The loud crow of a rooster woke the sleeping town. William Turner rubbed his eyes and climbed out of his small bed. Looking around, he suddenly realized Old Man was nowhere to be seen.

Could he have lost hope again and gone off somewhere to kill himself?

William Turner stood up in a panic, hurriedly got dressed, and went out to look. Just then, the stairs creaked, and Mr. Turner came wobbling up from below, carrying two buckets of fresh water. Seeing William Turner awake, he immediately broke into a big smile.

“Hey, uh, I mean William, hehe, you stay home and behave today. Dad’s going out to look for some work.”

The sun must be rising in the west—Mr. Turner, who always seemed above worldly concerns, actually wanted to get a job? Was there something wrong with his ears, did he mishear?

Mr. Turner said sheepishly, “William, your dad was wrong before, but yesterday I figured it out. I’ve spent over ten years taking the imperial exams, lost the family fortune, your mother died, and now I’m almost thirty with nothing to my name. Clearly, the exams are a bad thing, and I’m done with them.”

“Dad, actually, if you want to get ahead, the exams are still—”

Before William Turner could finish, Mr. Turner waved his hand forcefully, cutting him off.

“Say no more. I’ve made up my mind. I’m going to earn money to raise my son. If I can raise you into a grown man, I’ll have done right by your mother.” Mr. Turner picked up the water buckets, poured half a basin of fresh water, washed his face, then found a piece of clothing without patches and put it on, checking himself in the basin.

“William, your dad’s not bad looking, right?” Mr. Turner joked for once.

“Of course, you’re naturally handsome!”

“You rascal, that’s how you describe a woman, you know?” Mr. Turner scolded with a laugh. “I’m off to find work.”

With that, he turned and went down the bamboo building. He hadn’t gone far when he suddenly heard footsteps behind him. Spinning around, he saw his son following closely behind.

“William, why are you following me?”

What else? I just don’t trust you!

Yesterday you were talking about suicide, and now you want to turn over a new leaf? You’re as fickle as a cat or a dog. If you really find work, that’d be a miracle.

He grinned and said, “The doctor said walking more is good for recovery. Besides, look at this beautiful sunshine—it’s a brand new start for us.”

Hearing this, Mr. Turner looked up at the rising sun, and it felt like a window had opened in his heart, letting in the light.

“All right, you can come along. But if you get tired, make sure to go home early.”

Father and son left the bamboo house one after the other. Don’t they need to watch the house? Nonsense—who’d want to steal from a place this poor? Any thief who came would have to be blind!

After leaving the little courtyard and walking a few steps forward, they reached Mr. Brooks’s noodle shop. Actually, the two families shared a courtyard; the bamboo house was built at the back, with the Zhu family’s house in the middle, and the front facing the street served as the shop.

Besides noodles, the shop also sold buns and porridge in the morning. You could smell the aroma of the buns from a dozen steps away. The fist-sized three-delicacy buns were juicy and delicious, one wen each, famous far and wide. Many families came just to buy Zhu’s buns.

But William Turner and his father had never eaten them. For one, Mr. Turner was a homebody—when he was still studying hard, he could get up early, but now he was lazier than ever, not rising until late morning. As for William Turner, the little guy was as well-behaved as a girl, never spending a single coin.

Today, smelling the aroma, both father and son couldn’t help but swallow hungrily. Last night they’d only had some soup, filling up on water, and after a morning pee, their stomachs were empty.

But their stomachs were emptier than their pockets. Mr. Turner blushed, but William Turner managed, after much effort, to fish out a shiny, almost new coin from the bottom of his pocket!

There’s hope! He searched up and down, inside and out, but couldn’t find a second coin. William Turner’s face fell—surely two people couldn’t share one bun?

“William, I’m not hungry, you eat.” Even as he said he wasn’t hungry, Mr. Turner’s stomach growled loudly, and he wished he could crawl into a hole.

“One is enough, we’ll just split it in half.” William Turner said with a smile.

“Better I eat the skin and you eat the filling.” Mr. Turner muttered, his face burning, secretly vowing that no matter what, he’d earn enough money so his son could eat buns whenever he wanted.

William Turner clutched the coin and was about to buy a bun when something magical happened.

A short, chubby fellow walked past the signboard, and the characters on the sign actually changed—a vertical stroke appeared in the second “one,” making it read: one wen for ten buns!

William Turner’s eyes lit up. He pulled Old Man over and sat at a table under the shop sign. Mr. Turner was still embarrassed and scolded, “William, aren’t you ashamed?”

“Ashamed of what? Uncle Brooks, ten buns please!”

As soon as Mr. Brooks saw it was the Turner father and son, he hurried over with ten buns, smiling, “Master Turner, is the young master feeling better?”

As he spoke, he brought over a small plate of pickles and set it in front of them.

“My wife isn’t good at much, but she slices pickles fine, adds sesame oil and vinegar, and thin strips of ginger—crisp and appetizing, and it’s free. If it’s not enough, you can have more.”

“Thank you, Uncle Brooks, you go ahead and get busy.”

“Mm, such a polite and well-mannered child.”

Just then, someone at another table suddenly called out, “Boss, thirty buns please.”

A big customer! Mr. Brooks hurried over. With a quick count, he realized there were only 26 buns left in the steamer. He wrapped them in oiled paper and brought them to the customer.