Mother Song nodded quickly, now completely at ease with her son, and turned to go to the kitchen to prepare other things.
Song Shi'an and the rooster stared at each other, or rather, crossed their eyes.
To be honest, he didn't know how to kill a chicken. He figured if he let it go, he'd have to deal with the consequences. He picked up the kitchen knife next to him and gestured with it.
"Is this knife a bit dull?" He tried scraping the blade with his thumb, then looked at the rooster glaring at him with cross eyes. "Sorry, rooster!"
Just as I was about to make my move, a savior-like voice came from outside. "Give me a hand, the things are back!"
Upon hearing this voice, Song Shi'an felt as if he had heard heavenly music. He grabbed the chicken and rushed to the door, saying, "Dad! Let me do it, you can have this chicken."
Before Father Song could react, a chicken and a knife were shoved into his hands.
He looked down at the rooster with a bald patch on its neck, then at his son who had run off to move things. What had happened to the rooster? It was missing half its feathers.
Song Shi'an unloaded everything piled on the electric scooter and carried it home with ease.
Helpless, Father Song squatted in the yard and began to kill and pluck the chicken. His skill was that of a master who had killed countless chickens. The rooster that had escaped death in the hands of Mother Song and Song Shi'an finally ended its thrilling chicken life.
Song Shi'an looked through what his Father Song had bought, thinking it would be some New Year's goods that the older generation would like, but when he opened it, it was simply the favorite of today's young people.
Potato chips, Cola, spicy strips, pickled chicken feet, beef jerky—did his father secretly study his tastes?
He was just about to sneak a bite when he smelled something frying in the kitchen. The aroma wafted through the crack in the door, drawing him in.
Mother Song was frying spring rolls. The hot oil in the pan was boiling, and the golden spring rolls were sizzling in the oil.
He reached into the bowl, grabbed a freshly cooked dumpling with his bare hands, and popped it into his mouth, nearly burning his tongue.
It was too hot. He opened his mouth and breathed out a couple of breaths, swirling the spring roll in his mouth several times before swallowing. He didn't forget to give Mother Song a thumbs up. "Delicious!"
"Eat more if you like it." Mother Song handed him the plate of fried food. "Take it upstairs and eat. Then take a nap. It's only a few o'clock."
Song Shi'an carried a plate of spring rolls upstairs, placed the plate on the desk, and then poured himself a cup of soy milk.
This was bought by Mother Song at the village entrance this morning. It's freshly ground by hand by the villagers, and it's so strong that it clings to the glass.
He sat at the table, looking out the window at the stream and the distant fields, taking a bite of spring roll and a sip of soy milk.
The wind blew across the river, carrying the crispness and earthy scent unique to winter. He didn't even want to go back to school; it was so refreshing!
The entire crew of " The Countryside Never Closes " was present today to begin arranging routes and determining the NPCs in the village.
Old Liu led the director on a tour of the village, finally stopping in front of Song Shi'an's house.
The director observed that the small building stood out conspicuously in the entire village.
The overall color scheme and layout have a semi-Chinese pastoral feel, which is very soothing.
"Is this the place that makes fermented tofu?" The director rarely praised it, saying, "The place is nicely decorated; you have good taste."
This was the first time Old Liu had ever heard a director praise a particular interior design company.
Old Song's house is quite nice, and it looks elegant. I don't know where they learned it from, but it's probably unique in the whole village.
He quickly ran inside and called for Old Song to come out. The director looked around and looked up to see a boy sitting by the open window on the second floor.
The morning light refracted through the river, casting a pale golden glow on the windowpanes.
The boy, who was eating something, picked up the cup beside him and took a sip.
A wisp of hair on her forehead was gently blown by the wind. She frowned slightly, put down her cup, and reached out to close the window.
Every frame captured would be a masterpiece.
Before the director could react, the window suddenly closed, and the boy disappeared behind it.
Startled by the cold wind, Song Shi'an closed the window, ate and drank his fill, and then went back to bed for a nap.
The director rubbed his eyes. Was that just a hallucination? That boy didn't look like someone from the real world...
"Director, Old Song is here." Old Liu ran over, interrupting his thoughts.
As Father Song came out, the director quickly looked away. "Hello, I'm Zhao Lin, the director of ' The Countryside Never Closes '."
"Hello, hello, is there anything I can help you with?" Father Song shook hands with him.
Old Liu quickly interjected, "We were just planning to film some local crafts, and your wife's fermented tofu is the most famous in the surrounding area. We wanted to showcase it on the show."
Zhao Lin chimed in, "Yes, but don't worry, we also pay you. The filming time isn't long, just an hour or two."
Without even thinking, Father Song refused. "No, my wife doesn't do it anymore. You should find someone else."
Zhao Lin never expected such a decisive rejection and still wanted to try again.
Just then Mother Song heard the noise and came out of the kitchen. "What's wrong, Old Song?"
Old Liu explained the situation again.
Mother Song also wanted to refuse, but Zhao Lin spoke up first, "This program is going to be broadcast on China Central Television. If the broadcast is successful, it can boost local development. We are also cooperating with your local culture and tourism bureau, so it will definitely only benefit you. Think about it, if tourists come here in the future, the villagers will also have more income."
The words of refusal from Mother Song remained on the tip of her tongue. She remembered what her son had said: if they could boost tourism in the area, Old Song wouldn't have to work so hard away from home.
She hesitated for a moment before saying, "Okay, but the filming can't be done at my house."
"No problem!" Zhao Lin nodded quickly. He could understand; it was normal for some people not to want to reveal where they lived.
With this matter resolved, Zhao Lin breathed a sigh of relief.
On his way back, the image of the boy by the second-floor window kept flashing through his mind.
He felt like he'd seen him somewhere before. Even if he was a bit slow, he couldn't possibly not remember him. With such a face and such a great presence on camera, it was impossible for him to have no recollection of him.
As soon as they left, Father Song asked Mother Song curiously, "Why did you suddenly agree?"
Mother Song patted Father Song's hand. "Making tofu can boost the local economy, which is very worthwhile. If it really develops in the future, you won't need to go to other places to work."
"You've really had a hard time, Jinghui." Father Song sighed. "You've been with me for so many years, and you haven't enjoyed a single day of happiness. Back then... did you ever resent me?"
Mother Song smiled gently, " Old Song, this isn't like you. Come on, if you don't pluck this chicken feather soon, you won't be able to eat lunch."
When Song Shi'an woke up, it was almost eleven o'clock.
As soon as Mother Song knocked on the door, it opened, and Song Shi'an stood in the doorway with his hair all messy from sleeping, yawning.
"I was just about to call you downstairs for dinner. Get ready, we're about to start eating." Mother Song couldn't help but laugh.
Song Shi'an stood at attention and saluted. "Yes, I guarantee I will complete the mission." He turned and went to the bathroom to wash his face.
The table downstairs was already set with bowls and chopsticks; the braised chicken for lunch was made with the same rooster that had miraculously survived that morning.
Song Shi'an picked up a piece of chicken, stewed until tender and flavorful. He suddenly felt that although the chicken's fate was tortuous, the ending was not bad. At least it died a worthy death. It was delicious! He ate two more large bowls of rice with tears in his eyes!