Sweet and Sour Lotus Root

The salted lemon, soaked in water, tasted a little salty. This item was actually meant for replenishing salt after physical exertion or hiking under the sun. It can quench thirst and help with digestion. Wen Chongyue’s friends from Guangzhou had sent him many, including salted lemon, Sichuan bellflower lemon, ginger lemon, and mint licorice lemon…

What Xia Jiao loved most was the small bag of licorice olives Wen Chongyue bought when they were dining at a Cantonese restaurant after registering their marriage. The olives, tender and crispy, grew in Chaozhou and were clean and free of pulp, marinated with licorice, mint, and cloves.

Xia Jiao’s cup was small, with only a little water added. She sipped from it while staring at her chat interface.

After a long while, he finally replied.

Teacher Wen: “I’ll give it to you tonight.”

Xia Jiao was curious. Why tonight?

But she still seriously communicated with him, saying she was just joking.

Teacher Wen: “It’s okay, I’ll give it to you every day anyway.”

Xia Jiao: “Eh?”

She didn’t quite understand.

By the time night fell, Xia Jiao finally understood Wen Chongyue’s “I’ll give it to you every day.” She hugged Wen Chongyue’s neck, feeling like she had just climbed Mount Everest in one breath or tamed a wild horse all day on the grasslands.

Anyway, receiving endless care from Teacher Wen who paid attention to the partner’s experience felt as joyful as receiving money!

The next day, Xia Jiao and Wen Chongyue went to the hospital to pick up Father Wen for discharge. Most of the tasks were handled by Wen Chongyue—documents, medical insurance cards, payment slips, and money… Wen Chongyue dealt with everything efficiently, while Xia Jiao’s attention was drawn to an elderly woman standing alone nearby.

She was an old lady dressed very simply, wearing a knitted hat that revealed her graying hair. Not very tall, her hunched back made her appear even shorter. She held a plastic bag containing medical records and X-rays, seemingly unsure of where to go.

There were many people coming for treatment today, and it was quite busy. The reception desk hadn’t noticed her yet.

Xia Jiao’s gaze was noticed by Wen Chongyue, who asked, “Do you want to go over and ask?”

Xia Jiao nodded.

Wen Chongyue encouraged her, “Go ahead, I’ll wait here for you.”

Xia Jiao walked over and quietly asked the elderly lady if she was facing any difficulties. The woman didn’t speak Mandarin very well, and her accent was heavy, but Xia Jiao had interacted with many people and could roughly understand what she was saying. The old woman was here for a follow-up appointment. She had poor eyesight and couldn’t read, and when she arrived, she couldn’t remember the signs from her last visit. She hadn’t found anyone to ask for help earlier.

The elderly lady mistakenly thought Xia Jiao was a staff member and pulled out her medical record book to show her. Xia Jiao didn’t stop her. She wanted to see which department the lady was from, so it would be easier when she spoke to the reception later.

But Xia Jiao didn’t expect that the old lady had lung cancer.

She was stunned for a moment as she listened to the elderly woman rambling on: “My grandson was supposed to come with me today, but there’s an epidemic lockdown at his school, so he couldn’t come. I thought it was only a short walk, so I came by myself… sigh, it’s just a cold, but I didn’t expect it to last this long even after taking so much medicine…”

Xia Jiao listened to the elderly woman’s complaints and guided her to the nurse. The elderly lady thanked her repeatedly, and Xia Jiao could only manage a weak smile. She felt a mix of emotions as she slowly turned around and went back to find Wen Chongyue.

Wen Chongyue had already completed the discharge procedures and paid the bills. He was still standing in the same spot waiting. When he saw Xia Jiao walking over with her head down, he asked, “What happened?”

Xia Jiao shook her head. After a while, she said, “The elderly woman didn’t realize how serious her illness was.”

Not only did she not know her illness was severe, but the elderly lady also couldn’t use a smartphone, which made many things inconvenient. Earlier, when they were talking, her speech was disjointed. Without a smartphone, she felt like a black-and-white television set abandoned by the times. The old lady had asked for help along the way, but some people had a bad attitude.

Xia Jiao wondered, if those people had known how serious the lady’s illness was, would they have treated her better?

But it seemed a bit like moral coercion, and she felt troubled, unsure of how to deal with her feelings.

Wen Chongyue gently patted Xia Jiao’s head as a way to comfort her.

He said, “As long as you’ve done what’s right in your heart, Jiao Jiao.”

Xia Jiao looked up and said, “Mm.”

She truly found it unbelievable. It was as if Father Wen could understand all her thoughts. Just now, she hadn’t explained the whole situation to him. She only said a few words, but he had quickly grasped the root of her troubles and comforted her.

This mysterious ability had not only been demonstrated today but also when Xia Jiao had been indecisive about what to have for lunch. Wen Chongyue had proactively suggested, “Let’s have lunch at home.”

