Eating

The old mahogany table looked to have seen many years. Of course, antiques were worthless in this era, just as the currencies of most nations had long ceased to hold any value. Zhe Qiuhong sat alone at the table, just one person and one chair. It wasn't mealtime. The people from Voyage had just brought Zhe Shouzhao's corpse back here from Xinbielong. Upon arriving, Zhe Qiuhong got out of the car, and the very first thing she said was, "Right now, I really want to eat." Zhe Shouzhao was dead. He had died completely on the road. The time had been calculated to the final second; without a life source energy block, even Zhe Qiuhong could not keep him clinging to life. As the corpse was wrapped anew and carried down from the vehicle, Zhe Qiuhong turned and headed into the kitchen by herself, washed some rice, put it into a pot, and cooked a pot of rice. And then, she didn't cook any side dishes either. ...A small white bowl, filled to a peak with grains of rice, dense and glistening. Zhe Qiuhong kept her head lowered. With a solemn sense of ceremony, she brought down her chopsticks, stuffed her mouth until her cheeks bulged, and began to chew with great force. A subordinate hastily brought over two small saucers, placing them carefully on the tabletop. In one dish were the pickled vegetables favored daily by people in Shenghai, and in the other was expensive caviar from Xiongzhanli. Zhe Qiuhong didn't touch either of them. After chewing rapidly for a moment, she swallowed the dry rice, then bent her head, shoveled another large mouthful, and continued to chew silently and forcefully. A first bowl, a second bowl. She ate like this, quietly yet forcefully. Not only did she not speak, but aside from a certain heaviness in her gaze, her face remained devoid of expression—neither anger nor sorrow. Soon, a third bowl... Ever since she was very small, Zhe Qiuhong had been a child not permitted to complain. Whether it was grievance, rage, pain, or inner turmoil, she was forbidden from expressing it. This was part of the training and education for Voyage's successor. A young girl's emotions were not allowed an outlet toward others, nor would she ever receive any comfort from anyone else. What if she couldn't endure it and fell into depression or went mad? Then she went mad. That would only prove she was unsuitable, that the successor cultivation program had failed. Fortunately, during that process, Zhe Qiuhong had found a way to vent her emotions all on her own—eating. Eating forcefully, eating a tremendous amount of food. Had she not later learned and grown, gradually coming to view many things with detachment, developing a rational and calm character that kept her emotionally stable most of the time, she would have long exceeded her current weight. Silently, a fourth bowl... Some of the subordinates around her, those who hadn't watched her grow up, were already starting to stare blankly. Thinking back, she didn't seem to have eaten that much even when her mother passed away; overall, she hadn't been particularly heartbroken, just as her mother had viewed her own death with great equanimity. "As for Shouzhao, beyond family affection, perhaps it's because I still clearly remember what he was like as a child and a youth, unable to accept that he ultimately became like this and came to this end. "And my emotion today may not stem solely from Shouzhao's death, but also from the loss of certain other things." She was someone who, even in the grip of emotion, could analyze her feelings objectively and rationally. Even so, she had already eaten six bowls of rice in a row, and was about to start a seventh... which looked to be about half a bowl. The small rice pot was already empty, with even the bottom and sides scraped clean. Zhe Qiuhong had scraped it herself, scraping with earnest, meticulous care. "Fatty, Fat Doctor, Fat Doctor Zhe, fatty fat fat..." Holding the final half bowl of rice in her hands, a certain person's voice suddenly echoed in Zhe Qiuhong's mind. At the same time, seeing that she was finally almost done eating, a high-ranking Voyage official could no longer hold back: "The Young Master's vendetta..." He wanted to say that the Young Master's death must be avenged, but halfway through, he probably realized how impossibly difficult that would be and froze, at a loss for how to continue. "In truth, it is simply a matter of each relying on their own ability." Because she had not yet swallowed her last mouthful of rice, Zhe Qiuhong's response was somewhat muffled. She swallowed the rice, lifted her head, and continued: "People of differing stances act according to their own perceptions, goals, and principles. Whether through vicious scheming or martial superiority, it all comes down to the success or failure of their methods. "Therefore, there is no need to speak of vengeance. "Let each continue to rely on their own ability. Do not forget, we still have far more important things to do." With that, her entire demeanor seemed to shift, giving the impression that she had returned to herself. Zhe Qiuhong set down her chopsticks and rose to leave. The small white bowl on the table was clean as could be. "...*Burp!*" ... ... After Zhe Shouzhao's body was cremated, Zhe Qiuhong and the people from Voyage quickly departed Shenghai, whereas Stream Vanguard stayed for several more days. During these days, Han Qingyu went out one morning to walk Xiao Xinghe back to school. The reporters had somehow gotten wind of it. Hundreds of them arrived early, packing the school entrance so tightly that not even water could trickle through. On the street that day, Zhe Shouzhao had asked those questions after all, and Han Qingyu had admitted it after all. A single Rusty Sister Dimple Slash was not enough to prove much... Just as Wen Jifei and Little Prince had anticipated, after the on-the-spot cheers and celebrations had passed and the world regained its composure, the doubts, worries, and panic would all return. Fortunately, Han Qingyu no longer felt much toward these things. He calmly led Xiao Xinghe by the hand through the crowd, escorted him to his second-floor classroom, and greeted teachers and students along the way. When he returned, he passed the school gates alone once more. "Major Qing, have you really lost your memory?" Having been intimidated and holding back for so long, seeing that he was about to leave, a reporter on the scene finally couldn't help shouting. Han Qingyu stopped in his tracks, paused, and looked back... He didn't seem angry or agitated at all. He gave a nod. "Yes." At that single word, a commotion broke out! The uproar wasn't overwhelmingly loud, perhaps because Han Qingyu's calmness had influenced them, yet all manner of complicated emotions began to swell. Major Qing had lost his memory. Following that strike at the Zenith, he had been grievously wounded and suffered amnesia, forgetting battle, forgetting glory... He had admitted it himself. "Then, Major Qing, has your strength really declined as well?" "How is your health? Have your wounds healed?" "Under these circumstances, will you still take part in the Lost Continent expedition two months from now?" "You will come back again, won't you?! You definitely will!" "..." All at once, over a hundred reporters spoke up. Shouts and questions driven by all sorts of emotions and angles of thought threw the entire scene into noisy chaos. Amid the din, "I will go," Han Qingyu chose one of the questions to answer. Having responded, without caring whether the reporters had heard clearly, he turned and left the scene once more. After that day, Major Qing and the rest of Stream Vanguard made no further public appearances. By the time word got out, they had already left Shenghai. If asked where they went: The word was that they had returned to their hometown. Major Qing's hometown was off-limits, a place one couldn't even inquire about or discuss too much. This was something all the reporters knew.