The early summer sun was rising earlier each day, casting golden light across Nanjiang Town before most residents were even awake. The cicadas chirped louder, the river glistened like melted gold, and the scent of honeysuckle floated from every garden wall.
For Lin Mu, mornings had become his most productive time.
He would wake with the dawn, spend an hour or two tending to the herbs and fruits in the portable world, and then return to quietly prepare his products for delivery or packaging. There was a rhythm now — gentle, smooth, uninterrupted.
This morning, as he carefully packed small boxes of osmanthus pear tea and dried plum snacks, a notification sounded in his mind:
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[New Event Unlocked: Local Summer Market – Weekend Booth Available]
• Location: Nanjiang Town Square
• Requirement: Small-scale business
• Opportunity: Display and sell products, improve reputation, interact with locals
→ Would you like to register?
→ Yes / No
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Lin Mu stared at the message.
It wasn't a request from someone. It wasn't a requirement from the system.
It was an opportunity — optional, low-key, and perfect for someone who wanted to move slowly.
He pressed Yes.
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The town square came alive every first Saturday of the month during summer. Elderly farmers brought seasonal fruits; housewives sold handmade pickles and crafts; kids ran barefoot with popsicles in hand.
Lin Mu had never attended as a vendor before. He'd only ever visited with his mother in previous years to buy sweet corn or stone-ground tofu.
But now, under the shade of a gingko tree, he set up a modest table.
He kept it simple: three types of tea, two dried fruit snacks, and hand-drawn cards explaining the taste and suggested brewing methods. The packaging was clean, natural — kraft paper, soft string, and a delicate ink seal with "林苑 (Lin Garden)" printed in light strokes.
A folding bamboo chair sat behind the table. Lin Mu didn't even bring a signboard.
Just a small hand-painted plate that said:
"Tea and Fruit from a Quiet Garden"
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By mid-morning, passersby began to slow their steps when they saw the display.
A few curious customers sampled the dried pear slices. One elderly woman bought a full pouch and nodded approvingly.
"This is good for the lungs," she muttered. "My granddaughter has a cough."
Some younger couples liked the soft floral tea blends, and one even asked if he had a QR code for future orders.
Lin Mu had prepared quietly for this.
He pulled out a small printed card with a WeChat business account and a gentle message:
> "Thank you for supporting local handmade goods. I make these slowly, and I sell in small batches only."
By noon, he had already sold more than half of his stock.
He was refilling the table when he felt a familiar presence nearby.
"Wow," came a soft voice, amused and warm, "this is more official than I expected."
He looked up.
Xu Qingling was standing there, her hair tied into a ponytail, a soft linen blouse fluttering slightly in the breeze. She held a cold lemon drink in one hand and a small reusable bag in the other.
"I didn't know you were doing a booth," she said.
"I wasn't planning on it," he admitted. "But I thought… it might be time."
She picked up one of the osmanthus and pear tea pouches, then smiled faintly. "This one's my favorite."
"You already have some."
"I'm buying it for a friend."
"Is the friend you?"
"Maybe," she teased.
She paid, dropped the pouch into her bag, then lingered.
"Want a drink?" she offered, lifting her cold lemon tea. "There's a stall nearby. I'll grab you one."
Lin Mu nodded after a moment. "Sure."
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Later, under the same ginkgo tree, they sat together on the grass behind the booth.
He sipped the cold drink, while she leaned back on her hands, face tilted toward the filtered sunlight through the leaves.
"Do you like it?" she asked.
Lin Mu nodded. "Refreshing."
"It's like your tea," she said. "Simple but thoughtful."
They sat in silence for a while.
Nearby, a couple of little kids were playing tag with water pistols, squealing as they ran between booths. The smell of grilled skewers and roasted sweet potatoes filled the air.
"I had a thought the other night," Xu Qingling said suddenly. "If you ever want to open a proper tea house — something small, quiet, where people come not just to drink, but to pause — I'd love to help design the interior."
Lin Mu turned to her.
"You do design?"
"I studied it before switching to education," she said. "My first year was architecture and layout planning. I didn't finish it, but I still love that kind of work."
He was silent for a moment.
"I've been thinking about it," he finally said. "A small place. With a garden. Maybe a pond. Just a few tables. More like a resting spot than a café."
She smiled. "Then we should draw it someday."
He nodded. "Let's."
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When the market ended, and the sun began dipping toward the mountains, Lin Mu packed the remaining boxes and tied them carefully.
As he folded the table, he felt a kind of gentle pride — not because he'd sold everything, but because he'd done it quietly, in his own way.
Xu Qingling helped carry the bags.
When they reached his shop, she turned before leaving. "Next weekend… can I come help? Just for fun."
Lin Mu smiled, a soft warmth in his chest. "I'd like that."
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That night, in the portable world, he planted a new patch of chamomile and watched as tiny white buds peeked through the soil.
Then he sat at the bamboo table under the jujube tree — two stools now placed facing the pond — and poured himself a quiet cup of tea.
He imagined her sitting across from him, wind stirring her hair, sipping peach blossom white tea under the rustle of leaves.
And in that moment, under the fading stars of the system's artificial sky, Lin Mu realized:
Not everything beautiful needs to happen loudly.
Some things — the best things — grow in silence.
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End of Chapter 6