"System, are you serious? You're asking for a profit of ten thousand yuan in a single day?" Li Ziqing froze in place, staring at the transparent interface floating before her eyes. The absurdity of the mission made her heart jolt. She knew her mother, Li Jianfang, barely earned a few hundred yuan profit on a good day—and that was with long hours of labor. Even if they managed to sell every single portion they had prepared today, the maximum profit she could see barely reached four thousand yuan.
[Ding... Host, the task is difficult, but not impossible. To build a legitimate business empire, Host will need to put in tremendous effort. The road ahead is filled with hardship and challenges. This is merely the tip of the iceberg.]
Li Ziqing fell silent for a moment, then exhaled slowly. The system was right. If she wanted to change her family's fate and rise above the ordinary, she couldn't expect it to be easy.
She clenched her fists at her sides and nodded resolutely.
She would complete this mission—no matter what.
But then came the problem: how?
The prices were already set, and frankly, they were steep compared to the other stalls lining the northern district streets. Their pricing board read:
Silken Egg & Scallion Soy Porridge – 7 yuan
Pan-Fried Chive & Shrimp Dumplings – 10 yuan
Red-Braised Tofu with Mushrooms – 10 yuan
Garlic-Soy Chicken Wings – 15 yuan
In contrast, other vendors nearby were selling hot soy milk for 3 yuan, freshly steamed buns for 5, and fried dough sticks for 7 yuan. How could she possibly compete?
She was still lost in thought when her mother's voice gently broke through.
"A'Qing…" Li Jianfang called from the preparation area, her voice hesitant. "We made one hundred portions of each dish... and these dishes are something new for people around here. And... the prices are not low either." She glanced over with visible concern in her eyes. "Do you think we'll actually be able to sell everything? After all, this isn't the central or southern districts. The people here—they don't care how good the food tastes. They just want it cheap and filling."
Her concern was invitable, because she usually made 40 portion of each dish she sold everyday, and still she would be left with 5 to 6 portions of dishes sometimes. But today they made hundred of each, that counts to 400 portion of food.
Li Ziqing turned to her mother and offered a small, confident smile, even as uncertainty churned beneath her calm exterior.
"Mom, don't worry. It's only our first day. Even if we don't sell out, we can treat it as a market study. We'll learn from today and adjust," she said reassuringly.
Just then, Li Jianping and Li Zian arrived with the last of the containers, their breaths fogging in the cool morning air. The narrow roadside of the northern district was already beginning to stir.
As Li Jianfang stepped into position behind the food stall, she inhaled deeply and focused. Then, with practiced precision, she reached for the large insulated pot beside her and slowly lifted its lid.
A rich, savory steam burst forth, carrying with it the unmistakable scent of soy-infused porridge, silky eggs, and fresh scallions. The warm mist swirled through the air like invisible tendrils, reaching every nearby stall and passerby.
Sniff.
One man carrying a thermos paused mid-step. "What is that smell? Smells amazing…"
Beside her, Li Ziqing lit the small gas stove and carefully began pan-frying the shrimp and chive dumplings. The gentle hiss and crisp sizzle filled the air. Then came the garlic-soy chicken wings—each wing crackling in hot oil, releasing bursts of garlic, soy sauce, and star anise.
The surrounding vendors and passerby began to glance over. Conversations started.
"What stall is that? Smells better than a restaurant…"
"Dosen't that stall belong to that exceptionaly beautiful woman? And wait, are those dumplings? Or chicken wings?"
"Those wings look juicy… damn, now I'm hungry again."
"Look at that tofu—so glossy. It's like something out of a food magazine!"
Within minutes, a small crowd began to gather, drawn in by the tantalizing aromas and sizzling sounds. People paused mid-stride, some sniffing the air, others standing on tiptoe to get a better look at the neatly arranged dishes.
But then came the moment of hesitation. One man walked up, read the handwritten pricing board, and furrowed his brows.
"Fifteen yuan for chicken wings?" he muttered, squinting at the sign. "You can get a bowl of noodles for five."
