Chapter Twelve: I'm Not Afraid of You

My wife’s hometown is in Shaanxi Province, a rather ordinary small city in the Guanzhong region, nestled just beneath the Qinling Mountains that divide north and south, with the Huhuanyong Line, marking the east-west division, passing right through it.

Since retiring, my mother-in-law has become a professional child caretaker. A couple of years ago, she helped watch over Taotao when she started kindergarten, and now she’s back in Guanzhong helping my elder sister-in-law look after her grandson.

My own parents don’t live in the coastal city either, but fortunately, they’re not too far away. During holidays, we can bring my wife and children back to visit. However, since my grandparents have mobility issues, my parents still need to take care of the elderly couple. Thinking of both sets of parents, I can’t help but feel that the older generation never really gets a break.

If the opportunity arises, I hope to bring them all together to enjoy their later years in comfort. Now that my stall business is gradually stabilizing and the occasional intelligence tips are helping me make a little extra money, I believe that day won’t be far off.

...

Before I knew it, another weekend had arrived. Taotao didn’t have classes, and Yifan was busy cleaning the house. To keep my daughter from causing mischief, I took her out with me to the market to buy groceries.

Our first stop, naturally, was Boss Zhang’s fresh meat stall at Yongjia market. Since meeting me, Zhang Jinsheng had never seen me bring my daughter along before. Seeing the adorable little girl, the wrinkles on his face seemed to smooth out with a few extra lines of warmth.

But with old Zhang’s gruff appearance, he was still a bit intimidating to a child. Taotao clutched my hand and, although walking forward slowly, gradually hid behind me.

Zhang greeted me, then bent slightly to chat with the little one. “What’s your name, sweetheart?”

When old Zhang smiled, there was still a trace of kindness beneath the stern exterior. Taotao bravely peeked out.

“I’m not afraid of you. My name’s Chen Taotao!”

I bent down and said, “You don’t need to be scared of Uncle Zhang. He doesn’t eat children.”

Hearing that, Taotao finally came out from behind me, patting her little chest. “That’s good.”

Zhang looked a bit embarrassed. Actually, he had a daughter as well, now in high school. Seeing Taotao reminded him of his own daughter when she was young.

“Kids are better when they’re little. Once they grow up, they don’t pay attention to you anymore.”

Because we got along well in business, our friendship had warmed considerably over the past few days. As we chatted, Zhang mentioned the rising vegetable prices.

“There was heavy rain in another province, and many crops got damaged. Price fluctuations are inevitable.”

I nodded. Summer is also peak season for vegetable production, so prices should drop again in a few days. I was a bit curious about pork prices.

Zhang explained, “Pork is much more complicated. The farms themselves even buy futures on live pigs.”

...

Evening fell, and it was time for my familiar stall routine again.

My fresh meat buns had slowly gained a decent reputation near the community. At first, most customers were from our own building, but now people from nearby complexes were coming as well, some arriving by car or bike.

The owner group chat in Sunshine City Complex had completely changed its tone—from initially organizing protests against the property management to now discussing the buns.

Someone would even drop hints: “Family, the bun stall is set up! Hurry, first batch ready!”

“I’m so jealous! I live on the south side of the complex. I have to circle the whole neighborhood just to buy buns every day.”

“Building 12, just downstairs at the entrance. It’s really convenient.”

Wotu, the group leader, seemed to be getting carried away: “Do you think I can sell my apartment for more because of this?”

This was arguably the most valuable moment for the local housing market.

For me, business had become easier. In the beginning, buns waited for customers; now, customers waited for buns.

People could tell if the buns were genuinely good and made with quality ingredients after eating them twice.

While setting up my stall, the system would occasionally pop up with a “Positive review +1.”

By now, the latest “Customer Activity” notifications were starting to get a bit annoying.

My gourmet intelligence reports had a limited validity period. For example, the Boston lobster I had bought at first would be marked as dead after a few days when I checked again.

This time, the intelligence mentioned a city enforcement officer as a customer, which puzzled me.

I was supposed to refresh the next batch of reports, but the officer hadn’t shown up yet.

So sometimes I would observe customers who bought buns one by one.

Was it the young man wearing a ribbed vest? No, his nickname was “I’m not a foodie,” so definitely not him.

Next.

Was it the tall beauty? No, she was a neighbor, a housewife who had taken walks with my wife and our kids before.

How about this guy?

He was a regular at my stall; I’d seen him buy buns several times in a row, seemingly eating all day long. Surely it wasn’t him.

Wait a moment...

[In the next four days, a city enforcement officer will visit your stall.]

“Comrade, you’re really good at hiding.”

I looked toward the nearby spot.

Today’s customer had a female companion with him, and judging by their conversation, they were still just a couple.

The woman spoke first, a bit angrily: “Wang Meng! Are you coming here every day to see me, or just to buy buns?”

Wang Meng hurriedly coaxed her: “Of course I’m here to see you. The buns are just my second breakfast. The cafeteria food at work is terrible. These buns are soft and fragrant; if I keep them overnight in the fridge and warm them up in the microwave the next day, there’s still a burst of soup with every bite.”

“Don’t you ever get tired of buns?” The woman walked off without looking back, leaving Wang Meng with a curt, “We’re just not compatible.”

Wang Meng, on the other hand, looked relieved.

Watching this little scene, I chuckled inwardly.

Sounds like they were on a blind date; the girl certainly seemed a bit spoiled.

But just then, Wang Meng caught my gaze.

“What are you looking at?”

He strode toward my cart, hands shoved into his pockets, clearly intending to reveal his true purpose.

But before he reached the cart, someone in the queue shouted loudly:

“You have to line up to buy buns!”

Two customers ahead immediately stepped forward cautiously, blocking Wang Meng by a body length.

Wang Meng had no choice but to step aside and half-turned his head to speak to me.

“Hello, boss, I want to see your business license.”

I smiled, suddenly recalling my daughter’s words to old Zhang that morning: “I’m not afraid of you.”

...They’ve been waiting for you for days.

I removed my gloves and laid out the series of documents I had been gathering over the past few days: health certificate, pork quarantine certificate, registration application—a small stack.

Wang Meng carefully examined each one and checked them off.

Finally, he wore an expression more assured than when his blind date had just ended.

“This puts my mind at ease.”