Chapter 31 Part 2

The Old Village Chief rarely spoke, but now he snorted: “Wang the Fourth, that useless lump of meat. Eyes rotten, marrying a woman like that. Didn’t manage her properly while he lived, then kicked the bucket nice and easy, leaving behind a curse to torment the younger generations.”

Qiao Ning: “…”

When Village Chief Grandpa curses, he does not miss.

Once the Old Village Chief finished, Second Aunt Yang went on: “Hongping, a daughter-in-law, could do nothing about her mother-in-law—so she just stopped bringing her to banquets wherever she could. But Fourth Granny Wang had tasted the sweet life. Hongping wouldn’t take her? She’d go secretly. Told the hosts she’d come to help—then inside, she was a mouse in the granary. And when Hongping took the full ingredient package, it went just like Little He said: rotten leaves swapped out for the fresh vegetables Hongping had prepared…”

The listeners were speechless. They’d seen plenty of mischief, but mischief that sabotaged your own family’s livelihood? With that going on, how could Dong Hongping possibly survive?

Sure enough, Second Aunt Yang continued: “Hongping could guard against it once, twice—there was always a slip. A single banquet meant twenty-some tables. After a few incidents, Dong Hongping’s name as a Village Chef was ruined. Gradually nobody booked her anymore.”

Second Aunt Yang sighed. “Hongping was a proud woman, mind. After that, she was too embarrassed to stay in the village—and I think she simply couldn’t bear living under the same roof as her mother-in-law. So off she went to work out in the world. Word is she cooks for a construction crew now—makes a few thousand a month.”

Qiao Ning listened with a heavy heart. Everyone he’d met since returning had been warm-hearted and kind—but every place had its share of bad apples too.

Footsteps sounded in the courtyard just then. Zhao Anran walked in, both arms hung with red Mixue Snow King takeout bags.

“He Jiaming, come help me carry!” Qiao Ning and He Jiaming both hurried over to relieve her of the bags.

Qiao Ning stared. “What’s all this? Milk tea? Where did you even get it?”

“There’s a shop in the town!” Zhao Anran said. “Mixue Snow King’s the only chain milk tea around—everything else is off-brand. It’s your treat today, so He Jiaming and I are treating everyone to milk tea.”

Second Aunt Yang waved it off at once. “Little kids’ drink. Not for me.”

The Old Village Chief didn’t so much as twitch.

“I’ll drink it! I want milk tea!” Little Tangyuan bounced toward the bags. “I am a little kid!”

“Me too little kid,” Han Tou mumbled after him.

His mind had stopped at childhood; his self-image had stopped there too.

Second Aunt Yang’s face went stern. “There’s a lot of good food at lunch. You drink milk tea now, you won’t eat.”

Little Tangyuan’s eyes spun, then landed on inspiration. “I’ll drink a little bit. Just a little bit.”

“This is Mixue Snow King, not A-Little-Bit.” Zhao Anran quipped, tearing open the bag seal for them to choose. “Come on—first come, first served, all flavors available. You two are not allowed the ones with Tapioca Boba Pearls.”

“Why not?” Little Tangyuan’s face was pure indignation.

“Why—why not,” Han Tou echoed.

He didn’t have the faintest idea what boba pearls even were. Pure mimicry.

“Because little kids can’t eat boba pearls.” Qiao Ning said.

He understood Zhao Anran’s real concern: choking.

Little Tangyuan’s mouth turned down, ready to argue—Second Aunt Yang cut in: “Misbehave and there’s no milk tea at all.”

Fine. Some milk tea beat none.

Little Tangyuan picked a pearl-free cup; Qiao Ning picked one for Han Tou too and had the straw ready in it.

Han Tou took one sip and his eyes lit up. “Good! Sweet water.”

He held the cup out. “Naonao, you drink. Good.”

“There’s more—see, I have my own.” Qiao Ning laughed. “This cup’s yours, Brother Han Tou. You drink yours.”

