The two of them started tussling. A diner frowned and suddenly shouted, “Hey, isn’t this Samuel Foster from Changqing Village? He’s a famous local miser, stingy to the extreme.”

“Samuel Foster? Is he the one who, on New Year’s Eve, paints braised pork with a calligraphy brush?”

As soon as these words were spoken, everyone stared at the short, chubby man as if he were some rare curiosity. Being stingy was one thing, but this guy had taken it to a whole new level. Usually, landlords would add a few extra dishes for their servants and laborers during the New Year. But not this one—he couldn’t bear to do it. After much thought, he came up with a trick: he’d paint the dishes with a brush and show everyone, claiming they’d eaten.

Only someone as outrageous as this could pull off a stunt like changing the shop sign.

The crowd’s words grew harsher, all directed at the short, fat man. As the saying goes, “spit can drown a man.” Samuel Foster’s face turned red and white by turns as he struggled desperately, but Mrs. Brooks wouldn’t let go at all.

“You shrew, aren’t you going to let go?”

“Haha, let go? I’m taking you to see the magistrate! I’m not afraid of losing face, but does Mr. Foster care about his reputation? Let’s see who’s tougher!”

How did I end up running into a tigress? Samuel Foster was furious. His life motto was that if he didn’t pick up something for free when he went out, it was a loss. This time, he came to Liuhe Fort to do business and happened to overhear someone telling a story about changing shop signs to get free food. Others took it as a joke, but Mr. Foster remembered it and decided to put it into practice.

Who would have thought that cleverness would backfire and he’d end up tricking himself!

“Fine, I’ll admit I’m unlucky, okay!” Samuel Foster’s face flushed, his neck bulged, and he reached into his clothes, rummaging for a long time before pulling out a few pieces of broken silver. He picked the smallest one, and as if cutting off his own flesh, his face trembled with pain.

“Take it!”

“Pah!”

Mrs. Brooks caught it in her hand, spat, and cursed, “Are you blind? Is this little bit of silver enough? My buns are a thousand wen for ten! Hurry up and pay!”

Samuel Foster was forced into a corner and had no choice but to take out another piece of silver.

“Crazy woman, two pieces of silver are worth at least three qian! If you still won’t let it go, then let’s go see the magistrate. I’m not afraid of you!”

“Oh, so you think you’re in the right? Watch me—”

Mrs. Brooks hurried over, grabbed his wife’s arm, and whispered, “Enough, we’re doing business here—harmony brings wealth. Let’s not make a scene!”

Mrs. Brooks weighed the silver in her hand, secretly overjoyed—she couldn’t have made this much in a whole morning. But she still put on a show, scolding, “All you know is harmony brings wealth, but you’re all wicked to the core! I’ll be ruined!”

Though she was cursing, her hand quietly let go. Samuel Foster wished he could bury his head in his pants and ran off at once. Mrs. Brooks happily examined the silver, looking it over and over, beaming with joy.

Mrs. Brooks tugged at her sleeve and whispered, “Aren’t you going to thank Sir Turner?”

“Thank him? For what?”

Mrs. Brooks rolled his eyes. His usually shrewd wife lost her head at the sight of silver.

“If Sir Turner hadn’t helped change the sign, Samuel Foster would have gotten away with it.”

Mrs. Brooks was startled and quickly said, “I should thank him, I really should.”

“Sir Turner, your buns are on the house!”

As if he cared about a few buns. Mrs. Brooks felt so embarrassed he could hardly face anyone.

At that moment, someone laughed loudly, “Mrs. Brooks, everyone’s watching and getting hungry. We’d like to buy a couple of buns too, but at a thousand wen for ten, we can’t afford it!”

As soon as he said this, many people joined in, making a commotion. Mrs. Brooks quickly said, “One wen each, I wouldn’t dare charge more.”

“What about the sign? What if we buy buns and Mrs. Brooks chases us with a knife? We couldn’t handle that.”

“Oh, you rascal! Trying to make fun of me? Believe it or not, I’ll chop you up right now!” Mrs. Brooks pretended to wave a knife, causing another round of laughter.

William Turner smiled and said, “Uncle Brooks, the sign really isn’t good—it lets people take advantage. How about letting my father write you a new one?”

Mrs. Brooks’s face lit up with joy. “That would be wonderful! I just worry it might waste Sir Turner’s beautiful calligraphy.”

Mrs. Brooks had somehow slipped behind her husband and whispered, “Are you stupid? Someone’s offering to write it, and you’re still hesitating?”

“You’re the silly one. Sir Turner is a scholar—if you ask him to write, you have to pay a calligraphy fee. Especially for a shop sign and couplet, it’s at least one tael and eight qian. Are you willing to pay that?”

“What? That expensive?”

At this moment, Mr. Turner stood up, walked over in a few steps, and said with a smile, “Mrs. Brooks, you’re too polite. My son and I rent your bamboo house and have received your care. We should have helped out long ago. It was my oversight before. If you don’t mind, I’ll write it right now.”

What a way with words! Mrs. Brooks smiled so widely her wrinkles unfolded, and she shouted, “Husband, go get the paper and brush!”

“Yes, yes!” Mrs. Brooks quickly agreed, turning to fetch paper, brush, ink, and inkstone. Mrs. Brooks cleaned the table.

Mr. Turner picked up the brush, but hesitated a little.

“Yi’er, what do you think we should call it?”

William Turner thought for a moment, then grinned mischievously, “Dad, I think we should call it Qingfeng Buns!”