Chapter 47: A Small Gathering II

The freshly cooked noodles were quickly rinsed in ice water, making them firm and smooth. Since they would be stir-fried later, skipping this step would result in a greasy, clumped mess. Shredded pork, slivers of green pepper, bamboo shoots, scallions, and seasonings were added to the wok in sequence. Once the aroma rose, in went the noodles, followed by a pinch of sugar to enhance the flavor. A splash of soy sauce mixed with a little broth was poured in, and the noodles eagerly absorbed the sauce as they were tossed. The right amount of liquid kept the noodles silky and distinct, neither dry nor oily.

Zhou Hao was never picky about food, and with Chen Xin’s excellent culinary skills, a generous plate of noodles and a bowl of seaweed and dried shrimp soup were set before him. Wisps of fragrant steam curled up, irresistibly tempting. He sampled a few strands of noodle—the salty savor was spot on, the noodles had a satisfying chew, and the vegetables provided a crisp contrast, each ingredient perfectly complementing the others.

He took a sip of the soup; the subtle flavor of seafood melded with the skimmed broth, tempering its richness and lending the simple seaweed a delicate smoothness.

“This is incredible,” Zhou Hao praised. “No wonder people say you should open a restaurant. This café hardly does your skills justice.”

“My coffee isn’t bad either. Want to try?” Chen Xin offered.

Unfortunately, neither Zhou Hao nor Yi Bai cared for coffee. They’d rather drink eaglewood tea than try something so bitter.

Song Yi raised his cup to Chen Xin, signaling that having them drink coffee would be like casting pearls before swine. Yi Bai landed a resounding slap on Song Yi’s back.

“Brother, that’s not right. We’re Chinese—why drink coffee? That’s a foreigner’s thing.”

“Officer Yi, that’s not quite true,” Chen Xin retorted. “Our country produces coffee too. It’s just a beverage, nothing to do with patriotism. Our café serves both imported and locally grown beans, all of excellent quality. They just differ in flavor. The only real difference is the roasting technique, which can always be improved with study and practice.”

“You win, college grad. I can’t argue with you,” Yi Bai conceded, raising his hands in mock surrender. He had no interest in debating something as bitter as coffee.

“Fine, you win this time.” Chen Xin smiled and went upstairs to fetch a box of tea, asking one of the girls in the café to bring down her tea set from the lounge as well.

“You like tea, don’t you? This was sent by a friend from the south. It’s not quite the quality of official supplies, but you won’t find it on the market either. It’s grown in their hometown village, and the annual yield is small. After the authorities take their share, there’s little left. I rarely let anyone else have it.”

As she spoke, she began to boil water and rinse the teapot and cups with practiced ease, her movements fluid and graceful.

“Aren’t you exhausted, doing all this just to make tea?” Yi Bai grumbled.

Chen Xin shot him a glance, clearly unwilling to continue the banter.

“Is this the tea ceremony?” asked Song Yi.

“Not really,” Chen Xin replied, distributing the tea. “This is just the proper way to brew this type of black tea. I only know the basics; it might look right, but a real expert would be horrified. So don’t mention the tea ceremony—any tea master would laugh at me.”

Yi Bai was a rough-and-ready type, his energy reserved for solving cases and chasing criminals. He had no patience for these little pleasures of life. Tea, to him, was just tea—a tiny cup at a time, and he could drink a dozen in one go, the constant refilling more exhausting than refreshing.

Chen Xin noticed this and simply brewed a large cup for him in a purple clay mug, letting him help himself, while she and Zhou Hao discussed the finer points of tea.

On this subject, Zhou Hao was much more knowledgeable than Yi Bai. After all, his mother was in business and often attended such gatherings, so he had picked up a thing or two.

Song Yi, on the other hand, was a die-hard Westerner—he only drank British-style milk tea. His only knowledge of domestic teas was the rather obscure green tea from his hometown.

Chen Xin preferred green teas, especially Maofeng. They weren’t expensive but were rich in fragrance. To her, Longjing or Silver Needle teas were too mild.

The four of them, mixing tea and coffee, enjoyed a meal that was neither strictly Eastern nor Western. Time passed quickly as they chatted, and before they knew it, dusk was falling.

“By the way, about your question on support policies for the families of martyrs—I checked for you,” Yi Bai said. “At present, the state only provides subsidies; there don’t seem to be other preferential policies. However, you can try applying for policy priority—it shouldn’t be a problem. If you need a certificate from the military district, just let me know.”

He added that since Zhang Zhang’s uncle wanted to apply for livestock farming subsidies, he gave Chen Xin a phone number—an old police academy classmate of his, now the deputy chief of the county public security bureau where the Zhangs lived. He was a good man, and if they needed help, they could contact him.

Chen Xin took note of the number but didn’t plan to use it. After all, he was in law enforcement, and they had no legal issues requiring police assistance. Besides, Lei Bang had already promised to help, and it was wise not to involve too many people in such matters.

After seeing Yi Bai and the others off, Song Yi went straight to the bar after work. He’d recently made a couple of new friends and spent his evenings hanging out with them, not drinking much, just spending a few hours at the club before heading home.

Chen Xin, who still had a child to care for, had no intention of joining them. She didn’t like the club’s atmosphere anyway; rather than enduring the deafening noise for a night, she preferred to stay home, read a book, and share some poetry with Zhang Zhang.

Perhaps it was thanks to Yi Bai’s intervention, but things had been calm for Chen Xin lately. Mao Xiaohong had been sternly warned by his parents not to pursue the matter any further. However, his mother held a strong dislike for Zeng Zeng and had scolded her counselor harshly.

Everyone knew there was more to the story, but no one had evidence that Zeng Zeng was behind it. Using her internship as a cover, Zeng Zeng had taken an extended leave, only returning for exams and her thesis defense, making it difficult even for her counselor to find her. As a result, the issue gradually faded from people’s minds.

Chen Xin was busy herself, helping Zhang’s eldest brother gather information. They had decided to build a livestock farm. The eldest brother and second sister had even traveled to a neighboring province to study at a large farm, and the owner had promised that if they really built their own, he’d send a technician to instruct them for two months, though the Zhang family would cover travel and living expenses.

That was no problem at all, especially since the farm owner also agreed to provide documentation to help them apply for preferential policies. If those came through, the savings would far exceed the cost of hiring the technician.