The Game of Life

Xia Mushi had just stepped outside when Wen Er eagerly greeted him, while the other waiters could only stand resentfully in their original spots, cursing Wen Er silently in their hearts.

Having lived at the inn for so long, almost all the waiters knew Xia Mushi was generous and not difficult to serve; they all wanted to get familiar with him. Unfortunately, the other waiters didn’t have Wen Er’s cleverness or his reliable work ethic, so Xia Mushi usually sought out Wen Er for anything he needed. “Is it possible to borrow your kitchen?” Xia Mushi asked.

“Mr. Xia, what are you saying? You are a valued guest at our establishment. Others might not be able to borrow it, but if you need it, we will definitely make it available foryou. If there’s anything specific you’d like to eat, just give the word and I’ll go run the errands for you. The kitchen is not a clean place; it’s not suitable for you to go there,” Wen Er’s flattering words bubbled out as if they cost him nothing.

“I need the kitchen to prepare a dish,” Xia Mushi stated.

“I’ll take you there. You can use anything inside, and if you need something, I’ll buy it for you,” Wen Er said as he led the way.

The inn’s kitchen was small, but fully equipped with a complete range of seasonings. Xia Mushi looked around and made some mental calculations. Shaoxing wine, white sugar; these cabbage leaves have wilted; bring some fresh ones, chicken breast meat, and flour too,” Xia Mushi handed over the money very generously.

“Alright, just wait a moment; I’ll bring the things to you in no time,” Wen Er dashed out promptly.

While Wen Er was off buying ingredients, Xia Mushi tasted each of the seasonings in the kitchen, grasped the chef’s knife, and moved his fingers around to get them limber.

It had been a very long time since he had last touched a chef’s knife. Since leaving Beiping, he had handled broadswords far more frequently than kitchen knives.

Wen Er was quick with his tasks and soon brought back the items Xia Mushi had requested, not chicken thighs, but an entire chicken.

Mr. Xia, I’m terribly sorry. The vendors wouldn’t sell just the chicken breast meat, so I bought an entire chicken,” Wen Er said apologetically with a smile. “No problem, you light the fire,” said Xia Mushi.

“Right away!” Wen Er went to light the fire.

Xia Mushi began to butcher the chicken with swift and skilled movements. After helping out at Taifeng Building for so many years, he had done plenty of chicken and duck slaughters. Even after not touching a chef’s knife for a long time, his skills remained deft.

After quickly bleeding and plucking the chicken, Xia Mushi expertly sliced the breast meat into strips, creating chicken tenders. Having secured the desired part, he set the rest of the chicken aside.

He cut the chicken tenders into strips of similar length, width, and thickness, then added minced ginger, chopped green onions, Shaoxing wine, white sugar, oyster sauce, light soy sauce, and dark soy sauce for marination. While the chicken marinated, Xia Mushi began processing the other parts of the chicken. “Which chicken dish do you like?” Xia Mushi asked.

“Ah?” Wen Er, who was engrossed in tending the fire, took a moment to realize Xia Mushi was actually asking him. He said, “Mr. Xia, you’re really joking. We waiters hardly get to eat chicken twice a year. Having some meat to eat is already good; how can we be picky?”

“But if I could choose, I’d definitely like to eat it roasted; red -braised chicken uses a lot of oil, but it tastes delicious!” Wen Er smacked his lips as if he could already taste the chicken.

Xia Mushi continued to focus on processing the chicken.

After finishing with the chicken, he turned his attention to the cabbage. The water in the pot was already boiling. Xia Mushi quickly blanched the cabbage leaves and laid them out flat on the surface, then reached to knead the marinating chicken tenders, checking on their progress.

Without a clock in the kitchen, Jiang Feng couldn’t tell the time, but he estimated that the chicken tenders had been marinating for nearly an hour.

Xia Mushi examined the color of the chicken tenders and decided they were ready, wrapping them in the cabbage leaves and placing them seam-side down on a plate. He made three, precisely the amount Yanzhi could eat.

Once they were arranged, Xia Mushi cracked some eggs, using only the whites and mixed them with flour to make a batter of moderate consistency. He lifted’ the batter with chopsticks to see if it formed a smooth flowing ribbon as it slid down, indicating it was ready.

He coated the wrapped chicken in the egg white mixture and dropped them into the hot oil for frying. After just half a minute, Xia Mushi quickly removed them and asked Wen Er to stoke the fire higher.

Wen Er added some dry grass and firewood to the stove, causing the flames to surge. The oil heated to an even greater temperature, furiously crackling and popping.

Now was the time!

Xia Mushi placed the wrapped chicken back into the oil, continuously turning them with chopsticks until they turned a light golden color on the surface before he took them out to drain the excess oil.

Wrapped chicken was an authentic Beiping dish, known for its crispy skin and tender chicken meat. Almost every household in Beiping City knew how to prepare it, but ordinary families could usually only enjoy it during the New Year.

“I’ve finished with the chicken; you take it home,” Xia Mushi said as he carried the plate away.

Wen Er stood frozen on the spot, then knelt down and gave Xia Mushi a firm kowtow.

“I thank you on behalf of my parents and sister,” Wen Er said, even though he didn’t know if Xia Mushi, who had already left the kitchen, could hear him.

