After the rental area was completed, the Tongs settled the wages with Liulang, who then repaid the debt he owed them for the courtyard and even made a small profit. His wedding with Yuan Li was quite a grand affair. After marriage, Liulang ran the carpentry shop, while Yuan Li continued learning cooking from Li Cuihong. She now managed the original location of Lin’s Cuiji Home-style Cuisine, while Li Cuihong focused entirely on the newly opened second branch in the town center. The third branch in Jile Town was managed by Daya, while Erya, who was less quick-witted, usually just assisted. When Li Cuilian suggested that chefs should cook dishes on the spot for immediate sale, Li Cuihong sent Erya over, giving her a chance to manage things independently as a form of training.
The kitchen teams in all three restaurants operated as Lin Fang had described in her book: fire-tending specialists focused solely on controlling the fire, vegetable washers specialized in washing, and there were dedicated roles for chopping, prepping, plating, stir-frying, and serving. Each person mastered one skill, and when everyone worked together, they could create delicious dishes. Separated, however, they achieved nothing.
Of course, these suggestions weren’t Lin Fang’s own ideas—even the earlier proposal about selling fast food was attributed to the old monk Huiyuan. Li Cuihong now admired Huiyuan immensely, though the monk himself remained unfazed. He was, however, annoyed by the constant interruptions from people seeking culinary advice, as he didn’t want to be known as a “food monk” and preferred peace and quiet.
Both Li Cuihong and Yuan Li were straightforward women. After learning the full story, they were furious. Li Cuilian was Li Cuimei’s sworn sister, and while Yuan Li was angry, she held back her words. Li Cuihong, however, didn’t mince her words: “She’s truly forgotten her roots! Does she not realize that without Third Sister’s kindness in granting her freedom back then, she wouldn’t have the shop she runs today? And now, over petty pride, she’s done such a thing!”
Li Cuimei’s expression darkened. “Sigh, if I hadn’t rejected her request today, she might not have lost her temper like this.”
“What request? Was she still insisting on hiring skilled seamstresses?”
“Not seamstresses—she wanted knitters.”
“What?”
Li Cuihong and Yuan Li gasped in unison.
After years of relentless effort, Lin Fang had finally brought her vision of a “sweater” to life—though for now, it could only be called a “thread garment” since she had only used cotton thread and hadn’t yet discovered wool. Last spring, when she showed her mother the misshapen, barely recognizable knitted piece she had made, Li Cuimei was stunned. The entire family had assumed Lin Fang was just playing with strings as a toy, never imagining they could be turned into clothing. Upon closer inspection, however, the piece had a unique charm.
After a day of studying knitting techniques with her daughter, Li Cuimei spent five more days crafting a neat little top—similar to a batwing shirt from Lin Fang’s past life—which looked adorable on the girl. Inspired, she knitted robes for her husband and sons. While Dalang, being handsome, looked good in anything, Lin Wen and Lin Wu initially found the garments strange. But after seeing their father proudly flaunting his robe daily and the envious reactions of onlookers—who eagerly asked where they could buy such clothing—the brothers confidently wore theirs to school, drawing crowds of curious passersby and classmates.
As inquiries grew, Li Cuimei realized that knitted garments could be a lucrative business. She instructed Guo Siniang to recruit new workers—anyone they approved of and who was willing would sign contracts and undergo training.
Though Lin Fang had spent over two years developing knitting techniques, others learned much faster. The clever ones mastered it in moments, while even the slower learners grasped it within a day or two. Thus, the knitting workshop was up and running within days. However, knitting was different from sewing—a single garment took considerable time. Dalang’s robe alone had taken Li Cuimei nearly a month of daily labor, leaving her shoulders and back sore. She used thick thread; finer thread would take even longer. Li Cuimei decided to only accept custom orders, not sell ready-made garments, pricing them several times—or even dozens of times—higher than regular clothing.
Over the past year, orders for knitted garments had poured in, even from other provinces. Even Guo Jiayi, her sister-in-law in the distant capital, wrote to place custom orders on behalf of others.
Knitting, though seemingly intricate, was simple enough that anyone with patience could unravel a hidden thread, study it, and replicate the technique. Soon, knitting workshops began appearing elsewhere, and even wealthy young ladies and their maids learned the craft. This had little impact on Cuiji Knitting Workshop, however, as knitting was a slow, meticulous trade, and Cuiji couldn’t possibly handle all the demand.
Every garment from Cuiji Garment Workshop bore the words “Cuiji Garment Workshop” embroidered in double-sided stitching on the hem or cuff—much like the brand labels from Lin Fang’s past life. But while counterfeit labels were easy to produce in her previous world, this embroidery was nearly impossible to replicate without hands-on instruction. Over time, Cuiji Garment Workshop built a strong reputation.
Cuiji Knitting Workshop adopted the same method, embroidering “Cuiji Knitting Workshop” in double-sided stitching on their garments. Gradually, Cuiji’s knitted garments and high-end ready-to-wear clothing complemented and reinforced each other, boosting business for both workshops.
