The old expert thought seriously for a moment, "Of course, I’d participate. It’s a world-class event—even just for the experience, it would be worth it."
Cheng Liao laughed, "See, you just said that no matter how much money you have, it's just enough to fill your stomach, and no matter how big your house is, you still only sleep in one bed. You said you don't care about money, but you'd still participate?"
With Sheng Jingchu injured, a nutritious diet would help with his recovery. Cheng Liao bought pig trotters, planning to go home and make soup for him.
Since her father injured his leg, Cheng Liao had planned to make him some soybean and pig trotters soup. However, her grandmother took over, claiming she had a family secret recipe. She even insisted that their ancestors were bone-setting doctors and had several effective remedies for treating injuries, passed down through generations to the male heirs only. If it weren’t for her unreliable brother, she wouldn’t be sharing the recipe now.
No one knew what was in the soup, but its smell could travel for miles. It wasn’t exactly fragrant, but calling it stinky didn’t quite capture it either. The nearby kids would rush home from school, eager to avoid the smell.
"Hurry up, the old Cheng family is making pig trotters again!"
This special pig trotter soup left Cheng Liao’s father in blissful agony. Even though he still limped a bit, he firmly declared that he was fully recovered.
Cheng Liao once shared this story with Sheng Jingchu as a joke. She didn’t expect that when it came to his turn, her grandmother was just as enthusiastic. She snatched the pig trotters from Cheng Liao’s hands, saying, "I'll make this for you. I’ve got a secret family recipe. I’ll whisper it to you—just don’t tell anyone else."
Cheng Liao quickly leaned in.
Her grandmother whispered, "Our ancestors were court physicians."
"But, Grandma, didn’t you say last time that they were bone-setting doctors?"
Her grandmother didn’t bat an eye. "Bone-setting doctors who are good at their craft naturally become court physicians." To back up her story, she added, "During the Yuan dynasty, didn’t they rule on horseback? Constantly at war, people were always falling off horses. Our ancestors even treated Kublai Khan."
Even though it all sounded a bit far-fetched, Cheng Liao couldn’t bear to stop her grandmother, especially when her father joined in, eager to watch.
"This recipe works wonders. Look at me now—light as a feather. I could jump up to the rafters and catch a sparrow or dive into the river to catch fish and shrimp. My eyesight is as sharp as a light bulb, and I feel as energetic as I did in my late twenties. Daughter, I’m not exaggerating—after drinking your grandmother's soup, it’s like consuming a hundred-year-old ginseng."
Cheng Liao immediately clung to her grandmother’s arm, shaking it gently. "Grandma, I don’t think Dad’s leg is fully healed yet. How about we let him have this batch of pig trotters, just to make sure?"
Her father, terrified, quickly hobbled away with his cane. "I’ll go check on the restaurant."
When the soup was ready, Grandma Cheng was about to go with Cheng Liao to deliver it, but Cheng Liao quickly stopped her. As they stepped out the door, they ran into Grandma Zhou's granddaughter.
She had returned from abroad to visit her family, and upon seeing Cheng Liao, she greeted her warmly and sniffed the air around her.
"Cheng Liao, has your family been experimenting with biochemical weapons lately?"
Cheng Liao, who had mixed feelings toward her, given that she was once Sheng Jingchu’s childhood friend, smiled politely. "Sister Zhou."
Sister Zhou casually inquired about Cheng Liao's love life. "I heard you’re with that Go player… Sheng… something?"
Finally, Cheng Liao's heart felt a bit lighter, though she couldn’t help but feel a bit indignant on Sheng Jingchu’s behalf. He had remembered her all these years, yet she couldn’t even remember his name.
In the end, Cheng Liao couldn’t bring herself to give Sheng Jingchu the pot of pig trotter soup filled with her grandmother's love, nor could she bear to throw it away. The trotters were the freshest, and she had meticulously scraped them clean, making the pale, pinkish trotters look like the best of their kind.
She found a small garden in front of the hospital’s inpatient building, sat down on a bench, and opened the thermos. Holding her nose, she took a sip of the soup. The taste was overwhelming, and as soon as she swallowed, she felt as though her meridians had been unblocked—an odd sensation rushed from her throat to her brain. She couldn’t spit it out, nor could she swallow it easily, so she just sat there, dry-heaving.
