TBW - 7

Chapter 7: Noodles with Broth and Pickled Radish

In the afternoon, dozens of clouds rolled in, casting a shadow over Banshan City. Due to varying humidity levels and uneven thickness of the clouds, the evening sky displayed a dreamy purplish-pink hue. 

The soft pink glow filtered unobstructed through the broken glass windows of the stairwell, transforming the dust kicked up by passersby into shimmering silver glitter. 

Shi Ying slowly climbed the stairs amidst knee-high swirls of dust. His legs weren’t short, but his ascent was sluggish, raising suspicions that he was deliberately stalling. 

The cloying pink sunset had an almost magical effect on the grimy environment. The oil-stained concrete steps, spiderweb-filled walls, and doors plastered with small ads were bathed in a cyberpunk-like beauty. 

But this fleeting visual feast lasted only 390 seconds before Shi Ying finally reached the door to his grandfather’s apartment. 

His grandfather’s keychain was large, holding the keys to the house, the storeroom, and the car—all tied together. The set of keys was already in Shi Ying’s right hand, but after standing at the entrance for several seconds, he chose not to insert them into the lock. Instead, he stuffed the keys back into his pocket and knocked on the door. 

As soon as the door opened, a dim shadow crept onto half of Shi Ying’s face. Every nerve ending in his body braced itself as he immediately curled his lips into a practiced smile. 

It was his grandfather who opened the door. Upon seeing Shi Ying, he beckoned him inside, lowering his voice to a raspy whisper. “Well? Manman, what did the winery owner say?” 

“Did he agree to give you the wine? He didn’t try to wriggle out of it, did he?”

The old man’s face was filled with concern, and even the reading glasses perched on his nose seemed to emit a stern, cold light. 

Shi Ying squinted, smiling without a trace of suspicion, and nodded. “Mm, he agreed. Guess what? The boss was incredibly generous—not only did he promise to give me the wine, but he also offered me a managerial position.” 

“Ah! That’s our Manman!” Hearing the “good news,” his grandfather’s deeply furrowed face relaxed into a broad smile. Taking three steps in two strides, he hurried to the kitchen door by the balcony, leaning against the frame as he whispered to his wife: 

“What did I tell you? No matter how difficult things get, it all depends on who’s handling them. Our Manman has been sharp since he was in the womb—smart, good-looking, and tall for an overseas returnee! People judge others based on appearances, and what others can’t achieve, he can pull off!” 

“I’ll say it again—he’s a hundred times better than his father! Mark my words, I have faith in him.” 

The speaker meant no harm, but the listener took note. Shi Ying’s smile briefly stiffened, but he quickly pretended not to hear. Walking over to the television, he reached out to tease the myna bird his grandfather kept. 

In the kitchen, his grandmother was cooking noodles. She tossed evenly cut handmade noodles into boiling water, stirring them with chopsticks while another pot simmered with braised pork sauce. 

Hearing her husband mention their son-in-law, she immediately turned around and shot him a sharp glare as a warning, then deftly changed the subject. “Stop saying things the boy doesn’t want to hear. He hasn’t let you call him by that nickname for ages. Everyone else adapts, but you’re stubborn. Still calling him ‘Manman’—have you forgotten how he used to kick and scream on the floor because you called him that at school?” 

“When kids grow up, they become guests. If you keep this up, he won’t visit us anymore.” 

“How am I being stubborn? ‘Manman’ is such a nice name! Full of blessings, full of hope, overflowing abundance!” 

“And besides, back then he wasn’t crying because I called him by his nickname—it was because that little girl sitting next to him in class pinched his cheek!” 

“Cough.” Standing near the bird, Shi Ying suddenly choked on his saliva. The mention of the surname Cheng made his ears grow warm. Quickly, he muttered toward the kitchen in a low voice, “That’s not true—I never said not to call me that, and I didn’t cry.” 

No sooner had he spoken than the myna pecked at his hand. The bird’s glossy black feathers bristled as it hopped onto his wrist, tilting its head back and squawking loudly, “Manman! Classmate! Classmate!” 

The bird, having lived long enough to develop some personality, spoke nonsense but knew how hard to peck. 