Another woman nudged her friend, whispering, "It's expensive… but doesn't it smell divine?"
A factory worker, with grease-stained gloves in his pocket, glanced at the tofu and asked,
"Ten yuan, huh? Hmph... Would waste so much money."
Variety of voices began to rise around the Li family's stall.
Some murmured in praise, enchanted by the tantalizing scent and elegant presentation.
Others hesitated, brows furrowed in contemplation as they eyed the price board.
And then, there were those who muttered under their breath with thinly veiled disdain, their tones laced with skepticism and bitterness.
Their words reached the ears of Li Jianfang and Li Jianping, who stood tried their best to appear composed. But the murmurs, whispers, and glances were enough to plant seeds of uncertainty in their hearts.
From the neighboring stall, a woman—broad-shouldered, middle-aged, and wrapped in a faded apron—looked over and called out with a false smile, her voice carrying just enough volume to draw the attention of nearby customers.
"Jianfang, why did you suddenly decide to change your menu? Wouldn't it be better to stick to the usual? People here just want something familiar—and cheap," she said, shaking her head dramatically. "And these prices… they're not exactly practical for this area."
Another woman, one who often helped at the stall beside hers, quickly chimed in with a snort.
"Exactly. No matter how good the food is, no one around here wants to spend like that on breakfast. We're not in the central district, after all."
Li Jianfang simply smiled, her expression calm and unreadable. She didn't respond to their remarks—there was no need. Over the years, she had learned that sometimes silence was the best shield.
But Li Ziqing, standing nearby as she ladled fresh porridge into bowls, heard every word. Her brows knit into a subtle frown. The women's comments weren't entirely unexpected, but there was something in their tone—something slick and bitter—that rubbed her the wrong way.
Condescending. Dismissive. Almost gleeful.
She glanced toward them and caught the glint of satisfaction in their eyes. Her instincts were rarely wrong.
In truth, the woman who had spoken—the one who ran her food stall beside Li Jianfang's—had long harbored a quiet resentment. Not because of the food, but because of Li Jianfang herself.
Li Jianfang's beauty had always stood out—elegant, refined, and timeless, even in the worn simplicity of a slum apron. She carried herself with a grace that seemed out of place in the gritty, smoke-filled streets of the northern district. Whether it was old men, old woman, young or middle aged men, women, or even children, they were drawn to her stall. Very few came for her cooking, others for the warmth in her smile, and many simply for a brief moment of conversation with someone who seemed to shine just a little brighter than the rest.
And that—more than anything—had bred envy.
According to these women, someone from the slums shouldn't possess such beauty. Shouldn't attract that kind of attention. Shouldn't make their stalls feel invisible by comparison.
"Aren't we all from the same dirty alleys and peeling tenements?" they would whisper among themselves.
"Then why does she look like she belongs in a movie scene?"
With time, their envy soured into malice. They mocked her behind her back, hurled insults under their breath. Vixen. Pretentious. Shameless.
Sometimes, when the crowds had thinned, they would even question her character outright—as if beauty, in a place like this, could only come with a price.
Today, as they watched customers approach the Li family's stall only to pause at the prices and walk away, their joy was thinly masked.
The woman folded her arms smugly, a gleam of triumph flickering in her eyes. Her own stall, stocked with fried pancakes and cheap soy milk, may not smell half as divine—but at least it had paying customers.
Watching Li Jianfang's seemingly 'empty' stall, she couldn't help but gloat inwardly.
"Little Fang?"
The voice, though gentle, rang clearly above the morning bustle. The Li family turned in unison, and their expressions brightened at the sight of an elderly couple making their way toward the stall, hand in hand, warm smiles etched across their weathered faces.
The man wore a pressed jacket over a plain cotton shirt, and the woman was clad in a floral-printed blouse with a soft wool scarf tucked neatly around her shoulders. Though their clothes were modest, there was a quiet refinement to their bearing—a subtle dignity that stood apart from the usual morning crowd of laborers and hawkers.
