Chapter Eleven: Where Did My Urban Management Officer Go?

Morning. Chen Zhou had just returned from the market, carrying six pounds of pork and a large steaming pot. Almost immediately, his phone rang—it was his junior colleague Niu Ma, who handled both HR and administrative duties at the company.

Chen Zhou had imagined his resignation as a smooth and carefree departure, ready to embark on his own culinary venture. Yet reality demanded he complete all the formalities. Fortunately, Niu Ma called with good intentions, reminding him to take his annual leave this month first, which would allow him to receive an extra half month’s salary.

“Anyway, if you don’t take the leave, you won’t get the subsidy. Might as well squeeze some benefit from the old man before you leave.”

The “old man,” of course, referred to the director.

Hearing her say that, Chen Zhou chuckled, phone in hand. “Thanks, little junior. Come by when you have time—I’ll treat you to some buns, right here in Sunshine City Complex.”

“No problem, Engineer Chen. But you really went ahead and set up a stall, huh? I saw you posted something about the stall registration on Douyin.”

Did it help those running stalls? Chen Zhou wasn’t sure, but he had shared the video with some acquaintances on his phone yesterday.

He replied, “No lie—I just bought six pounds of pork and was about to start making buns.”

He appreciated Zhao Yilin’s reminder, though he hoped she’d understand he still had business to attend to.

Yet she clearly hadn’t finished chatting.

“A few days ago, Old Song and the others even bet a pack of cigarettes on what exactly you were up to. This morning, they were handing out cigarettes at their desks.”

This bunch sure had too much free time. Chen Zhou laughed and asked, “You didn’t put a bet too, did you?”

Zhao Yilin hurriedly clarified, “No way, I don’t smoke... But they started a new game where you can exchange cigarettes for milk tea. This time, they’re betting on whether your business will survive. Can you give me some insider info, senior brother? I can help you fill out your annual leave form, so you don’t have to come back to the office again.”

There’s truth in the saying: when someone changes and leaves their old environment, they often feel out of place.

Chen Zhou was amused by these people.

He told Zhao Yilin, “I’ll buy you a milk tea—don’t get mixed up with them. My business is doing well.”

“No, no, no, I want to make them cough up some money, especially Old Song. That guy is so annoying—always leering at me and talking with this overbearing tone, so greasy...”

Perhaps venting about the company to a resigned colleague was also Zhao Yilin’s way of relieving stress.

Chen Zhou didn’t hang up. He set the phone aside and listened while preparing for his afternoon stall.

Making buns is a bit like making a life—you need the right balance in the filling: 30% fat, 70% lean, fried just so.

Suddenly, Zhao Yilin’s call cut off.

Chen Zhou recalled her stammering, “Old… Director Tang!”

His junior seemed a little slow on the uptake.

...

Evening came. Chen Zhou drove his food cart back to his usual spot.

Besides the signature fresh pork buns, a few small lines had been added to the sign:

“Homemade pickled cucumbers, now accepting orders. Free samples today.”

It wasn’t that Chen Zhou had taken up a new marketing tactic, but the pickled cucumbers needed three days to reach their best flavor.

The promotion worked well.

After all, who could resist something free?

Moreover, holding a soft bun in one hand and a cool, crisp pickle in the other was undeniably tempting.

Many customers faced the glistening emerald pickles with delight.

“Oh! These little pickles look so clean.”

“Thanks, boss.”

“I bought twelve buns—can I have some extra?”

“Of course.”

The freshly pulled cucumbers, just out of the fridge, still carried a chill, tempting some to snack as they walked.

Discerning foodies would first bite into a bun, savoring the juicy broth inside, teeth pressing softly against the tender dough.

Then they’d take a bite of the cucumber, savoring the crisp snaps.

Finally, alternating between bun and pickle, the icy and steaming sensations mingled, creating a delightful contrast on the palate.

Next came the dance of savory oiliness and fresh fragrance.

The juicy, crunchy cucumber strips added layers of sour, sweet, salty, and umami.

Those who started eating on the go often found themselves hurrying back to the bun stall.

“Boss, I’d like to order a box of pickled cucumbers. How much?”

“Twelve yuan a box, ready in two days. There’s a pen tied here—you can leave your details yourself.”

“Okay.”

[Not a foodie], 132########, 1 box.

Chen Zhou’s bun-making skills had improved thanks to positive reviews, boosting his efficiency. Today, he had prepared six pounds of dough worth of fresh pork buns in one go.

He set aside 22 boxes of pickled cucumbers for separate sale, which sold out even before the buns.

However, juggling the cucumber sales slowed his bun output. When Mrs. Lin came by with her daughter to visit, Chen Zhou still hadn’t finished selling.

“Let me take over, you take a break,” Lin Yifan said.

“I’m not tired.”

With professional skills, bun-making wasn’t too taxing for Chen Zhou, and besides, his wife had worked all day.

But Mrs. Lin insisted.

Chen Zhou had no choice but to give up his spot beside the cart.

“I mainly want you to come back and massage my waist. Since you insist on helping, then I’ll return the favor,” Mrs. Lin added, delivering a moderate elbow jab.

Watching her parents hop onto the little cart, little Chen Taotao looked a bit bewildered.

“Daddy, daddy, what about me?”

Almost forgotten, Chen Zhou scooped up his little girl.

“Daddy’s saved you a prime seat at the front.”

With his wife helping bag and settle payments, Chen Zhou could focus on scanning the crowd for any city enforcement officers.

Now that nights were longer, spotting someone in blue uniform should be easy enough.

But try as he might, he couldn’t recall seeing any today.

So, would they come soon?

If not, he’d have to close shop.

Just then, Chen Taotao called out timely:

“Only ten buns left~~”

Two workers from a nearby renovation crew were drawn by the girl’s voice.

“Oh! They’re selling buns.”

“That little girl’s so cute.”

Their accents suggested they were from the same hometown as Lin Yifan.

Chen Zhou waved warmly. “Buns this way.”

The two workers had likely just finished work and were hungry, their eyes lighting up at the sight of the buns.

“How much for the buns?”

“Two and a half yuan each, but if you take all ten left, I’ll give you twenty.”

A small custom in the stall world: a reasonable discount on the last batch.

The two men readily agreed. “Sounds great.”

Chen Zhou reminded them to come early the next day for free pickled cucumbers.

Watching the two hometown fellows walk away with their buns, Lin Yifan couldn’t help but think of her own family back home.

“Your pickled cucumbers taste great. I want to save some to send to my parents.”

Chen Zhou nodded.

“Don’t worry, I’ve set some aside. But it’s best to send them after a few more days.”

Mrs. Lin glanced at the reservation list filled out on paper and remarked:

“Oh, the flavor improves after a few days, right?”

“That’s right. Mainly because there might be heavy rain in the coming days.”