As evening approached, a cold wind kicked up outside the window, carrying a flurry of frost and snow. Though not particularly fierce, it blew with a cutting chill that bit to the bone.
"Auntie, your cooking smells wonderful."
Around the lit dining table inside, Zhao Xiaozhi and Yan Tao sat together. Gazing at the lavish spread and inhaling the aromas drifting through the air, they could not help but praise the meal again and again.
The two girls had only just arrived in Xijing and were completely unfamiliar with the place. After turning it over in her mind, Zhao Lanxiang had decided to let them stay the night at their home. They had a spare room with beds set up anyway, usually kept for visiting relatives who came to the city to deliver goods, like Third Aunt.
Lian Shuang, Lian Lei, and Third Aunt were also seated nearby, eyeing Zhao Xiaozhi and Yan Tao up and down with open curiosity before peppering them with questions, relentlessly pressing for details about how Lian Youming had rescued Yan Tao on the train.
Lian Youming listened with his heart in his throat, terrified the two girls might let something slip about his real capabilities.
Beaming from ear to ear at the compliments on her cooking, Zhao Lanxiang waited until Lian Youming went to fetch bowls and chopsticks to pull her son aside. With a stern face, she warned him, "My dear boy, you'd better not go getting any stray ideas. Your Aunt Shen called me and said you were courting a girl from Guangxi up in the Northeast, and she's even been writing you letters. Your mother doesn't expect you to make a huge name for yourself, but you have to be faithful. If you dare pull any funny business, I'll have your father thrash you to death."
The more Lian Youming listened, the more out of sorts he felt. "Ma, I just got home and haven't even had a single bite to eat, and here you are trying to scare the life out of me."
At that, Zhao Lanxiang stroked Lian Youming's weathered cheek, her eyes softening with motherly tenderness. Soon, however, her curiosity got the better of her, and she lowered her voice. "So, what does the girl look like? Your Aunt Shen said she's quite pretty, an heir to a traditional Chinese medicine family, and has a healthy appetite too. What was her name again—Yan something?"
Lian Youming took a bite out of a piece of guokui and brushed it off casually. "Nothing's even set in stone yet. Can't you show a little concern for your own flesh-and-blood son first?... Right, it's already so late. Why isn't Old Lian home yet?"
Zhao Lanxiang, however, humored him just as she would a child, easily outmatching him at his own game. "Concern for you? You're built like an ox—what's there to worry about? Your father didn't know you were coming back today. He said he was going to drink with friends at the steel plant after work, so we don't need to wait for him. I've already saved portions of the food. If they drink enough, he might just spend the night there."
Lian Youming felt a prickle of unease. His family still had no idea that Qin Yuhu had lost an arm. Back in the Northeast, Shen Qinghong had forbidden him from mentioning it to his folks; if the truth came out, he probably wouldn't escape a beating.
Still, since the matter involved Gong Wu'er, Qin Yuhu had clearly intended to keep it quiet as well. When the time came, his family would surely understand.
Once the last dish was brought out, Lian Youming sat down beside his younger brother and sister, gesturing for everyone to pick up their chopsticks.
Third Aunt chuckled happily. "I really picked the right day to visit. This table is richer than a New Year's feast—all thanks to my eldest nephew!"
Lian Youming could not help but smile. Third Aunt's family was the closest to theirs in the village; whenever they had mountain produce or game, they always brought some over.
This close bond went back to the great famine years ago. Back then, even though Lian Youming's parents had gone from one hungry meal to the next, they had used most of their hard-earned savings to help their fellow villagers survive.
Even if they only had a single sack of grain, every household had to get a mouthful.
A bond forged through surviving life-and-death hardships together wasn't merely kin—it ran deeper than blood.
They had barely taken two bites when Zhao Lanxiang seemed to remember something. She emerged from the kitchen carrying an aluminum lunchbox piled high with food. "Right, take some food over to the King of Scraps first."
Taking the lunchbox, Lian Youming blurted out instinctively, "Tsk, that old man sure knows how to hang on."
Zhao Lanxiang immediately rapped him with a chopstick. "How can you talk like that? If your father heard you, he'd give you a good thrashing for sure."
Lian Youming grinned sheepishly, realizing his poor choice of words, though he meant no disrespect—it was purely an exclamation.
The King of Scraps was, true to his name, an old scavenger. He had moved into the neighborhood even earlier than their family, living alone with no family or kin, crammed into a tiny shack overflowing with junk. In earlier years, when hard times struck every household and the old man saw that the neighborhood children were left unattended, he had stepped forward on his own initiative to take care of over a dozen kids, never letting a single mishap occur.
