Making meat floss was far too much trouble.
Lin Zao and Fu Cheng—two adults, or rather one adult and one adult zombie—sat in the living room, huddled around an iron basin as they tore meat into shreds. It was just two pork legs, but tearing them took hours. They had even watched several episodes of educational cartoons for kids by then.
At noon, Lin Zao finally lost his patience. He slammed the meat into the basin and shoved it all toward Fu Cheng. Then he climbed to his feet and darted into the kitchen in a flash.
He said he was going to make lunch.
Fu Cheng fell silent. He lowered his head to glance at the iron basin in front of him, then turned to look at Lin Zao’s retreating back.
Little Zao, you told me this morning to learn how to cook. Why won’t you let me learn now? Why did you leave me here all alone?
Lin Xiaobao blinked his big eyes and approached with the little dog in tow, clearly intending to comfort him.
“Big Daddy, don’t be sad. Dad’s just making lunch. I’ll help you tear the meat.”
Fu Cheng turned back to face him, his brows furrowing.
What? What did you say?
Cooking was too hard, so Little Zao had deliberately kept him from learning.
A bright smile spread across Fu Cheng’s face, full of the tender affection only an iron-willed man could muster.
—Little Zao was so good to him. Little Zao loved him. He was deeply touched!
Lin Xiaobao tilted his head, his expression slowly turning puzzled.
—Big Daddy, what are you thinking? Are we even on the same page?
Lin Xiaobao pulled his hand back and declared loudly, “Big Daddy, you tear it yourself! I’m not helping anymore!”
Fine, no help then.
Fu Cheng’s expression didn’t change, but as Lin Xiaobao turned to leave, he lightly bumped the boy’s chubby little arm.
“What? Big Daddy, I’m still not helping you.”
Lin Xiaobao whipped his head around. Fu Cheng was holding a piece of boiled lean meat right in front of him.
Lin Xiaobao blinked in surprise. He glanced toward the kitchen and whispered, “Is this for me?”
Hadn’t Dad told him not to eat any? And didn’t Big Daddy always listen to Dad?
Fu Cheng nudged the meat forward until it pressed against the boy’s little mouth.
Eat it quick, before Little Zao comes back.
“Ah—”
Lin Xiaobao opened his mouth wide and gobbled it down. As he chewed, he said, “What about my little dog? Can you give it a piece too?”
Fu Cheng selected a small bit and tossed it to the little dog.
The little dog wagged its tail furiously, leaping into the air to catch the meat in its jaws. Then it chomped away happily.
It was starting to grow teeth, though they weren’t fully in yet and weren’t very sharp. But the meat had been stewed until it was fall-apart tender—perfect for a three-year-old child and a one-month-old puppy.
“Thanks, Big Daddy.”
“Woof! Woof! Woof!—”
Lin Xiaobao clasped his hands behind his back and wiped them on his clothes before reaching toward the basin again.
Fu Cheng swiftly blocked him. Your hands just touched the dog—you can’t touch the food.
“Big Daddy, it’s not that I want to eat it myself!” Lin Xiaobao protested hurriedly. “I was going to take a piece for you!”
He pointed at Fu Cheng. This was called a “return gift”—Dad had taught him that.
“Never mind. I’ll go wash my hands.”
Seeing the dumbstruck look on Big Daddy’s face, Lin Xiaobao didn’t bother explaining further. He grabbed the little dog and scampered off toward the bathroom.
Just then, Lin Zao poked his head out from behind the kitchen’s sliding door, a tomato clutched in one hand.
What are they muttering about? Why are they hiding it from me?
Fu Cheng met his gaze and flashed a stiff smile.
Good afternoon, Little Zao!
Lin Zao puffed out his cheeks but couldn’t suppress a smile of his own. “Hurry up and tear the meat. No slacking.”
“Got it.” Fu Cheng, the zombie worker Lin Zao had hired, replied with a nod and bent back to his task.
Truth be told, he knew Little Zao had only claimed he was making lunch because he didn’t want to tear the meat anymore. Fu Cheng himself was growing impatient too. He could handle killing and hauling things just fine, but this kind of fiddly work? Not his strong suit.
That was why he’d fed some lean meat to Lin Xiaobao and the little dog—it meant less tearing for him!
A clever way to lighten the workload. He was pretty smart.
Fu Cheng praised himself inwardly. Not as smart as Little Zao, but definitely sharper than Little Bao.
Before long, Lin Zao returned to the kitchen, and Lin Xiaobao emerged from the bathroom.
He had washed his hands and dried them carefully with a small towel, which he proudly showed to Fu Cheng. Only then did Fu Cheng let him touch the meat.
Lin Xiaobao picked out a piece of lean meat and extended his pinky finger daintily, aiming to slip it through the gap in Big Daddy’s face mask.
He had fed Big Daddy pieces of flatbread like this before, but Dad had forbidden it, saying Big Daddy might bite him.
But Lin Xiaobao thought Big Daddy was great.
Big Daddy always retracted his teeth and used his lips to take the food gently. He never bit.
And Lin Xiaobao would be extra careful, pulling his hand back lightning-fast.
It would be fine.
