He always thought that Hu Moli really loved that bowl of wontons.
It wasn't until now, when the smell of smoke made his throat tight, that he suddenly remembered—every time she scooped up the wontons, her eyes would unconsciously glance in his direction, and the bowl of wontons had gone mostly cold, and she hadn't eaten more than a few bites.
It's not that she loves to eat; she clearly wants to linger a little longer, hoping this short trip can last a little longer.
And he, back then, personally cut it off time and time again.
The cigarette butt burned his fingertips. Chen Hede snapped back to reality and stubbed it out in the crack between the bricks at his feet.
From deep within the alley came the sounds of a wonton stall packing up, the creaking of bamboo stools scraping the ground, especially clear in the night.
He looked at the window where Hu Moli used to live; it was pitch black.
The wonton stall at the alley entrance is still there, but the person who liked to sprinkle a handful of bright green scallions into the soup bowl has disappeared.
Chen Hede walked over, sat on a low stool, and called out to the owner, "Boss, a bowl of three-delicacy wontons, with scallions."
The owner lifted the pot lid, and the steaming hot air shot straight up into the sky, dancing under the streetlights.
"Okay!"
A short while later, a steaming bowl of wontons was served, topped with sesame oil and exuding a fragrant aroma.
A small dish of chopped scallions was pushed over, and the owner looked at Chen Hede and asked, "Sir, it's been a long time since you've patronized my stall. Why didn't your wife come with you?"
The boss was a cheerful southerner with a thick accent. He always said that Hu Moli and Chen Hede were a perfect match, but he probably didn't read newspapers and didn't have the money to go to the Paramount Ballroom, so he didn't know about Hu Moli's death.
"It's been more than half a year. I thought you had moved."
Chen Hede imitated Hu Moli, sprinkling chopped green onions on the wonton soup. The emerald green scattering across the thick white broth looked like a flock of birds soaring in the sky.
"She went on a long trip."
The boss, oblivious to the dejection in Chen Hede's eyes, asked, "Oh dear, this trip has been quite long, it's been more than half a year. When are you coming back?"
Chen Hede took a sip, and it still tasted the same as before. The soup base was rich, the scallions were fragrant, and the faint aroma of sesame oil filled his mouth.
"It'll be soon."
This time, the boss sensed that Chen Hede was not in a good mood, so he didn't say anything and silently retreated to the stove, fanning himself with a palm leaf fan.
The coal stove at the wonton stall was burning brightly, the boiling water bubbling and foaming, and the aroma of scallions, ginger, and bone broth wafted through the air.
Chen Hede buried his head and used a bamboo spoon to scoop up wontons. The hot soup made his tongue numb, but a thin layer of sweat seeped from his forehead and slid down his temples.
He didn't stop, shoveling food into his mouth one bite after another, as if trying to smooth out the wrinkles in his heart with the scalding heat. But the more he ate, the heavier the tightness in his chest became.
"Boss, a bowl of three-delicacy wontons, please."
A strange voice suddenly rang out from across the way, soft and gentle with a Nanjing accent, yet with an indescribable tenacity.
Chen Hede paused in his scooping of soup, then looked up.
A man in black had appeared sitting opposite me at some point.
He was in his forties, with a narrow, long face, a high nose, and slightly bulging goldfish eyes. The lenses of his round glasses, perched on his nose, reflected the light from the streetlights, making it impossible to see the expression in his eyes.
His dark long gown was perfectly pressed, and the cuffs were buttoned up meticulously. Judging from his attire alone, he looked like a schoolteacher.
Chen Hede put down the bamboo spoon and tapped the warm rim of the bowl lightly with his fingertips: "Who are you?"
The man smiled, a distinct curve appearing at the corners of his mouth. He spoke slowly and softly, yet each word was clear: "Deputy Director Chen, what a refined taste you have."
The address "Deputy Director Chen" made Chen Hede raise an eyebrow.
He grabbed a handkerchief from the side and wiped the sweat from his forehead. The roughness of the handkerchief rubbed against his skin, causing a slight itch.
"You're from Nanjing, right?" He didn't beat around the bush, his tone carrying a hint of scrutiny.
The man didn't deny it, tapping the table lightly with his fingertip, his gaze behind his glasses falling on his face: "I am Lan Qingyi, secretary of the Nanjing Military Commission."
The handkerchief in Chen Hede's hand fell to the table with a "thud".
He squinted, his gaze sharp as ice, staring directly at the person opposite him.
Translated by Lan Qing. He had heard of this name before.
Although he was called the secretary of the Central Military Commission, he was actually the second-in-command of the Nanjing Military Region. Almost all matters, big and small, passed through his hands.
Rumor has it that this man crawled out of a pile of corpses. He fought alongside the Central Military Commission to establish the country, and the blood on his hands could have soaked half a river red. He looks refined and gentle, but in reality, he is a ruthless character who kills without blinking an eye.
Nanjing actually sent such a person to Xinhai City.
Chen Hede picked up the bowl, took a sip of hot soup, and the scalding liquid slid down his throat, but it did not suppress the chill in his heart.
Even a fool would know that someone like Lan Qingyi wouldn't be personally involved just to eat a bowl of wontons.
What else could possibly be catching Nanjing's attention so closely lately, besides Cheng Muyun's ever-growing Dongzhou Army?
The appearance of Lan Qingyi was like a flag, brightly planted on the territory of Xinhai City—representing Nanjing's determination to take action against the Dongzhou Army.
Looking at the scallions floating in the bowl, Chen Hede suddenly felt that the wontons in his mouth had lost their flavor.
Cheng Muyun is probably in real trouble this time.
Chen Hede asked, "Secretary Lan arrived quite quickly; it's only been two days since she arrived in Xinhai City."
Lan Qingyi laughed and said, "The higher-ups take it seriously and flew me here directly."
Chen Hede said, "Secretary Lan has quite the grand style. I've never even been on an airplane before."
“Deputy Director Chen is joking,” Lan Qingyi waved her hand. “It’s not my entourage that’s bigger, it’s Young Marshal Cheng’s.”
Chen Hede frowned. Lan Qingyi had actually gone straight to the point.
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