Old Master Wu gave his daughter-in-law a thorough scolding, and she, too, regretted it. Back then, who could have known Fang Zichen would rise to where he was today?
Had she known, she would never, ever have treated Guaizai that way.
At first, she only felt regret and a sense of loss. But later, when she saw Guaizai again—leading a great troop of men into the prefectural residence, beating the newly appointed prefect of Yuanzhou half to death, and then taking Yang Mingyi—that young ger she'd once refused to even look at—all the way to Hezhou—that was when her regret truly turned her guts green.
Knowing that Zhou Ger was close with Zhao Ger, Madam Chen began visiting the shop frequently. Zhou Ger, aware of how Guaizai had been treated at the Wu family, gave her a cold shoulder. Madam Chen pretended not to notice, coming by now and then, dropping hints and speaking in circles—always to the same effect: she'd been muddled back then, she knew she was wrong now, she'd wronged Guaizai, and she hoped Fang Zichen, for Old Master Wu's sake, would not hold it against them. She wanted Zhou Ger to put in a good word for her when he wrote to the capital.
Zhou Ger later came straight to Hezhou and told Zhao Ger and Fang Zichen about it. But Fang Zichen said there was no need to pay her any mind. To put it bluntly, he had saved Old Master Wu's life—that alone outweighed any debt of gratitude. And besides, he'd won the top scholar title and brought honor to Qinghe Academy—it had been a mutually beneficial arrangement.
If anyone owed anyone, it was Old Master Wu who owed him, not the rest of the Wu family. Old Master Wu's grandsons had bullied his son, and Madam Chen and her nephew had even hit him. The only reason Fang Zichen hadn't shown up at their door with a brick in hand back then was out of respect for Old Master Wu and Yang Mingyi. And now they wanted his future help? They could dream on.
---
On the fourth day of the new year, Xiao Feng's birthday, Guaizai was up at the crack of dawn. He rolled up his sleeves and dashed into the kitchen. Aunt Jiang and Feng momo saw him standing on a little stool, about to knead dough, and offered to help, but he wouldn't have it: "Aunt Jiang, Feng momo, you go on out! Guaizai can do it! Guaizai made it for Daddy last year too—a little longevity noodle is no match for Guaizai!"
Aunt Jiang and Feng momo exchanged a glance and silently withdrew.
"Who's the young master making noodles for?"
"For Young Master Xiao Feng. Zhujun told me yesterday that today is Young Master Xiao Feng's birthday and to make sure we prepare plenty of his favorite dishes."
"Oh! Then we'd better go tell Zhujun—maybe we should call Physician Li back. Otherwise, if the little one gets a stomachache right in the middle of the New Year, what are we going to do?"
"Sigh. Young Master Xiao Feng is in for it today. Go check the outhouse and see if there's any toilet paper left—he might be spending quite a while in there later."
When Zhao Ger heard them come to report, he wiped the sweat off his brow and went next door to find Xiao Feng.
"Maybe you should go hide out for a while."
Before Xiao Feng could even answer, Fang Zichen appeared at the door and said first: "You can run from the first day of the month, but not the fifteenth. Xiao Feng, you're done for. But don't worry—I've already bought you incense sticks. The moment you kick the bucket, I'll light them and see you on your way. No need to thank me too much; it's the least I could do, since you do call me 'uncle' after all."
Zhao Ger: "..."
Xiao Feng: "..."
Xiao Feng shot him a glare.
It was true—there was no escaping it.
Because even if he hid out, it wouldn't help. If he didn't eat it today, Guaizai would pack it up and make him eat it when he came back tomorrow. If he didn't come back tomorrow, Guaizai would just wait until he did and make a fresh batch. There was no getting out of it.
Zhao Ger had thought about hiding the flour last night, but then figured that if Guaizai couldn't find it, he wouldn't give up—he'd probably just go out and buy more.
The boy was just too warm-hearted.
Xiao Feng didn't know how to feel.
