Chapter 64

Noon arrived at twelve o’clock sharp.

Happiness Street had returned to its usual tranquility.

Fu Cheng had finished cooking the rice and chopping the vegetables. He was just about to heat the oil in the wok.

Lin Zao took the thick potato strips that Fu Cheng had cut and sliced them into fine shreds, stir-frying a plate of hot and sour shredded potatoes.

Then he brought out the meat floss they had made earlier. They had deliberately eaten it very slowly and very sparingly.

They had started with two and a half cans, and now two cans remained.

The family of three paired their rice with meat floss, while the little dog ate the leftover thin noodles from breakfast.

The thin noodles had softened into a mushy paste, which was perfect for the little dog.

In this straightforward manner, they wrapped up lunch.

After the meal, Fu Cheng washed the dishes, and Lin Xiaobao neatly put them away.

Lin Zao then led his husband and son upstairs to catch some sleep.

They had huddled in the stairwell the night before. Though the blanket and Fu Cheng’s chest had been comfortable, their arms and legs hadn’t been able to stretch out fully.

The moment they opened their eyes that morning, they had to battle enemies and sort through the spoils of war. They hadn’t rested their feet all morning.

Lin Zao wasn’t sure if he was truly exhausted, or if the rice and potatoes had left him drowsy from all the carbs, or perhaps both.

He simply couldn’t hold out any longer. He desperately needed a nap to save him!

The family of three returned to the bedroom.

Lin Zao pulled two sets of clean pajamas from the closet and tossed them to Fu Cheng and Lin Xiaobao.

“Change and go to sleep.”

“Okay!” Lin Xiaobao replied brightly.

“Roar.” Fu Cheng agreed as well. He lowered his head to yank off his tank top.

Lin Zao quickly swatted his hand, stopping the motion.

“No changing in front of Little Bao. That’s not elegant at all. Come in here to change!”

“Roar…”

Lin Zao tugged Fu Cheng toward the bathroom.

Lin Xiaobao looked up and saw Dad and Big Daddy heading off. He obediently followed, waddling along like a little duckling.

Lin Zao dragged Fu Cheng into the bathroom. He turned around and nudged Lin Xiaobao’s head. “Little Bao, you change out here.”

“Why?” Lin Xiaobao didn’t understand.

“Because Dad and Big Daddy are grown-ups, and you’re a kid. Grown-ups and kids are different—we change separately.”

“No way…”

“Don’t worry, Dad and Big Daddy will be out in a second.” Lin Zao thought for a moment and added deliberately, “If you can’t change by yourself, just sit on the bed and wait for us to help.”

“Dad, I can!”

Lin Xiaobao shot back loudly. He puffed out his chest and strode away.

He wasn’t some dummy like Big Daddy—he could change his own clothes!

Lin Zao shut the bathroom door and glanced back at Fu Cheng.

Fu Cheng had already stripped off his black tank top and was pulling on a fresh one.

That’s right—his pajamas were tank tops too.

They were pretty ragged, though.

He owned over a dozen black tank tops, cheap ones he’d grabbed from the wholesale market for nine-ninety a trio.

He wore them for fixing cars and heavy work. Once they got holes, he’d buy new ones and repurpose the old as sleepwear.

When they were truly unwearable, he’d toss them on the floor for Lin Zao to use as rags.

Fu Cheng was incredibly thrifty. He didn’t fuss over food or clothes, funneling every saved penny to his wife and son.

Lin Zao seized the moment to run his hand over Fu Cheng’s abs. Then he grabbed his own three-hundred-yuan branded pure cotton pajamas, turned away, and stepped farther into the bathroom to change.

With his back to Fu Cheng, Lin Zao shrugged off his jacket and sweater. He was just about to slip on the pajamas.

The next instant—

A hand—a gloved hand—settled silently on his back.

Like a python, it slithered from his spine around to his front.

Lin Zao gathered his strength and smacked the hand away. He straightened his pajamas.

Whirling around, he met Fu Cheng’s pitiful, aggrieved expression.

Little Zao can touch me, so why can’t I touch Little Zao?

Little Zao, right here.

Lin Zao charged in with a little “moo,” just like a bull let loose in the ring.

Lin Xiaobao followed right after, clutching Dad’s arm as he burrowed under.

Through the quilt, Fu Cheng wrapped his arms around father and son alike. He closed his eyes.

Nap time.

This time, Lin Zao didn’t set the alarm clock.

The enemies had only just attacked that morning and taken heavy losses. They wouldn’t return anytime soon.

The family slept soundly, for as long as they pleased.

Lin Zao and Lin Xiaobao sprawled across the bed like a pair of kittens, limbs tangled every which way—hands atop hands, feet pinning feet.

They snored away, on the verge of blowing snot bubbles.

Fortunately, Fu Cheng was there, holding them both and occasionally adjusting their positions.

