Hao Shijun turned his gaze toward Fang Minglan, who was sitting at the sa table.
"Where did you go earlier?" he asked.
When the suited man had called for dinner earlier, she was absent, and no one knew where she had gone—but now she had returned.
Fang Minglan smiled and casually tossed back her voluminous waves of hair, her tone gentle and even. "I just took a stroll outside, looking for so clues."
After that, she fell silent, not revealing whether she had actually found anything. Hao Shijun didn’t press further.
After a while, the rest of the people gradually gathered. Seated at the sa table as Wan Qian were several elderly folks. Even next to Wan Qian sat a familiar face—the old man who had co to buy cigarettes this afternoon.
Once he took his seat, the old man began coughing non-stop. Perhaps it was because he hadn’t been able to buy cigarettes earlier, as his eyes occasionally flashed with a chilly, resentful look when he glanced at Wan Qian.
Feeling uncomfortable under the old man’s unyielding stare, Wan Qian thought, Well, just as the book said—old folks are like children, the older they get, the more petty. It was just that she hadn’t let him smoke, and he’s still holding a grudge; it was as if glaring at her was more important than eating.
Determined to ease the tension, Wan Qian raised her chopsticks and reached for so food on the table.
Since these elderly folks had sat down, none had touched their food; both hands rested on their laps as they remained motionless. Now, as Wan Qian extended her chopsticks to pick up a dish, every pair of emaciated, deep-set eyes—like those of vultures—fixed intently on the tip of her chopsticks.
Her chopsticks plunged into a plate of at, picking up a chop of pork belly cut to a width of about two fingers. The at was glistening with oil, radiant, and the fatty part on the lean at was even trembling slightly, translucent and dripping with grease—enough to make anyone’s mouth water.
The elderly folks at the table stared at that piece of at, swallowing repeatedly, yet not one of them picked up their chopsticks. Their eyes shimred with an inexplicable light, as if anticipating sothing.
Unexpectedly, with a twist of her chopsticks, Wan Qian did not transfer the at into her own bowl but placed it into the bowl of the old man beside her.
"Grandpa, you eat first," Wan Qian said sweetly and politely.
Ever since she was a student, Wan Qian had been taught proper etiquette—even in elentary school, she had received praise twice for helping an old lady cross the street. In front of a table full of elderly people, she naturally expressed her respect by letting the elders eat first.
After placing the pork belly into his bowl, Wan Qian looked at him hopefully, wishing he would start eating.
The old man lowered his gaze to the at in his bowl and swallowed repeatedly, yet he still didn’t pick up his chopsticks.
"Grandpa, why aren’t you eating?" Wan Qian waited for a long ti but the old man still hadn’t eaten the at, feeling a little worried.
Judging by his deanor, it didn’t seem as if he wasn’t hungry—so why wouldn’t he pick up his chopsticks? Could it be that he was still angry about what had happened earlier that afternoon?
Wan Qian sighed softly. "Grandpa, look at you—you’re so old and coughing like this. How can you not take care of yourself? I forbade you from smoking for your own good. Haven’t you seen the news? So many people have gotten lung cancer from smoking."
The old man glared at Wan Qian fiercely and opened his mouth to speak, but as soon as he did, he couldn’t stop himself from breaking into violent coughing.
Seeing this, Wan Qian felt even more justified about her decision that afternoon.
"You see, I was right, wasn’t I? You should smoke less," she said kindly, reaching out to pat his back to help him breathe easier.
There was a faint "crack" sound. The old man’s hunched back bent even further, and he could no longer cough; instead, his eyes widened, his mouth gaped, and he panted heavily.
"Isn’t it much better now? Now, co on, eat," Wan Qian said, taking his hand and placing the chopsticks in his hand, her eyes full of expectation.
She was starving. But out of politeness, she had always been taught to wait for the elders to start eating before she could.
The old man, upon seeing the pork belly in his bowl, shook his head repeatedly; yet his eyes betrayed an unspeakable eager longing, tinged with a hint of fear. He kept opening his mouth as if to speak, but no words ca out.
Wan Qian understood, "Grandpa, is it that you have difficulty using chopsticks by yourself?"
Being a caring person, Wan Qian quickly switched to a spoon. She scooped a generous amount of pork belly from the bowl and stuffed it into his mouth.
"Eat, Grandpa."
As soon as the pork belly entered his mouth, the old man’s expression changed drastically. He almost eagerly swallowed the piece of at, not even chewing, just swallowing it whole.
Then, he abruptly stood up.
Before Wan Qian could even set the spoon down, the sudden movent startled her.
The old man’s eyes emitted a strong, intense light as he thrust his hand into the basin of braised pork, grabbed a chunk, and shoved it into his mouth——just like a starving ghost who hadn’t eaten in centuries.
He grabbed piece after piece of the pork belly, shoving it into his mouth, not even chewing, just swallowing it down. His swallowing speed couldn’t keep up with how fast he was putting food into his mouth, causing his cheeks to puff up quickly.
He kept stuffing more at into his mouth, to the point where it seed as if his mouth would split open.
Eventually, unable to eat any more, the old man began to vomit reflexively. The pork belly in his mouth spilled onto the table, tumbling into the surrounding dishes.
He continued to vomit uncontrollably, expelling every last piece of pork belly he had swallowed. When there was nothing left but yellowish-green bile, he still persisted, dipping his hand back into the basin of braised pork, grabbing more at, and stuffing it into his mouth.
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