“Even if the fire is singeing my eyebrows, I won’t be taken for a fool.” Zhao Hongmei didn’t loosen her grip; her hand clamped down on Li Guilan’s wrist like an iron vise.
Li Guilan was furious, cursing incoherently through gritted teeth as she raised her other hand to strike.
Zhao Hongmei shook off her mother-in-law’s arm and turned toward the stove.
Wang Dapang sat on a stool, legs crossed, waiting for the banknotes from the handkerchief bundle to be handed over. The sudden appearance of this young bride who hadn’t even lit the stove a few times made his fleshy face darken with displeasure.
“Whose pants weren’t tied tight enough to let a woman like you slip out?” Wang Dapang blew out a cloud of murky smoke and tapped his leather shoe on the ground. “Can’t the man of the house handle things, so they send you out to act tough? Go back to your embroidery. If I’m short even a single cent of these twenty yuan today, I’m leaving right now.”
Zhao Hongmei didn’t respond, already standing right in front of Wang Dapang.
On the nearby peeling Eight Immortals table sat an enamel mug. A large patch of red paint had flaked off the outside, and inside, coarse tea leaves steeped in steaming hot water.
“You’re right, not a single cent less.”
Zhao Hongmei lifted her wrist, grabbed the mug, and swung it outward.
“Clang—”
The enamel struck the bluestone slab with a sharp, heavy sound. Boiling water mixed with thick tea stems exploded on the spot, splattering Wang Dapang’s brand-new black leather shoes with droplets.
The courtyard fell silent instantly. Those cracking sunflower seeds stopped, and the pipe smokers forgot to exhale. Li Guilan sat on the dirt floor with her mouth agape, even forgetting to continue her fake wailing.
Wang Dapang leaped up, the stool scraping loudly as it fell.
“Are you crazy?!”
“I think you’re the crazy one.” Zhao Hongmei’s voice was neither loud nor soft, each word landing with weight. “Nothing’s written in black and white, and you don’t know the rules? We agreed on thirty yuan upfront. Now you see the ingredients we prepared aren’t up to your standards, so you’re jacking the price up to fifty on the spot. Why don’t you go rob the supply and marketing cooperative’s counter instead?”
Wang Dapang had been hustling around the villages for years, but this was the first time a village wife had pointed a finger at him and exposed his tricks. He ground his back teeth audibly.
“Who do you think you are…”
“Who am I?” Zhao Hongmei pressed forward step by step, her cloth soles crushing the tea stems underfoot. “If you don’t like the ingredients or the money, then get lost. Take that dull, worn-out cleaver of yours and get out of the Qin family’s gate right now.”
She pointed toward the open wooden courtyard gate.
“Even if the Qin family’s money were crumpled and tossed into the wind just to hear it rustle, we wouldn’t feed it to a two-faced ingrate like you.”
Wang Dapang trembled with rage, his face flushing like a swollen pig’s liver.
“Fine! Alright! The Qin family’s got guts!” He spat as he spoke. “Let’s see how you serve raw radishes at this full-month banquet without me!”
He flung his hands to untie the apron strings behind his neck. His fingers shook with anger, and the half-smoked Economy-brand cigarette slipped from between them.
The still-glowing cigarette butt fell straight down.
Right on target, it landed squarely in the middle of his crotch.
At that time, everyone wore Dacron fabric. The synthetic material caught the spark instantly, sizzling as it burned through, leaving a hole and sticking the hot, black ash directly onto his skin.
“Agh—”
A scream shattered the courtyard’s silence. Wang Dapang clutched his crotch with both hands, hopping and yelling on the spot, his over two hundred pounds of fat trembling wildly.
A few people in the crowd couldn’t hold back, snickering. Then, a burst of uproarious laughter erupted.
Wang Dapang’s face turned green as he ripped off his apron and threw it to the ground.
“Just wait and see how your Qin family handles this mess! Let’s go!”
