Chapter 034: The Night Before Departing for D

This story is entirely fictional.

“It’s all my fault. I knew Dujuan likes chicken soup but forgot to tell the family ahead of time, and she blamed me for it for ages,” Chi Zhaoming added.

“Who else would I blame? Do you expect me to say every time, ‘Oh my, I want some chicken soup’?” Dujuan’s expression was delightfully exaggerated, drawing out the word ‘soup’ for comic effect.

“You wouldn’t believe it—once, Dujuan didn’t get her chicken soup. When we returned to Dahe, she said to me, ‘Your mother, she can’t even bear to kill a chicken to make soup for me, pretending to ask if I wanted chicken. Isn’t that just asking if she should kill one for the guest?’” Chi Zhaoming recounted the incident from years ago.

Mother Chi laughed, “Blame me, blame me. Next time, I’ll kill a chicken even if no one asks!” Everyone burst out laughing.

“There’s no need, even if your chickens run free it doesn’t matter. I’m quite the expert at catching chickens. You can tell me which chicken you want caught, and I’ll handle it. Zhaoming knows my talent in this area. Remember the day before we left for the army, I caught my family’s old laying hen and we ate it? You haven’t forgotten, have you?” Wu Zhengzhe asked Zhaoming.

“I could never forget that. We wanted a chicken so badly we ended up killing the egg-laying hen, and my father scolded us for ages. Unbelievable!” Wu Zhengzhe shook his head as he spoke.

“Hurry up, drink the soup before it cools,” Zhaoming said, picking up his bowl.

Chi Qian, dressed in clean clothes, entered the kitchen and greeted everyone. Mother Chi, seeing her hardworking husband, handed him a bowl of chicken soup. “This is yours. You’ve worked so hard these days; have some soup to recover.”

After drinking the chicken soup cooked on the rustic stove, Wu Zhengzhe felt energized, his body warming. “Wow, this is amazing! I haven’t had such delicious chicken soup in ages.”

“Is it really that magical? I don’t believe it. Here, drink mine too,” Zhaoming joked.

“No way, good things shouldn’t be enjoyed by just one person! Besides, Aunt made my favorite dish—pea pickles with cured pork. I have to eat an extra bowl of rice with it. You can’t get this dish in the city. It’s my lifelong favorite,” Wu Zhengzhe said as he walked toward the stove with his bowl.

Mother Chi, standing nearby, watched Wu Zhengzhe eat with delight. “Slow down, slow down, nobody’s going to snatch it from you. It’s all yours.” She handed him a small stool.

After finishing her chicken soup, Dujuan felt too full for anything else. She patted her stomach, “One bowl of chicken soup and I don’t want another bite.”

“Just a moment ago you said you wanted to try some country delicacies, and now you’re full? Wait a bit—once you digest, you’ll want a little more,” Zhaoming said, watching her.

“No, you all go ahead, I’m done,” Dujuan replied.

“Then rest for a while. We’ll eat and drink together. I’ll keep Zhengzhe company with some wine; it’s been ages since we gathered, and today there’s his favorite dish,” Zhaoming said to Dujuan.

“Alright, you drink. Don’t mind me, I’ll just watch,” Dujuan laughed.

“Dad, do we still have wine at home?” Zhaoming asked.

“Minghe brought back two bottles recently. They’re in the cabinet right next to you,” Chi Qian replied.

Zhaoming opened the simple cabinet, took out a bottle, and asked Zhengzhe, “Is one bottle enough?”

“Plenty, we’ll split it evenly. Two people, one bottle—perfect,” Wu Zhengzhe said.

“Dad, aren’t you going to have some?” Zhaoming glanced at Chi Qian.

“No, you two enjoy. I need some rice; I’m really hungry tonight,” Chi Qian said, scooping up some rice.

He took some vegetables and sat beside Mother Chi.

“Before, when you helped out, you never ate after coming home. Didn’t you eat tonight?” Mother Chi asked.

“No, I wasn’t hungry when dinner started, so I didn’t eat. Now I’m starving,” Chi Qian replied.

“Really? Or is it because your son is home and your appetite’s back?” Mother Chi teased.

Chi Qian thought about it and realized it really was because his son was back. “Ah, I suppose so. Maybe it’s just been too long since I saw the kids.”

“Your father’s always talking about you all. Years ago, I was the one who worried, but lately it’s your father. He’s always asking about Minghe, or whether Mingri’s house is finished, or if Mingyue’s getting used to Dahe. He talks about you more than I do,” Mother Chi said, watching Wu Zhengzhe and her son drinking.

