Chapter Forty-Six: A Small Gathering

“I’m just a student honestly running a shop to earn a little living. If it weren’t for having to raise a child, I wouldn’t be working so hard at this. To tell the truth, the translation jobs I take on with my professional skills now are already enough to cover my expenses—safe, simple, and quick money,” Chen Xin instinctively played up her hardship. “But though translation lets Zhang Zhang and me live without worries, it’s hard to save up for a house. The house we bought before was paid for with my sister and brother-in-law’s pension. The breakfast shop was the same, though we were lucky—the shop made back its investment within a year, and after transferring it to Uncle Tie’s family, the transfer fee bought us a riverside house.”

Yi Bai asked Chen Xin why she liked buying houses so much. Chen Xin looked at him in surprise, smiled, and then explained.

“Our family’s situation, Brother Zhou knows. We have no one to rely on; everything depends on ourselves. You all have jobs, salaries, and welfare housing, but we don’t. If we don’t buy a house, we can only rent. But for Zhang Zhang to go to school, he needs a household registration, otherwise he’d have to go back to my brother-in-law’s hometown. That place is in the mountains, where the annual per capita income probably isn’t even as high as your monthly salary. Imagine the level of education Zhang Zhang would get if he went back there. He’s my sister’s child, a blood relative. How could I bear to see him suffer? That’s why we bought that factory dormitory—to get a household registration for Zhang Zhang, and the military district helped with that, didn’t they?”

Zhou Hao nodded and briefly explained the process to Yi Bai. It was something anyone could find out, so there was no need to hide it.

“As for buying houses later, I actually think that instead of leaving money in the bank, it’s better to buy property. The income from renting is much higher than bank interest.”

Song Yi, who shamelessly eavesdropped nearby, agreed, praising Chen Xin’s investment sense. Money in the bank is actually depreciating; only through circulation can it yield returns. Song Yi rattled off a string of investment and financial management ideas, making Yi Bai’s temple veins throb.

He was just a salaryman—what investment? It was completely unnecessary!

Zhou Hao, on the other hand, had family in business, so he shared many of Song Yi’s views and found more common ground in conversation. Chen Xin, despite having many advanced ideas from the future in her mind, had always focused on food and travel consulting. Her understanding of investment was limited to buying houses and financial products; as for things like futures or funds, she had no desire to learn about them.

The two of them—one clueless about investment, the other only half-versed—exchanged helpless glances.

After about half an hour, Song Yi, under Chen Xin’s enthusiastic urging, happily went off to prepare his newly developed dishes for them.

“Why do I feel like you’re up to something?” Zhou Hao squinted, glancing at Chen Xin diagonally across the table. “Is Song Yi’s cooking fit to eat?”

“Of course it is, otherwise why would I hire him as a chef?” Chen Xin, holding Zhang Zhang and playing a puzzle game, flashed a brilliant smile at the question. “It’s just that Song Yi’s mind is sometimes very open, especially when he meets new friends—he gets all sorts of inspirations, so the food he makes is like Pandora’s box; you never know what it’s like until you open it.”

Hearing this, Yi Bai became interested, stopped teasing Zhang Zhang with the puzzle, and got up to watch Song Yi cook outside the glass partition.

“By the way, I also had a friend put in a word yesterday. I don’t think Zeng Zeng’s admirer will bother you, but your two friends should be careful. It’s best to lay low for a while and don’t confront them head-on. Their lives aren’t worth as much as yours,” Zhou Hao advised Chen Xin, meaning for her to warn Mao Xiaohong not to be too stubborn. Even Bai’s parents swallowed their anger, so why should a student confront them?

Chen Xin thought about it—he was right. If Mao Xiaohong kept making trouble, not only would the school leaders dislike him, he might provoke those gangsters, and who would be responsible if something happened?

She decided to talk to Mao Xiaohong when classes resumed on Monday. Who hasn’t met a few scoundrels in their youth? There’s no need to break the vase to catch the mouse.

They had barely talked when Song Yi brought out the new dishes.

Yi Bai, following Song Yi with a tray, looked thoroughly conflicted.

“What’s wrong? Why the face?” Zhou Hao was curious. His childhood friend was a steady sort, and despite his baby face, his actions were meticulous—rarely did he show such a troubled expression. What had he seen that was so unbelievable?

“Nothing, just a bit hard to accept,” Yi Bai set down the tray, hesitated to sit, hesitated to pick up his knife and fork, and couldn’t bring himself to start.

“Don’t just stare, try it! I just made it new, the taste is definitely good,” Song Yi urged everyone to eat while it was hot, since it contained seafood and wouldn’t taste as good cold.

Little Zhang Zhang, though young, was very perceptive. He decisively asked for milk to solve his dinner, feeling a chill just looking at the ambiguous contents in his small bowl.

Chen Xin, with much the same feeling as Zhang Zhang but driven by strong curiosity, donned a “marching to her doom” expression and took action. She cut a piece of the mixed pie—with meat, potatoes, and vegetable puree baked together—and tried it. Her expression was hard to describe.

It wasn’t inedible, but it wasn’t particularly tasty either; the texture was difficult to articulate. Song Yi, however, thought it tasted fine and even discussed ingredient improvements with Yi Bai.

“Do we really have to finish this?” Zhou Hao managed to swallow a piece and quietly asked Chen Xin. Having served in the military, he’d eaten worse, but that was out of necessity; now, why should he torture his stomach?

Yi Bai, though initially hesitant, adapted better after tasting it and could even offer Song Yi suggestions.

“Forget it, stop eating, I’ll make something for you.”

Chen Xin, a lover of good food, couldn’t accept Song Yi’s new creation. She saluted Song Yi in admiration, then went straight to the kitchen.

The waiters watching nearby found it amusing, several quietly shaking their shoulders. Song Yi raised his eyebrows, looking as if Chen Xin didn’t appreciate his artistry, but showed no displeasure.

“Let Chen Xin make you some pasta. I still have leftover ingredients from earlier, not enough for other dishes, but pasta is fine.”

Chen Xin poked her head out from the kitchen, asking if they wanted food. Hearing Song Yi’s suggestion, she replied that she wasn’t planning to make pasta, but would prepare Chinese-style fried noodles and tomato soup instead.