“It’s a delicate matter, now finally concluded. Many people don’t understand why the detectives involved were so persistent with the deceased. I think it’s a good opportunity to also give you a voice, to express some of your hardships. We can depict some of the atrocities committed by Xi Ming in the past. By talking about how he harmed you and your O-unit, the public can better understand your difficulties,” Guo Yongyao also took a sip of hot tea, moistened his throat, and continued:
“A few days ago, a reporter from the Qingcheng Daily wrote an article from the perspective that ‘police are also ordinary people,’ which resonated with many citizens. It greatly boosted the reputation of the police, and delving deeper into this topic could further highlight the challenges of police work.”
In Guo Yongyao’s view, Lin Wangjiu had also suffered a lot of injustice and pain over this incident back in the day.
Now that the truth of the current case has been revealed and past matters have come to a complete close.
It would be nice if the newspapers could speak up for him again, praise and empathize with him.
Uncle Jiu held his tea, looked down at the tea leaves slowly unfurling in the water, and remained silent for a long while.
He was so quiet he seemed almost asleep, until Guo Yongyao could no longer bear it and called out to him, prompting him to lift his head.
“My friend died many, many years ago,” Uncle Jiu blew on his tea but did not drink it, and continued:
“Now, everything about this person has been buried with him. Right or wrong, it no longer has any meaning for the dead.”
“But for the living, for you, it has meaning,” Guo Yongyao looked at Lin Wangjiu, trying to discern whether he truly didn’t care.
“For the living, does it really have meaning?”
Finally, Uncle Jiu took a big gulp of his tea:
“Decades have passed, I got married, had children, joined the Major Crimes Unit, can I attribute all my frustrations to others?”
“The betrayal and deception by Xi Ming, perhaps it didn’t destroy me, but it was… merely a threshold that thrust me fully into the harsh world of adulthood.”
“In this society, who doesn’t experience setbacks?”
“The world told me through this incident that my childhood was over, and it was time to brace for gales and hardships… I just didn’t want to accept it.”
“I am weak, and it’s true that a setback has disheartened me, but I can’t keep blaming Xi Ming forever.”
“…” Guo Yongyao frowned slightly.
“Sir Guo, I’ve let go. You can handle the media coverage however you think best; you don’t need to consider me anymore, thank you.” Lin Wangjiu took another sip of his tea, draining the cup to its bottom.
Life is short; we differ but a few decades. Joy is fleeting, and sorrows are many… When the wine is finished, I take up my cane and sing as I go.
Such is life, with its ups and downs, its annoyances and troubles… Better to drink a cup of wine, take up a walking stick, and sing while I stride along.
Lin Wangjiu stood up, left the Public Relations Department, walked with his eyes downcast for a while, then suddenly looked up, took a deep breath, and strode forward freely.
Outside the corridor window, fallen leaves were swept from the branches by the autumn wind, dropping to the soil to wait for spring, when they will nourish the tree and climb back up the branches as nutrients, eventually sprouting new leaves in the sunlight.
…
In the evening, Yi Jiadong prepared a feast to welcome Uncle Jiu and celebrate Jiayi’s promotion to Senior Police Officer.
By 17:30, the detectives of Team B were eager to finish work.
As they all left the police station together, Mrs. Liu, who was there to complete the formalities to collect the body of Liu Fuqiang, was also present.
They should have simply passed by each other, never wishing to meet again. Yet, Mrs. Liu suddenly spoke a few words to the staff and then stepped towards the detectives.
She finally stopped in front of Uncle Jiu, hesitated for a moment, and then spoke:
“I’m sorry.”
Lin Wangjiu pursed his lips and remained silent.
“He said he only ever wronged one person in his life. Was that person you?” Mrs. Liu hesitated as she looked up, seeking a truth she had long wanted to know.
“It doesn’t matter who it was anymore.” Lin Wangjiu shook his head, didn’t say goodbye, and quickly caught up with Fang Zhenyue and the others.
Mrs. Liu stood still, watching Lin Wangjiu with an indescribable expression, finally sighing deeply before turning away, leaving only her silhouette behind.
…
…
Geese raised twice a year, especially around the Double Ninth Festival, are at their best for consumption.
At this time, the goose meat is tender, smooth, and richly fatty.
Yi Jiadong selected a batch of newly available black-maned geese, short in neck, body, and leg, weighing about three kilograms when cleaned—a perfect choice for its ideal fat content.
He washed the goose thoroughly until it was spotless and smeared its cavity with an aromatic mix of fermented bean paste, sesame paste, oyster sauce, salt, and sugar.
Then, he stitched up the cavity with thick rope, a coarse needle piercing through the flesh, spacing each stitch evenly, making it neat and attractive. Next, he inflated the goose with an air pump and scalded it in boiling water to tighten the skin and seal in the juices.
He then boiled white vinegar and maltose, pouring the bubbling mixture over the goose before letting it air dry naturally. This process ensured that the goose skin would be extra crispy and beautifully bronzed when roasted.
Roasting the goose required a charcoal stove. The goose roasted over charcoal, with its distinct smoky flavor, is fundamentally different from one without—it’s a crucial detail that must not be overlooked.
When the fat under the goose skin had rendered into the meat, making it silky and juicy, and the skin crisped up beautifully, it was the perfect time to take it out of the oven.
Just as Yi Jiadong would prepare a batch of limited-edition roast squabs when they came into season, he made a batch of roast goose.
