RYEY -Chapter 357 Supply Can’t Meet Demand

It wasn’t until the handlebars of the bicycle were hanging full of bags that Li Huan turned and headed toward the siheyuan. Ye Chengying was already in the courtyard practicing military-style exercises, something he made sure to do every morning.

Besides the military exercises, he also ran laps around the siheyuan, not keeping track of how many, until sweat drenched him and he finally slowed down.

“You’re a spirited kid. How about joining the army? You’ve got some real courage.”

Seeing Li Huan pushing his bicycle inside, Ye Chengying slowly finished his routine and tested him with a remark.

Just yesterday, when Wu Hongxin had suddenly attacked, Li Huan had been the first to rush in front of Cheng Qiao to protect her. And facing Wu Hongxin’s overwhelming aura, this kid had actually stood his ground.

“Thank you, Uncle Ye. But I have too many children, and they’re still young. I can’t bear to leave them.”

Seeing Ye Chengying, Li Huan also recalled last night’s dream. Only in the dream, that face had eventually transformed into Wu Hongxin’s, which gave Li Huan some inner peace.

Ye Chengying nodded. It was true—his grandchildren had very little time with their own father. Seeing the food Li Huan had brought, he suddenly felt hungry.

“Come inside and let me see what you bought. Good boy, you’re clever—you bought exactly what I like. How many years has it been since I had these? I missed them quite a lot.”

Ye Chengying picked up chopsticks and started eating, astonishing everyone with his appetite. Li Huan, who had worried he had bought too much, finally relaxed. This time, nothing would go to waste.

Cheng Liguo had come along with Ye Chengying. Even though they were going in different directions, Cheng Liguo had many things he wanted to discuss with his old superior, especially matters concerning his only daughter.

So he didn’t mind taking a longer route just to stay by Ye Chengying’s side, and Ye Chengying also had much to say to Cheng Liguo, mainly about Cheng Qiao.

Li Huan saw them off at the train station. Once the train departed, he boarded the train back to Huichun City. Having already taken leave for so long, with graduation only a month away, he needed to catch up on his studies.

It wasn’t only Li Huan who had to catch up; Cheng Qiao also sacrificed sleep, working day and night to make up for lost coursework, even reviewing third-grade lessons to ensure she could pass the third-grade exams directly.

Cheng Qiao’s diligence irritated many who were trying to advance themselves. Her grades were already excellent, yet she kept pushing herself—how were ordinary students with average ability supposed to keep up?

The teachers understood the situation but could only encourage the students: read more when you have time, and ask if you don’t understand something.

Ye Ling was also extremely busy. The medicinal porridge hall she co-invested in with Cheng Qiao had already made a name for itself in the capital. To protect the health of the kitchen staff, they had started limiting daily production.

The already popular medicinal porridges became even more sought-after after imposing a limit. From early morning, people lined up, sometimes wrapping around two blocks of the street.

Human nature is like this—the more people line up for something, the more curious others become. The long line piqued the interest of residents from other areas, who also joined the queue.

Many times, Ye Ling had her staff hand out numbered tickets, because the maximum daily supply was six hundred bowls. Anyone with a number above six hundred didn’t need to queue.

Yet many people didn’t understand why the limit was six hundred. Wouldn’t it be fine to make ten or eight more bowls? The staff politely explained that there were six flavors of porridge, and each flavor could only be sold a hundred bowls.

It wasn’t that they didn’t want to sell more. In business, who wouldn’t want to make money? But production capacity was limited—whether rice, oil, firewood, or medicinal ingredients, all were restricted in quantity.

More importantly, medicinal porridge required a certain cooking time. If it wasn’t cooked long enough, the entire batch would be wasted. Given these constraints, producing six hundred bowls a day was already the maximum.

And their hall was expanding. Even the middle courtyard became a dining area, so anyone entering the porridge hall would have a place to sit.

A month later, the price of the three-cent-a-bowl porridge increased to one yuan per bowl. Naturally, many residents protested, saying it was too expensive.

Ye Ling didn’t respond directly but posted a notice explaining that the first month was a trial period, and selling bowls for three cents was a public benefit.

In truth, they were operating at a loss. Medicinal porridge contained rice, glutinous rice, medicinal herbs, plus oil, salt, sauces, and other ingredients, and labor and firewood costs were included. It didn’t add up financially.

The key was that their medicinal porridge used real, quality ingredients. If someone felt it worked, they were welcome to come again. If it didn’t, the hall didn’t force them.

Once the notice was posted, it caused a strong reaction. People felt it was too audacious. Some shouted in protest, and others joined in.

But a few days later, they noticed that those leading the protests, though shouting, obediently queued up.

For so many years, life had been hard. People worked diligently, often hungry, with weak and depleted bodies.

But after drinking the medicinal porridge, it was as if their bodies were sponges absorbing water. The sponges were no longer dry—they were gradually hydrated.

This moisture made their bodies feel more sensitive, their strength increasing. Previously, hard work caused dizziness and soreness, but these symptoms were slowly disappearing.

“Miss, tell us honestly—how long do we have to drink this porridge to get healthy? It’s too expensive. One yuan a bowl, thirty yuan for a month. My salary is only thirty-six yuan.”

Ye Ling smiled warmly. She herself drank the porridge daily. Cheng Qiao encouraged her to drink more of the Angelica Chicken Porridge and Maogen Rehmannia Porridge, which were excellent for women to replenish qi and blood.

“Our boss said you don’t need to drink it every day. Just come for a bowl whenever you feel unwell. Of course, this is only medicinal porridge. If you have a serious illness, you still need to see a doctor.”

Everyone understood. They didn’t need to drink it every day. The lines seemed a little shorter, which was exactly what Ye Ling hoped for; otherwise, she wouldn’t even have time for the restroom.

By late June, it was already exam time. Li Huan and Cheng Qiao encouraged each other, both hoping for good results.

Especially Li Huan—this was the graduation exam. If he did well, he would have the right to choose his preferred job, within certain limits.

Wang Xiangyang was nervous too. Li Huan had promised that if he performed well, he would make sure the commune secretary approved Wang Xiangyang to be the village chief of Xiangyang Village.

Wang Xiangyang had been riding on Li Huan’s coattails for so long that the thought of managing a village alone made him uneasy. He didn’t have Li Huan’s brains, courage, or generosity.