Seeing how profitable the knitting business was, Li Cuilian wanted a piece of the action. Reasoning that counterfeit products were already widespread, she saw no harm in adding hers to the mix. But rather than studying the craft herself or even asking for guidance, she went straight to Li Cuimei, demanding skilled workers.
After repeated refusals, Li Cuimei grew weary and firmly rejected her. Furious but with no outlet for her anger, Li Cuilian happened to encounter Lin Fang returning home, playfully teasing her mother, which led to the ensuing incident.
Just as Li Cuihong was about to vent her anger, Xiaoqin’s wife announced from outside: “Madam, Erya has returned. Should she come in?”
“Yes, let her in.”
“Understood, Madam.”
Li Cuihong was puzzled. “Third Sister, this is the busiest time at the shop. Why did you recall Erya?”
“Cuihong, stay calm. Once I’ve questioned Erya, I’ll explain.”
Trusting her sister’s judgment, Li Cuihong quieted down, waiting with Yuan Li for Li Cuimei to handle the matter.
When Erya entered, everyone in the room gasped. Her eyes were bloodshot, her steps unsteady, and she swayed more than Lin Fang ever had—looking as if a single breath could knock her over. This was far from the composed, if not particularly bright, Erya they knew.
“Oh, Erya! What happened to you? Come sit down!” Li Cuihong, who had spent more time with Erya and was naturally forthright, rushed to support her and guide her to a stool.
“Wait,” Li Cuimei stopped her. “Erya, answer Second Madam first. Why are you in this state? You were sent to cook, not to steal. Why do you look like you haven’t slept for days?”
“Yes, Madam,” Erya rasped, refusing to sit. “Fifth Aunt bought two new servants and ordered me to teach them cooking—day and night without rest. I haven’t slept for two days and nights.”
“What? This Cuilian… Cooking doesn’t require such haste! What if someone collapses from exhaustion? This is truly… Ah, Sister-in-law, please let Erya sit. The poor girl looks ready to faint.”
Erya still refused. Instead, she bowed to Li Cuihong. “Second Madam, forgive my insolence. If I sit now, I’ll fall asleep. I still have matters to report.” The bow nearly made her collapse, startling Li Cuihong into holding her steady and staying silent.
Li Cuimei spoke: “Tell us everything. Cuihong, remain calm.”
“Yes, Madam. Over the past two days, Fifth Aunt not only made me teach those two to cook but also demanded I recite recipes for her to write down. I don’t know how to read, so she recorded them herself.”
Li Cuihong opened her mouth but held back after glancing at Erya.
“And then?” Li Cuimei’s tone turned icy.
Erya shuddered. “I told her I’d never seen written recipes—that Second Madam cooks by experience, and ingredient pairings aren’t fixed but depend on what’s available. Fifth Aunt didn’t believe me. She said, ‘I know your Second Madam. Even if she cooks that way, do all the chefs in the shop do the same?’”
“How did you respond?” Li Cuimei’s voice softened slightly.
“I said I didn’t know about the other chefs. I’m slow and have only mastered a few dishes—all of which Fifth Aunt has tasted.”
The others in the room had also tasted Erya’s cooking—edible, neither terrible nor exceptional, just average.
“Is there more?” Li Cuimei’s tone was calm again.
“Yes. Fifth Aunt angrily said, ‘Li Cuihong is too cruel, ruining me!’”
After speaking, Erya knelt before Li Cuihong—a grave offense for a servant to utter their master’s name.
Li Cuimei stood to help Erya up, but the moment she touched her, Erya collapsed. Li Cuihong, jolted from her thoughts by Erya’s words, had picked up some basic medical knowledge from the Tongs. She checked Erya’s pulse and sighed. “She’s fine—just exhausted and unconscious.”
Erya slept for two full days. Meanwhile, at Li Cuilian’s place, the newly purchased chefs had only heard Erya’s rushed instructions without practical experience. Though not complete novices, their dishes turned out poorly—neither correct in flavor nor as good as Erya’s. Dissatisfied customers flocked to Lin’s Cuiji Home-style Cuisine instead. Resentful of Li Cuilian’s rudeness, Li Cuihong listlessly neglected orders for Fanglian Restaurant, leaving it empty.
Desperate, Li Cuilian searched for Li Cuihong but found neither her nor any trace at the old or new shops. The staff claimed ignorance of their employer’s whereabouts.
Erlang had also opened a blacksmith shop in town—not for profit but to fulfill diverse orders. When Li Cuilian entered, she saw Li Cuihong weeping uncontrollably in Erlang’s arms before a crowd of customers. The usually stern blacksmith cradled his petite wife with surprising tenderness, as if afraid she might break. Spotting Li Cuilian, Erlang glared with such ferocity that she stumbled back and fled, never daring to return.
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