After leaving, Fang Yue found a breakfast stall.
He ordered a serving of Pig Blood Soup and a steamer basket of shaomai.
The Pig Blood Soup at this breakfast stall looked quite authentic. The fresh pig blood was a vivid, brilliant red, congealed in a basin.
The breakfast stall owner cut the pig blood into evenly sized pieces, poured them into a pot, and simmered them over low heat.
The tender, fragile pig blood gradually became firm under the scorching heat of the flames.
Once breakfast was served, Fang Yue ate two shaomai while they were hot, then took a sip of Pig Blood Soup.
After one big gulp, the broth ran down the corner of his mouth.
Fresh and delicious. It truly was an old-established shop—the flavor was excellent. Even in this era starved of seasonings, it was no worse than in his previous life.
More importantly, everything was completely natural, without a trace of additives. It was so fresh and tasty that one could not help but devour it in great mouthfuls.
After eating, Fang Yue did not continue wandering around. Instead, he returned to the wine house.
Meanwhile,
At Zhang Boyang's home.
In the sitting room, Zhang Boyang wore a deeply worried expression.
"This new business from the Martial Arts School will probably be difficult to obtain. Sigh, it would be one thing if I simply failed to get the business, but then I would have wronged worthy nephew Fang Yue."
Zhang Boyang took a drink. He rarely drank at home.
But what had happened over these past few days had left him feeling miserable.
Ever since Fang Yue had given him pan-fried tea several times, he had keenly sensed that this tea could change the entire current tea market. It would surely sell well.
Yet it