As the old man grew older, the Lian family—true to their honorable habits—naturally couldn't leave him to fend for himself. Whenever they had good food, they would set aside a bowl for him, and the surrounding neighbors also brought him supplies every few days.
Pushing aside the door curtain, Lian Youming stepped out of the courtyard with the lunchbox in hand. After twisting and turning down several alleys, he walked into a small yard.
Across the dozen-meter-long yard, apart from tangled weeds, were piles of scattered scrap of every kind, heaped here and there to leave only a meter-wide earthen path.
At the far end, a dim yellow lamp illuminated a narrow, cramped doorway, outside of which leaned a battered wooden door.
Inside the doorway sat an old man, unkempt and coated in grime. His clothes were filthy and ragged, his silver hair was matted into knots, and the beard beneath his chin had been braided into two foot-long pigtails, giving him an eccentric, comical look.
Lian Youming walked over with a grin. "Old man, you're in luck today."
It wasn't that he lacked respect for his elders; they were simply too familiar with one another.
Ducking down to squeeze inside, Lian Youming saw the King of Scraps playing Chinese chess against himself. A square wooden board rested on the ground, a crooked crack running faintly along the Chu River and Han Border. Beside him sat a bowl of sour rice, placed there who knew how long ago.
The King of Scraps was gaunt and filthy, having gone who knew how long without a bath. His face bore an oily sheen, black dirt caked beneath his fingernails, and his hair was a bird's nest.
Hearing footsteps, the old man didn't even look up at Lian Youming, greeting him in a raspy voice, "You're back, lad."
Lian Youming carried the sour rice outside, then set the lunchbox down. "Still fretting over that lousy chess game? Eat while it's hot. My ma just made it. Look at you, filthy as can be. In a couple of days, I'll take you for a bath and get you a new set of clothes. You're an eyesore like this."
It wasn't as if they hadn't taken him to get cleaned up before. The trouble was that the old man had zero interest in cleanliness; within half a day of bathing, he would be covered in grime again. He had been given plenty of new clothes too, but he seemed unable to stand looking neat and tidy, never comfortable until he had worn them ragged.
The old man kept his eyes fixed on the board and gave an offhand grunt. Suddenly, his nostrils twitched. He leaned close to Lian Youming and took a sniff, his eyes instantly lighting up. "You brought back good stuff, brat?"
Lian Youming raised a brow. "Nothing at all. Don't talk nonsense."
The King of Scraps gave a raspy chuckle. "Tiger bone doesn't count as good stuff? Though yours isn't top-tier. Years ago, a tiger king leapt out of Mount Zhongnan—a man-eater. It looked lean and bony, but its vicious aura was something you wouldn't see once in a century. The moment the scent of its urine drifted on the wind, hunting hounds several li away would drop to the ground and wet themselves in terror."
Lian Youming paused, taken aback. "You've seen a tiger king? How come I never heard you talk about that before?"
The King of Scraps rolled his eyes. "Nonsense. Back then you hadn't even seen a regular tiger. What good would telling you have done? What could you do besides make a big fuss?"
Lian Youming clicked his tongue in wonder, then blinked in realization, astonished. "Damn, your nose is sharp. You can even smell tiger bone?"
The King of Scraps waved his hand dismissively. "Picking through scraps doesn't just take eyes, it takes a nose too. You think I'm idling my days away? Alright, head on back. I'll eat once I finish this game. You're soaking that tiger bone for liquor, right? Set aside two jin for me when the time comes."
Curling his lip, Lian Youming stood up and glanced around. Only then did he notice that the room was crammed with worn-out books, and the walls were plastered almost entirely with open newspapers. The papers appeared to be covered in chess diagrams, black and red pieces arranged in intricate patterns, lines crisscrossing every which way. When the cold wind blew in, they fluttered and rustled loudly.
"Where did you drag all this junk from? Hurry up and eat. It's freezing out—the food won't stay warm for long."
He gave a few more reminders.
Without looking up, the King of Scraps simply waved him off.
Having delivered the meal, Lian Youming returned home.
Zhao Lanxiang asked, "How's the old man?"
Lian Youming sat back down. "Same as always."
Zhao Lanxiang sighed. "No sons, no daughters—he's had a bitter life. Come to think of it, he's the one who gave you your name... Your father is a rough, uneducated man whose idea of names was either Jianjun or Youguo. But when you were born..."
Lian Youming sighed. "You've told that story eight hundred times. When you were in difficult labor with me, my dad wasn't around. The old man braved the wind and snow with his donkey cart to rush you to the hospital, so he got to name me... Don't worry, I was just speaking off the cuff earlier. I definitely won't treat him poorly."
Zhao Lanxiang rolled her eyes affectionately. "Eat your dinner."
Chapter 61