Bent over, his hands clutching the smoking fabric of his crotch, he called out to the stunned apprentice and fled toward the courtyard gate. As he passed Zhao Hongmei, he tried to glare at her, but when he met her eyes—burning like flames from the stove pit—he quickly averted his gaze and scurried away.
Once Wang Dapang was gone, the laughter in the courtyard slowly faded completely.
A cold wind swept in over the courtyard wall. Everyone stared at the pile of foul-smelling pig lungs and intestines on the chopping board, their teeth clenched in dismay.
Li Guilan slapped her thigh and slumped onto the muddy ground, unable to move.
“Heavens above, this is the end of the Qin family!” she wailed, pounding her chest to catch her breath. “Dozens of people waiting for the feast, and the cook runs off. How are we supposed to handle this? What a disaster!”
Second Uncle pounded the brick floor hard with his wooden cane.
“Gangzi, why are you just standing there like a wooden post!” the old man shouted, his beard quivering. “Go after him and bring him back! Say a few soft words, offer him a bit more money. If this feast doesn’t happen, how will our Qin family ever face the village again!”
Qin Gang didn’t move.
Tall and straight, he stood on the outskirts of the crowd, still holding the pack of cigarettes that had been slapped to the ground and smeared with mud. Ever since Zhao Hongmei had thrown the teacup, his eyes had been glued to his wife, unable to look away.
The woman who usually walked with her head down, too timid to even speak loudly, had just taken those steps with steady confidence. Throwing things, cursing someone to get lost—all in one smooth motion.
Qin Gang swallowed, his throat feeling dry and itchy.
Zhao Hongmei turned around, bent down, and picked up the old apron with black oil stains from the ground. Holding it by the corners, she shook off the dust.
She wrapped the apron around her waist and deftly tied a small, tight knot at her back.
Tucking a few wind-blown strands of hair behind her ear, she turned and walked toward the stove.
“I’ll cook this feast.”
Her voice reached Li Guilan’s ears. The old woman’s sobs caught in her throat as she stared upward with wrinkled, wide eyes.
“Hongmei, don’t make things worse, please,” Li Guilan pleaded, tears streaking half her face. “This is a Daxi feast for dozens of people. It’s not like cooking a couple pots of watery rice porridge at home. What do you know about cooking in large pots? Or making seasoned broth?”
Cousin Qin Jianguo anxiously wrung his hands and shifted his feet nearby.
“Sister-in-law, now’s not the time for stubbornness,” he said, glancing around nervously. “If need be, I’ll go wait outside the state-run restaurant in town and see if I can pull some strings to find a chef…”
“Too late.” Zhao Hongmei walked up to the wide, oil-stained wooden chopping board and reached for the heavy old iron cleaver.
The handle was dark and shiny from years of oil and sweat.
She ran her thumb along the blade, then turned to look at the tall man standing outside the crowd.
“Gangzi, stop dawdling,” she called out to her husband. “Come over here and tend the fire for me! I need a big fire, a fierce fire!”
Qin Gang jolted at her shout—a reflex. His legs moved faster than his brain, and in a few strides, he was at the stove, sitting on a small stool. He grabbed a handful of wheat straw and stuffed it into the stove pit.
Only when the flames leaped up, casting a red glow on his honest face, did he realize: Why did I obey so readily?
But it was too late to think about that now.
The courtyard had fallen into an eerie silence, broken only by the crackling sound of burning wheat straw in the stove pit.
Although Qin Gang had managed to get the fire going, the people around them still looked on as if watching a monkey show. Everyone knew perfectly well in their hearts: This Zhao Hongmei, who usually didn’t even dare to raise her voice, could prepare a banquet before she’d even been married for two months?
Even though Wang Dapang was a man of questionable character, his culinary skills were well-known throughout the surrounding villages. If even he thought this pile of offal was impossible to work with, how could this young bride work miracles?
“It’s over, all over.” Li Guilan was still slumped on the doorstep, slapping her thighs with both hands, looking as if the sky had fallen. “Jianguo, your aunt has let you down. Your baby’s full-month celebration has been ruined by your sister-in-law…”