TTTQF Chapter 2

Changing Jobs

Once Jiang Miao fully recovers, he has to start earning money. Over the past few days, as he moves around, he can see that the number of copper coins in his jar has significantly decreased. If he doesn’t start making money soon, he might not be able to pay next month’s rent. After all, it is only the second day of November, still the beginning of the month.

He has already found out that renting a room here costs two hundred wen a month, and this is the cheapest rent in the surrounding alleys.

Compared to modern times where rent can easily be in the thousands, it seems very cheap. However, in ancient times, the economy is underdeveloped, and people doesn’t earn much. In comparison, it isn’t that different after all.

Who would have thought that even in ancient times, he would still have to worry about rent? It is really troubling.

While Jiang Miao is thinking, he walks over to the rice jar and takes a look. He has been drinking coarse rice porridge for the past two days, and after three meals a day, the originally small amount of coarse rice is now almost gone.

There is still half a bag of flour next to it, but that is for making buns. It seems that his time-travel experience has brought him back to his old trade. If he had known, why did he change jobs in the first place? While complaining, Jiang Miao quickly cooks another bowl of porridge. He then opens the flour bag and scoops a few ladles of flour into a bowl.

Before adding water, Jiang Miao picks up a bowl from the stove that has a dough ball inside, sprinkled with some dry flour. This is dough he made two days ago. By leaving it in a warm place to ferment naturally, it becomes a sourdough starter. Next, he dissolves the starter in warm water and pours it into the flour. This method produces dough that is fluffy and soft, much quicker than natural fermentation without yeast. Some experienced craftsmen prefer using old dough for making pastries.

After adding water to the flour and kneading it into a dough, Jiang Miao covers it and lets it ferment. He then takes his money pouch and heads out to buy some vegetables for the filling.

As he closes the door with his basket, Aunt Liu, who has become quite familiar with him over the past few days, approaches.

“Little Jiang, are you going out?”

Jiang Miao smiles and nods, “Yes, I’m going to the market to buy some vegetables. I haven’t set up my stall these past few days, and I’m losing business.” Coincidentally, when he looks at the landlord’s tenant register, he discovers that he has the same name as the original occupant, down to the exact characters. Perhaps he is able to travel through this time because of this special fate?

“Perfect timing, could you bring back a piece of tofu for me? My little grandson has been clamoring for it these past few days, but I haven’t had the time to go buy it,” Aunt Liu says as she hands him two wen, just enough to buy a large piece.

“Sure,” Jiang Miao accepts the money, “If there are green onions available, I’ll bring one back for you too. They’re great for mixing with tofu.”

Aunt Liu smiles happily, “You’re really good at managing things. I’m sorry to trouble you.”

“Oh, it’s no trouble at all. We live in the same courtyard, after all. It’s just a small favor,” Jiang Miao says casually. He has grown up in a courtyard, often helping out his grandmother, who was the women’s director, interacting with all the elderly women and young wives, so he gets along well with them.

Sure enough, Aunt Liu is pleased by his considerate words. When Jiang Miao brought her the tofu later, she immediately gives him two heads of cabbage to make soup. Jiang Miao accepts them with a smile and hands her a piece of sesame candy in return, saying it is for her grandson.

Aunt Liu feels a bit embarrassed, thinking that Jiang Miao is indeed a good young man. He seemed hard to get along with at first, probably because she wasn’t familiar with him yet.

Jiang Miao takes the cabbage inside, then grabs his radish and goes to the well to wash it. An old lady is already there, bent over drawing water. Jiang Miao sets down his basin and quickly walks over to help her, lifting the water and pouring it into her bucket, then helping her carry it into the kitchen.

“Thank you, Little Jiang. Did you come back from shopping?”

“Yes, Grandma Bai. Why are you drawing water by yourself today? Where’s Aunt Bai?” Jiang Miao fetches another bucket of water and pours it into his basin. After leaving his hometown, he hasn’t used well water for a long time. In his opinion, this well water, warm in winter and cool in summer, is far superior to tap water for cooking and drinking.

“She went to visit her sister-in-law, who just had a baby, early this morning,” Grandma Bai says with some envy. That sister-in-law already has four children while her family only has two grandchildren in these years, both of whom are at school.

“That’s great news. No wonder. If you need any help later, just let me know. I’m free anyway,” Jiang Miao says with a smile. This body of his is quite similar to how he looks in the modern era, just a bit younger, with a rounder face, making him look like a teenager—a look that the elderly women particularly like.

“Sure, thank you,” Grandma Bai says, touched by his enthusiasm. She brings over a small stool and starts helping him wash the radish. Jiang Miao tries to stop her, but she insists.

After washing the radish, Jiang Miao places it in a basket in the courtyard to dry. He then brings out a small bowl and starts adding various ingredients to it, grinding them slowly with a pestle. The warm sun shining on him is incredibly comforting, and as he grinds the mixture, beads of sweat begin to form on his forehead.

“Little Jiang, what are you grinding? It smells wonderful,” Aunt Liu asks as she takes out clothes to mend. She sits across from him and notices the pleasant aroma coming from his direction.

“Aunt Liu, you have a sharp nose. I’m making something called thirteen-spice powder. It contains a mix of ingredients that, when added to the bun filling, will make it incredibly fragrant,” Jiang Miao explains, grinding more vigorously.

The mixture includes cardamom, amomum, nutmeg, cinnamon, cloves, and Sichuan peppercorns, ensuring it is a true thirteen-spice blend. Some ingredients are bought from the grain store, some from the pharmacy, and two from the spice shop, costing him a total of a hundred wen. Fortunately, a single batch can be used many times, otherwise, he would feel the pinch.

