You Really Think You're Somebody?

On the other side, Yu Xing waited until the others had walked off, then turned his attention back to the stall owner.

Before long, the stall owner brought over a bowl of noodles. The soup was bright red, and the aroma of chili oil drifted through the air, making his mouth water.

"Here, on the house!"

The bowl was set down in front of Yu Xing. He didn't stand on ceremony, taking a pair of disposable chopsticks from the holder on the table and trying a bite. "Not bad."

It tasted like noodles, and the red was indeed chili oil—not some red liquid made for horror movies.

"Glad to hear it. Looks like I haven't lost my touch. Go ahead and eat. There's more if you want it."

The open-air noodle stall had five tables. It wasn't quite peak time yet, and the few customers around had already been served, so the stall owner had time to sit and chat with him.

Yu Xing ate his noodles while the older man sat beside him and rambled on.

The stall owner had somewhat dark skin and hands covered in calluses. He looked worn down by the struggle to make a living, but was unexpectedly talkative. When he started reminiscing about Yu Xing's "childhood," he had plenty to say.

First, the stall owner reminisced about what it had felt like to hold a little child. Then he talked about how hard it had been to make noodles these past few years, and how he missed the days when everyone ate noodles and there weren't so many novel foods competing with him.

Yu Xing found an opening and started fishing for information. "I was too young back then, so my memories are hazy. I vaguely remember there was an uncle who was pretty