This was Huang Liang's first time dining with the young master of the Wolf Family. Before this, he had always dined alone, arranged by the servants.
I originally thought they would sit facing each other at opposite ends of a long dining table, enjoying carefully prepared Western desserts, but to my surprise, there was an octagonal table in the restaurant, with exquisite plates and dishes, seven or eight dishes, all of which were very authentic Chinese food.
As soon as Huang Liang stepped inside, he smelled a long-lost aroma. He was certain that it must have been made by an authentic Huaiyang chef.
It's been so many years since I've smelled such a pure aroma of vegetables!
Whether in Amsterdam or Los Angeles, there are many Chinese restaurants and skilled chefs, but these restaurants are located in the Western world and are more or less influenced by Western cuisine, bearing the imprint of Western culture. The smell of cream, cheese, and Western-style roasted meat always wafts through the air. Apart from some strongly flavored dishes that still retain some authentic China taste, those delicate, light dishes that require careful appreciation have basically lost their original flavor.
The aroma almost made Huang Liang's mouth water, and it also stirred up many memories for him.
He remembered drinking with Old Yu in a small restaurant in Wuzhong, where the same aroma wafted through the air. Old Yu, half-drunk and half-awake, said, "Nephew, don't call me 'Uncle' anymore, just call me Old Yu. Every time you call me 'Uncle,' I feel like crying."
He remembered when he was a child, he would get good grades on exams, and his mother would slaughter the family's old hen and stew a pot of soup. A thick layer of golden oil floated on the surface of the soup, and the aroma could be smelled for miles around. His younger sister, who was greedy, would rush to drink it, only to burn her mouth. His mother would scold her, saying that it was to help her brother's health, that he was a good student and would go to university. His sister would pout, her mouth still blistered, and say that she would also study hard, that she would go to university, and that she would be even better at studying than her brother.
My little sister was a bit silly back then, adorably silly. In the Xia Tian, Mom would pickle all the duck eggs in the house, giving one to each of us siblings in the morning—our only meat dish that day. Mom was a master with a knife; with one stroke, she could neatly slice the duck egg in half. My sister would pick and choose between the two halves, trying to pick the bigger one, but she couldn't decide. She would flutter her big eyes and ask, "Brother, brother, which one is bigger?" My brother would mischievously point to the smaller one and say, "This one is bigger."
Watching his younger sister happily eat the smaller one, mistaking it for the bigger one, he shook his head, thinking to himself, "You're so stupid, how will you ever get into university!"
Later, my younger sister went to school and did surprisingly well in her studies, even better than her brother. But every time we divided salted duck eggs, she still couldn't tell the size apart and had to ask her brother. When her brother pointed out the smaller one as the bigger one, she would happily eat it. But when her brother pointed out the bigger one to her, she would wrinkle her nose and say, "Brother, you're lying to me!" Then she would giggle and take the smaller one away.
Long afterward, his younger sister passed away. His mother told him that his sister knew from a young age which half of a salted duck egg was bigger and which half was smaller. She always gave the bigger half to her brother, saying that he was a boy and needed to grow strong.
When he returned home after graduating from university, his mother stewed a chicken again. That was the last time he smelled the aroma of chicken soup from his hometown. But his sister was gone. He cried all night at his sister's grave, took a knife, and split a basket of salted duck eggs one by one, pointing to the larger half and saying, "Sister, this one is big, you eat it."
Huang Liang stood silently in front of the octagonal table, looking at the wine and dishes on it. For some reason, his eyes suddenly welled up with tears, and something strange, like ants, crawled in his heart.
He reached down and touched his waist, feeling two extra things there. At least one of them should have belonged to his sister. He imagined two kidneys on a table, his sister picking them up and asking, "Brother, brother, which one is bigger?"
Perhaps heaven only prepared two kidneys for them, but the younger sister didn't want any and gave them all to her older brother.
Quill Wolf was tall and even somewhat fierce-looking, but he was polite and well-mannered, displaying gentlemanly manners in every word and action. He waved for the servants to leave, then stood quietly to the side watching the silent Huang Liang, neither urging him nor disturbing him.
Huang Liang suddenly snapped out of his daze, his heart pounding nervously. It wasn't that he had lost his composure in front of Hong Kui, but rather that he found himself experiencing an increasing number of inexplicable emotions. These complex feelings were tormenting him, making him increasingly unable to recognize himself. He often became immersed in these memories, and what was frightening was that these memories, though clearly painful, gave him a strange sense of enjoyment.
He discovered that humans are indeed a strange species, fond of reminiscing about the past—deceased relatives, ex-lovers, friends who can no longer be contacted, and glory that can never be regained... People are fascinated by such memories, enjoying the pain they bring—a bittersweet experience, which is probably what life is all about!
"I'm sorry, these dishes remind me of my childhood in my hometown in China." Huang Liang didn't intend to hide anything; sometimes, honesty is safer than lies.
"It's just a simple meal, please excuse my poor palate." Hong Kui smiled slightly at him, pulled out a chair, and gestured for him to sit down.
The food was delicious, no less than what any chef in Wuzhong's hotels could make. In fact, from the perspective of Huaiyang cuisine, these dishes were even more authentic, because restaurants in Wuzhong inevitably tend to be a bit sweet, while authentic Huaiyang cuisine is never cloyingly sweet. It's true that wealthy people are different; they can enjoy delicacies from all over the world while sitting at home.
During the meal, they naturally talked about Old Wolf's illness. Hong Kui recounted their family medical history and past treatment experiences without reservation. Huang Liang already knew some of these things, but there were others, such as the process of having Qingmu treat him in Wuzhong, which he had just learned about.
"Why didn't you stay in Wuzhong a little longer, instead of rushing back?" Huang Liang asked.
"There were some problems with the family business and the gang. After learning about the consciousness invasion from Qingmu, Father felt that the situation might be much more serious than he had imagined, so he came back to take charge of the cleanup. In fact, it was fortunate that he returned in time, otherwise the Wolf Family's century-old foundation might have been destroyed."
Hong Kui spoke casually, as if he were telling a story unrelated to him, but Huang Liang could imagine that families like theirs, with their intertwined forces and relationships, would be difficult to clean up once internal strife broke out. There would be countless bloodshed and violence behind the scenes, and countless innocent ordinary people would be harmed.
Have the Parasites been identified?
"I don't know, we have no way of knowing who has been parasitized."
"Then how are you going to rectify this? Aren't you afraid that some of your key Parasites?"
Hong Kui smiled and said, "Gangs are never short of traitors. A country has its laws, a family has its rules, and we have our own methods for dealing with traitors. Unless all the core members are parasitized, one or two traitors won't affect the overall situation."
So they ultimately targeted your father?
"They've set their sights on my father, probably not just for our family's businesses and North America gang influence, but also..."
"And your father's dream, right?"
Hong Kui hesitated for a moment, then nodded solemnly.
"So they didn't target you?" Huang Liang looked at Hong Kui seriously, he needed to confirm if this person was alright. "You just said you were chosen as the family heir because you also had that kind of dream."
"That's exactly what I'm wondering about. I've been waiting for them, but they haven't come looking for me," Hong Kui said.
Just then, Huang Liang's phone rang. He picked it up and glanced at it; it was an unfamiliar number. He had no friends in Vancouver, and the only person he knew, Professor Dickinson, never called him. He immediately realized that this was probably the organization contacting him.
Hong Kui tactfully stood up and said, "I'm going to the restroom."
Huang Liang answered the phone, and a distorted voice came through. "The Second Leader wants to see you..."