It was as if he could read her mind.

At lunch, they ate at home. The meal was prepared by Wen Chongyue and the caregiver aunt. They made authentic Beijing-style braised eggplant using eggplants from early autumn, locally grown with thin skins, thick flesh, and a shiny purple-black color.

When he first bought the eggplants, Wen Chongyue had even taught Xia Jiao how to choose them. He explained to her that the ones with smaller stems were the best, with fewer seeds, not too old, but not too tender either…

Father Wen didn’t drink tea anymore; he drank warm water, holding the cup and laughing as he scolded his son: “Why are you teaching Jiao Jiao how to do this? In our family, we don’t let our wives cook.”

Wen Chongyue replied, “Dad, times have changed. What if I go on a business trip? I can’t expect Jiao Jiao to order takeout, can I?”

Father Wen, with a blanket over his legs, replied calmly, “What’s the worry? In Suzhou, you can just let Jiao Jiao eat with your aunt—her boyfriend, Xiao Huo—”

Wen Chongyue corrected him, “It’s Xiao Zhang.”

Xia Jiao almost choked on her water, stifling a cough, her face turning slightly red as she quietly listened to their conversation, eavesdropping carefully.

It was clear that Father Wen hadn’t kept up with the fact that Yu Tan’s boyfriend had changed several times. He was out of the loop.

Father Wen asked, “Zhang Yunhe?”

Wen Chongyue sighed and replied, “Zhang Baolin.”

Father Wen asked again, “How does this Xiao Zhang’s cooking compare to the last one?”

Wen Chongyue answered, “Not bad.”

Father Wen nodded. “That’s good, that’s good.”

After the confusion over names was cleared up, Father Wen kindly looked at Xia Jiao. “In Suzhou, you can eat with your aunt. She’s very picky, so the food has to be just right. If you return to Beijing in a few years and Chongyue is busy, you can come over to eat with me.”

Xia Jiao nodded earnestly, like a young student listening to a lesson, and said, “Okay.”

This apartment had been in use for a while, and the soundproofing wasn’t great.

Wen Chongyue asked Xia Jiao to sit and drink water while chatting. He went to the kitchen to cook the eggplant. The dish seemed simple, but it wasn’t. First, the eggplant had to be fried in hot oil to 80% done, then stir-fried to ensure it was evenly cooked before being taken out and drained of excess oil. Afterward, it was cooked with soy sauce, minced garlic, and a bit of sugar that didn’t make it too sweet.

The caregiver aunt went to buy duck roasted with pear wood, and Wen Chongyue tore it apart. The duck frame wasn’t cleaned perfectly, but it was fried in hot oil, then stewed with chopped white radishes. Black fungus was stir-fried with yam to nourish the blood, and carrots, when sweet enough, were cut into cubes and cooked with shiitake mushrooms. After thickening with starch, it was poured over tofu. There were also chestnuts cooked with chicken, sweet and sour lotus root strips, and boiled Chinese kale…

And steamed rice.

As a southerner, Xia Jiao usually ate rice more often. She was the only southerner in the household, so Wen Chongyue didn’t buy many buns or pancakes. He made extra rice.

If it were with relatives or childhood friends, Wen Chongyue would have eaten rice with Xia Jiao.

Xia Jiao ate the braised eggplant first. After being fried and braised in soy sauce, the eggplant was tender and flavorful. The soy sauce was perfectly balanced, enhancing the fresh taste of the eggplant without any bitterness. The eggplant had a reddish, shiny glaze, and the minced garlic, added at the end, still had a fresh garlic scent.

The roasted duck meat had been carefully sliced by Wen Chongyue and placed on a white porcelain plate. Unlike the way Xia Jiao was familiar with—dipping the duck into sweet bean paste and wrapping it with scallions and cucumber in a pancake—this time, the duck was paired with garlic sauce, and fine strips of radish were served with it, wrapped in a hooves-shaped flatbread. It was refreshing and helped cut through the richness. Even Xia Jiao, who wasn’t fond of radish, ate a large portion in one bite.

The crispy duck skin was fragrant, and Wen Chongyue taught her a new way to eat it—without the sauce, just dipping the duck into a little fine white sugar. Wen Chongyue also prepared yellow mustard sauce, and after spreading a thin layer on the duck meat, wrapped it in fresh lettuce.

Xia Jiao also learned a traditional unspoken rule from Wen Chongyue. It turned out that in the past, when eating Peking duck, there was a custom: when the duck was almost finished, the head was to be sliced in half and served with the two pieces of meat from the tail to the most honored guest or the eldest person at the table, symbolizing having both a beginning and an end.

Xia Jiao instinctively thought of offering it to Father Wen, but he smiled and waved his hand, signaling to Wen Chongyue to give it to Xia Jiao instead. “We don’t follow such customs anymore. It’s an old tradition. Let Jiao Jiao try it.”

