The man glanced at Grace, who was tidying up his own papers and pens behind him, and said awkwardly, “Ethan Sullivan, my... I...”

Words of pleading stuck in his throat—this showed the man wasn’t so bad.

But when someone begs as if it’s your duty to help, Ethan Sullivan had seen plenty of such people in his previous life.

So he smiled and said, “Is there some trouble?”

The man turned his face away and said in a low voice, “I can’t sell my chickens...”

He was here to ask for help.

Ethan Sullivan hesitated a bit, but then smiled and said, “I’ll go take a look.”

The man was overjoyed. Ethan Sullivan called out to Grace, and the family of three went over to the man’s stall.

“My chicken is just steamed and boiled, but the taste can’t compare to the big restaurants, so no one wants to eat it.”

At the stall was a rather large stove, with a copper pot on top, and a steamer basket above that.

The man lifted the steamer, and a strong aroma wafted out.

People gradually gathered around, sniffing the smell. Someone said, “This just tastes like chicken, no different from what we cook at home. Why would anyone buy it?”

That was a big problem. The man gave a bitter smile and said, “I’m out of work, so I thought I’d give this a try, at least to feed my family. But my skills aren’t worth showing off...”

There was a round of sighs from the crowd, but everyone knows skills aren’t gained for nothing. Teach your apprentice, starve the master—an age-old truth.

Hearing the sighs, the man’s face turned pale as he said, “Forget it, I’ll go to the docks and do manual labor.”

“I’ll take a chicken leg!”

Ethan Sullivan put down his carrying pole, and Grace stood beside him holding Hannah.

The man nodded and said, “I can’t sell them anyway, the taste isn’t great. Ethan Sullivan, please don’t mind.”

There were five chickens in the steamer. He took out a whole one and smiled, “If it’s not enough, there’s more.”

Not bad, the man was generous.

Ethan Sullivan set up a small table and chair, then tore off a wing for Grace and said, “Don’t eat too much, or you’ll spoil your appetite.”

Grace gave a sweet smile, then asked, “Brother, what about Hannah?”

The little dog looked up at Ethan Sullivan from the side, its tail wagging as fast as a windmill.

Ethan Sullivan apologized to the man, “My little sister likes this puppy. Whatever she eats, the puppy eats too.”

The man smiled and nodded.

Food was precious these days. Ordinary folks feeding chicken to a dog would be scolded for being wasteful.

Ethan Sullivan tore off a bit of chicken breast for Hannah, and the puppy immediately started tearing into it, looking rather fierce.

“Good dog!”

Someone in the crowd praised. Ethan Sullivan saw it was a young boy and nodded at him.

“What kind of chicken do you want to make?”

While eating the chicken leg, Ethan Sullivan asked casually.

The man, having lost hope, replied just as offhandedly, “I only know how to steam chicken. If I make anything else, my family won’t eat it.”

He simply wasn’t cut out to be a chef.

An old man coughed and said, “You see... I’ve lived a long life and seen many young men like you, full of hope. But in the end, they all... all changed professions. Don’t do this anymore, go find some other work. Anything is fine, as long as you can feed your family.”

The man nodded, “Yes, I’ll go check out the docks tomorrow.”

The old man praised, “Bianliang is the capital, there’s work everywhere. If this doesn’t work, try something else. You’ll get by.”

Ethan Sullivan had finished his chicken leg. He wiped his hands with a towel and said, “Then let’s just make steamed chicken.”

Uh...

The crowd instantly fell silent.

Chapter 0011: The Emperor’s Midnight Snack

“That... Ethan Sullivan, just let this go.”

Someone was worried Ethan Sullivan would dig himself into a hole.

The man had also figured it out and said, “Right, I’ll look around tomorrow. As long as I’m willing to work hard, I won’t starve.”

Ethan Sullivan put down the towel, stood up, and said, “I like tinkering with food. Why don’t you give it a try?”

He didn’t really have a strong urge to help the man, so after saying this, he was ready to leave it alone.

The man felt there was no hope left in life and said, “I still have three chickens at home...”

“That’s enough.”

Ethan Sullivan said, “Bring the chickens to me tomorrow morning.”

...

After that, Ethan Sullivan continued selling potstickers at his stall, but the man who made steamed chicken was gone from the night market.

Everyone thought he had changed jobs.

Until five days later, the man returned, carrying his pole.

The night market vendors all sighed to themselves.

The man set up his stove, put the steamer on, and started steaming chicken.

Still the same old routine.

The night market was bustling again.

Grace was still practicing calligraphy.

Hannah was still napping.

Ethan Sullivan was still making potstickers.

That young boy came again, this time lining up to buy potstickers.

The boy looked about ten years old, with a nervous-looking man behind him, standing stiffly in line.

“Five, please.”

Ethan Sullivan looked up and found the boy looked familiar. He frowned and asked, “Did you come with an adult?”

The boy replied unhappily, “None of your business!”

Damn!

Ethan Sullivan smacked him on the head and scolded, “Do you know how hard your parents worked to raise you? There are so many people at the night market—what if someone took you away?”

The boy was dumbfounded.

The man behind him was dumbfounded.