【053】Sharing Steamed Buns

"Alright! Thank you, Uncle, thank you, Auntie! I’ll be sure to ask my classmates!" Fang Chang’an replied eagerly.

There were only forty or fifty buns in a pot, and since business had been slow, the owners didn’t dare make too many. Including those in the pot and those already plated, there were just over seventy. Fortunately, there were still two more batches wrapped and ready to cook; after counting, it would just about suffice.

Fang Chang’an asked, “Auntie, this is too many for me to carry easily. Do you have any foam boxes here? I’ll need to use one when I come to pick up buns in the future.”

The shopkeeper’s wife fished a foam box from under the stall, took out the condiments inside, and wiped it down with a cloth. Smiling at Fang Chang’an, she said, “I’ll put them all in bags for you, not directly into the box.”

Fang Chang’an nodded. “That’s better—cleaner. If my classmates who haven’t tried these see them, maybe they’ll want some tomorrow.”

The shopkeeper’s wife found his reasoning sound and scrubbed the stains off the outside of the box as well. The shopkeeper then asked, “Do you need chopsticks?”

Fang Chang’an had already considered this. “Some classmates bring their own chopsticks, some don’t. But there may be even more people in the future. I’ll just take enough for everyone today; any extras can be used next time.”

The shopkeeper nodded. The shopkeeper’s wife praised him with a smile, “You’re quite thoughtful for your age. How are your grades?”

Fang Chang’an blushed shyly. “Not bad. I came first in the whole school on the last exam.”

“Wow! That’s impressive!”

The couple was surprised, even more so than by his mature demeanor, and their respect for him grew.

With such intelligence and good grades, even if the family was poor, a child like him would surely make something of himself in the future.

After wiping the box clean, the shopkeeper’s wife asked, “How many buns in each bag?”

“Ten, please.” Ideally, there would be one bag per person, but that would take too long and waste too many bags, which the owners might not like. So Fang Chang’an chose a compromise: ten per bag, to be divided again in the classroom.

“Alright.” The shopkeeper’s wife began bagging the buns already made. Fang Chang’an glanced at the tray; those buns had been sitting awhile. He said, “Auntie, let’s wait for the fresh ones to come out and mix them together. The fresh ones taste better, and classmates who get the cold ones might not be happy. If everyone gets some of the fresh batch, no one will feel left out.”

All the buns were made that morning; the new batch was just slightly hotter. The taste difference was minor, but Fang Chang’an wasn’t worried about flavor—it was about fairness. He wanted to avoid any sense of disparity.

“You really do know a lot.”

Whether because she was now used to his maturity or because she’d learned he was the top student, the shopkeeper’s wife was no longer so surprised and teased him with a smile.

Still, she followed his suggestion, mixing the new buns with the earlier batch in the bags. Fang Chang’an helped as well. By the time they finished bagging this batch, the next one wasn’t done yet, so they had to wait.

And then wait again for the third batch.

“Our school finishes morning study at seven. I’ll be here by seven-ten for sure. Uncle, Auntie, could you please have two hundred buns ready by then tomorrow? Don’t make them too early, or they’ll be cold and won’t taste good.”

“That many? Are you sure?”

“It should be fine. And even if it’s too many, you can still sell them to others after.”

Fang Chang’an wanted to save time but didn’t want to make any guarantees. He spoke honestly, and after a moment’s hesitation, the couple nodded. “Alright. We’ll prepare them early tomorrow.”

“Oh, and Uncle, Auntie, if other students from my school come to buy buns the same way, please don’t sell them cheaper. I’m the sole agent for our school’s buns.”

The couple found the word “agent” a bit novel, but they understood his meaning.

The shopkeeper’s wife hesitated, but the shopkeeper agreed at once, “Alright, we only recognize you. Anyone else, no matter how many they buy, it’s still ten cents a bun.”

“Thank you, Uncle and Auntie.” Fang Chang’an thanked them with a smile. He didn’t put much faith in a verbal promise, but it was better than nothing—a bit of insurance.

He wasn’t worried about competitors in the short term; all he needed was a little buffer time, and that would be enough for him.

He’d started his own business in his previous life; now, reborn, how could he be content working for others? He simply lacked resources and needed time to accumulate and borrow strength.

When the last batch of buns was ready, Fang Chang’an continued to help bag them. Once he’d counted out one hundred and eighty, he said, “Ten cents each, one hundred and eighty buns is eighteen yuan. Eighteen minus one eighty is sixteen yuan and twenty cents. Uncle, Auntie, did I get that right?”

The couple might not have had much schooling, but years of business had made their mental math every bit as sharp as his; they’d already calculated the price and nodded, “As expected of the school’s top student—your arithmetic is impressive!”

Fang Chang’an smiled sheepishly. “Uncle, Auntie, how about this: I’ll give you seventeen yuan, a nice round number, and you give me one hundred and ninety buns. That makes the last ten buns eight cents each. I’ll share the extra buns with classmates who didn’t buy any today. Once they taste your buns—which are bigger than others’—I’m sure more people will want them tomorrow.”

The long-term plan was already laid out. The couple, honest by nature, didn’t mind giving ten more buns for eighty cents after selling one hundred and eighty, so they nodded and bagged another batch for him.

“You’re a clever one, you really are,” the shopkeeper said as he put the bags into the box, marveling, “Good grades really do make a difference.”

Fang Chang’an replied modestly, “You flatter me, Uncle. I’m just earning a few buns to eat, nothing special.”

Not counting himself, there were one hundred and eighty-two buns for his classmates and Fang Dianqiu. He’d collected eighteen yuan and twenty cents, so he was making just one yuan and twenty cents per trip, plus eight extra buns.

When the new batch was bagged, there were three left over, which the shopkeeper’s wife added in with a smile. “Here, have three more.”

“Thank you, Auntie, you’re so kind!” Fang Chang’an said joyfully.

She only smiled and said nothing. The shopkeeper tied the foam box onto Fang Chang’an’s bicycle rack. He paid the seventeen yuan, thanked them again, and pedaled back to school.

As someone used to commuting by shared bike, Fang Chang’an prided himself on his extraordinary cycling skills; most of the trip’s time was spent waiting for and packing the buns.

He locked his bike in the shed, carried the box of buns to the classroom, and arrived just as the clock hit seven thirty. Over a dozen classmates were waiting, nearly cheering when they saw him.

“Sorry, everyone, sorry—the shop didn’t have enough buns, they had to make more. I rushed back as fast as I could; I’m exhausted,” Fang Chang’an apologized first, then exaggerated his hardship. The group swarmed around him, all talking at once: “Class monitor, we missed you!”

Wang Yuwei, from her seat, grinned and called out, “You worked hard, monitor! I’ll give you two buns!”

Wang Ke had been about to speak but was cut off by Wang Yuwei, which made her a little unhappy. She glared at Wang Yuwei and then at Fang Chang’an.

Fang Chang’an said with a laugh, “No need, no need. I have enough… Don’t crowd, everyone. I’ll go down the list: this bag of ten is for Ge Li and Zheng Lili, Li Dongfeng, here’s yours… There are disposable chopsticks here—take some if you don’t have any.”

Many hadn’t eaten since morning; some were already hungry before morning study ended. They all crowded around. It was Fang Chang’an’s first time organizing this, and besides the easy groups of ten or five, several people wanted six, seven, or eight, so it got a bit hectic.

He glanced over at Wang Ke. The girl was sitting on her desk, glaring at him. Fang Chang’an was puzzled, not sure what he’d done to annoy her, but he had no time to dwell on it. “Wang Ke, come help me.”