The old man’s skinny, bony hand clutched the notebook tightly. His cloudy eyes actually shimmered with tears.
“My book… it really is my book…”
He trembled as he flipped through the pages. It was the work of half his lifetime—the lifeline he had hidden inside broken furniture during those chaotic years just to stay alive.
Seeing how emotional the old man was, a small spark of hope ignited in Lu Si’s heart.
“Old Mister Chen, we came across this book by chance. Since it has returned to its rightful owner… could you take a look at my leg?”
Lu Si spoke sincerely.
But the moment the old man heard those words, the excitement vanished from his face. In its place came deep fear and caution.
He snapped the book shut and threw it back to Su Ci like it was a burning coal.
“Take it away! I won’t look! I stopped being a doctor long ago! I can’t treat legs! This book is feudal poison, a toxic weed! Are you trying to get me killed?”
The old man hugged his head and shrank back into the haystack, muttering nervously.
“I won’t treat… I won’t treat… If I cure it, that’s a crime… if I fail, that’s also a crime…”
It seemed the “special era” had frightened him to the bone.
Lu Si’s eyes dimmed. His hand loosened weakly on the wheelchair.
The greater the hope, the deeper the disappointment.
“Su Ci… forget it,” Lu Si said quietly, resignation and fatigue in his voice. “Let’s go back.”
If the man didn’t want to help, they couldn’t exactly point a gun at his head and force him.
“Go back? Go back where?”
Su Ci tucked the book into her arms. Not only did she not leave, she plopped herself down on a broken wooden stump beside the old man.
“Old man, what are you afraid of?” Su Ci said slowly. “Out here the sky is high and the emperor is far away. In this cowshed it’s just cows—and the three of us. I’m asking you to treat a patient, not march in a public humiliation parade. Besides, look at my man’s leg. He was crippled for the country! If you treat him, that’s making a contribution—atonement, even.”
The old man buried his head between his knees and pretended to be dead.
“Fine, you won’t treat him?” Su Ci stood up. “I was thinking that if you did, I’d bring you good food every day. Braised pork, stewed pig trotters, soy-braised pork knuckle, steamed pork with rice flour… but if you won’t treat him, I guess I’ll just feed it all to Ah Huang, the dog at the village entrance.”
As Su Ci listed dish after dish, the old man’s back clearly stiffened.
Su Ci pulled Lu Si’s wheelchair and started walking away.
“Come on, Old Lu, let’s go. Tomorrow I’ll stew pig trotters with soybeans for you. The broth will be so thick it sticks to your lips—full of collagen… what a shame some people don’t know how to appreciate it.”
By the time they had walked far away from the cowshed, Lu Si finally glanced back.
The old man was still curled in the corner, unmoving.
“He won’t agree,” Lu Si said gloomily. “He’s been scared out of his wits.”
“Not necessarily.” Su Ci pushed the wheelchair briskly. “For someone who’s been hungry a long time, dignity and fear are both worthless in front of braised pig trotters. That’s called dimensionality reduction.”
Lu Si: “…”
He had no idea what dimensionality reduction meant.
But somehow, he felt Su Ci made sense.
..
Back home, Lu Si assumed Su Ci had only been talking.
But the next morning, Su Ci really did come back from the supply store carrying two big, plump pig trotters.
She chopped them into pieces, blanched them in cold water to remove the blood foam, and then placed them in a clay pot.
The soybeans had been soaked overnight, plump and round with water.
Green onions, ginger, star anise, and a few pieces of rock sugar for flavor.
The pot boiled over high heat, then simmered slowly over low heat.
It simmered for three full hours.
Soon the entire compound was once again assaulted by Su Ci’s “biochemical weapon.”
The rich aroma of meat mixed with the nutty fragrance of soybeans—thick, irresistible, almost criminally tempting.
Lu Si sat in the courtyard watching the milky-white broth bubble inside the clay pot. His Adam’s apple slid up and down uncontrollably.
“Su Ci… you’re really going to… feed this to that old man?” Lu Si asked reluctantly.
Something this good should be used to nourish his leg instead.
Su Ci scooped a small bowl and handed it to him.
“This bowl is yours. I’m taking the rest.”
Lu Si held the bowl and took one sip.
The flavor was so rich his eyebrows nearly fell off.
A sticky layer of gelatin coated his lips.
“Do you really have to win him over?” Lu Si asked, watching Su Ci pack the pig trotters into an aluminum lunchbox.
“I have to,” Su Ci said firmly as she closed the lid. “Only he can treat your leg. I read that book—the acupuncture techniques in there are incredible. Besides him, nobody would dare use them.”
Lu Si felt warmth spread through his chest.
She was going to such lengths—even using precious ingredients like this—to please a dirty old man.
All for him.
“I’ll go with you,” Lu Si said, putting down his bowl.
“No need. I’ll go alone today.” Su Ci waved her hand. “If you come, he’ll get too cautious. That might ruin things. Today’s tactic is called a sugar-coated shell. I’ll go bombard him first.”
Carrying the lunchbox, Su Ci hurried off toward the cowshed.
When she arrived, the old man was indeed still lying there.
But this time he wasn’t sleeping.
He was staring straight at the road.
When he saw Su Ci arrive alone, holding that familiar lunchbox, he swallowed hard—but still turned his face away stubbornly.
“I won’t eat food given in charity! Go away!”
Su Ci didn’t say a word.
She walked up to him and flipped open the lunchbox lid.
Inside were steaming pig trotters—reddish, glossy skin trembling slightly, revealing tender tendons that fell apart from the bone.
The soybeans were soft and plump, each one soaked with rich meat broth.
The domineering aroma drifted through the air for hundreds of meters.
Even the old yellow cow grazing nearby mooed in envy.
The old man’s throat bobbed wildly like it had an electric motor inside.
“Sigh… these pig trotters are stewed so soft that even toothless grandmas could eat them,” Su Ci muttered to herself.
She picked up a piece with chopsticks.
“What a pity. Some people would rather sit here chewing bran and wild greens than move their hands a little. Such a waste of all this collagen.”
She pretended to bring the meat toward her mouth.
“Wait!”
The old man finally couldn’t take it anymore.
With the agility of a carp flipping out of water, he sprang off the haystack—shockingly nimble for a man in his sixties or seventies.
He grabbed Su Ci’s wrist, his eyes glowing green.
“Little girl, this is a crime! Something this good—can you even finish it yourself?”
“I can’t,” Su Ci said innocently, blinking. “But the dog Ah Huang at my door has a big appetite. He’d love it.”
“I’m Ah Huang!” the old man declared, slapping his chest—abandoning his dignity completely for food. “Give it to me! Hurry!”
Su Ci flipped her wrist, dodging his grab.
“You can eat,” she said, her expression suddenly serious. “But we make a deal.”
She pointed at the lunchbox.
“This whole pot of pig trotters is yours. In return, you help look at my husband’s leg. Whether you can cure it or not doesn’t matter. As long as you’re willing to try, food like this will be guaranteed from now on.”