“Okay!” Han Tou’s grin spread so wide his big teeth showed.

Qiao Ning turned to coax Second Aunt Yang: “Second Aunt Yang, when Third Uncle and I went to the County Town yesterday, he loved the milk tea. Gave it compliments and everything.”

“I heard him bragging, all right.” Second Aunt Yang huffed. “Says the milk tea is actually sweet porridge. Milk tea’s called milk tea—how would it be porridge? Boy got it wrong, obviously.”

“Exactly.” Zhao Anran swooped in seamlessly. “So shouldn’t you taste it yourself, to prove him wrong?”

He Jiaming played his part: “Who’d have thought Third Uncle Dong was so open to new things…”

Second Aunt Yang’s position reversed on the spot. “If Dong the Third can drink it, why can’t I? I say it’s tea, plain and simple.”

Qiao Ning hastily handed her a cup. Second Aunt Yang, unpracticed, fumbled the straw open, stabbed it in, took a sip, and savored.

“Well?” Zhao Anran asked.

Second Aunt Yang’s cheeks bulged—chew, chew, chew. “What’s this stuff in here? All chewy. Sweet little balls. Not bad at all!”

“Granny, those are boba pearls!” Little Tangyuan was thrilled. “The pearls from pearl milk tea! Granny, gimme a sip.”

“No.” Second Aunt Yang refused flat.

Chewing away, she came to understand why Qiao Ning and Zhao Anran wouldn’t let the children have these—slippery little things. What if one went down the wrong pipe?

“Granny~” Little Tangyuan wheedled.

“Beg all you like, the answer’s still no.”

Little Tangyuan’s eyes spun again. “I’ll go get Grandpa to come drink milk tea!”

And off he ran.

Zhao Anran cackled. “He’s going to mooch off his grandpa’s cup, isn’t he.”

Second Aunt Yang took another slurp, still chewing away. “No matter. His grandpa wouldn’t dare.”

Qiao Ning asked the Old Village Chief, “How are your blood sugar and pressure?”

“Perfectly healthy!” Zhao Anran answered for him. “We check the Old Village Chief’s sugar and pressure on schedule.”

Qiao Ning worried milk tea would spoil an old man’s sleep—he surely slept little enough at his age—and picked the Old Village Chief a fruit tea instead.

The Old Village Chief refused on sight: “I don’t drink this foreign nonsense.”

Qiao Ning bit back a laugh. “How is it foreign?”

The Old Village Chief gave a grunt and would not be drawn.

“Don’t bother persuading.” Zhao Anran whispered. “Nobody moves that man once he’s planted.”

“Careful,” He Jiaming said. “Not necessarily.”

Zhao Anran: “?”

Qiao Ning thought of He Jiaming’s earlier teasing about batting his eyes, felt his ears go warm again, and refused to play that card twice. He switched approaches.

He sighed suddenly. “My grandpa went too early. There was none of this ‘foreign nonsense’ back then. If he were still here, I could buy some for him to try.”

The words were half true, half tactic. Mentioning his grandpa did genuinely sting—if Grandpa were alive, Qiao Ning could be filial to him right now; his Spirit Spring fruit could be on the old man’s plate.

The Old Village Chief’s eyebrows jumped. He looked at the young man standing before him with downcast eyes, and said gruffly, “What, I drink this foreign stuff so that later, when I go underground and see your grandpa, I can brag to him about it?”

Qiao Ning: “…”

That was not what he meant!

Village Chief Grandpa: also a world-class snarker.

“Fine, hand it over.”

The Old Village Chief held out a hand. Before Qiao Ning could react, He Jiaming had snatched the fruit tea from him, popped the straw in, and presented it to the Old Village Chief.

The Old Village Chief took his time over a sip. Qiao Ning asked expectantly, “How is it?”

Everyone watched, astonished and expectant. Good heavens—the most hidebound of old sticks, accepting “foreign nonsense”!

The Old Village Chief swallowed. “It’ll do.”

Second Aunt Yang’s face bloomed. “That means it’s good.”

