Here, traditional Chinese character books were no longer mainstream, and using them for business would certainly not be profitable. Lin Fang shared her idea with Lin Guicheng: to donate the reprinted traditional-character books from the bookstore in batches to the senior citizens’ activity center under Lin Guicheng’s name. This would free up space for other ventures, and in the future, if she wanted to organize any events at her store, she could also borrow Lin Guicheng’s name for legitimacy.
If she donated the books under her own name, her young age might invite unnecessary trouble. She didn’t want to stand out.
In her past life, if she hadn’t been too prominent at such a young age, she wouldn’t have been envied and framed, leading to her separation from her parents across lifetimes, with no chance for revenge—only resentment remained. Now, without sufficient ability to protect herself, it was better to keep a low profile.
When she was forced to leave, Lin Town was still just a small village called Lin Village. Lin Guicheng hadn’t witnessed its transformation into a town, but from the brief account given by Monk Zixing, he learned about Lin Fang’s struggles during those years. Understanding her concerns, he agreed without hesitation.
Lin Fang had another important reason for this suggestion: she wanted to interact with the elderly at the activity center to seek mentorship and gradually reveal her talents to the world, paving the way for future plans. She had previously interviewed the seniors there—many were skilled in music, chess, calligraphy, and painting.
Old people were like children—if she sincerely made them happy, they wouldn’t be stingy with their knowledge. Moreover, she could refine her own skills. As the saying goes, “When three walk together, one must be my teacher.” The activity center was a gathering place for wise elders—learning additional skills would only be beneficial.
After discussing the bookstore, the steamed buns were ready, and Dong Huixin called everyone to eat. Sun Siyuan helped set the table, while Lin Fang finished writing the last two small scrolls and tidied her brushes. The food was already laid out, so she washed her hands and sat down to eat.
After slurping several mouthfuls of hot oil tea, Lin Guicheng praised, “Mmm, delicious! Sister-in-law’s cooking is better than any restaurant’s.”
Dong Huixin laughed. “It’s just oil tea—every household can make it. Speaking of which, Guicheng, I feel bad. You’ve acknowledged us as family, which is a joyous occasion, and I should’ve prepared a feast. But look, I didn’t even make proper dishes.”
Lin Guicheng shook his head. “No need for a feast. Homemade food has the taste of home.”
“Guicheng’s right—homemade food has the taste of home,” Lin Yuanmin echoed, slurping happily. Tomorrow was New Year’s Eve—there’d be plenty of feasting then.
Lin Fang smiled knowingly. Though the dishes were simple, the cook and the mood made all the difference.
The recipe for homemade oil tea was straightforward, requiring only flour, sesame seeds, almonds, and salt.
First, the sesame seeds were roasted and ground into powder.
Almonds had a bitter taste, so they were briefly boiled in hot water, then soaked in cold water to remove the bitterness. The skins were peeled before use. The boiling time had to be just right—too long, and they’d lose their crispness; too short, and the bitterness remained.
Water was boiled in a pot, while flour, salt, and sesame powder were mixed into a thin paste. Once the water boiled, the paste was stirred in to prevent sticking. The prepared almonds were added, and the mixture was stirred occasionally until it boiled again. After simmering briefly, the savory, fragrant oil tea was ready.
The region was rich in apricots, so most households used almonds for oil tea. If unavailable, substitutes like soybeans or fried dough pellets could be used, as long as they didn’t overpower the tea’s natural aroma.
Lin Fang loved soil-fried dough pellets but wasn’t fond of the deep-fried version.
These pellets were a local specialty. Fermented dough was seasoned with five-spice powder and salt (or sugar for those with a sweet tooth), cut into bean-sized pieces, and then fried in heated white clay.
The clay-fried pellets were crispy, fragrant, and infused with an earthy aroma. They preserved well and aided digestion.
The white clay, known as “Guanyin clay,” was finely ground to a flour-like consistency—smooth and fine. Some might find the idea unhygienic, but the clay helped with indigestion and diarrhea, even alleviating discomfort for those adjusting to new environments.
