Chapter 9

The butler was remarkably efficient in customizing the work uniforms and had brought in an old tailor for the measurements.

“We’ll have two styles for each season: one more formal for distinguished guests, and one more casual for daily wear,” the butler reported solemnly to the master.

“Hmm.” Renyuan He was distracted, more concerned about his breakfast, which had turned from tea eggs into plain tea leaves.

Neither of them found it odd that the uniforms were being tailor-made instead of simply having the employees pick out sizes themselves.

The butler presented the breakfast menu arranged by Qingyu Bai for the young master’s approval. “Any objections?”

Previously, Sister Liu hadn’t dared to ask about Renyuan He’s preferences, but now with Qingyu Bai’s arrangements, Monday through Friday were clearly planned out, with a fixed portion each day—not a lavish buffet where he could pick whatever he wanted every morning.

Renyuan He replied coldly, “No objections.”

He wasn’t particular about what he ate.

After a while, the old tailor arrived, and the butler called everyone over for measurements.

Early spring was still chilly; Qingyu Bai wore a blue long-sleeve cloth shirt he’d made himself—a style from the last century, made from fabric gifted by neighbors. In the past, many would buy fabric before festivals to sew clothes at home, but factory prices eventually crushed homemade clothes’ cost-effectiveness. Many households had a stash of dark blue fabric hidden deep in their closets.

The clothes Qingyu Bai usually wore were thick, with double-stitched edges, loose and shapeless, hiding any waistline. To facilitate measurements, he simply came down in his pajamas.

The pajamas were thin and soft, made from new fabric he had splurged on for himself and the little Tea Flower.

While operating the sewing machine, Qingyu Bai realized that by shortening his pant legs and sleeves a bit, he could make an extra set of summer pajamas for Little Tea Flower—the noble Tea Spirit and its young cub were quite different in height.

Thus, Qingyu Bai’s pajamas were somewhat short, sleeves ending just below the elbow bend, and pant legs at mid-calf.

His fair arms and slender, well-proportioned calves were exposed for the first time, translucent and smooth like jade.

The tailor measured his shoulder width, arm length, and chest circumference. When the tape measure dropped to his waist, there was immediately several inches of slack.

Renyuan He realized, for the first time, how slim Qingyu Bai’s waist was. When he was fiercely choking someone, you wouldn’t expect that waist to snap so easily with one pinch. Where did this man’s confidence come from?

The old tailor felt a chill down his back as he continued measuring, only to turn and see the young master staring at him darkly. The price he intended to quote the butler instantly dropped by thirty percent.

Renyuan He watched the tailor measure Qingyu Bai’s leg length, wondering what Qingyu Bai’s profile would look like if he turned around.

Qingyu Bai noticed that Renyuan He had finished his breakfast cooperatively and seemed in a much better mood. He hurried over with quick steps to share his new idea about the villa:

“Can we use the doghouse in the backyard to raise chickens?”

“You must not have seen the tiny Lutin chickens. They’re adorable, don’t make much noise, don’t produce much droppings, and if you lay down fermented mats, it won’t smell. If you let me grow vegetables, I can even use the droppings as fertilizer.” Qingyu Bai clasped his hands, full of hope.

Renyuan He felt like a bird had just pooped on a blooming flower. “Impossible.”

“They lay eggs.”

The eggs were tiny, like quail eggs. Little Tea Flower could eat one in a single bite, and the young master could manage two.

“I know chickens lay eggs.”

“Then why don’t you raise any?”

“I also know you like to annoy people. Why don’t I just fire you?”

Qingyu Bai was speechless.

He thought, as his aunt had said, the boss loved firing people. He was already treading the fine line of being laid off.

Luckily, he hadn’t enrolled Tea Treasure in kindergarten yet, or else the supply would have been cut off. Supposedly, city folks were very afraid of the phrase “cut off supply.”

