“That’s called craftsmanship.” He raised an eyebrow at her, then eagerly turned to Father Hua, who was rolling out dough skins, “Uncle, teach me.”
Father Hua was delighted to have someone take over his task, happily teaching him while fulfilling a middle-aged man’s desire to mentor.
Once Shen Mo learned the ropes, he immediately assumed the role of a hands-off manager and turned his attention to playing with the dog.
As soon as Hua Jie stepped through the door in the morning, Huanhuan excitedly wagged its tail so vigorously it seemed as though it might detach from its body, as if it was trying to send itself away.
Having followed Hua Jie around for most of the day, Huanhuan was now tired and had crawled into its nest to sleep and regain its strength.
Despite the dog being asleep, Hua’s father stretched out his hand, picked it up, and started kneading it without a care, accidentally covering it in flour.
“…,” Hua Jie watched Shen Mo’s hands rolling out dumpling wrappers with such speed that she froze mid-action.
It’s really annoying being around a genius; trying to feel superior in his presence was simply impossible.
As the dumplings were nearly done, Shen Mo suddenly held the rolling pin and fell into a deep thought, remaining motionless for a long while.
Since arriving at Hua Jie’s home, he had been continuously busy.
Even in previous years, when Zhao Xiaolei helped arrange the celebrations, it had never been this lively.
The Hua family, all laughs and smiles, had everything prepared, a full hundred percent ceremonial feel, which brought along a hundred percent festive atmosphere.
He enjoyed this warmth and busyness immensely, and he cherished the joy of sitting around the heated brick bed, wrapping dumplings at the table.
He had never experienced it before; he only knew he was alone, that his family had no mistress, unlike others’.
He had slowly become accustomed to it.
But today, he realized what he had never possessed—what familial bonds and a family life were truly like.
What about his father?
His father had once known such happiness when he was a child and his mother was still alive. It must have been a busy yet fulfilling household, chaotic and yet warm, right?
Was it after his mother’s death that his father deliberately forgot the traditions of celebrating New Year as a family?
During holidays, what emotions did his father harbor as he sat in their cold, empty home, facing him and Zhao Xiaolei, listening to the faint laughter and firecracker sounds from other families in the neighborhood?
When did his father start to immerse himself so deeply in painting?
Was it the same when his mother was around?
“What’s wrong?” Hua Jie quietly nudged him with her elbow.
Shen Mo exchanged glances with the girl, whispering softly:
“Do you think…it would be okay to call my dad over?”
The old man was left alone at home, while the whole world celebrated the Little New Year by eating dumplings. He had to go out to find food by himself, with not even a trace of his son in sight.
It seemed a bit too miserable.
“Of course!” Hua Jie nodded enthusiastically.
“?” Hua’s parents turned their heads to look.
“Mom and Dad, why don’t we invite Teacher Shen to join us for dumplings?” Hua Jie knelt on the kang, holding a dumpling in her hand.
“Sure, I’ll go buy a couple of bottles of good liquor and some pig’s head meat,” Hua’s father quickly stood up.
“You two keep wrapping; I’ll make a couple more dishes,” Hua’s mother also set down the dumpling wrapper and stepped off the kang to get some meat from the yard.
Hua Jie turned to Shen Mo, signaling him to call Teacher Shen.
Shen Mo awkwardly furrowed his brow, “You call.”
“You’re not shy, are you?” Hua Jie raised an eyebrow and leaned in with a smile.
“If you don’t want to call, then forget it.” Shen Mo sat firmly, unwilling to budge.
Hua Jie glanced at him, laughed, and hopped off the kang, running over to the phone.
“Put on your shoes.” Shen Mo kicked her slippers over.
After Hua Jie put on her shoes, she dialed the number.
“Hello?” Shen Jiaru’s voice came from the other end.
“Teacher, Shen Mo strongly requests that you join us at my home for the Little New Year!” As soon as Hua Jie finished speaking, she got flicked on the forehead.