People in Beijing ate duck all year round, but less so in the summer. For one, the ducks were leaner during the summer, and the meat didn’t taste as good—too thin and tough. Another reason was the summer weather, which was humid and hot, making the duck skin less crispy when roasted.

Now that autumn had passed, it was the perfect time to eat fattened ducks. Since Wen Chongyue didn’t specialize in slicing ducks, she wasn’t able to make every slice have the perfect balance of fat, lean meat, and skin. However, this didn’t matter. Xia Jiao had a whole hooves-shaped flatbread filled with over ten slices of duck meat, which tasted incredibly delicious—tender, flavorful, and aromatic. The flavor of pear wood from the roasting combined with the duck’s taste in her mouth, creating a sensation she couldn’t stop savoring.

Just as Xia Jiao finished one flatbread, the doorbell rang unexpectedly.

It was Bai Ruolang. She was wearing delicate makeup and a simple, elegant outfit, carrying a four-compartment bag. Her face showed slight signs of fatigue. When she saw the caregiver open the door, she quietly asked, “Are you still eating?”

Father Wen, leaning on his cane, walked over. His health was still good, and he invited Bai Ruolang in. Wen Chongyue and Xia Jiao stood up. Today, Bai Ruolang seemed less arrogant than usual and looked a bit awkward. “You all continue eating. I just brought some sweets for Jiao Jiao.”

Wen Chongyue didn’t speak.

Xia Jiao noticed that Bai Ruolang indeed brought a small, exquisitely packaged box. She took it with a smile and said, “Thank you, Mom.”

Bai Ruolang seemed a bit surprised, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. Xia Jiao noticed a flash of silver in her hair.

Father Wen gestured for Xia Jiao and Wen Chongyue to continue their meal, while he and Bai Ruolang had a private conversation.

It seemed that the Wen family liked having private chats.

Xia Jiao placed the box aside and asked Wen Chongyue, “What do you think is inside? Walnut cookies? Oven-baked pastries? Poria cakes? Or steamed sponge cake?”

Old Beijingers avoided calling it “dim sum” because, in ancient times, the term referred to a brutal punishment called “thousand cuts,” where the final blow was fatal. They avoided saying these words, using “bobo” instead—meaning pastries or bread.

Traditional bobo shops were adorned with golden-painted wood plaques, with inscriptions in Chinese, Manchu, and Mongolian. Manchu and Mongolian bobo often included cream, while Han Chinese bobo typically used white oil, and halal bobo was made with sesame oil.

However, these were old customs, and now people casually use terms like “dim sum,” “desserts,” or “pastries” without concern.

Wen Chongyue said, “It’s probably flower cakes.”

“I brought some flower cakes and poria cakes for Jiao Jiao,” Bai Ruolang said. “I thought other things might not be suitable… After much consideration, I decided to bring some sweets.”

Wen Qiming asked, “How did you come here? Would you like some tea?”

“Old Lin brought me. His car is still downstairs. I won’t have any tea. I’ll just sit for a while and head back,” Bai Ruolang hesitated before finally saying in a low voice, “Qiming, I was wrong back then.”

Father Wen just smiled. “It’s all in the past.”

Only the two of them knew the truth about Father Wen’s heart attack.

Not long ago, Bai Ruolang’s husband, Song Liangzhou, personally called Father Wen. He confessed that he had developed feelings for Bai Ruolang even before she divorced Father Wen. The call had an obvious motive: the Song family’s business was failing, and the influential people they relied on were being taken down in the anti-corruption campaigns, causing their decline. Seeing Bai Ruolang and Father Wen reconnecting, Song Liangzhou felt jealous but couldn’t take it out on her, so he directed all his anger at Father Wen.

Father Wen admitted that his reaction had been impulsive, as no man could bear such humiliation, especially considering that many years ago, he had nearly been humiliated in front of his son. The two of them clashed, and since he hadn’t taken his medication that day, the situation escalated, leading to his hospitalization.

But now, Father Wen had let go.

Even if Bai Ruolang wanted to clarify and tell him that the events were false and she hadn’t betrayed her marriage, it no longer mattered. He wouldn’t care anymore.

Losing their daughter was a shared responsibility, and Father Wen still felt guilty for being on a business trip at the time. That trip wasn’t even necessary, but Father Wen had taken it to earn extra allowances. As the father of two children, he felt an obligation to provide for his family. Bai Ruolang was delicate, and he didn’t want her to suffer with him. Out of both affection and reason, he felt responsible for earning more to support their family.

He also regretted being overly protective of Bai Ruolang, letting her indulge without guiding her, which led to an avoidable disaster. He regretted not being more careful when choosing a nanny…

But their youngest daughter had indeed passed away.

This was a scar in their marriage that would never heal.