“Are you… pregnant?”
Ding Lan looked at her with utter disbelief.
Cheng Liao wanted to say "no," but before she could get the word out, another wave of nausea hit her.
Ding Lan had come to visit Sheng Jingchu. After the match in Japan, their teacher had given her a stern scolding, and even Cao Xihe hadn’t spoken to her for days.
She didn’t think she had done anything terribly wrong; after all, it hadn’t caused any serious consequences, and her senior brother had still won in the end.
But being shunned had been too much to bear, so she finally decided to swallow her pride and apologize to Sheng Jingchu.
Seeing Cheng Liao retching made her even more upset. Her thoughts spiraled from wondering if her senior brother was really with Cheng Liao, to when the wedding invitations would be sent out, to how she had to outshine the bride at the wedding, and finally to how Cheng Liao’s child would probably be unattractive, wasting Sheng Jingchu’s good genes.
All these complicated thoughts raced through her mind in just a few seconds, and the more she looked at Cheng Liao, the more irritated she felt. She pulled a newspaper from her bag and tossed it onto Cheng Liao's lap.
"Jinx!"
Cheng Liao was baffled by Ding Lan's outburst. She picked up the newspaper and saw an article about Sheng Jingchu's injury. It mentioned that the suspect had been caught—he was the brother of the driver who had hit Cheng Liao's father.
The older brother had been arrested, and the younger brother was furious. After reading in the newspaper that Sheng Jingchu had helped solve the case, he waited near Xie Hanzhou’s Go dojo to seek revenge.
"My senior brother hasn't had anything good happen since meeting you!" Ding Lan found an outlet for her anger. "If it weren’t for your father’s incident, would his hand be injured? You’re nothing but a jinx!"
Feeling superior to this "jinx," Ding Lan's psychological burden was suddenly lifted.
She wanted to hurl a few more insults but then realized it wasn’t fair to pick on a pregnant woman, so she strutted away with her head held high.
Cheng Liao held the newspaper, reading it over and over again.
Was it really her fault that Sheng Jingchu got hurt? Had she brought about this disaster?
Her heart tightened and then felt empty in waves.
After sitting there in a daze for a while, unsure of what to do, she continued drinking the pig trotter soup.
Her taste buds had gone numb, and she mechanically repeated the motion of drinking until she had swallowed the last drop. Then she let out a big burp, adjusted her collar, and stood up.
Xu Chi was standing behind a tree, and she hadn’t seen him in two months. He looked much thinner, and a stubble of blue-black beard had sprouted on his chin.
Cheng Liao greeted him, "What a coincidence."
He nodded. "I’m here with my grandmother for her check-up."
Cheng Liao gave a simple "oh" and fell silent.
Everyone meets a friend at some point in life who makes them feel completely comfortable—someone you don’t need to create topics for or try to please, someone with whom silence never feels awkward.
Xu Chi used to think that he and Cheng Liao were that kind of friends, and that they would be for life.
But later, he realized that life is full of unpredictable changes.
His throat tightened, and finally, he said, "Qiao Fei and I broke up."
Cheng Liao didn’t know how to respond—congratulations? That didn’t seem appropriate. Regrets? That didn’t feel right either.
In the end, she just said, "Oh."
“Cheng Liao.”
He grew emotional, wanting to tell her so much.
For instance, when they were kids, the other children in the alley would say that Cheng Liao was his little wife, and though he acted embarrassed and angry on the outside, a tiny part of him was happy inside.
Or how ten years ago, when she refused to climb down from the school wall, he acted indifferent, but was secretly worried sick.
Or how, in the years abroad, he constantly kept an eye on her, reading every update she posted on social media with the utmost care.
Or how, on his birthday, even when it was past midnight in the U.S., he refused to sleep, just to see her birthday message as soon as it came.
Or how, at this very moment, he wanted so badly to tell her that he loved her… not just in the past.
But in the end, he only said, “I think I’ve lost you.”
Cheng Liao was momentarily stunned, then she smiled.
Autumn was nearly over, and winter was approaching. The ginkgo leaves had fallen to the ground, rustling in the wind, turning everything golden.
In this bleak season, her smile was still warm and bright, like the orange maltose candy sold in the little shop at the alley’s entrance when they were kids.
She said, "Xu Chi, you’ve finally turned back."
