“This wasn’t bought, this is…” Manager Li paused mid-sentence and suddenly fell silent.

He began carefully examining the remaining two jars of fish pieces on the side.

The fish pieces packed in glass jars looked no different from canned fish, yet they tasted far more delicious.

Manager Li seemed to have thought of something, his face lighting up with delight as he opened another jar and poured its contents onto a plate.

“Come here, all of you, and have a taste,” Manager Li called out.

“Really? We can try it?” The young kitchen assistant who had spoken earlier had already been swallowing his saliva while watching. Now, hearing Manager Li’s invitation, he eagerly stepped forward.

“Of course, no joke—come and try it,” Manager Li repeated.

Unable to resist any longer, the assistant picked up a pair of chopsticks and plucked a piece into his mouth.

The crispy, savory flavor instantly captivated his taste buds, and he instinctively reached for another piece—only for Manager Li to tap the back of his hand with chopsticks.

“No greed—one piece each!”

The assistant quickly withdrew his chopsticks, though his gaze remained fixed on the plate of fragrant, crispy fish.

One by one, the others in the kitchen came forward to taste it. Almost everyone who tried it couldn’t help but crave a second bite.

But the jar didn’t contain much, and sharing even one piece per person was already stretching it.

“Well?” Manager Li waited until everyone had eaten before asking.

“Manager Li, did you hire a new chef for this?” someone asked nervously.

“Why ask so much? Just answer me directly,” Manager Li replied, his tone tinged with impatience.

“The method for this crispy fish is unlike anything I’ve encountered before, but the meat is tender, and the seasonings complement each other perfectly. It’s truly a delicacy,” an older chef assessed honestly.

“Do you think this dish would sell well in our restaurant?” Manager Li’s eyes gleamed brighter as he saw everyone’s satisfaction.

“If this chef is willing to join our restaurant, sales won’t be a problem,” the chef said, though a trace of melancholy crossed his face.

He must have assumed his job was now at risk.

Lately, customers had been complaining about the lack of variety and poor taste, but he had always cooked the same way for years.

He had thought working at a state-run restaurant was a stable livelihood—after all, no matter how much people disliked the food, the place wouldn’t shut down.

But who would’ve guessed Manager Li would bring in an outsider?

Sighing deeply, the middle-aged man wondered how he would break the news to his wife.

Hearing this, Manager Li couldn’t sit still any longer. He opened the last jar, arranging the fish pieces meticulously on a plate.

“Take this out and distribute it to the customers. Tell them it’s a new dish we’re introducing,” Manager Li announced loudly.

“Got it!” The eager assistant hurried forward, carrying the plate out of the kitchen.

Manager Li followed with his hands behind his back, carefully observing the customers’ reactions.

Nearly every guest who tasted it asked if they could order a full portion.

Manager Li’s smile widened, his eyes crinkling with satisfaction.

…

By the time Song Nianchu returned to Qinghe Fishing Village, the sky had darkened completely.

Instead of heading straight home, she stopped by Wu Zhenggui’s place to hand over the earnings from her trip.

Wu Zhenggui counted the money in his hands, his brow furrowing tightly.

“The money is dwindling day by day. If we don’t set sail soon, our village won’t even be able to afford food.”

“Uncle Zhenggui, don’t worry. Just hold on for another half month, and it’ll be our village’s turn to fish,” Song Nianchu reassured.

“Hmm.” Wu Zhenggui nodded, but the deep furrow between his brows remained.

Even if they could sail out smoothly, there was no guarantee of a good catch. If the nets came up empty, things would only get worse.

Song Nianchu watched as Wu Zhenggui counted the same handful of bills over and over, as if repeating the action could somehow make the money multiply.

She parted her lips, then closed them again without saying a word, turning away to leave.

When she returned home and pushed open the door, a dim yellow glow from a kerosene lamp greeted her.

Mu Shi’an was writing something under the light. Hearing the noise, he immediately looked up.

“You’re back. You haven’t eaten yet, have you? I saved some food for you.” He set down what he was doing and hurried to the kitchen.

Song Nianchu didn’t refuse, sitting at the table as her gaze inadvertently landed on the sheet of paper.

It seemed to have some kind of machine sketched on it, but before she could take a closer look, Mu Shi’an returned with the meal—a bowl of plain rice and half a portion of the crispy fish she had made that morning.

“Why is there so much left?” she asked, surprised.

The portion she’d left was barely enough for Mu Shi’an alone, and she knew he had even taken some to his family. So why was half still here?

“I… don’t really like vegetables,” he muttered, his eyes darting away.

Song Nianchu sighed deeply, fixing him with a piercing stare.

“You do realize you’re terrible at lying, right?”

Mu Shi’an froze for a moment, standing there at a loss for words.

“I saw you carrying a bowl to your parents’ place this morning when I left,” she pressed.

“I didn’t take anything else from the house—just my share of the food. You told me to eat before you left, so I thought… I could decide what to do with it,” he explained hastily.

But his whole demeanor was uneasy. He had always been upright, never taking advantage of others. Yet, when it came to giving his parents part of his meal, he knew he was in the wrong.

After all, everything in this house belonged to Song Nianchu.

“I’m sorry. It won’t happen again,” he said, his voice rough with guilt.

“Do you really think I brought this up because I’m angry you gave food to your parents?” Song Nianchu sighed.

“Isn’t that why?” Mu Shi’an countered.

“Of course not! What I care about is you!” she emphasized, each word deliberate.

A flicker of confusion crossed Mu Shi’an’s face, as if he didn’t quite grasp her meaning.

“The portion I left was only enough for you. You gave yours to your parents and saved half for me. So tell me, what did you eat today?” she demanded.

“I…” He faltered, unable to answer.

“Mu Shi’an, you’re my man now. I promised you’d never go hungry, yet you’ve been sneaking around like this. If you starve yourself sick—or worse—what happens to me? I’ll be a widow, and then everyone will say I’m not just strong but also cursed to lose my husband,” she said coldly.

Mu Shi’an never expected that this was what Song Nianchu was concerned about. He wanted to explain, but having never interacted much with girls, he stumbled over his words for a long moment before finally blurting out,

“You won’t become a widow.”

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep