Chapter 29: All Head Out Together…

Bigger than a casserole lid, the rabbit stew with potatoes was full of tender meat; a bowl of stir-fried cabbage looked fresh and vibrant; cold pickled cabbage pimples were drizzled with sesame oil; and a small wooden pot held about a dozen steaming hot Erhe (mixed flour) noodles.

One meat dish, one vegetable, and one cold side—simple by restaurant standards, but in the Fang household, and to folks like Uncle Laogen from the bottom of society, this could easily compare to a New Year’s feast.

Looking at the colorful, fragrant dishes on the table and smelling the rich aroma, Uncle Laogen subconsciously swallowed a few times before quickly averting his gaze. Then, a bit stiffly, he switched into compliment mode and said to He Maozhu:

“This really is something. You deserve to be called a master chef at a big restaurant—the dishes look so proper.”

What kind of adjective was that—”proper”? Can dishes be proper? But fair enough—for someone who’s spent his whole life toiling in the fields, this was probably the highest praise he could offer.

Fang Dahai pulled Uncle Laogen down to sit beside him and interjected with a smile:

“Uncle Laogen, all the dishes are ready. Come on and eat! This is the first time I’ve hosted guests in my new home. You have to eat well! Second Uncle, you too—sit down. You’ve worked hard, and now I’m treating you to a meal. Haha, I really got a great deal!”

His tone was playful and familiar. Even if He Maozhu had originally been skeptical of Fang Dahai, at this moment he couldn’t bring himself to be critical. Instead, he felt especially close to him—like this young man didn’t see him as an outsider.

“Oh, so you know how to take advantage, huh?”

“How could I not? I heard what they say about you—you take seating jobs outside, and those don’t come cheap.”

Hey!, now that was a hit to He Maozhu’s pride. Why could he afford the main house in this compound? Wasn’t it precisely because of the money he earned working in a restaurant—and the extra jobs on the side? Of course, with guests around today, he had to be modest.

“Alright, alright, don’t flatter your second uncle too much. A real top chef—have you ever seen one taking on casual gigs? It’s only people like me, not top-tier, who go wherever we’re invited.”

“You can’t say that. There are plenty of restaurants in the capital, but people still seek you out specifically. Isn’t that because you’re good at what you do? And besides, why wouldn’t top chefs cook for people? If the officials want them, can they say no? It’s all the same. In my opinion, you’ve got the better deal—you don’t have to worry about offending anyone.”

Well, after that wave of compliments, He Maozhu was grinning so hard his face practically bloomed like a chrysanthemum. Seeing Uncle Laogen nod in agreement with admiration, the minor grudge he held over having to bring his own spices to help with the cooking instantly evaporated.

“Enough chatter—hurry up and set the chopsticks! It’s rare for Uncle Laogen to visit—let him taste my cooking while it’s hot!”

“I know it’s good even without tasting it—you’re a good man!”

Oops, why are you in such a good mood today? These two can really be a bit much sometimes.

“Come, come, hurry up and eat,” He Maozhu said warmly.

Fang Dahai followed suit, picking up his chopsticks. Just as he was about to dig into the casserole, he paused.

“Second Uncle, did you leave any for Second Aunt and Dasong’s younger brother?”

“What’s there to leave? It’s not like they’re starving.”

He Maozhu might be a renowned chef in a big restaurant, but that doesn’t mean he’s above pinching a little for himself. Of course, it’s not like he didn’t share at all—when no one was looking, he passed a bite to the quiet boy in the kitchen and even left a bit of broth for his daughter-in-law to mix with rice. It was a subtle gesture, done in a way that no one could really fault.

“That’s not right,” said Fang Dahai. “Yulan, go get a bowl and set aside a portion for Second Aunt and the others. We’re all family here—how can we sit here eating meat while they’re left with nothing?”

“Hey, don’t bother—”

“What do you mean ‘don’t’?” Did you think Fang Dahai only meant to send food to the back room? Not quite. These days, women and children don’t sit at the table, so he was taking the chance to portion some out for He Yulan and Fang Dajiang too. Look how fast he moved—with a few quick scoops, half the casserole was gone, divided into two big bowls. Even the Erhe noodles on the table lost a layer, which Dahai packed into Fang Dajiang’s hands as he followed along.

“Go eat in the inner room, and keep an eye on Herb—don’t let her chew on bones. Yulan, once you’re done delivering the food, come back quickly to eat. We’ve still got skinning to do in the afternoon, and that’s heavy work.”

Everyone there understood. Whether it was He Maozhu or Uncle Laogen, they knew exactly what Dahai was doing.

But did anyone call him out? Not at all. They just smiled faintly and played deaf and blind.

Poor families rarely eat meat—maybe once or twice a month. When a good dish like this comes around, it’s natural to want to share it with one’s siblings. That’s just how a close-knit family acts. Who would find that strange? Especially He Maozhu—as the second uncle from the mother’s side, he only felt relieved and pleased that his niece-in-law had such a caring nature.

“Come on, eat the vegetables, eat!” He Maozhu said, inviting Uncle Laogen.

The two middle-aged men, once a bit standoffish, now sat chatting politely about the current prices of things. Before long, their talk shifted to sighing about the hardships of life.

“Everyone envies the city folks,” said He Maozhu, “but who knows how tough life in the city really is? Not to mention all those endless so-called ‘donations’—it’s a trap. Just last month alone, we had to donate three times. I’m the cook, and even my rice bowl is nearly empty.”

“The city might be tough,” replied Uncle Laogen, “but at least there are more ways to find food. The countryside’s worse. Just a few days ago, when Dahai’s father had that disaster, the whole village’s stores were raided. Winter’s coming, and I’m already worried—I don’t even know where we’ll find enough food to last the season.”

The more the two of them talked, the deeper their frowns became and the louder their sighs grew. Fang Dahai could hardly finish his meal listening to them—he found himself losing his appetite, his eyes unconsciously drifting toward the window.

Wearing armor like that this time of year… and still paying for insurance, just to live nearby? He couldn’t help but worry. Am I going to have to break the bank again? Why couldn’t these two just hold their tongues? And they weren’t even drunk!

“Second Uncle, Uncle Laogen, the food’s getting cold,” he reminded them.

“Oh, right, right! We should eat quickly. You’ve still got to go sell those pheasants, and I need to find Liugen,” Second Uncle said.

Although none of the men were drinking, they still ate with impressive speed. In no time at all, the casserole and the large serving bowls were wiped clean—even the leftover dough bits were gone. Afterward, they leaned back, patting their full bellies with satisfied smiles.

As He Yulan came over to clean the table, Uncle Laogen stood up, preparing to leave. He nodded at Fang Dahai as he asked:

“Dahai, are you coming with me today, or should I leave the address and you come tomorrow?”

“Let’s go together,” Dahai replied.

He stood, walked to the side of the bed, took a grain sack from the cupboard, lifted a vat of grain, and began scooping sticks of flour noodles into the bag with a measuring scoop.

“What are you doing?”

The question was almost simultaneous from everyone, as they noticed him starting to load up grain. Uncle Laogen quickly understood what Fang Dahai was doing and rushed over, pressing his hand down in embarrassment and frustration.

“I just wanted you to come recognize the door—why are you bringing food? If I show up at your house empty-handed, should I not be allowed in?”

“Come on, Uncle Laogen, what are you saying? You’re an elder—of course it’s fine for you to come empty-handed. No one expects elders to bring gifts for the younger generation. But you’re still my uncle, and this is my first time visiting after your wedding. How can I show up empty-handed? If I really went without anything, my father would scold me for being disrespectful.”

Honestly, he wasn’t wrong. Uncle Laogen flushed at the reminder—he recalled how he and Dahai had been chatting earlier, and how he’d made those worried remarks about his brother not having enough food. Now it really did feel like he was some elder trying to hint that the younger generation should supply him with grain. It was a bit humiliating.

“I… I just…”

He wasn’t good with words to begin with, and now he truly didn’t know how to respond. Fortunately, the room wasn’t just the two of them—He Maozhu was still nearby. Since he had been part of the earlier conversation, he quickly stepped in to smooth things over.

“Dahai’s doing the right thing. Uncle Laogen, don’t stop him. Besides,” he added, changing the subject with a smile, “Dahai, that basket you’re using still has wolf blood stains on it. It won’t be much good when you step outside. Yulan, go to the back and bring out the one Dasong usually uses. Let him take that one for today—it’s his first time joining in a joyful outing like this. Let him be touched by a bit of good fortune too, and I can finally drink the tea from my new niece-in-law!”

There’s nothing so awkward that a clever joke or two can’t fix—and if one doesn’t work, well, try two!

He Maozhu clearly had a deep understanding of how things worked around here—just look, everyone in the room was laughing!

“Uncle, Dasong is only twelve years old,” someone pointed out.

“What’s wrong with twelve? In the countryside, people become fathers at fifteen!”

Aigoo, that’s true… but still, isn’t that a bit early? Wanting to become a husband already—this kid’s heart is really in a hurry.

Fang Dahai smiled inwardly and muttered in his heart, Ridiculous, but on the surface, he nodded seriously and said with approval:

“Indeed, better to get ready early. If he marries young, his wife can help wash Dalian’s diapers. Wouldn’t that be nice?”

Was that meant to be agreement? Why did it sound more like teasing?

Uncle Laogen burst out laughing!

Fang Dahai finished loading 20 pounds of wheat flour into the grain sack, tied it tightly, stuffed it into the basket He Yulan had brought—which belonged to He Yusong—and was about to head out with Uncle Laogen when he noticed He Maozhu following behind, carrying two pheasants. Raising an eyebrow, he asked:

“Second Uncle, you’re coming with us?”

“I just heard your Uncle Laogen say that Uncle Liugen lives in the south of the city. I happen to be heading that way too, so let’s go together. If it works out, I can even help sell the pheasants and bring you the money. A man should always carry a little money when he goes out—otherwise, he won’t even have enough to make it back.”

Honestly, if anyone knew how to act like a proper second uncle, it was He Maozhu. He really did behave like a true father figure—warm, practical, and worldly wise. One couldn’t help but wonder how He Yusong got so lucky to have such an understanding dad.

Besides that, He Maozhu had great connections. The three of them had only just set out when he suddenly gestured for them to wait. He walked over to a large nearby mansion, knocked on the door, went inside, and came back out again in the time it took to smoke a single cigarette—one pheasant gone.

Less than two blocks further south, he did it again. Same pattern—gone in a flash.

As they turned onto another street, He Maozhu glanced around to make sure no one was watching, then pulled two silver yuan out of his coat pocket and handed them to Fang Dahai.

“Here—two big ones. Keep them safe. In this capital, even Buddha needs to count his coins.”

“Second Uncle, that was way too fast! How did you even know those two houses needed pheasants?”

“Not once have I knocked on an empty door. If you know who needs what, you don’t waste a step. Honestly, with that level of skill, being just a cook is a waste of talent.”

“I don’t know if they need it or not. I only know that those two gentlemen are generous spenders who love good food. As long as the goods are high quality, I’m not afraid they won’t want them.”

Ah, so that’s it. Those two must be regulars at his restaurant—otherwise, how could he know their habits so well? Still a case of selling to acquaintances. And here I thought he was amazing just now—turns out it was all inside connections!

“Alright, that’s settled. I should head back. You all make sure to hurry up and return before dark. These days, the nights aren’t exactly safe.”

Even if He Maozhu hadn’t said it, Fang Dahai would’ve kept that in mind. After all, he’d just been away for two days and had only just gotten back. Of course, he wanted to spend a few peaceful days at home with his siblings.

…

Uncle Liugen’s place was in the southern part of the city. This southern district… Fang Dahai took a look—it wasn’t much better than during the Ming Dynasty. It was, frankly, a slum. Believe it or not, aside from the opium dens, gambling houses, theaters, and brothels—the so-called “golden nests”—many of the houses in the south still had dirt walls, and some even had mud-brick interiors with thatched roofs. And this is the capital! How is it that people here don’t even have brick houses? This is way too low-class!

But really, it wasn’t about “low-class” or not—it was about people simply not having the means to build anything better.

After so many years of war—even though army officers often tried to protect the capital and minimize the damage—every time the ruling power changed hands, the city inevitably suffered. How could there be no destruction?

After being tossed around so many times, those with money and influence could still rely on deals and bribes to protect themselves, but the common folk—especially those at the bottom—had no choice but to silently endure. They had no second option.

So this southern part of the city—God knows how many times it’s been ravaged by warfare. Who knows how many homes have been reduced to rubble? And the people here still had to deal with insert censorship here, roaming soldiers, bandits, gangsters… Under such circumstances, how could anyone afford to rebuild with bricks? Just having a mud-brick hut to live in was already a blessing. In times of war, simply staying alive was considered a victory.

As for the environment—it was filthy and chaotic, which was another feature of this place. The dirt roads were littered with excrement, giving off a sharp, offensive stench. Trash and debris were piled up along the sides, rats darting back and forth. Honestly, if someone said there was an epidemic here tomorrow, Fang Dahai wouldn’t be surprised.

After weaving through a few more alleyways, Uncle Laogen led Fang Dahai into an even more rundown street. The people living here looked even poorer, but surprisingly, the area seemed cleaner than the ones they’d passed earlier. At least the children playing by the roadside—though still in rags, skinny, and barefoot in the cold—didn’t look quite so timid or beaten down.

“We’re almost there,” Laogen said.

“Uncle Laogen, what kind of families live here?” Fang Dahai asked.

“This area?” Laogen scratched his head. “Well, according to your Uncle Liugen, most are laborers or cart drivers. Some work as servants. They’re poor, yeah, but they’re cleaner and more decent than the ones before.”

Decent? After everything he’d seen along the way, Fang Dahai had a pretty good idea of who lived in those earlier neighborhoods. Most were families from the so-called “lower nine professions”—the ones considered shady or disreputable.

They turned one last corner and finally arrived. The house was another with mud-brick walls, but when the wooden door was pushed open, the sight inside—simple, but neat, with a tiled roof—gave Fang Dahai a sense of relief.

Well, at least it’s not that bad. Seems like Uncle Liugen’s getting by okay here in the city.