Qingyu Bai knew this term because he had stumbled upon a tea forum online, where many tea enthusiasts gathered. The Tea Spirit was comforted by the many who loved tea. One member shared that after losing his job and being cut off from supply, he couldn’t pay his mortgage, his wife left, and his child couldn’t attend kindergarten. He had no choice but to return home to manage two acres of tea fields and was selling his first spring tea at low prices, promising quality, not profit, just to afford his child’s kindergarten.

Many in the forum expressed sympathy and said they would buy his tea.

Qingyu Bai was short on cash and had his own child to support, so he didn’t buy the tea but saved the WeChat contact, hoping to help promote the tea someday—if the quality was truly as good as claimed, Renyuan He should buy it, right?

That night, over a hundred people requested to add him as a friend, and Qingyu Bai accepted them all. His once tiny circle of two or three friends suddenly grew vast. There were so many kindred spirits in this world.

These people were warm and enthusiastic; the internet was no barrier. They often shared their troubles with Qingyu Bai.

Some had their tea gardens seized by stepmothers and needed to sell a hundred thousand yuan worth of tea to regain control; others had expiring contracts and urgently sold their last batches of tea to return home; some had lost their fathers and had sick mothers.

Life was truly difficult for humans—unlike the Tea Spirit, whose child was well-fed and who had found a job smoothly.

Was the employer bad-tempered? Not really. Compared to the bosses of online friends, he was far better.

Qingyu Bai wanted to build a good relationship with his boss and then promote tea.

But he was puzzled. He had asked online friends to send him samples, and they all agreed, yet he hadn’t received a single leaf.

Without samples, how could he sell tea to the boss? Some even accused him of “wasting my time just to freeload tea.”

Please, the Tea Spirit was never short of tea.

Qingyu Bai went upstairs, took down the little cub, filled a water bottle, and set out with Tea Treasure.

Today they were going to the countryside to gather mugwort for making Qing Tuan dumplings.

They rode the bus for two hours to reach the spot Qingyu Bai had found online.

Many aunts and uncles were already squatting on the ground, pulling mugwort. The plants weren’t tall yet, still tender. Qingyu Bai was late and could only pick some scattered mugwort among the stones.

Fortunately, he didn’t need much—just enough for Tea Treasure to eat. And, yes, he’d make a Longjing tea-flavored one for the boss.

Qingyu Bai wanted to push his luck a bit more; he still hoped to raise chickens. Back in the countryside, the chicks were Little Tea Flower’s best companions.

Tea Treasure loved collecting eggs from the chicken coop. Since moving to the city, that joy had diminished somewhat.

Little Tea Flower wore a pristine little jacket and squatted, helping his father dig for wild herbs—looking from afar like a little white lamb.

“Daddy, can we eat it right away?”

“No, we can’t eat grass from the ground.” Qingyu Bai pinched a tender mugwort bud and placed it into the bag.

Little Tea Flower touched the top of his head and giggled, “Daddy, I have leaves too.”

Qingyu Bai plucked a leaf from his son’s head and compared it with the mugwort leaf in his palm, saying, “Baby’s leaf is bigger.”

“What about Daddy’s?”

Qingyu Bai pulled a strand of his own hair and pretended it was tea leaves. Three leaves were laid side by side.

“One, two, three,” Little Tea Flower counted, eyes curved into crescents from smiling, “Daddy’s leaves are the biggest.”

Qingyu Bai gathered enough mugwort, hoisted Little Tea Flower onto his back, and headed into the hills. Once they reached a secluded spot, he transformed back into the Tea Spirit’s form—his black hair cascading like a waterfall, a mountain forest sprite.

Little Tea Flower buried his face in his father’s silky hair. Daddy had become a handsome daddy!

By four in the afternoon, the father and son returned home hungry.

Little Tea Flower insisted on waiting for the Qing Tuan dumplings his father was making, refusing to eat anything else on the way. Once home, he stared eagerly at the kitchen.

