou river transport pier, they transformed the site into a street of grand seafood dining halls.

Sai Kung Fishery Port enjoys a superior position, overlooking the river. Wind from the water, lights gleaming on both banks, one stir-fries shrimp, cracks crabs, picks river snails, sips beer, and sighs that life is simply this.

In those ten years, foreign visitors to Guangdong who had never dined at Sai Kung Fishery Port had not truly been to Guangzhou—a quiet regret akin to never having seen the Great Wall.

In 1997, Huangsha Seafood Market became South China’s primary seafood distribution center. The following year it rose to become the nation’s largest by transaction volume. Australian lobsters, Canadian razor clams, Norwegian salmon—all first shipments passed through Huangsha.

At that time imported seafood prices remained opaque. Turning around at Huangsha and reselling elsewhere in the country could at least double the margin. One in, one out, daily income in doujin.

Surrounded by bustling crowds and a cacophony of noise, Zhuang Chen felt utterly at ease, a sensation like fish in water.

As a former apprentice, he had risen at five each morning, riding a tricycle piled high with ingredients, carrying the hopes of an entire day.

The market’s greatest feature lies downstairs: live seafood purchased and upstairs prepared fresh. Surrounding restaurants offer specialized processing, cooking the very creatures selected at the counter below.

Neighbors and passersby alike buy fresh shrimp and crabs at fair prices, preparing a special dish for tired families after a long day—a small daily delight on the tip of the tongue.

For children, following parents here feels like entering a vibrant aquarium.

Night workers too exhausted to cook discover Huangsha as a midnight canteen where choice is endless. During festivals and gatherings, relatives and friends occasionally choose this venue, grabbing a large lobster for an indulgent feast.

One browses slowly, selects carefully, savors the pleasure of negotiation. No seafood remains beyond reach. Arriving at the restaurant, slaughter and eat on the spot—this freshness stirs even greater excitement.

Zhuang Chen purchased more than a dozen black plastic bags, secretly poking small holes in the bottoms and whispering, “Seafood plus water weight four taels—never be a fool!”

“Just afraid of meeting dishonest bosses who swap dead for live when you’re not looking. Must keep eyes wide open, checking constantly whether the seafood is the very ones just purchased…”

“Some even stack the best, largest specimens on top and the dead ones below, scooping directly from the bottom. The price differences between good or poor, dead or alive, large or small are enormous—one must choose oneself.”

“Fish: the skin should feel smooth and supple, alive and thrashing, without deformation or injury—basically fresh.”

“Shellfish: tapping them produces a sound like stone. Full, resonant tones indicate quality; hollow, empty shells mean otherwise.”

“Snails: use a fingernail to hook; immediate retraction means good. If the meat protrudes and stays open, it is bad.”

“Clams: must feel full and alive. Pick up, press the shell; if the tongue emerges, it is satisfactory. When buying, shake off water and feel the tongue.”

“Meat crabs: press the abdomen. Hardness indicates quality. For roe crabs, cover the saw marks, hold to the light—the more prominent the angles, the better; fuller tail, the better; deepest red roe best.”

“As for mud crabs, pull the final leg—the one used for paddling. It should retract immediately upon release, proving it is alive. Those with fewer pincers are usually substandard pairs with one claw tied to match…”

Watching the firecracker boss in utter amazement, the auntie embodied, the monologue never ceased from start to finish.