The food scandals in the city were reaching epic proportions. Black sesame dyed in calligraphy ink, cardboard dumplings, painted oranges.

It was becoming next to impossible for vendors to source reliably good produce.

Wu Yaoting scanned the block for chengguan. If they inspected his new shipment of watermelons, he’d be done for.

He hoped his customers wouldn’t ask him to cut in to one of them to show the quality. The last melon he had cut into popped then shrivelled up like a sad balloon before it was blown away by a gust of wind. Phhhhhhhhhbbbttt.

It didn’t used to be like this. Wu Yaoting kind of missed the good old days. At least millet and sorghum were predictable.

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