It was clear they had come from their morning walk, the fresh scent of dew still clinging to them.
"Grandpa Mu! Grandma Mu!" Li Jianping was the first to greet them, rising with a wide grin as he offered them a stool and a small foldable chair. "Come, sit. You're just in time."
"A'Qing," Li Jianfang said, turning toward her daughter with a smile. "This is Grandpa and Grandma Mu. They live three alleys over. Some of our most loyal regulars."
Then, with the practiced warmth of someone long accustomed to hospitality, Li Jianfang stepped forward and welcomed the couple personally, her tone affectionate and familiar.
Li Ziqing looked toward them with mild curiosity. From the surface, they seemed like any elderly pair from the Northern District, but something about them—perhaps the neatness of their dress, or the calm confidence in their eyes—suggested otherwise.
Indeed, the Northern District wasn't solely a place of poverty and hardship. There were families here who had once struck fortune—some through old property, others through luck or long-forgotten ventures—but who chose to stay behind, clinging to the nostalgia of childhood lanes, the memories etched into peeling walls, and the rhythm of a place that still felt like home. The Mu couple, Li Ziqing guessed, were one such pair.
As the couple settled in, Grandpa Mu sniffed the air with exaggerated delight. His eyes twinkled.
"Little Fang, the moment we stepped onto the street, we were greeted by the most divine aroma," he said, his voice rich with appreciation. "What heavenly creation are you cooking today?"
Grandma Mu chuckled, a little sheepish but equally thrilled. "We eat your food every day, but today… today it's something else entirely. I could smell it all the way down the block!"
Li Jianfang smiled knowingly. "Today, the kitchen wasn't mine," she said, glancing toward the stall. "My daughter took over this morning. She apprenticed under a highly respected master chef and thought it was time to introduce a few changes. So today, you're getting a taste of something new."
At this, both Grandpa and Grandma Mu blinked in surprise, turning toward the stall with renewed curiosity. Until now, the food's aroma had been so enchanting that they hadn't even looked at the one behind the stove. Li Ziqing had remained half-hidden behind the large soup cauldron, her smaller frame eclipsed by the towering pots and pans.
Just then, as if on cue, Li Ziqing stepped out from behind the counter and approached the elderly couple with quiet grace.
"Grandpa Mu, Grandma Mu," she greeted, her voice soft yet clear, a gentle smile curving on her lips.
The couple stared.
They had expected beauty—how could they not, with Li Jianfang as her mother? But this… this young woman was something else entirely.
Li Ziqing possessed the kind of beauty that stole the breath before the mind could register it. Her features were delicate yet striking: a sculpted face with high cheekbones, luminous almond-shaped eyes that seemed to hold both mystery and intelligence, and lips naturally tinged with the softness of rose petals. Her complexion was clear and fair, tinged with a healthy glow from the early morning kitchen heat. A few wisps of raven-black hair had escaped her neatly tied bun, curling gently around her slender neck, framing her face with an effortless allure.
She wore a simple, well-fitted apron over a white blouse and slim trousers, her attire modest but elegant. Yet, it was her presence—calm, assured, and radiant—that held the power to quiet a room.
For the Mu couple, Li Jianfang had always been the standard of beauty: warm, dignified, and graceful, someone whose charm wasn't just skin-deep but embedded in every glance, every smile, every kind word. It was why they returned to the stall every day—not just for the food, but for the comfort of her presence, the peace that lingered in her voice.
But this girl—her daughter—was an entirely different kind of breathtaking.
"She's like moonlight on still water," Grandpa Mu murmured under his breath, his eyes softening.
"A starlit bloom," Grandma Mu added, smiling as though she had just seen something rare and precious.
At their age, the Mu couple had seen much of the world. They no longer cared for riches or feasts or fleeting pleasures. What they cherished now were people—good, sincere people. And in this young girl, they sensed not just beauty, but something deeper. Purpose. Fire. Potential.