“Thirteen-spice blend, huh?” Aunt Liu becomes interested upon hearing this, but she doesn’t ask for details. Since it is meant to be used in the buns, it wouldn’t be good if the recipe leaked out. “Let me know when your buns are steamed. I’d love to buy two buns to try.”

“Two buns are nothing! When they’re done, I’ll bring you a few to taste. You can let me know if the flavor needs any tweaking,” Jiang Miao offers.

He has already planned this, knowing that good relations with neighbors are invaluable, especially since he seems to have no relatives around. The original occupant of his body had died from a sudden illness without anyone noticing. Jiang Miao’s modest wish is simply that someone would check on him if he ever fell ill and couldn’t leave the house.

His words are very considerate, offering something for free while preserving Aunt Liu’s dignity. She immediately responds, “When you start making the buns, call me over. I can shape them perfectly; everyone used to ask for my help back in the village.”

“That would be wonderful! With your help, I won’t have to worry,” Jiang Miao replies, smiling even more. These aunties have their quirks, but they are genuinely warm-hearted and not just out to take advantage of others. Building good relationships with them could be very beneficial.

At noon, Jiang Miao makes soup with cabbage and then pours the leftover porridge from the morning into it to make a rice soup. He casually settles for this meal.

After eating, he uncovers the dough and sees that it has expanded to two or three times its original size. When he presses it, a dent forms, revealing a honeycomb-like structure inside. It is clear that the dough has fermented very successfully this time.

Jiang Miao pulls off a small lump of dough and places it in a bowl, covering it. This is the old dough he will use to make buns tomorrow.

After the dough has risen, it’s time to prepare the filling. He retrieves the radishes from outside and notices that the moisture on the surface has evaporated in the sun. He begins to slice the radishes into thin slices and then finely shreds them.

Since there is no sunlight in the house, Jiang Miao soon begins to feel a bit cold. He brings out two stools and places a cutting board on top, with a large basin underneath to hold the shredded radish.

As the knife makes a rhythmic “thud thud” sound while cutting the radish, Jiang Miao notices a child peeking out to watch, only to be quickly pulled back in. He can’t help but smile knowingly. It has been a long time since he has seen such a scene, perhaps not since he was a child himself.

Jiang Miao’s knife skills are very good, and in no time, all the large radishes are finely shredded, each strand uniform in size. He adds some salt and massages it into the radish, causing them to wilt quickly, with a pool of water collecting at the bottom of the basin.

After rinsing the radish to remove excess salt, he piles them loosely back into the basin. Getting the filling right is crucial for tasty buns; since the radish still contains residual salt, he can’t add too much more, lest the filling becomes too salty. After adding salt, he pours in some sesame oil, thirteen-spice powder, and minced scallions and ginger for flavor. Originally, he plans to add some sugar, but after searching around, he can’t find any, so he abandons the idea.

However, he has prepared something else that will elevate the savory flavor of the buns. Jiang Miao takes out a small cloth bag, pulls out a handful of dried shrimp, washes them, and then minces them on the cutting board before adding them to the mixture and stirring well.

Though the filling isn’t cooked yet, its fragrance already fills the air. With the filling ready, it is time to knead the dough. He sprinkles some flour on the cutting board and then brings out the fermented dough.

Aunt Liu washes her hands and walks over. As soon as she sees the dough, her eyes light up. “Little Jiang, your dough has risen beautifully. I’ve made dough before, but I’ve never seen it like this.”

Jiang Miao smiles and then explains to her about making the sourdough starter. He also tells her that it’s best to let it ferment in a relatively warm place to achieve such fluffy dough.

Aunt Liu feels as if she has found a treasure. It’s not easy for ordinary people to get something to eat; usually, as long as they can fill their stomachs, they don’t worry about whether it tastes good or not. But that doesn’t mean they can’t tell the difference. Now that Jiang Miao has shared the secret to fermenting dough with her, she feels happy but also a bit embarrassed, afraid of leaking someone else’s ancestral recipe.

“It’s nothing, really. Many people in the pastry business know about it. If anyone asks, feel free to tell them,” Jiang Miao reassures her, indifferent to sharing such a small technique. While he might hesitate to reveal a main dish recipe, he doesn’t care much about these minor tricks.

Aunt Liu’s favorable impression of him rises to a higher level. She immediately pulls over a stool, gets ready, and begins making buns using the filling Jiang Miao had prepared.

As Aunt Liu has said herself, her bun-making skills are indeed impressive. The buns she makes are large with thin skins, all uniform in size, and the pleats on the buns are neat and orderly, like little flowers blooming on the buns.

After making about a steamer’s worth of buns, Jiang Miao covers them with a cloth for a second rise, a small trick to make the buns even tastier when steamed. After a while, he goes inside to start the fire, add water, and set up the steamer. It is around two or three in the afternoon, and Jiang Miao, having had a light lunch, is already feeling very hungry.

He places a few sticks of firewood at the bottom of the stove and lights them. After washing his hands, he goes back out to knead more dough.

“Aunt Liu, where do you usually buy your firewood?” he asks. If he were in the countryside, he could gather some firewood himself, but being in the city and noticing his firewood supply is low, he is starting to worry.

Aunt Liu replies, “Every morning, if you walk along the road to the west city gate, you’ll find many people selling firewood. You can negotiate a price and have them deliver it.”

“That’s quite convenient.”

“Yes, but it’s expensive. Back in the village, we didn’t have to spend money on firewood. I could gather a bundle myself from the mountains,” Aunt Liu says while making the buns, speaking softly. “Here in the city, a large bundle of straw costs five wen, and half a load of wood costs ten wen. To make things easier, wood is better since you don’t have to keep an eye on it—it burns steadily in the stove.”

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