As the detectives, led by Fang Zhenyue, entered, Yi Jiadong called out:
“The roast goose is ready~”
As Boss Yi sliced the roast goose, Sun Xin served everyone bowl after bowl of translucent, smooth rice noodles, topped with a rich broth made from pork bones, a few slices of pork liver, and rice sausages, making each bowl a beautiful presentation arranged in a circle around the table.
With the roast goose served alongside the rice noodles, the drippings mingling with the thick noodle soup made each spoonful so delightful that all worries seemed to vanish.
The meal was complemented by a plate of delicate steamed fish, a dish of stir-fried vegetables, several crispy pork hocks cooked with the goose, and a festive steamed cake promising great fortune. Sun Xin also served his personally prepared cucumbers, dressed in hot oil poured over chili, vinegar, sugar, and salt, mixed well for a refreshing, spicy crunch that cut through the richness.
Fang Zhenyue thought this was quite the spread, but then Sun Xin surprisingly brought out several steamers and placed them in the center of the table, lifting the lids to reveal several bright red cooked river crabs.
Yi Jiadong, wiping his hands, came out and said with a smile:
“This is Sun Xin’s treat for everyone; he wants to thank the detectives for their care but was too shy to say it himself, so he asked me to convey his gratitude.”
Just as Sun Xin set down the steamers and heard these words, his face flushed red.
He had planned to wait until he was in the kitchen to speak to the detectives. How embarrassing that Yi Jiadong mentioned it while he was still there… So humiliating ah ah ah!
Liu Jiaming, with a smile, glanced around and quickly pulled Sun Xin and Yi Jiadong to sit with him, declaring heartily, “Let’s eat together; with so much food, even if we were pigs, we couldn’t finish it all.”
Then he waved over Yi Jiajun, who was at the counter, Ding Baoshu making milk tea, and Jiaru welcoming guests, “Come and join us.”
Seeing Jiaru still busy serving a table of guests with wine and chopsticks, Liu Jiaming promptly ran over to take over, pushing Jiaru by the shoulder and guiding the young girl to sit by the round table.
Once Jiaru was seated, Liu Jiaming then turned back to fulfill the guests’ request, serving up a dish of sweet vinegar soy sauce.
“Did Tofu Boy just get a paycheck or what?” Uncle Jiu teasingly nicknamed Sun Xin, fully embracing the Hong Kong style of nicknaming based on one’s most notable trait.
Sun Xin chuckled sheepishly, his cheeks flushing red before he could even speak.
Jiaru briskly explained for Sun Xin:
“Every day after work, Big Brother Sun would go to the back alley to watch Auntie Ba and the others play mahjong. Even though his Cantonese isn’t fluent, he quickly picked up their style of play. After watching for half a month, Auntie Ba and the others recognized him, and just last night, they were short one player and invited Big Brother Sun to fill in. Hahaha…”
Remembering what she was about to say, Jiaru laughed first.
Her laughter piqued everyone’s curiosity, and after holding back her giggles, she continued:
“Auntie Ba and the others thought Big Brother Sun was a novice, and that the three of them could easily win his money. But guess what, hahaha… they all lost, and Big Brother Sun won big. He made a fortune, haha.”
“Wow, he’s that good? When we’re off, let’s set up a game and play together,” Sanfu said, rubbing his hands in anticipation.
“Sure, I haven’t played mahjong in a long time.”
Uncle Jiu was also eager, “My bad luck has passed, and good fortune is coming. I’m sure to win against you all.”
Everyone joked and laughed, each boasting they would win.
However, Jiayi only smiled, saying nothing. It wasn’t that she didn’t want to play mahjong; it’s just that while everyone else was merry, she was sober.
Play mahjong with Sun Xin?
You’ve got to be kidding! Let Uncle Jiu and the others go! Jiayi definitely would not!
Sun Xin, or Tofu Boy, was from Sichuan, and just his manner of speaking could send mahjong tiles flying! For someone like Sun Xin, who isn’t adept with words, mastering mahjong might even come before speaking properly.
That’s his natural talent!
She wouldn’t play; she’d just watch.
Smiling, she listened to everyone arranging the mahjong game, then took a bite of the crispy-skinned pork knuckle, swallowing it down before turning to whisper to Sun Xin:
“When you win some money, treat me to some Tseung Kwan O conch, okay?”
“Okay,” Sun Xin paused, then with eyes wide as if always on the alert, he nodded earnestly in agreement.
A deal was made—he would treat her to delicious food if he won, and she wouldn’t remind the others that Sichuanese Sun Xin was a mahjong saint at the table.
Jiayi chuckled softly and reached out her palm under the table.
Sun Xin stealthily extended his hand to meet hers with a quiet slap.
As a testament to their pact, soon the young policewoman would be enjoying fresh, crispy conch.
Meanwhile, the detectives sitting around the round table, spiritedly enjoying their meat and planning to go to Brother Yue’s big villa for mahjong and a BBQ, were unaware that in the eyes of Jiayi and Sun Xin, they had already become easy marks*3.
….
….
Several days later, on his day off, Lin Wangjiu followed his memory alone to his favorite place in his youth, the Quan Chang Stinky Tofu in Wan Chai.
The bad guy, Xi Ming, was dead, and the once-friendly Xi Ming would no longer be a permanent resident in Lin Wangjiu’s memory.
With everything let go, the stinky tofu tasted delicious again, with a fragrant and crispy exterior, bursting with juice in every bite…