wonton stall
During lunch breaks each day, the wonton stall became Chen Yan's regular "palace".
Whenever he appeared, the only clean low table and the long bench, which the old man had specially wiped clean with a rag, would always be empty.
As soon as his figure appeared at the alley entrance, the old man's cloudy old eyes would instantly burst with an astonishing light.
With a booming voice, he called out, "Young Master Shen is here! A large bowl of fresh meat—add two more—and hurry up!"
The joy in his voice was almost overflowing.
The portion of wontons in that bowl visibly increased day by day, piling up to a high point.
After each meal, Shen Yan would casually grab a handful of copper coins and place them on the table, always far exceeding the price of the wontons themselves.
The diners around him would also lower their voices and follow his every move with their eyes, whether openly or secretly.
It was done with an almost reverent sense of appreciation.
The vegetable vendor would deliberately pick out the freshest and most vibrant vegetables and casually place them in the spot closest to his table.
The lewd jokes told by the idlers also became much more restrained.
Everyone knows that this is the head of "Kaoshan Xueyun Cotton Workshop" and "Yunshangji".
Handsome, rich, and generous.
Xuan Chenzi, on the other hand, was undeterred by wind or rain.
They became the most loyal "diners" and "spectators" of the wonton stall.
He always arrived a step earlier or later than Chen Yan, holding his bowl of wontons, standing under the old locust tree or squatting by the wall, slurping them with relish.
Shen Yan sat down and began to eat while reading.
Despite his aversion to eating, he continued to eat while watching.
As Shen Yan left, his gaze followed her for a long time, his eyes focused and deep, with a burning intensity as if examining a rough gem. Occasionally, he would raise his withered fingers and gesture in the air in Shen Yan's direction, muttering something silently to himself.
When a disapproving gaze occasionally swept over him, Xuan Chenzi would respond with a meaningful smile, as if he knew the secrets of the world.
He nodded slightly, as if the weariness he felt both at home and outside wasn't the same person?
Of course, he was slurping his wontons the whole time.
A few days later, Shen Yan noticed another person, Wang Bo, who was sitting in the corner.
This taciturn technical director, who is in charge of machine maintenance at "Xueyun Cotton Workshop," has somehow become a regular at the wonton stall.
He always chose a location that was neither too close nor too far from Shen Yan.
Usually, it's in the shadows on the other side of the wall, or with its back against the rough trunk of that old locust tree.
He wore a dark-colored factory-style short jacket with a few cotton lint and machine oil stains, and the empty right sleeve was carefully tucked into his belt.
He held the large, coarse porcelain bowl steadily with only his left hand.
Uncle Wang ate very slowly, chewing silently.
His gaze was lowered, as if all his attention was focused on the steaming bowl of wontons in front of him.
However, Shen Yan always managed to sense a gaze, almost devoid of warmth, sweeping over from that corner just when Xuan Chenzi was gesturing most enthusiastically, or the moment she put down her chopsticks and grabbed a copper coin. The gaze would linger briefly before silently moving away.
There was no flattery or curiosity in that gaze; it was more like... confirming something? Assessing something?
Xuan Chenzi had obviously also noticed the silent, one-armed old man.
On several occasions, the old Taoist priest would stroll over to Uncle Wang's vicinity with his bowl in hand, and without caring whether the other man paid any attention to him, he would start talking to himself.
The voice had a slightly mystical tone:
"Brother, this bowl of yours is full of wonders! Wontons containing everything, and a one-armed man who can control the world? Wow, amazing!"
"Hey, look at your face, it's like a star hidden from the moon, a lonely and inauspicious presence. You should be a wanderer, so how come you've settled down in this bustling place? Strange, very strange!"
"Brother, your severed arm injury... is it perhaps a result of the Heavenly Wolf's clash? Would you like this old Taoist priest to calculate which direction caused the clash, so we can avoid it?"
These nonsensical words, which sound like fortune telling or madness, are...
Wang Bo's reaction was always the same: he would lift his eyelids, glance at Xuan Chenzi with his cloudy yet unusually calm eyes, and let out a meaningless single syllable: "Hmm."
Or they might not even utter a "hmm," but simply continue to lower their heads, intently poking at the wontons in their bowl with the tips of their chopsticks.
It was as if the old Taoist's words were nothing more than an insignificant breeze blowing through the alleyway.
Xuan Chenzi was rebuffed, but he wasn't annoyed. Instead, he chuckled and glanced at Wang Bo's empty sleeves and calm face.
He slurped up another mouthful of wonton soup and strolled away.
Shen Yan watched coldly from the side, unable to help but sneer inwardly.
This old Taoist priest loves to chatter on and on with everyone he meets, even going so far as to ramble on about Wang Bo, that stubborn and unyielding rock.
However, Shen Yan did not have any ill feelings towards Wang Bo.
On the contrary, they felt that although the old man was taciturn and had a strange look in his eyes, he was the most reliable person in the workshop.
He had heard Ling Zhan mention it, and he had also heard the workshop manager report it. Uncle Wang was the "pillar of strength" of the workshop. Those complicated looms and cotton gins, those problems that others couldn't understand, could always be put back into operation by Uncle Wang's half-finished left hand after some tinkering and adjustments.
He was incredibly focused when he worked, as if his entire soul had entered the machine, and he didn't even bother to drink water.