Qingyu Bai washed the mugwort, boiled it, then mashed it into a dark green paste. While still hot, he mixed it with glutinous rice flour and kneaded it into dough.

The hand-mashed mugwort paste wasn’t fully crushed, leaving the dough’s surface somewhat coarse and mottled.

He wrapped the dough around some children’s pork floss made by Sister Liu for Little Tea Flower, shaping three dumplings to steam.

Little Tea Flower pressed his lips tightly, his tea-colored eyes always reflecting the image of the Qing Tuan dumplings, following his father’s every movement like a surveillance camera.

No drooling allowed yet.

The fourth dumpling had no pork floss; Qingyu Bai mixed some tea powder into the dough, kneaded it, and steamed it. It was bigger than the other three.

Little Tea Flower was clever: “This one is for Uncle Boss?”

“Yes, if you eat this, you have to promise to let me raise chickens.”

The butler watched through a glass door, filled with emotion. Qingyu Bai’s cooking skills were on par with the chairman’s—both rather average. Too bad the chairman had no son to appreciate it.

Qingyu Bai was self-aware, so he didn’t make Qing Tuan for anyone else. Everyone else would wait for Sister Liu’s.

Ten minutes later, the sticky dumplings were cooked.

Qingyu Bai took two and placed them in a wooden bowl, then carried Little Tea Flower up to the third floor to eat.

He took out a spoon and offered it to Little Tea Flower: “Here, baby, eat.”

Two sticky dumplings were enough for Little Tea Flower to nibble on and play with for an hour.

Qingyu Bai went downstairs to wait—if the young master returned home.

After dark, Renyuan He indeed came home from work.

Qingyu Bai presented the Qing Tuan on an exquisite white porcelain plate in front of Renyuan He, making his pitch: “I make you Qing Tuan, you let me raise chickens.”

Renyuan He: “...” This was the ugliest Qing Tuan he had ever seen.

He had sworn it would be the last time he was manipulated by Qingyu Bai, so he looked away resolutely and said, “I won’t eat it.”

The butler was sweating for Qingyu Bai; the young master’s fastidiousness would never allow chickens in the house. Even if the tea fragrance in the dumplings tempted him, he still had seventy percent of his willpower left.

“Oh.” Qingyu Bai knew the odds were low. Sitting opposite Renyuan He, he tore a dumpling in half and nibbled it.

Looks like the chicken-raising plan would need a new nanny.

Qingyu Bai had heard some gossip on the bus about an old couple on the first floor of an old neighborhood who stubbornly raised chickens in their flowerbed. Even the professor son couldn’t persuade them. They even chased the chickens indoors at night, and no one wanted to be their nanny.

[I’m more suited to be their nanny.]

Qingyu Bai planned in his mind. He had already found out the neighborhood and would visit next weekend with Little Tea Flower. If the old couple didn’t mind him bringing a child, he would switch employers.

Renyuan He sniffed the tea aroma from the Qing Tuan, resting one hand on the table, pressing his temple without a word.

He absolutely would never relent on the chicken issue.

By the way, after sitting so long, hadn’t anyone served the meal yet?

He had worked all day and now had to resist temptation on an empty stomach?

Ding dong—

Renyuan Wangzhong’s fatherly love express delivery arrived again—this time a bowl of Eight Treasure Rice, sweet and fragrant.

The butler opened the insulated lunchbox and immediately knew it wasn’t something the young master liked.

But the little young master loved it.

Renyuan He smelled the fierce sweetness of the Eight Treasure Rice standing up to the tea fragrance of the Qing Tuan, and for the first time felt his father was somewhat useful.

The butler slightly opened the box, showed it to Renyuan He from the side, then closed it. “Young master, aren’t you going to eat it?”

Renyuan He: ?

The butler secured the box again, not knowing what was wrong with the young master—refusing his father’s delicacies, preferring Qingyu Bai’s wild greens.

If you won’t eat it, it’s for the little boss then. :)