Wu Zhengzhe, listening to the elders, felt a pang of sorrow. Thinking of his own parents, who passed away in recent years, he couldn’t help but feel melancholy. He sat beside Zhaoming, drinking silently, unaware that his tears fell into his chicken soup.

Mother Chi noticed Wu Zhengzhe’s silence and understood his feelings. She quickly handed him a tissue, which he used to wipe his eyes. When he looked up again, his eyes were red.

“Missing your parents, aren’t you?” Mother Chi asked.

“Yes,” Wu Zhengzhe nodded.

“Tomorrow we’ll visit their graves together. If you have anything to say, speak to them there. They can see you, and hear everything you say,” Mother Chi comforted him.

“I hope so. Sometimes, when they were alive, I never thought about how much time was left to spend together. I was so focused on work, and now I regret it. Twice I passed by my old home while working and didn’t stop by. Only after they left did I realize how much I wish I’d spent more time with them, taken them to the best hospital in Dahe when they were unwell. There’s just too much regret, but there’s no medicine for it in this world,” Wu Zhengzhe said, his eyes brimming with tears.

“Don’t be too sad or hard on yourself. They’re enjoying eternal bliss in heaven, which is a good thing. Sometimes you have to let go a little. Death may be a release for the departed, though it leaves pain for those still living. All we can do is keep their memory and mourn them,” Zhaoming counseled.

“You’re right. As long as they’re happy in heaven, that’s enough. Come, let’s drink!” Zhaoming and Wu Zhengzhe clinked their glasses, the sound crisp and clear.

After several rounds, both were feeling the effects of the wine. Dujuan, observing them, quickly said, “Don’t drink any more, it’s time to eat. If you keep going, you’ll be drunk.”

“No more, no more. Come, serve rice for Zhengzhe and me—half a bowl for me,” Zhaoming said to Dujuan.

Zhengzhe had a good appetite, eating with an adorable enthusiasm. Mother Chi kept urging, “Slow down, slow down, there’s no rush—it’s not good for digestion to eat so fast.”

“Don’t worry, Aunt, my stomach could digest stones,” Zhengzhe replied, savoring each bite.

As for Zhaoming, the wine made him eat slowly and absent-mindedly. Dujuan, standing by, said, “Whenever he drinks, he loses his appetite. Today’s not so bad, he managed half a bowl. Usually, after drinking, he won’t touch rice at all.”

“Then you should let him drink less. Eating more rice is good for his health,” Mother Chi advised.

“It’s much better now. You don’t know, when he first returned from the army, he wouldn’t eat any meat. He was so picky—said he didn’t need fancy food, just dishes that suited his taste, even a bit of pickles was enough for a meal. Isn’t that strange?” Dujuan asked Mother Chi. “You’re not going back to Dahe tonight, are you? I’ll prepare the beds for you, put on fresh sheets. Take your time with the wine.”

“Yes, a bit odd. We’ll stay here in Xiaohe tonight and return tomorrow,” she replied, and Zhengzhe and Zhaoming continued drinking and chatting.

That night, Dujuan couldn’t sleep, unsettled by the unfamiliar bed. Unable to rest herself, she kept Zhaoming awake, chatting until his eyes could barely stay open.

Dujuan took a toothpick, broke it into two pieces, and propped open Zhaoming’s eyelids, determined not to let him sleep.

At first, it worked a little, but soon Zhaoming couldn’t hold out, his eyelids fighting to close.

Dujuan tried to keep him awake but suddenly felt itchy and developed big red rashes.

“Oh, you’re having another allergic reaction,” Zhaoming remembered the anti-itch cream in the car.

He went out, fetched the medicine, and applied it for Dujuan.

“There must be mites in your bed, or it wouldn’t itch so much,” Dujuan complained.

“Impossible. I changed the sheets just for you, they’re perfectly clean. It’s just your body adjusting to the environment—last time was the same. The rash will clear up after a bit of ointment,” Zhaoming replied.

Soon the rashes faded, and Dujuan began to yawn.

“Go to sleep. Tomorrow afternoon, all the staff from the station bound for Country D will assemble. We’re off to Country D to broadcast the World Cup live. I can’t hold out any longer,” he said, turning off the light.

The room fell into darkness and silence, the only sounds the chirping of crickets from outside the window.

(To be continued.)