Moreover, this person seemed to have nowhere else to go except for the workshop, the teahouse, and the occasional wonton stall.
He was never seen interacting with outsiders, let alone doing anything detrimental to the workshop.
Ling Zhan kept a close eye on the workshop's accounts and the flow of materials, and there were never any mistakes. Uncle Wang was in charge of the technology and had nothing to do with money or materials, so his work was completely clean.
Thinking of this, Shen Yan's unease about being "secretly observed" dissipated.
What bad intentions could an old craftsman who only knows how to bury himself in repairing machines and is too lazy to say a word?
It's probably because I've been in such a "high-profile" state lately that even this strange old man couldn't help but take a second look.
After a few times, Shen Yan could only mutter to himself, "What a weird old man."
He attributed that subtle feeling of being spied on to his recent "dazzling" appearance, and then felt relieved.
This omnipresent, elevating atmosphere, like the finest wine, silently permeates the sullenness.
The initial slight discomfort had long since vanished, replaced by an unprecedented and overwhelming sense of satisfaction.
He walked lightly along the corridor of the academy; he sat upright in front of the wonton stall.
Even Ling Zhan's usually expressionless, sharp eyes seemed to have softened in my memory—
No matter how capable a wife is, the money she earns is still spent by him.
His demeanor certainly brought honor to "Kaoshan Xueyunmian" and "Yunshangji"!
That afternoon, the elementary school ended early.
Shen Yan was surrounded by Wang Fu and a few other classmates at the entrance of the academy, who chatted with her for a while.
Only after receiving a barrage of childish compliments such as "Brother Shen's handwriting must be very beautiful" and "Brother Shen will definitely be number one in reciting tomorrow" was I able to escape.
He walked briskly through the familiar streets, his heart filled with a feeling of "satisfaction".
He even started thinking that he should have a good talk with Ling Zhan about today's "glory" when he got back.
Let her know how popular her man is outside!
Give "Kaoshan Xueyunmian" and "Yunshangji" more credit!
Even Old Wang, whose mouth was like a saw-off gourd in the workshop, would "pay homage" to him at the wonton stall every day!
Maybe if my wife is happy, my allowance will increase a bit next month!
Pushing open the small black lacquered side door of the house and passing the screen wall, one can immediately see Ling Zhan sitting under the west wing corridor.
A small table, a small red clay charcoal fire, and a purple clay teapot burning on it, with wisps of white steam rising from the spout.
She was dressed in a casual light blue ruqun (a type of traditional Chinese dress), her hair loosely tied up with a plain silver hairpin at an angle. Her profile was outlined by the setting sun, making her look calm and focused. She was looking down at a book lying on her lap—not a storybook, but the shipping ledger of "Yunshang Ji" (The Tale of Cloud Garments).
This scene should have been serene and beautiful.
But what Shen Yan saw at that moment reminded him of the coarse cloth money pouch in his arms that was rapidly deflating.
Just a few days ago, he felt a heavy weight on his purse, but now that he has witnessed his "value" outside and his contribution to "bringing honor" to the workshop, the purse seems to have emptied too quickly and is completely unworthy of his "status".
A surge of pride welled up in my heart, a feeling that "a hero's triumphant return deserves a reward."
He walked a few steps to the corridor, stopped in front of Ling Zhan, raised his chin slightly, and couldn't hide his arrogance between his brows. Even his voice was clearer than usual, with a hint of seeking credit.
"Hey, Ling Zhan!"
Upon hearing this, Ling Zhan did not immediately look up. His long eyelashes fluttered slightly, but his gaze remained fixed on the ledger. His slender fingers lightly traced a line of numbers, as precise as if measuring a battlefield.
After waiting for a while without any response, Chen Yan's smugness was completely extinguished by this silent neglect.
He couldn't help but raise his voice a little more: "I said, Ling Zhan! I've behaved so well these past few days at the academy! The teacher praised my intelligence, all my classmates respect and value me, even the old man who sets up a stall outside the academy, and Daoist Xuan Chenzi, now treat me with courtesy and special regard! And Uncle Wang, Uncle Wang from the workshop, sees me at the wonton stall every day, and the way he looks at me..."
He wanted to describe Wang Bo's indescribable gaze, but the words caught in his throat and seemed indescribable, and didn't seem to constitute a "merit," so he glossed over it, emphasizing his own "merit" and the "value" of those copper coins.
"Anyway, the money you gave me has been put to great use! It has made our 'Kaoshan Xueyun Mian' and 'Yunshangji' brands proud! Don't you think... we should add some more?"
He stretched out his hand, rubbed his thumb and forefinger together, making an obvious gesture of begging for money.
Her bright, almond-shaped eyes gazed at Ling Zhan, waiting to be fed, her face radiating pride and self-righteousness.
The corridor fell silent for a moment.
Only the water in the purple clay teapot over the charcoal fire made a soft "gurgling" sound.
Ling Zhan finally slowly raised his head.
The afterglow of the setting sun fell on her face, her face that was usually expressionless.
Now, she was coated with a warm gold, losing some of her usual metallic coldness and becoming much softer.
It made Shen Yan unable to look away.
Her gaze was calm and unwavering as she slowly swept over Shen Yan's face, which seemed to scream "Praise me, reward me!"
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