My Wife Came From A Thousand Years Ago

Chapter 155: Be a Smart Jiang He

Xu Qing wasn’t sure how well Jiang He had slept, but he himself had a fantastic night, waking up well-rested.

As for the complaints about spring mattresses being uncomfortable—that only applied when you were sleeping alone. A mattress Jiang He had slept on for a long time felt like one-and-a-half people were sharing it. Xu Obsessed Qing was thoroughly satisfied. He woke up at almost nine, an hour later than usual, a rare occurrence. Jiang He hadn’t disturbed him—something they had an unspoken understanding about. Neither of them ever woke the other up in the morning.

This habit probably stemmed from the days when Jiang He first arrived, and Xu Qing slept until nine or ten daily. Over time, he started waking up earlier, but still, they never called each other to get up.

Jiang He had already finished her morning martial arts practice and was staring at the computer screen. Xu Qing wasn’t sure how long she’d been sitting there, but the desktop screen suggested she had just minimized whatever she was doing a few seconds earlier.

No telling what weird thing she’d been researching this time.

This behavior made Xu Qing realize even more clearly how much Jiang He was growing. By modern standards, she was like a teenager entering her rebellious phase, complete with her own little secrets.

“Congee’s in the pot,” Jiang He reminded him, pausing briefly before returning to the computer.

“Did you eat already?”

“You can eat first, you know. Or wake me up.”

“I’m not in a hurry.”

Xu Qing shrugged. Nine wasn’t too late—breakfast was usually around eight anyway. He yawned, went to the bathroom, and then brushed his teeth. Once he was done, they ladled congee into bowls and ate breakfast with some pickled vegetables.

Initially, they had bought pre-packaged pickles from the supermarket. The occasional tough root or peel made the experience less pleasant, like chewing on dry wood. While the pickles paired well with congee, the imperfections were hard to ignore. Eventually, Xu Qing bought a large white radish and tried pickling it himself. The results were surprisingly good.

Jiang He learned how to pickle radishes as well, tweaking the recipe. She sliced the radish into strips, sprinkled salt to draw out the moisture, squeezed them dry, and mixed them with layers of chili, ginger, and garlic. The result was crispy, flavorful pickles—perfect with congee.

“Homemade ones are way better than store-bought,” Xu Qing said, digging into the older batch at the bottom of the dish for a more intense flavor.

Once the old batch was finished, the new batch would become the old, and Jiang He would keep replenishing it—an endless cycle.

“Where I come from, store-bought is always better than homemade,” Jiang He remarked, puzzled.

“That’s a strange notion.”

“Isn’t it even stranger here?” Jiang He frowned. “Why would anyone buy something worse than what they can make themselves? Shouldn’t the ones with better craftsmanship replace the inferior ones and drive them out of business?”

Xu Qing paused, holding his bowl mid-air. After a moment of thought, he said, “...You have a point.”

“Then why hasn’t anyone replaced them?”

“Well, that’s a deeper question. There are many factors involved. If you ask me, I probably can’t explain it all.”

Pickles, while simple to make, were a hassle for a single person living alone. Xu Qing himself used to buy the pre-packaged ones, tolerating their flaws because he couldn’t be bothered to buy a radish and pickle it himself.

“Are you thinking about selling your pickles since they taste better than the store-bought ones?” Xu Qing asked, noticing her contemplative expression.

“I thought about it for a moment but realized it wouldn’t work,” Jiang He admitted. “If it were feasible, we’d already have access to better-tasting pickles.”

“True enough.” Xu Qing was pleased with her conclusion.

Despite some gaps in her understanding, Jiang He was developing more sophisticated thought processes. She had a clear and logical reasoning ability, rather than naively believing her pickles were superior and therefore more marketable.

“This isn’t like running a food stall. On a street, if you make better pickles than the guy next to you, you could outcompete them. That logic holds.”

“Then where’s the flaw?”

“This product isn’t a necessity. It’s something people buy occasionally to eat with instant noodles or breakfast. To make a living, you’d have to sell in large volumes and expand your market—you can’t survive on just one street.”

Xu Qing crunched down on a radish, letting her ponder it. After a while, Jiang He frowned and said, “What if it’s sold in supermarkets instead? You wouldn’t need to push a cart around. Is that their advantage?”

“Hmm… ‘advantage’ isn’t the right word. Ultimately, products are chosen by the market.”

Xu Qing wiped his mouth and set down his bowl, explaining, “To put it simply, expanding requires ensuring supply, production, storage, transportation, and distribution. All those costs add up. For a pickle, it’s not worth a high price, so costs have to be compressed, leading to mass production. That compromises quality—it’s inevitable. At the same price, it’s about whose margins are lower and whose product tastes slightly better within that cost range.”

“...”

It was Jiang He’s first time encountering such concepts. She felt like she understood something but also like she’d learned nothing.

“On top of that, there’s customer demand. People buying pickles at the supermarket might value convenience or just want to try something. Some might only afford pickles and buns for the time being. Stable home cooks like us aren’t their target audience. What we find unappealing, others might find acceptable or even enjoyable.”

Seeing that she had also finished eating, Xu Qing stood up to clear the table, continuing, “In short, don’t assume your needs are everyone’s needs. If you want delicious and affordable pickles but don’t want to make them yourself, you’d have to look for small shops or stalls that sell them as a side item, often by weight. Their target customers are people like us.”

“Is it really that complicated?” Jiang He finally came to her senses.

She had assumed that making better pickles would naturally lead to easier sales and higher profits.

“It gets even more complicated. You’d have to factor in economics, packaging, operations… even companies and capital. A bag of pickles that costs fifty cents and gets delivered from thousands of miles away to end up in your hands—that’s no small feat.”

Jiang He leaned against the kitchen doorway, watching Xu Qing wash dishes. After a moment of silence, she sighed, “Nothing is easy, is it…”

“Actually, some things are. You could open an online store and sell directly to customers, skipping a lot of the hassle. But then you’d face other challenges, like competing with others, promoting your shop, and attracting customers. As I told you when you first arrived, this is a world where you make money with your brain.”

Xu Qing was patient. Jiang He, with her semi-literate background from ancient times, could have relied on him entirely—cooking, cleaning, and avoiding mental effort. But that wouldn’t do. She needed to be smart.

Choosing a simple life out of preference is entirely different from being forced into one. The former is happiness; the latter, misfortune.

“That’s why I encourage you to read and think more. There’s no rush to make money… though that’s just my advice. If you want to earn, I won’t stop you. I just want you to live a better life.”

“What do you mean by a better life?” Jiang He’s expression grew complicated.

Second Madam had said similar words, urging her to live well, to live better. Was it just because he liked her? In this world, wasn’t everything an exchange? Xu Qing being so good to her only made her uneasy.

“That depends on you,” Xu Qing said with a smile. What was a better life? It was when a cat ate fish, a dog ate meat, and Ultraman defeated the monster.

“There’s a saying: ‘Looking at the sky from the bottom of a well.’ You only realize how vast the world is when you climb out of the well. Whether you choose to stay outside and enjoy the scenery or return to your comfort zone after seeing the world’s splendor—that’s your choice.”

He wanted Jiang He to live with clarity. If, after seeing the world, she sought freedom, he’d let her go.

Loving someone is a balance of selfishness and selflessness—a contradiction that coexists.

“I’m just afraid that after I’ve tricked you into staying, you might want to climb out again. That would be the end. But if I’m upfront about it now, at least when I trick you into bed, I won’t feel so guilty.”

Xu Qing, in a typical scoundrel fashion, concluded his thoughts with shameless confidence.

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