She leaned in, whispering—not very quietly—to Qiao Ning: “Our Old Village Chief never says ‘good.’ Only ‘it’ll do.’ And ‘it’ll do’ means good.”

Qiao Ning struggled not to laugh. The Old Village Chief had clearly heard—his hearing was fine and his eyes sharp; only his legs had slowed. He shot Second Aunt Yang a look and sipped his milk tea with deliberate, prim little sips.

The rest of them took their own cups; Qiao Ning brought out some of yesterday’s snacks to go with the tea.

Zhao Anran asked suddenly, “When I came in just now, I think I heard you all talking about Fourth Granny Wang? What’d she do now?”

Qiao Ning laughed. “From your tone, you two have history.”

“Oh, history.” At the mention of the name, Zhao Anran filled with grievance. “That old—that person—only ever bullies the softest target. And He Jiaming and me? We’re the softest targets alive!”

They were College-Graduate Village Officials: villagers could curse them out, but cursing back was off the table. And an elderly woman at that—one theatrical collapse onto the ground and the two of them would be in serious trouble.

Qiao Ning’s conscience and his funny bone went to war. How could anyone say something like that in such an angry voice?

“You have no idea.” Zhao Anran seethed. “She jabbed her finger in my face and cussed me for the better part of half an hour. Spit all over me!”

“Okay, enough.” He Jiaming said, expressionless. “We’re drinking milk tea. Say nice things.”

Zhao Anran glanced at the Old Village Chief and announced loudly, “The Old Village Chief cussed her out for us! It was glorious!”

Even the Party Secretary had to dodge that woman—no Village Secretary could afford the reputation of cursing villagers. But the Old Village Chief? Retired!

Qiao Ning’s laughter escaped before he could stop it. He raised a thumb. “Village Chief Grandpa, mighty warrior!”

Thumbs shot up all around. The Old Village Chief truly could be relied upon—when trouble came, the man actually showed up.

“Is this the Qiao house?” Someone called from outside.

Qiao Ning hurried out. A woman was peeking around the gate.

“The Qiao Family, yes.”

Qiao Ning’s answer made the woman turn and report to those behind her: “This is the one.”

He walked out and found a Pickup Truck parked beyond his gate, the driver leaning out the window: “Young Qiao, I’m Village Chef Tang, from your phone call just now. Can I drive in?”

“You can.” Qiao Ning swung the gate fully open, and the truck rolled in and stopped in the courtyard.

Lashed onto the cargo bed was a huge round tabletop, stacked chairs, cooking gear sorted into categories, buckets and basins full of plastic bags—some transparent, showing vegetables and meat inside.

Everyone indoors came out at the commotion to help. Dong the Third arrived just then with Dong Zhiyong’s wife Zhou Chunmei and Dong Xiaohui in tow, and they all pitched in—even Dong Xiaohui, obediently hauling chairs.

Everything unloaded, Village Chef Tang and his wife inspected the kitchen and got straight to work.

Qiao Ning handed out milk tea to Dong the Third and the others; Second Aunt Yang cornered Dong the Third to settle once and for all whether milk tea was tea or sweet porridge.

Dong Xiaohui, straw between his teeth, sidled up to Qiao Ning. “Got a girlfriend?”

Qiao Ning: “?”

“No,” Qiao Ning replied flatly.

What he’d be looking for was a boyfriend, thank you—but on that front he wasn’t pushing his luck. In his previous life he’d spent all those years in the big city, not one relationship to show for it. In a village? Forget it.

“Why not?” Dong Xiaohui pressed relentlessly. “You’re this handsome. At our school, girls would be chasing you down the street.”

Qiao Ning had zero interest in discussing romance with a minor. Cradling his milk tea, he smiled faintly. “Heard you got expelled from school?”

Dong Xiaohui: “…”

“How’d it happen? Details, please.”

Dong Xiaohui: “…You’re no fun at all.”

Clutching his milk tea, he fled without looking back.