Locking eyes with Shen Mo, she smirked and added:
“He’s actually here at my place right now, making dumplings, saying he wants to personally make some for you to eat.”
Hua Jie got flicked on the forehead again, covering it with her hand:
“Great, Teacher Shen, I’ll have Shen Mo send you the address. See you in a bit.”
After hanging up, she turned to see Shen Mo already bent over, texting the address to Teacher Shen.
She leaned against the radiator, watching the young man’s profile, her gaze gradually softening.
This guy, though not close to Teacher Shen, was actually the one who cared the most about him in reality.
Though not straightforward with his emotions, he was a boy with delicate and gentle thoughts.
Caught in a moment of distraction, she suddenly realized her hand was resting on Shen Mo’s head.
The young man looked up in astonishment, glaring fiercely at her.
Without hesitation, Hua Jie quickly ruffled his hair and then swiftly jumped onto the kang, hiding behind the kang table.
Shen Mo, his scalp tingling from her touch, shot her a glare before bowing his head to continue texting.
Yet, his heart lingered on the warmth of her hand and the pressure of her fingertips.
…
An hour and a half later, the two families gathered around the not-so-spacious round table at Hua Jie’s home.
Hua’s father poured a glass of wine for Shen Jiaru:
“Here, Teacher Shen, have a drink.”
Shen Jiaru eyed the wine glass in front of him, his nostrils filled with its pungent smell, and he frowned slightly:
“I don’t drink.”
“…” Hua Jie awkwardly looked at her father. Ah, Old Hua had gone out especially to buy some really good baijiu, returning proudly as if he had made a fortune and could afford to treat to good liquor, beaming happily.
But Teacher Shen actually didn’t drink.
This…
“Ah… It’s okay if you don’t drink, not drinking is good, it’s healthy,” Hua’s father stuttered awkwardly, his attempts at smoothing things over only making the situation more stiff.
“…” Shen Jiaru’s fingers fiddled under the table, then he picked up the wine glass and said, “Since it’s a holiday, I’ll drink a little.”
“Ah, then just a little,” Hua’s father immediately brightened up with a smile.
“…” Hua Jie.
Sigh…
“…” Shen Mo.
Sigh…
Shen Jiaru had only taken one sip, but a few minutes later, his cheeks were tinged with red.
That usually composed and mature face suddenly seemed more approachable.
With a big gulp, Hua’s father’s usually stern face also broke into a smile, and he became more talkative:
“I’ve been wanting to invite the teacher for a meal, and today we finally got the chance.”
“Don’t be shy, make yourself at home, it’s just a simple meal, help yourself.”
Shen Jiaru looked at the simple meal before him—
Braised chicken wings, pork trotter and soybean soup, homemade cold dishes, fried potato balls, vegetarian “three delicacies,” and a dish of dipping vegetables along with a bowl of fragrant, fried chicken egg and soybean paste.
The freshly wrapped dumplings were placed beside the stove, ready to be cooked at any moment.
The dumplings came with two fillings: vegetarian “three delicacies” and a mixture of carrot, scallion, and lamb. Near the great grasslands of Jinsong, the lamb was exceptionally fresh and not at all gamey, a perfect match with carrots and scallions—flavors Shen Jiaru hadn’t tasted since his childhood.
Unfortunately, the last time the aunt made them, they weren’t delicious, and he wondered how Hua Jie’s mother’s cooking would compare.
He wanted to eat the dumplings now, but as a guest, it wouldn’t be proper to hurry his hosts. He would have to wait.
“Here, Teacher Shen, have some soup.” Hua’s mother warmly served Shen Jiaru a bowl of soup.
“I—thank you.” Shen Jiaru took the soup, took a sip, and then turned to look at his son.
“…” Shen Mo knew his father disliked fatty meat and gelatinous textures similar to fat, like pork trotters. After a while, when Hua’s mother had forgotten that she served Shen a bowl of soup with a soft stewed pork trotter, Shen Mo quietly took his father’s bowl, discreetly removed the trotter, and refilled the soup.
