Chapter 288 - 170: I Should Be Damned...

Chapter 288: Chapter 170: I Should Be Damned...

Lai Fu smiled at the two of them, waved, and walked on ahead.

He Zhiyuan and Li followed, a sudden uncomfortable feeling welling up inside them.

Reaching the end of the bridge, He Zhiyuan glanced at a nearby butcher’s stall and said to Li, "You and he go on ahead slowly. I’m going to buy some meat. I can’t show up empty-handed."

"Okay, Editor-in-Chief. I’ll tell him to slow down," Li nodded.

He Zhiyuan bought just over a catty of pork belly. When he turned around, he saw Lai Fu and Li waiting for him under a large tree nearby. Lai Fu offered a smile that was both shy and sincere.

"Ah, what the hell," He Zhiyuan said, turning back to the butcher. "Give me that remaining piece, too."

"Two catties and six liang. Call it two-fifty," Zhang the Third said as he tied the meat with a rice-straw string and handed it to He Zhiyuan. He glanced at Lai Fu standing nearby and asked curiously, "Are you a relative of that kid who sells tofu?"

"Not relatives, more like..." He Zhiyuan paused as he took out his money and handed it over. "Newly-made friends, I guess. We’re visiting his family, and it wouldn’t be right to go empty-handed."

"Well, you’re a considerate friend then, bringing so much meat," Zhang the Third said with a smile.

He Zhiyuan smiled, nodded, and walked over to Li and the others, meat in hand.

After walking for half an hour, the three of them finally arrived outside the dilapidated house.

Half of the house had collapsed and was barely covered by a tarp. The air was filled with the fragrance of soy milk.

He Zhiyuan and Li stood outside the courtyard gate, unable to hide the surprise in their eyes.

Lai Fu went forward, pushed open the gate, and beckoned to them from within.

He Zhiyuan followed him in. The courtyard was filled with bamboo poles hung with golden sheets of tofu skin, which swayed gently in the autumn breeze like a multitude of golden banners.

In the center of the courtyard, three stoves were burning. Soy milk simmered in iron woks. An old woman with swollen red eyes and graying hair sat on a stool, holding a small stick. With a gentle flick and a roll in the wok, she lifted out a sheet of soy milk skin and carefully hung it on a bamboo pole beside her.

The old woman’s eyes were red and swollen, and her curled-up right leg seemed to give her trouble. Her clothes were covered in patches but washed clean, and her fingernails were neatly trimmed.

Hearing the noise, the old woman squinted toward the gate and asked hesitantly, "Lai Fu, who are they?"

Lai Fu put down the wicker basket on his back and went over to the old woman, gesturing to explain.

He Zhiyuan spoke up. "Ma’am, my name is He Zhiyuan. I’m the deputy editor-in-chief of *Sichuan Cuisine* magazine, and this is my assistant, Li."

"Magazine? What kind of place is that?" the old woman asked, confused.

"We’re friends of Zhou Yan," He Zhiyuan explained. "Yesterday, we interviewed Mrs. Zhang Shufen. We were at Zhou Yan’s restaurant and tried the dried tofu and tofu skin you make. It was so authentic that I wanted to come and interview you."

"Oh, friends of Fen and Zhou Yan! Come in, have a seat." Hearing this, a smile spread across Mrs. Sun’s face. She used her chair to support herself as she shakily stood up. "Come sit in the main room. I’ll make you some tea."

Seeing the old woman limping, He Zhiyuan quickly took a few steps forward. "No, no, please don’t trouble yourself. Your soy milk is still simmering. You go on with your work. We don’t need any tea. We can just chat out here in the courtyard while you work."

Mrs. Sun heard him and sat back down. She used her small stick to lift the skin from the next wok, saying, "All right, then. I’ll just finish up these three pots of soy milk. It’s a real pain to have to restart the fire later."

"We came over from Rongcheng and didn’t prepare anything, so we just bought you some meat in town." He Zhiyuan offered the meat he was holding to Lai Fu.

Lai Fu didn’t take it, looking instead to Mrs. Sun.

"Oh no, we couldn’t possibly. You’re guests in our home. How could we let you buy us meat?" Mrs. Sun scrambled to her feet again, waving her hands in refusal.

He Zhiyuan smiled and said, "There’s no sense in showing up empty-handed. It’s just a small gesture. We’re friends with Zhou Yan, which makes you our elder. It’s only right."

Tears welled up in Mrs. Sun’s eyes. She sighed softly. "You’ve spent too much on us again."

She made a few gestures with her hands, telling Lai Fu to take the meat and bring it to the kitchen.

Lai Fu brought them two bamboo chairs. A moment later, he returned with two cups of tea before going back to work, helping lift the tofu skin and hang it on the bamboo poles.

"Your grandson is so sensible. Even though he can’t speak, he’s always looking for work to do, and he’s so polite," He Zhiyuan remarked with feeling.

"He has to be. The children of the poor have to grow up fast. This child has had a hard life, being born into a poor family like ours." Mrs. Sun looked at the busy Lai Fu, her face filled with a pained affection.

He Zhiyuan fell silent for a moment before changing the subject. "Ma’am, I heard from Zhou Yan that you married into the family from Xiba Town. Your skill in making tofu is incredible. I actually thought Zhou Yan was sourcing his dried tofu and tofu skin from Xiba—the flavor is that authentic. Who did you learn your craft from?"

The old woman turned back to him, a slight smile on her face. "My family is from Xiba Town. I was nineteen when I married and moved to Suji. My skill with tofu is a family tradition—we’ve been making it for generations..."

Li had already placed his notebook on his lap and was scribbling furiously.

...

After the lunch rush, Zhou Yan put a bag of pig’s head meat in his bicycle basket. With two rolls of cash in his pocket, he was just about to head out when he saw two people enter the restaurant.

"Grandma?" Zhou Yan looked in surprise at the old woman in the lead, then at the old man following behind her.

The old man looked to be in his seventies. He wore a gray Zhongshan suit, and his hair was mostly gone, save for a small, long tuft of white hair that he’d stubbornly coiled on top of his head, as if to stake a claim on territory where hair might one day grow again.

In contrast, his beard was quite lush—a long, silvery-white beard that gave him a somewhat sagely, otherworldly air.

"Are you heading out?" his grandmother asked, looking at Zhou Yan pushing his bicycle.

"I was planning to go see Great-Aunt, to take her to the clinic or the factory hospital to get her eyes and leg checked," Zhou Yan said.

His grandmother smiled at this. "What a coincidence. I was also planning on taking Da-tou to see Li Hua. Where’s your father? Tell him to get his bike too and give us all a ride over."

"Grandma, who is this gentleman?" Zhou Yan asked, looking at the old man beside her.

"Third Sister, give me some face in front of the younger generation, will you?" the old man cut in, smiling at Zhou Yan. "You’re Zhou Yan, right? My name is Zhang Zhengping. By all rights, you should call me Great-Uncle. I came to Zhou Village this morning to visit Third Sister, and after lunch she roped me into coming along to see your great-aunt.

Getting old, getting old. Can’t walk like I used to. Have to trouble you young folks for a ride."