Otherwise, Little Bao Cat would have flattened Little Zao Cat entirely, leaving the poor thing breathless and red-faced.

They slept straight through until four in the afternoon—perfect timing for dinner.

Breakfast and lunch had been simple fare. Dinner called for something hearty to make up for it.

That was Lin Zao for you—a true devotee of life’s finer pleasures (or just plain gluttony)… in cat form.

Fu Cheng had taken a slab of pork out at noon to thaw at room temperature.

Before their nap, Lin Zao had grabbed three or four handfuls of dried plum vegetables and set them to soak.

Everything was ready now.

A proper preserved vegetable stewed pork was a hassle—boiling, then frying.

Lin Zao wasn’t in the mood for trouble. He opted for a simplified family version.

The pork belly Fu Cheng had selected was perfectly marbled with fat and lean, ideal for the dish.

Lin Zao fired up the wok and seared the skin-side down against the bottom until black marks appeared. Then he handed it to Fu Cheng to scrape the bristles.

In the meantime, he rinsed the dried plum vegetables twice, washing away surface dust and grit before squeezing out the moisture.

Next, he boiled water and tossed in the scraped pork belly.

After about half an hour, Lin Zao prodded it with a chopstick. It slid in effortlessly—that meant it was ready.

He patted the meat dry, brushed it with a little soy sauce and oyster sauce for color, heated fresh oil in the wok, and dropped the meat in to fry.

“Brother Cheng, it’s all yours! You’ve got this!”

Lin Zao slid the meat into the wok and immediately ducked behind Fu Cheng.

Fu Cheng gripped the wooden spatula and glanced back at him.

Was it really that scary?

Moments later, the meat in the wok popped and splattered with a bang. Lin Zao scurried even farther away.

“Dad, I’ll protect you.”

“Little Bao, stay back! It’s dangerous for your little face!”

Lin Zao pulled Lin Xiaobao behind him and issued remote commands to Fu Cheng.

“Brother Cheng, nudge the meat gently.”

“Roar.”

“With the spatula! No hands!”

That was the difference between humans and zombies—humans knew how to use tools, while zombies didn’t!

Fu Cheng remained unflappable. He gave the meat a gentle nudge or two with the spatula.

Lin Zao kept precise time. When he judged it ready, he called out, “Flip it! Use the spatula! Gently now—no splatters!”

“Roar.”

Their teamwork was seamless. At last, the trickiest step—frying the meat—was complete.

Lin Zao breathed a sigh of relief. He set the meat aside and boiled it for another three minutes.

Boil, fry, boil again.

It wasn’t fussiness on his part. The first boil tenderized the meat; the fry added crisp fragrance without greasiness; the second boil made it easier to slice.

He sliced the prepared pork belly into thin pieces and arranged them neatly across the bottom of an iron basin. He layered the washed dried plum vegetables on top, drizzled everything with sauce, and set it to steam.

After an hour or two, it would be ready.

Lin Zao added the rice to steam alongside and prepared a small pot of tonic soup: notoginseng and American ginseng stewed lean pork.

He had mentioned making this soup before but kept forgetting. Today, he finally remembered.

Spring was here. A bit of tonic soup would ward off colds, bolster their constitutions, and prepare them for what lay ahead!

In the kitchen, the induction cooker hummed as it steamed the rice and dishes. The family of three waited in the living room.

As dusk fell, The Tri-Colored Trio and Fat Uncle set out in the minivan.

They had mentioned during the day that they would remove the iron door from the auto factory and install it on Happiness Street.

They must have just departed.

Lin Zao and Fu Cheng, along with the others, stayed behind to guard the home.

Half an hour later, dinner was ready.

Lin Zao directed Fu Cheng to carry out the basin of preserved vegetable stewed pork. He pressed a plate against it and flipped the whole thing.

The pork belly slices, once at the bottom, now crowned the top—a handsome presentation.

The dried plum vegetables lent a subtle sweetness, while the pork belly was rich yet not greasy. Fresh steam carried the aroma straight to their noses.

Lin Zao dished out servings into the iron basin Grandpa Zhang had used for the morning’s thin noodles and carried it downstairs.

The old man couldn’t handle heavy tonics, so Lin Zao gave him just a sip or two of soup along with a bit of lean pork.

Lin Xiaobao couldn’t have much either. Lin Zao fed him a single small spoonful.

Fortunately, the boy wasn’t fond of it anyway—it tasted bitter to him, nowhere near as good as corn soup or kelp soup.

That left the rest…

Lin Zao turned around and spotted Fu Cheng—bone clamped in his teeth, iron basin in hand, on the verge of slurping down his third bowl!

The soup was delicious. Little Zao always laced it with medicine, but this batch seemed especially potent.

Yum—

“Brother Cheng!”

Lin Zao yelped in alarm and lunged to throttle his neck.

“You can’t drink that much! You’re over-tonifying! You’ll get a nosebleed!”