Shen Jiaru saw his son nibbling on the pork trotter and finally breathed a sigh of relief.
It would have been embarrassing if Hua Jie’s mother noticed he hadn’t eaten the pork trotter and misunderstood it as a dislike for her cooking.
As the drinks flowed and the middle-aged began to feel the urge to chat, their unfamiliarity caused them to hesitate with their words, worrying that saying too much might be embarrassing. They restrained themselves, agonizing over trying to make casual conversation to burn off the heat brought by the alcohol.
Shen Jiaru said he would only take a sip, but the usually restrained man, dedicated to his painting career, found himself unable to stop after he started.
He took one sip after another.
Finally, Shen Jiaru broke the silence:
“Hua Jie is truly a good child. I always wondered what kind of family could raise such a daughter. Now that I’m here, I see both of you are wonderful parents, unlike me.”
As he spoke, he turned to look at Shen Mo, a hint of regret visible in his eyes.
The affectionate atmosphere of Hua Jie’s family had never existed between him and Shen Mo—it must be his fault as a father.
“Ah, Shen Mo is also very well taught, he knows everything, can do anything, is sensible and hardworking—” Hua’s father said, patting Shen Mo, but before he could finish his praise, Shen Jiaru interrupted.
“Not at all, I’m a widower, his good qualities, he learned them all on his own; it has nothing to do with me as a father.”
“When he was just this tall, he fell in the yard, scraping his knees, elbows, and palms—bloodied. He went inside, crying, and washed and medicated his wounds by himself.”
“It was several days later before I even realized he had been hurt.”
“He didn’t think such things were worth seeking my help for… It’s my failing that he didn’t trust me enough to rely on me.”
As Shen Jiaru spoke, he gestured under the edge of the table, indicating that Shen Mo was not as tall as the table at that time.
“…” Shen Mo’s face turned so red it looked like he might bleed, and under the table, he kept kicking his dad.
“Why do you keep kicking me?” Sitting to Shen Jiaru’s right, Hua’s father tapped Shen Mo’s bowl with his chopsticks.
Shen Mo looked down, only to realize that his father had tucked his feet under the stool and crossed his legs, while it was actually Hua’s father’s feet he had been kicking vigorously in front of Shen Jiaru.
Realizing his mistake, Shen Mo bowed his head in embarrassment, wishing he could turn around and run out of the door.
He could hardly stand being in the room any longer.
Shen Jiaru still wanted to drink, but Shen Mo quickly grabbed the wine glass and placed it in front of himself, then handed his father a bottle of Jianlibao.
“Raising a child alone is quite tough, managing to bring up Shen Mo to be so handsome and tall is quite an achievement.
“It’s not always necessary to be constantly hovering over a child to raise them well. Looking at how good Shen Mo is, it’s clear he has benefitted from his father’s direct and indirect teaching.”
Hua’s mother said this as she busily served Shen Jiaru some dishes.
She was a bit worried at first since Shen Jiaru came from a big city, fearing he might not appreciate the humble Northeastern home cooking.
She quickly served him a couple of chicken wings.
The preparation today was rushed, not too many meat dishes were made, and she wasn’t sure if Teacher Shen would be accustomed to eating this spread.
Ten minutes later, Hua’s mother finally relaxed.
Shen Jiaru expertly spread out a tofu skin, added a layer of lettuce, smeared it with fragrant chicken, minced meat, potato puree, and soybean paste, sprinkled with green onions, then rolled it up with cucumber strips and rice—
His technique was extremely proficient, clearly that of an old Northeasterner.
This was already the third rice roll Teacher Shen was eating.
Hua’s mother was genuinely worried he might be too full for dumplings later.
Shen Mo hadn’t expected his own father to be so down-to-earth when drunk. He grabbed the rice rolls with no pretensions, even less formal than the first time he visited Hua Jie’s home.
He suspected that if it were possible, his father would definitely want to take home the soybean paste and all the side dishes that went with the rice rolls.