Over twenty years had passed since that event, and throughout all this time, Father Wen had never blamed Bai Ruolang. He understood clearly that parents naturally love their children, and the pain and suffering that mothers go through during pregnancy and childbirth far exceeded what fathers experienced.

Therefore, Wen Qiming believed that the fault lay with him, and he was always thinking of ways to make amends to Bai Ruolang.

“It’s all in the past,” Wen Qiming said to Bai Ruolang. “Ruolang, you should look forward now.”

Bai Ruolang never expected to hear such words from him, and she froze for a moment.

She had been so well protected. In both of her marriages, her two husbands treated her like a precious gem. Her love with Wen Qiming was one of those reckless, youthful affairs where they went against their families’ wishes to be together, while Song Liangzhou had loved her steadily for decades, providing her with everything she needed—fine clothes, luxurious meals, and a carefree childhood of innocent friendship…

But it was all in the past.

Wen Qiming urged her to move forward.

For him, there were memories of baking sweet potatoes by the fire, riding bikes together in the cold nights to secretly buy watches at the black market, saving up to watch a movie, and for Wen Qiming, Bai Ruolang had even endured two slaps from her father, which had caused her nose to bleed…

But it was all in the past.

After a while, Bai Ruolang softly said, “Okay.”

After lunch, Xia Jiao and Wen Chongyue went to the airport without making Father Wen see them off.

After getting off the plane and on their way home, Xia Jiao finally opened the snack box. The flower cake was soft, and she took a bite before turning to Wen Chongyue, curious, and asked, “I remember there’s a Taiping song? Something about ‘bo bo’… what was it?”

“Bo Bo Zhen,” Wen Chongyue replied. “I used to recite it when I was a kid—‘Flower cake, bee cake, thousand-layer pancake, the bo bo calls the troops to war…’”

He couldn’t sing it, and he hadn’t recited these ancient Taiping lyrics for years, but now he could still recite them fluently. Wen Chongyue had a good memory, but sometimes he wished it wasn’t so good. He remembered both the good and the bad, storing them in his heart little by little.

After dinner, Xia Jiao realized that her toenails needed trimming. She wasn’t very good at it and had trouble getting them to look neat and round.

Wen Chongyue, who had been reading, couldn’t stand watching her struggle. He tossed his book aside, rolled up his sleeves, and took the nail clipper from her hand, patting his thigh.

Xia Jiao pressed her hands on the sofa, shifting her body, inch by inch, and rested her feet on Wen Chongyue’s lap, obediently letting him trim her nails.

Wen Chongyue trimmed them carefully, even putting on his glasses to make sure each toenail was rounded and neat.

Xia Jiao praised him enthusiastically, “Oh my, Teacher Wen, with your skills, you could go to Yangzhou, and the foot care masters would be fighting to take you as their apprentice.”

Wen Chongyue put the nail clipper down and grabbed the feather toy, pretending to scratch Xia Jiao’s soles. She screamed in surprise, trying to pull her feet back, but Wen Chongyue held her ankle firmly, preventing her from moving. The two cats, attracted by the sound of the bell on the toy, jumped onto her lap. Wen Quan jumped directly into her arms, wanting to be cuddled, while Xia Mi miscalculated the distance, bumped his head against the sofa, and tumbled off, unphased, as he swished his tail and hid under the table.

Wen Chongyue tugged at Xia Jiao’s ankle, pulling her and the cats towards him. “Stretch out your hand, let me see if your fingernails need trimming too.”

He then released her ankle, wiped the toenail clipper with a wet wipe, switched to a clipper meant for fingernails, wiped it again with a wet wipe, and also wiped his hands before holding Xia Jiao’s hand.

Xia Jiao’s fingernails were very pretty, but because her work often required using her hands, she preferred simple manicures—just color, without extra decorations.

Xia Jiao allowed Wen Chongyue to examine her nails. As he focused on them, she leaned over, removed his glasses, and gently kissed the side of his eye.

Now, Teacher Wen smelled like a gentle floral scent.

Xia Jiao whispered, “Teacher Wen, my nails don’t need trimming, but yours might need a little care.”

With that, she lowered her head and gently took his fingertip into her mouth.

Xia Jiao didn’t often use her own fingers, but she often used Teacher Wen’s.

Wen Chongyue didn’t move. His glasses had been taken off, making his vision slightly blurry. Wen Quan jumped down, and the fluffy cat tail brushed across Xia Jiao’s face and his hand. Wen Chongyue clearly felt the warmth of Xia Jiao’s mouth as she wrapped her lips around his finger.

The warmth enveloped his finger. Xia Jiao mimicked drinking milk tea, sucking gently, her tongue tightening lightly as if sucking through a straw clogged with oats.

Xia Jiao asked, “Would you like me to help Teacher Wen care for those nimble fingers?”