Chapter 25: I Am 150 Years Old

Father Jiang hadn’t been in much of a hurry at first. But as soon as he saw both Bai Yan and Jiang Chengyan had arrived, he quickly hurried into the kitchen. Lowering his voice, he whispered to his wife, “San-niang, have you forgotten how to cook after so long? Why does this chicken soup smell so strange to me?”

To welcome his son and daughter-in-law, Father Jiang had, with permission, picked the finest old hen from the coop today. Who would have thought that after Zhao added her own mysterious ingredients, the chicken soup would give off such an odd smell instead of a savory aroma?

“What do you know? Get a bowl,” Zhao snapped at him, fierce as ever.

Father Jiang seemed well accustomed to her temperament, so he brought over a large porcelain basin without complaint.

“Cheng’an, come in and carry the dumplings,” she called, summoning her younger son to help bring the food to the table.

Jiang Cheng’an put down his book, washed his hands, and entered the kitchen.

Only Jiang Chengyan and Bai Yan remained, sitting obediently at the dining table.

Bai Yan fidgeted, glancing left and right, then leaned in close to Jiang Chengyan and whispered, “Husband, don’t we need to help out?”

“Have you been itching to move all along?” Jiang Chengyan turned to look at her, amusement in his eyes.

“I smell radish. It’s so fragrant, so delicious,” Bai Yan replied, then sprang to her feet.

But just then, the whole family entered carrying dishes. All the food and dumplings were set on the table.

Each person received a bowl of chicken soup and dumplings.

Bai Yan excitedly reached for her chopsticks, but, seeing that no one else had moved, quickly put them down again.

“Good child, there’s no need to wait—eat while it’s hot,” Father Jiang said kindly, smiling at Bai Yan.

Bai Yan, ever forthright, eagerly picked up her chopsticks to eat.

But suddenly, she realized a grave problem.

Why did everyone else’s bowl have chicken, but hers only had soup and no meat?

“What are you looking at? Drink it while it’s hot,” Zhao barked, startling Bai Yan, who quickly cradled her small bowl in both hands and began to drink.

“Mmm, it tastes awful,” Bai Yan declared honestly when she finished.

“Have another bowl,” Zhao said, pouring her a second serving.

Father Jiang gently nudged Zhao’s arm and whispered, “Don’t bully the child.”

Zhao pretended not to hear.

Bai Yan wrinkled her little brow, then pushed her bowl of pure chicken soup toward Jiang Chengyan. He immediately finished off his own bowl, which had plenty of meat.

Bai Yan: “…”

Ah, no one could help her now.

“How old are you, and where’s your hometown?” Zhao asked, eating a radish-and-pork dumpling and looking at Bai Yan with a stern face.

Startled, Bai Yan hiccupped. Her big round eyes darted about before she replied seriously, “My old home is on the mountain. Now, hmm, I’m a hundred and fifty years old!”

At her words, Father Jiang and Jiang Cheng’an both sputtered, choking on their food.

“She’s fifteen,” Jiang Chengyan interjected, rattling off a string of place names.

Bai Yan sat there, dazed. She hadn’t even heard of those places.

“Sounds like you’ve come from far away. The child must have endured a lot,” Father Jiang sighed, looking at Bai Yan with pity. “Would you like another bowl of dumplings?”

Bai Yan nodded so eagerly it seemed her head might fall off. “Yes, yes, yes.”

Jiang Chengyan: “…”

Father Jiang glanced at his younger son, then pushed the last bowl of dumplings over to Jiang Cheng’an. “Cheng’an, you’re growing. Eat more, so you won’t be so hungry in the morning.”

Jiang Cheng’an kept his head down, saying little.

But Bai Yan suddenly wrinkled her nose and, like a little dog, leaned over to sniff at Jiang Cheng’an.