Lin Xiaobao pushed the meat in. Fu Cheng parted his lips slightly, ready to accept the filial offering from his son.
But at that moment—
“Hm?”
A familiar voice rang out. Father, son, and little dog all turned their heads in unison.
Lin Zao stood there leaning against the sliding door, spatula in hand, watching them intently.
“What are you two doing?”
“Dad!”
Lin Xiaobao reacted first. He shoved the meat into Big Daddy’s mouth, snatched up another piece, and bolted over to his father.
“Dad, let me feed you. Ahh—”
He hoped to muddle through.
Lin Zao held out for a dignified three seconds before bending down to eat it.
“Fine, I’ll let it slide this time. Brother Cheng, back to work. Little Bao, come help me beat some eggs.”
“Okay!”
Lin Zao had spent the entire morning working on the meat floss, and it still wasn’t done.
He had no time to make anything elaborate for lunch, so the family enjoyed tomato and egg noodles instead.
The noodles were simple plain handmade ones. Lin Zao took three noodle cakes, dropped them into boiling water, stirred until cooked, then fished them out and drained them in a basin.
The noodles were ordinary enough, but the tomato-scrambled-egg topping was something special.
Normally, one would fry the eggs first, then the tomatoes, and mix them together at the end. But this time, Lin Zao prepared the tomatoes differently.
He took three tomatoes and diced them finely on the cutting board instead of wedging them. He chopped them into tiny, juicy bits.
By the time he finished dicing the tomatoes, Lin Xiaobao had beaten five eggs loose.
Lin Zao transferred the tomato dice into the egg mixture, added a pinch of salt, and had Lin Xiaobao stir it all until evenly blended.
He heated oil in the wok and poured in the tomato-egg blend, spreading it into a large pancake before gently breaking it up with a wooden spatula.
This was tomato scrambled eggs too—but juicier, with the tomatoes in scattered, bite-sized bits perfect for tossing with noodles.
There was a lot of egg mixture, so he divided it into two batches. Even so, it didn’t take long.
In just over ten minutes, lunch was ready.
“Time to eat!”
Lin Xiaobao grabbed some chopsticks and dashed out to set the table.
Lin Zao lined up three bowls on the counter. He filled each with noodles and topped them with two big spoonfuls of tomato scrambled eggs.
He didn’t forget the little dog either. It could eat solid food now, so it got half a spoon of noodles and half a spoon of topping.
Lunch was simple, but the family of three slurped it down with gusto.
Lin Xiaobao especially attacked his bowl with puffed cheeks and enthusiastic slurps.
The noodles made it into his mouth, but the tomato sauce stayed behind, smeared around his lips.
Forget cats or dogs—this family were all little pigs!
In the afternoon, no one who should have napped did, and no one who should have watched TV bothered with it.
All three pitched in and spent another half hour before they finally finished tearing every last bit of lean meat.
“We’re pretty awesome, the three of us,” Lin Zao said, stretching out his arms to inspect his hands.
“Hand-torn chicken, hand-torn duck, hand-torn roast lamb, hand-torn beef jerky.”
“Next time bad guys show up on Happiness Street, we can send the family out for some ‘hand-torn villains.'”
Lin Xiaobao looked puzzled. “Dad, what bad guys?”
“The ones from last time. You were asleep.”
“Why didn’t you wake me?”
“You were out cold. Grab the meat shreds. Let’s go.”
Lin Zao tied on an apron and beckoned to them.
Fu Cheng lifted the iron basin, while Lin Xiaobao and the little dog trailed obediently after him.
Lin Zao hauled out the family’s big iron pot and set it on the induction cooker. He added two spoonfuls of oil.
Once the oil was hot, he dumped in all the meat shreds and began stir-frying.
First, he had to fry out all the moisture from the meat before adding any seasonings.
The problem was…
“Aiya…” Lin Zao gripped the spatula and waved it vigorously.
There were just so many shreds, and he had to keep stirring constantly or risk burning the pot.
He fried for a bit, switching the spatula from right hand to left and back again.
“Little Bao, check the clock. What time is it? How long have I been frying?”
“Um…”
“What number is the shortest hand pointing to?”
“It’s ‘two.'”
“Ah? Still ‘two’? It was ‘two’ a minute ago!”
Lin Zao had thought he’d been at it for a full hour!
How was this possible?
Rubbing his sore shoulder, he called out, “Brother Cheng! Brother Cheng!”
Fu Cheng had been standing right beside him the whole time. Hearing the call, he stepped behind Lin Zao and took hold of his hand.
Lin Zao hadn’t even caught his breath when he realized this position felt… off somehow.
Fu Cheng’s arm wrapped around his waist while the other guided his hand on the spatula. He even rested his chin on Lin Zao’s shoulder as they stir-fried the meat floss together.
Stir-frying meat floss had somehow turned romantic.
No, it wasn’t just off—it was completely wrong!
Lin Zao twisted his body and bumped Fu Cheng with his hip.
“Why are you standing behind me? Why not just take the spatula?”
No.
Fu Cheng only hugged him tighter.
If this was what Little Zao meant by cooking, he’d happily do it every day.