A faint red mark appeared on Shi Ying’s hand—not painful, but still enough to make him frown and scold it softly. “Stop talking.” 

The myna flapped its wings and flew back to its perch, rolling its eyes upward. Instead of obeying, it grew even more brazen, mimicking his grandfather’s voice: “Ah, it’s all thanks to Manman! Manman, ah, Manman! Full to the brim!” 

His grandfather laughed, revealing the silver caps of his dentures. From behind, his grandmother smacked him hard on the backside. “Old man! Hurry up and take that bird away. It’s scattering bran everywhere! Clean the table so we can eat—the noodles will get soggy.” 

His grandfather moved the bird to the master bedroom while Shi Ying wiped down the dining table with a damp cloth. 

Today’s braised sauce was the same old family recipe. Daylilies, wood ear mushrooms, and cucumbers were diced finely, and lean slices of pork were stir-fried until tender, then simmered with water and thickened with starch. Just before serving, beaten egg flowers were stirred in, and sesame oil added for fragrance. 

Steamy noodles were ladled generously with the rich sauce, each strand bursting with flavor and meaty aroma. 

Since childhood, Shi Ying had been different from other children—he loved vegetables. So his grandmother always prepared plenty of side dishes for him. In addition to blanched spinach and cabbage, there was also a plate of homemade pickled radish, chili, and mustard greens. 

Even with such a fragrant spread laid out, before picking up his chopsticks, Shi Ying glanced at the closed door of the side bedroom. 

He wanted to ask about his mother’s condition but hesitated, the words feeling like lead in his chest, unable to escape. 

Finally, his grandfather thrust chopsticks into his hand and said gruffly, “Eat. Don’t worry about her. Your grandmother made her mung bean porridge. After we finish eating, I’ll bring it in to her.” 

Shi Ying lowered his gaze, picked up his bowl, and shoveled a mouthful of steaming noodles into his stomach. 

Lately, he often felt short of breath, as if a heavy stone were lodged in his stomach. He hadn’t felt hungry no matter what he ate—or didn’t eat—but iron needs steel, and to keep his body functioning, he forced himself to eat regularly. 

No matter whether he liked the food or not, whenever he thought of stopping, he ordered himself to take a few more bites. Despite consuming more refined carbs, poor-quality fats, and processed foods than during his study abroad days, he hadn’t gained weight—in fact, he’d lost two kilograms. 

Halfway through his meal, another spoonful of meat-heavy sauce was added to his bowl. His grandfather went to the kitchen with an enamel basin to refill the sauce. At the table, Shi Ying smiled at his grandmother and reassured her in as casual a tone as possible: “I’m still working on the house issue. The seizure is just a temporary measure—it’s not the final outcome. Once the appeal succeeds, my mom will be able to move back soon. It won’t go to auction.” 

“Really. Don’t worry.” 

His grandmother pushed the plate of pickled vegetables toward him, shook her head, and said, “Child, that house isn’t important. If it’s gone, it’s gone. Your mother is just stuck in a rut right now. You don’t need to exhaust yourself over these adult matters. She has us to take care of her—it doesn’t cost much. We both have pensions, and our health is fine. Don’t feel pressured.” 

“All I worry about now is you. You’re still so young, and life is long ahead of you. What are your plans for the future? Are you going back abroad to study?” 

The elderly couple had originally come here decades ago as part of the western development efforts, transferred from Gucheng by the 11th Railway Division of the People’s Liberation Army. Back then, people were simple-minded—they stayed in one job for life. To handle project expansions, this engineer couple worked on roads, railways, housing, embankments, and more. Even after the original division disbanded and reorganized into China Railway 16th Bureau, they continued working until retirement.

But this kind of lifelong dedication belonged to a bygone era. Nowadays, with high population mobility and transparent employment information, the best talents all strive for higher positions. Banshan’s low base salary and poor economic development made her genuinely believe it wasn’t suitable for Shi Ying. 

Plans? The chewing in Shi Ying’s mouth slowed down. The word “plans” sounded beautiful, symbolizing orderly hope, but to him, it felt like something from a past life. 