After a few sips of tea, Lin Guicheng couldn’t hold back. “Brother, sister-in-law, aren’t you curious about the land I bought for you?”
“Then tell us,” Lin Yuanmin chuckled. Of course they were curious—they just hadn’t gotten around to asking.
Lin Fang cut in eagerly, “Uncle Cheng, is it the plot I mentioned—the one perfect for a snack shop?”
“Exactly—right across from your school.”
“Perfect! We can start construction in spring. Uncle Cheng, since you’re helping, lend me a few thousand more to build the shop. I’ll repay you with interest once I earn it.”
“No problem. If there’s profit to be made, I won’t miss the chance.”
As the two enthusiastically discussed plans, Lin Yuanmin and Dong Huixin exchanged a glance and continued eating. Their children were decisive—whether they liked it or not, they were getting old. From now on, they’d follow the kids’ lead.
After breakfast, Gao Liujin arrived with red paper, saying he hadn’t found suitable New Year couplets at the market. Without hesitation, Lin Yuanmin asked Lin Fang to write them for him.
Gao Liujin felt slighted, assuming Lin Yuanmin looked down on him for being poor by assigning a child to the task. But since he’d come asking, he bit back his words, though his displeasure showed.
Lin Fang ignored his pettiness. After confirming where the scrolls would be hung, she began cutting the paper. Sun Siyuan silently ground ink. Without consulting Gao Liujin, Lin Fang started writing. Gao Liujin wanted to protest but hesitated under Sun Siyuan’s icy aura.
Before she finished the first line, Gao Liujin’s eyes widened in amazement. “Lin Fang, when did you learn calligraphy? Your writing’s better than your dad’s!”
“Of course! Each generation surpasses the last. Don’t underestimate my Fang—she even runs a calligraphy class in town for elementary students. Every child I’ve taught stands out.”
“Brother, is this what they call ‘your own child is always the best’?” Lin Guicheng, who was helping chop meat, burst out laughing. He’d thought Lin Yuanmin was humble—turns out he was thicker-skinned than Lin Dalang.
Lin Yuanmin’s next words left Lin Guicheng speechless: “Nonsense! My Fang is a hidden master.”
Lin Fang laughed—partly at her father’s words, partly at Lin Guicheng’s appearance.
A dignified businessman, dressed in fine clothes meant for leisure, now wore an apron made from a floral cloth and mismatched sleeves stitched by Dong Huixin. With his white hair, greasy hands pressing down on meat, and a gleaming knife in the other, he looked absurd—though his knife skills were impressively deft.
Sun Siyuan glanced at his boss, twitched his lips, and resumed grinding ink.
Once the couplets were dry, Gao Liujin rolled them up and left. Dong Huixin urged Lin Fang to rest. Though she hadn’t had an episode lately, Dong Huixin remained cautious. Lin Fang’s pallor earlier suggested exhaustion—understandable, given how busy she’d been.
With Lin Guicheng and Sun Siyuan helping, Lin Fang had little to do, so she obediently prepared to nap. But just as she took off her shoes, another villager arrived with red paper. Having heard from Gao Liujin about Lin Fang’s skill, they asked her to write their couplets too, dismissing the task as effortless.
Dong Huixin flared up. “Who said my daughter’s idle? You’re here asking a favor, yet you act like we owe you! Writing isn’t tiring? Then do it yourself!”
The visitor left in a huff, leaving Lin Guicheng stunned. This was the same cautious woman he knew? Her protectiveness was different from Li Cuimei’s—blunter and more effective. Amusing.
Lin Fang gave up on napping. With one visitor, more would follow. She’d wait—not all villagers were as entitled as the last.
Sure enough, Granny Gao soon arrived, showering Lin Fang with praise. Lin Yuanmin beamed, Dong Huixin served tea and snacks, and Lin Guicheng chuckled. Celebrating the New Year here had been the right choice—gaining family and entertainment.
Subsequent visitors were more tactful, praising Lin Fang lavishly. Though thick-skinned, even she grew embarrassed, but her parents basked in the compliments.
Sun Siyuan, initially twitching at the flattery, eventually tuned it out, focusing on his tasks like a block of wood.
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