The wrapped chicken should be eaten while it’s hot. Xia Mushi returned to his room, asked the maid to leave, helped Yanzhi to sit up against the edge of the bed, handed her a pair of chopsticks, and placed the dish in front of her.

“I’ll only eat one; I can’t eat the rest. You have it,” Yanzhi said, lacking in appetite. She picked up a piece of the wrapped chicken and took a small bite. As if a switch had been flipped, before even swallowing the first bite, Yanzhi took another large bite, nearly half the wrapped chicken, and chewed with difficulty, her mouth full.

Yanzhi chewed with difficulty, her eyes promptly welling up with tears.

After finishing the piece of wrapped chicken, Yanzhi looked at Xia Mushi and asked, “Who did you get to make this?”

“I made it,” Xia Mushi replied.

“Who are you really? Do you know Master Chen? What’s your real name?” Yanzhi’s eyes brimmed with tears.

Xia Mushi didn’t answer, but moved a chair to Yanzhi’s bedside and placed the plate on it.

“If you’re hungry, just eat.” With that, he left.

When Xia Mushi left the city again, Jiang Feng thought it was because he was planning to take the train tomorrow, so he had to take away the buried money But just like the previous times, Xia Mushi only took a few silver dollars and a small yellow croaker, burying the bundle back under the tree.

Was he not going to leave?

Jiang Feng followed Xia Mushi, guessing as he went.

Jiang Feng guessed correctly; Xia Mushi had decided not to leave. He asked Wen

Er to book next week’s train tickets instead, as Yanzhi’s health had not improved much, and he didn’t feel comfortable letting her travel by train at this time.

“Mr. Xia, you can still sell those two train tickets. Do you want me to find someone to sell them for you? I’m confident I can sell them at the original price,” Wen Er said.

Xia Mushi nodded and handed the train tickets to Wen Er.

Xia Mushi returned to his room without visiting Yanzhi, while Jiang Feng rushed over to take a look. Yanzhi had already gone to bed, the old woman by her side watching over her, and the two bao ji (wrapped chickens) on the plate were untouched and had gone cold on the table.

Jiang Feng felt it strange in his heart. These memories were Xia Mushi’s memories, and the recipe was supposed to have been a memorable dish Xia Mushi had tasted. Yet, in the past few days, Xia Mushi had eaten nothing but porridge, steamed buns, and mantou, the only dish he had made himself being the bao ji that Yanzhi ate.

He had been in this memory for nearly ten days now and still hadn’t seen any signs of being able to leave.

That night, Yanzhi came down with a high fever.

The fever didn’t subside; in this era when quinine was worth more than gold, this was practically a death sentence.

Wen Er fetched the doctor overnight, but all the doctor could do was shake his

head and tell Xia Mushi to “prepare for the worst.”

“Xia Mushi, I’m nearly dead, can you at least tell me your true name?” Yanzhi asked hoarsely due to the persisting fever.

“I am Xia Sheng,” Xia Mushi replied.

Yanzhi squinted, trying hard to remember who Xia Sheng was, but couldn’t recall.

“You must be mistaken; I don’t know you,” Yanzhi said, “You’re really unlucky, mistaking someone and wasting so much money, and now that person is about to die.”

“lam Master Chen’s apprentice,” Xia Mushi replied.

By this time, Yanzhi was feverish and delirious, her logic confused, her speech unclear.

“Master Chen, Master Chen, who is that? I only know Master Chen, I don’t

know any Master Chen Qiusheng,” Yanzhi murmured.

“Ah, now I remember, Master Chen is called Chen Qiusheng.”

“Right, I think I heard my aunt mention that Master Chen’s apprentice was also

called something Sheng, a kitchen helper at Taifeng Building.”

Suddenly, Yanzhi began crying, sobs intermingled with calls of “I want to go

home, I want to eat the bao ji my mother makes.”

‘Who are you?” Yanzhi, almost delirious with fever, could hardly distinguish faces.

‘I am Xia Sheng,” Xia Mushi replied.

“Who is Xia Sheng?”

“Xia Sheng is Master Chen’s apprentice.”

“Master Chen’s apprentice? Did you come to find me because my aunt sent you? You came too late; I’m about to die, and she will surely scold you when you goback.”

“Yes, Mrs. Li sent me to take you home,” Xia Mushi said.

Jiang Feng saw Xia Mushi crying.

Yanzhi continued to speak in a fever-induced ramble before suddenly becoming somewhat lucid, forgetting what Xia Mushi had told her before.

“Why are you crying, Xia Mushi?” Yanzhi asked, “Are you upset about the money you spent on me because you see I’m about to die? I told you, I’m just bad luck, and spending money on me is just throwing it away.”

Yanzhi turned her head and saw the bao ji on the table: “Why aren’t you eating? You really waste a lot.”

111 eat,” Xia Mushi said. He didn’t bother with chopsticks, just grabbed a cold

bao ji with his hand and stuffed it into his mouth.

“Xia Mushi, do you know what my real name is?”

Jiang Feng was gradually enveloped in a thick fog, unable to see Yanzhi on the bed anymore.

“My name is Li Fen, the Fen that means fragrant.”

“Can I ask you a favor? After I die, can you cremate me and send my ashes back to Beiping?”

“I want to go home.”