His father’s infidelity, the collapse of his family, coupled with massive debts and property division—suddenly, the once luxurious life he enjoyed was like leftover hotpot broth, its last warmth flushed down the drain along with everything else. 

Under these circumstances, his original plan to continue pursuing a Ph.D. in the UK was aborted. This year, Shi Ying embarked on a completely new lifestyle in China. Before the Lunar New Year had even ended, he was already actively shuttling between law firms, detention centers, and the prosecutor’s office, trying to untangle his father’s mess of debts. 

By the end of spring, he hadn’t resolved the so-called “misunderstandings” his father mentioned. Instead, he discovered that the company’s problems went far beyond a simple broken cash flow. The cash flow had dried up years ago, and to keep operations running, Shi Kaiji had repeatedly mortgaged company projects and personal assets to different creditors and banks, spawning even more debt. 

The mistakes were irreversible. Shi Ying could only persuade his father to voluntarily declare bankruptcy and cooperate with the audit and liquidation process. 

But Shi Kaiji, who had fathered a child late in life, didn’t want to go to prison. Instead, he had his girlfriend—who previously served as the company’s legal counsel—deliver a mortgage guarantee liability form to Shi Ying. He claimed he wasn’t at fault; the problem was simply bad luck and a temporary lack of funds. If Shi Ying would act as a guarantor and take on tens of millions of debt, his girlfriend could pull some strings, borrow more money, and bribe the prosecution to drop the lawsuit. 

Even a dead camel is bigger than a horse. As an old hand, Shi Kaiji believed he could make a comeback after release. Forget tens of millions—billions wouldn’t be a problem. Why favor one son over another? Even after divorce, he wouldn’t neglect his new family. 

The harsh words of a legitimate son couldn’t compete with the sweet talk of a girlfriend. Despite Shi Ying’s repeated attempts to dissuade him, his efforts were futile. To protect himself, he refused to shoulder his father’s debts. 

Precisely because Shi Ying wouldn’t guarantee his father’s debts, Shi Kaiji, left with no other options, turned his attention to Li Xiangqun, his wife of thirty years. During their divorce negotiations, he repeatedly changed his stance, refusing to acknowledge that the villa in Banshan Garden was her pre-marital property and insisting on claiming ownership of the property. 

At this point, what plans could Shi Ying possibly have? Of course, his goal was to reclaim the house so his mother could recover, and everyone’s lives could return to their original state. 

He wanted to hop into a time machine and set everything right again. But reality wasn’t an animated movie—fantasy alone couldn’t solve anything. What should he do now? Could he even succeed? He truly didn’t know. 

He was more lost than ever before, even more so than when he was holed up in the ivory tower. 

His innermost thoughts couldn’t be voiced. Avoiding his grandmother’s gaze, Shi Ying picked up a large helping of pickled vegetables and placed them in his bowl. “I’m fine, Grandma. I’m young—you don’t need to worry about me. Besides, I was already hesitant about pursuing my Ph.D. anyway. Now I can focus on working and earning money. I’m a returned overseas student! Plenty of companies want me. Didn’t you hear? The winery owner wants to hire me, and I haven’t even agreed yet.” 

His grandmother’s rough hand rubbed against the edge of the table near him. After a long pause, she saw through him and sighed. “You’re just like your mother—stubborn.” 

Stubborn people are good at swallowing their broken teeth. 

“Living alone in public housing must be tough. Do you have enough money? Let me give you some pocket money.” 

At that moment, Shi Ying’s tears nearly spilled over. He lifted his noodle bowl to hide his face, slurping loudly as he mumbled indistinctly, “I have money, really. The rent is so cheap—only 200 yuan a month. It’s practically free.” 

“The other day, I sold those Maotai bottles to a liquor store and made over 20,000 yuan. And the old furniture downstairs—my childhood toys, books, tapes, clothes—they can all be sold online now.” 

Suppressing his rising emotions, he feared his grandmother wouldn’t believe him. Putting down his empty bowl, he pulled out his phone to show her. Opening the second-hand trading app, he pointed to a message from a new buyer who had contacted him within the past hour about the sofa. Lifting his chin, he said, “See? Isn’t that proof?”