Chapter Five: Securing a Steady Income

"There's no rush. These things are simple; you'll learn them just by watching a few times. If they like making them, let them do it well. We can take care of other things."

A few days ago, Chen Xin had bought a second-hand oven, planning to bake bread and cakes to sell herself. She had even learned to make hamburger buns before, so now she could make quick hamburgers for sale. And hamburgers had the particular advantage that their fillings could be prepared in advance and kept warm either in an insulated box or in a spare slot in the oven. When someone ordered one, she could assemble it on the spot. With enough practice, she could make a hamburger in less than a minute.

Alongside hamburgers, she could also sell fried chicken nuggets. At this time, fried chicken was much simpler than it would be in later years—even the spices had to be blended by hand, and special seasonings were out of the question. Fortunately, one of Chen Xin's former roommates loved eating these things but worried about the quality of the oil and meat outside, so she often pestered Chen Xin to make them at home. Over time, Chen Xin's fried chicken skills won over not only her roommates but also the neighbors, and it became routine to host BBQs on her small balcony every week.

Fried chicken was easy to make, but getting the ratio of seasoning and breadcrumbs right was tricky. The seasoning affected the flavor, of course, but few people realized that the breadcrumb quantity directly influenced the texture. There was another method of fried chicken that didn't require breadcrumbs, but it involved much more laborious meat preparation, which Chen Xin didn't need to bother with for her breakfast shop.

The next morning, the regulars at the breakfast shop discovered several new items on Chen Xin’s menu. First were the chicken and beef hamburgers.

The chicken in the hamburger was made from breast meat, pounded with the back of a knife until tender, then marinated overnight in spices. Before serving, it was coated in breadcrumbs and deep-fried for five to seven minutes until crisp outside and juicy within. Each piece was about half the size of a palm, nestled between the bun halves, along with slices of tomato, cucumber, and a leaf of crisp lettuce soaked in cold, salted water. The sauces were ketchup and a homemade salad dressing. When you bit into it, the freshly fried chicken still released tiny beads of oil, but the combination of three vegetables and two sauces kept it from feeling greasy—on the contrary, it tasted even better than homemade chicken.

The beef hamburger looked smaller but was packed with a thick beef patty, pre-fried and kept on an oil-draining rack. When a customer ordered one, Uncle Tie would pick up a patty with stainless steel tongs and slip it into the hot oil. The clear oil would instantly send up a puff of white smoke, and in a few moments the beef patty would turn golden and fragrant with a hint of char. Drained of oil, it would be topped with lettuce and salad dressing; those who liked tomato could ask for a slice, or a sprinkle of dry-fried chili powder for those who liked it spicy. Two slices of bread sandwiched it all together, and the steaming bite would warm the eater from the inside out.

For those who didn’t care for the slight sweetness of a hamburger bun, they could request to have their filling in a steamed bun instead. These were not the usual plain white buns, but specially made lotus-leaf buns—about a finger thick, folded over the meat filling. For those who liked it spicy, a bit of homemade chili sauce could be brushed inside. Paired with a bowl of porridge, it was so delicious you could swallow your tongue.

In addition to the usual soy milk and milk, Chen Xin had custom-ordered a row of four gas stoves along the wall. On top of these were clay pots with clear glass lids so customers could see the dishes inside.

Four of the most popular porridges—tremella soup, vegetable porridge, mung bean porridge, and preserved egg with lean pork congee—were kept warm on the stoves. When someone wanted a serving, it could be ladled straight into a bowl. For takeaway, the porridge was pre-packed into cups and stacked in insulated foam boxes. After all, most people eating on the go couldn't handle porridge straight from the pot—it was too hot to eat, and high temperatures could warp the disposable cups, making them hard to hold.

Previously, residents in the family quarters liked to buy buns, steamed bread, or pancakes from outside and make porridge at home. Now, with several varieties of porridge available at Chen Xin’s shop, people were less inclined to make their own. If they wanted breakfast, they’d simply bring a thermos downstairs and buy something, changing up the flavor as they pleased.

Many children especially liked the lotus-leaf bun filled with chicken and no vegetables, paired with a cup of soy milk or tremella soup, eating with great delight.

Chen Xin’s shop closed at 11 a.m. each day, leaving her the rest of the time for her own business. With the new semester approaching, she didn’t want to graduate late just because she re-enrolled late; she still hoped to receive her diploma in three years alongside her previous classmates.

By July, the breakfast shop’s clientele had stabilized completely. Many customers were regulars, and even if a new breakfast shop opened next door selling the same items, they preferred buying from Chen Xin. Her food was honest and generous, with no cutting corners, and the flavors were genuinely good—especially her homemade sauces, which far surpassed anything store-bought.

Moreover, while other shops followed trends, only Chen Xin’s led them, constantly developing new products. By later in the year, she kept only the best-selling items on the menu, adjusting the rest according to seasonal ingredients and tastes, ensuring a new flavor each week.

Ultimately, they were only a breakfast shop; the number of people from the family quarters and the school already far exceeded what they could serve. So, when guests had other needs, Chen Xin would recommend other nearby shops based on customers’ preferences. This way, even if someone was envious, they had no grounds for slander, and most shopkeepers held Chen Xin and her team in high regard.

In mid-August, Chen Xin went to school to complete her re-enrollment and applied for off-campus accommodation. Her situation was special, and her former counselor had already helped her apply, so the paperwork was handled together. The university’s affiliated kindergarten also gave her a special spot for her child, allowing her to enroll Ezi there. This meant that any issues could be communicated to her immediately.

This kindergarten was different from those outside; it had a nursery class for children over one year old but not yet two and a half, who were too young for regular kindergarten. Each class had no more than ten children, with four teachers and one caregiver. Of course, the fees were higher than a regular kindergarten, but for dual-income families with no grandparents to help, it was worth it—far better than hiring a nanny.

Zhang Zhang, over a year old, could already use the bathroom on his own, though his speech was not yet fluent, usually two words at a time. When he spoke, his little face was so serious, as if he were pondering how to express himself, making him irresistibly adorable. Of course, the word "adorable" didn't exist yet, but the teachers simply thought he was good-looking, well-behaved, and easy to care for. Zhang Zhang could feed himself with a spoon, being very careful not to spill food outside his bowl. Though he only managed half a spoonful at a time, his movements were so smooth that he took no longer to eat than if the teacher fed him.

After a week in the nursery class, all four teachers were especially fond of Zhang Zhang, considering him the easiest child they had ever cared for. Young Teacher Tian doted on him in particular; newly married and planning for a baby, she was so taken with Zhang Zhang’s sweetness and obedience that she almost wished she could take him home herself.