She had spent ten years waiting, but now that he had finally turned back, there was no joy left in her heart, only desolation.
Life is full of regrets, and people who bring regrets. That’s why she lived so carefully, preserving this friendship so cautiously, even though she knew they had long since drifted apart at some fork in the road.
In the end, she said, “But I’m no longer where I used to be.”
Cheng Liao stood outside the inpatient building and looked up at the second window on the fourth floor, which was Sheng Jingchu’s room.
The lights were already on, and the shadows of the trees swayed against the window.
She didn’t like the brightness of fluorescent lights; she preferred the warm glow of old-fashioned yellow bulbs. On snowy nights, seeing them from afar always made her feel warm.
For some reason, the cold, bright light of fluorescent bulbs always seemed too harsh to her, making her feel chilled.
Her phone rang twice before she answered. It was Sheng Jingchu.
She smiled, using the happiest tone she could muster. "The number you have dialed is currently in cute mode."
He chuckled, his voice light.
After a moment, she said, "I’m sorry."
"Hmm?"
He responded with a nasal sound.
"Sigh…" She rubbed her face, still holding the newspaper under her arm. "Because of my father’s situation, you got caught up in this mess."
His tone was calm. "It was just a random event. Don’t overthink it."
She grew anxious. "But you still have to compete!"
She knew the Go association leaders were frantic, having brought in several experts for consultations, but the conclusion was that no matter how urgent the situation, he needed to fully recover first.
He needed time to recuperate, and he also needed time to practice.
Two conflicting needs—how could they both be met within the same time frame?
He laughed. "Let me tell you a secret." After a pause, he continued, "I can actually use my left hand. I've always been quite good with it.
"In wuxia novels, there's an assassin who’s famous for his right-hand swordsmanship, but in truth, his left hand is his deadliest weapon. You save your best moves for the critical moment, so I can only share this secret with you."
She listened, half-believing, and finally let out a small sigh of relief.
After hanging up the phone, Cheng Liao was about to head home when she noticed a vendor selling roasted sweet potatoes at the hospital entrance. The charred skin, the bright yellow flesh—just one bite would make the sugary juice almost drip out.
Craving it, she picked a large one, then thought about it and chose another big one. She asked the vendor to wrap them in a paper bag to keep them warm, then tucked them inside her coat and headed back to the inpatient building.
Visiting hours were fixed, but she had already become a familiar face, and since Sheng Jingchu was in a private room, the nurse made an exception and let her in.
She tiptoed over, planning to surprise Sheng Jingchu. Standing on her toes, she peeked through the glass.
Sheng Jingchu was leaning against the bed, clumsily holding chopsticks in his left hand, trying to pick up a glass marble.
With his right hand immobilized and his left hand not very dexterous, the marble slipped from the chopsticks, bounced on the floor a few times, rolled around, and finally ended up under the bed.
He had to get out of bed to find it, supporting himself with one hand as he sat up and slowly squatted down to reach for it. Just as his fingertips touched it, the marble rolled even further under the bed.
He sighed, standing back up.
When he turned around, he saw Cheng Liao’s face. He looked a bit embarrassed and instinctively hid his left hand behind his back.
She waved the sweet potatoes at him and opened the door.
She first tidied up the small table on the bed, placing the sweet potatoes on it, then rolled up her sleeves to retrieve the marble from under the bed. When she couldn’t reach it, she used a clothes hanger to carefully nudge it out bit by bit. After blowing off the dust, she wiped it clean with a tissue and put it back in the box.
She motioned for him to sit down, washed her hands, and peeled the sweet potato, cooling it with her breath before handing it to him.
He smiled, not using his hands, and took a bite directly.
She frowned, wiping the corners of his mouth. "Oh dear, how messy."
She continued to feed him until he had eaten every bit. After cleaning up the trash, she waved her hand.
"I’m going to work tomorrow, so I’ll only be able to visit you in the evening. You have to be a good panda and eat your meals."
She smiled, patted his head, and turned to leave.
She knew he was watching her through the glass in the door, just as he did every time she left. So, she walked a bit faster than usual, even casually waving at him at the corner like she always did, though this time with less enthusiasm.
Only when she was out of sight did she lean against the wall, slide down into a crouch, and cover her face.
){kind=link}
0 Comments