The other day, when Fang Zichen went out and didn't take him along, he'd felt a little sulky about it. But later, when he found out it was because Guaizai had gone out to buy him a gift and wanted to surprise him, he perked right up. But then he heard it was flour, and his spirits plummeted again—this felt more like a shock than a surprise.
Zhao Ger reproached himself: "This is all my fault." Last year, on his own birthday, he'd eaten the noodles Guaizai made and they were so terrible they brought tears to his eyes. Guaizai had mistaken that for being moved and declared right then and there that from then on, for every family member's birthday, he would personally make them longevity noodles.
The three of them were still discussing it when Guaizai sent his little minions over.
Gungun and Dandan came running in hand in hand, their chubby cheeks bouncing with every step. Fang Zichen could have sworn the floor was shaking: "Bwother Xiao Feng! Eat noodles!"
Zhao Ger was startled: "He's already done?"
Gungun nodded his little head: "Mm-hmm!"
Dandan tugged at Xiao Feng's sleeve: "Bwother, come eat noodles!"
Xiao Feng swallowed hard, steeled himself like a man going to his death, and shuffled reluctantly into the main hall. Guaizai stood by the table, sleeves still rolled up, a smear of flour on his nose. It was still cold outside, and his hands were red and raw, his face beaded with sweat. Kneading dough was hard work—last year, Feng Momo had said the more the dough was worked, the chewier the noodles would be. So he had been pounding and slapping that dough with all his might.
It was clearly a labor of love. How could Fang Zichen and Zhao Ger possibly say something like "Your noodles are lethal, please don't make them again"? And if they tried to be tactful, Guaizai just wouldn't get it—he'd take it as politeness.
Now, spotting Xiao Feng, Guaizai waved him over enthusiastically, like a greeter outside a brothel: "Brother Xiao Feng, come, come!"
Zhao Ger peered into the bowl. The noodles were still as thick as an arm, and the broth was pitch black.
A proper longevity noodle is supposed to be long and thin—that's the whole point. This noodle, one chopstick-length and arm-thick, should more properly be called a short-life noodle. If the whole thing were swallowed, one probably wouldn't make it through the night.
Guaizai said, a little shyly: "Brother, today is your birthday, so Guaizai made you longevity noodles! They may not look pretty, but they're actually really yummy! Daddy had them last year, and they were so good he cried!"
Xiao Feng took a deep breath, forced a stiff smile, and asked: "...Thank you, Guaizai. C-can I wait and eat them later?"
"No, you gotta eat them while they're hot! Are you scared they're too hot, Brother? Don't worry—Guaizai already blew on them to cool them down!"
Five-star service, at least.
Fang Zichen, not wanting to be the next victim, said, "Son, have you tried these noodles yourself?"
If Guaizai knew what his own cooking tasted like, maybe he'd stop insisting on making them next time.
Guaizai gave Fang Zichen a look that said, How can you be so grown-up and still not get it?
"Father, how can you say that? Longevity noodles are for the birthday person to eat—Guaizai can't eat them. Brother Xiao Feng, hurry up and eat!"
Xiao Feng swallowed hard again. He really couldn't bear to disappoint Guaizai's earnest enthusiasm, so he sat down.
Fang Zichen and Zhao Ger watched him intently. The noodles were drenched in several liang of soy sauce and aged vinegar, with too much salt to boot—salty, sour, cloyingly sweet, all jumbled together in a truly lethal combination.
[1 liang = 50 grams]
The moment the noodles touched his tongue, Xiao Feng wanted to retch.
Watching him eat like his life depended on it, Fang Zichen actually felt sorry for him. He turned to Guaizai and said he was thirsty, coaxing the boy to go get him some water.
The moment Guaizai was out the door, Fang Zichen let out a whistle. Black Whirlwind came bounding in. Fang Zichen broke the noodles apart and dropped more than half of them onto the floor.
Xiao Feng looked at Fang Zichen with tear-filled eyes. Even though Uncle Fang always teased him, deep down he really did care.
Black Whirlwind twitched his nose, sniffed once, then turned tail and ran straight out the door.
Zhao Ger: "..."
Fang Zichen: "..."
Even the dog wouldn't touch it.
Now that takes real talent.
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