Chen Hansong jabbed a finger at Xu Ye, alarm in his voice. “Jiang Meilin. Did you hear what he just called you?”
“Mother-in-law. Are you deaf?”
Xu Ye had said it on purpose — he wanted Chen Hansong to hear it, wanted him to understand that Jiang Meilin was already on his side about him being with Chen Qingqing. What he hadn’t expected was how thoroughly Jiang Meilin would play along.
Chen Hansong hadn’t quite caught up to what was happening. Standing there in the living room, he was hit with the sudden feeling that he was the outsider here.
It was not a feeling he could easily accept.
“Xiao Xu.”
“Hm?”
“Come have lunch out with Auntie.”
Xu Ye frowned. “Eat out?”
Jiang Meilin nodded. “Yeah, easier that way. Cooking at home is a hassle.”
A thought struck him. “How about I cook lunch?”
“You?” Jiang Meilin looked genuinely intrigued. “You cook?”
Xu Ye nodded quickly. “Auntie, don’t underestimate me. I can handle a couple of stir-fries and a soup.”
Jiang Meilin was actually curious to see whether he could. Chen Qingqing didn’t know a thing about any of it — she couldn’t even turn on a gas stove. They could always hire someone down the line, but having one half of the couple who could handle a kitchen would balance things out nicely.
“All right then. Let’s see what you’ve got.”
The fastest way to a woman’s heart was through her mother’s stomach.
Cooking wasn’t Xu Ye’s specialty, but knocking out a few home-style dishes was well within his range.
For that he had Gu Mengyao to thank, in a way. In his previous life, when they’d been together, she couldn’t have put together three meals a day to save her life — she wouldn’t even wash a bowl. Coming home from work, Xu Ye had had no choice but to fend for himself, and over the years the skills had come.
Watching him open the fridge, Jiang Meilin smiled. “There isn’t much in there, is there? Do we need to run out and grab some things?”
“It’s fine. I’ll improvise. It’s already past eleven — no point going out now.”
He tied on the kitchen apron like he’d done it a thousand times, rinsed the rice and set it on to cook, then started prepping the vegetables — entirely at home.
You could tell whether someone knew their way around a kitchen just by watching them chop.
Standing there at the cutting board, hearing the steady, even rhythm of the knife on wood, Jiang Meilin found the corners of her mouth curling up without her noticing.
When it came to mothers-in-law and sons-in-law, as long as the first impression wasn’t outright dislike, the second and third and fourth tended to look better and better.
Chen Hansong caught the smile on her face and felt something along the lines of this little punk has stolen my whole house from me.
Jiang Meilin noticed him watching. “What are you staring at?”
“I—”
“What are you even doing here today?”
Chen Hansong sighed. “I came over to try and talk you two out of it. I didn’t think you’d sign the contract this fast.”
“All right. If there’s nothing else, you can go.”
“I’m not going.”
“Chen Hansong, well aren’t you something. Playing shameless now — who’d you pick that up from?”
He jabbed a finger toward the kitchen. “From that little bastard in there.”
Xu Ye pretended not to hear, and kept working.
The fridge was thin: a piece of pork, a rack of ribs, a few chili peppers, and a handful of vegetables in modest amounts.
He had four dishes in mind.
The lean pork would go into shuizhu roupian — his personal favorite. [TL: 水煮肉片, a Sichuan classic. The name translates as “water-poached meat slices,” but the finished dish is anything but light — thinly sliced pork cooked in a fiery, oil-slicked broth over a bed of vegetables.]
The ribs would become sweet-and-sour spare ribs — a dish practically nobody dislikes.
The chilies would go with scrambled eggs — the long thin green ones tended to pack real heat, good for someone who liked their food strong.
And two potatoes and a carrot, julienned and stir-fried, for the fourth.
Before long the sound of the wok filled the kitchen. Jiang Meilin sat at the dining table, glancing between her phone and the kitchen doorway. Chen Hansong, meanwhile, was giving himself an internal pep talk.
If Jiang Meilin doesn’t call me to the table, I’ll just help myself. You and your daughter both like men without shame — fine. From now on I won’t have any either.
But if that food isn’t any good, I’m picking it apart. I am not letting that little bastard Xu Ye strut around like this.
Little punk. He’d come over a handful of times and was already treating the place like it was his.
Start to finish, Xu Ye took about forty minutes.
He didn’t bring anything out as it came off the heat — he waited until all four dishes were done, then carried them out one at a time.
First was the potato and carrot — decent-looking, nothing fancy.
Second was the chili and egg — from the smell alone, a dish that would move a lot of rice.
Third was the sweet-and-sour ribs, glossy red, richly perfumed, appetite-triggering at a glance.
Last was the poached pork — the last of the fridge’s vegetables all folded in, generous enough that even a large soup bowl could barely hold it.
Jiang Meilin was all smiles. “Xiao Xu, where did you learn to cook? This looks wonderful.”
“Ah, I just kind of figured it out on my own.”
He untied the apron and picked up a rice bowl. “Auntie, let me get yours.”
“I can get it.”
“It’s fine, I’ll do it.”
“I’ll get it myself.”
While the two of them were still going back and forth, Chen Hansong had quietly taken a bowl into the kitchen and come back out with a heaping serving.
Xu Ye filled a bowl for Jiang Meilin first, then one for himself, and the three of them settled in at the table.
Jiang Meilin didn’t wait — she started tasting immediately.
The potato and carrot: neither too salty nor too bland. Seasoned exactly right.
The chili and egg: bright, sharp, unforgettable in a single bite.
The sweet-and-sour pork tenderloin: color, aroma, and flavor all coming through in equal measure, easily on par with any small restaurant. [TL: The source calls this dish 糖醋里脊 (sweet-and-sour tenderloin) here, though the third dish Xu Ye actually prepared a few paragraphs earlier was 糖醋排骨 (sweet-and-sour ribs). Author slip.]
Last, she lifted a slice of the poached pork, chewed twice — her brow tightened, then released just as quickly.
“How is the pork this tender?”
“Marinated it in egg white and starch for a bit. How is it, all right?”
She nodded, eyes crinkling into crescents. “It’s delicious. You really have a hand for this.”
Xu Ye felt a small weight lift.
He shoveled down a mouthful of rice and turned to Chen Hansong, who’d been eating with his head down. “Uncle Chen, food all right?”
Chen Hansong’s chopsticks paused midair. “Passable, I suppose,” he said, meaning nothing of the kind.
Then, after a beat: “At least he didn’t stir-fry potato with ginger like a certain madwoman.”
Jiang Meilin’s face darkened. “You shut your mouth.”
It was already past three when Xu Ye left Red Leaf Estate.
Riding in Chen Hansong’s car, looking down at the bank card in his hand, he finally asked, “Uncle Chen, if I want to move the whole balance out at once, do I have to file something with the bank?”
Chen Hansong answered without missing a beat. “Mobile banking has a transfer cap. Just do it in person at a branch and you’ll be fine.”
“Got it.”
“Let me say this one more time. Five million isn’t a small figure. You’d do well to think it through again.”
Xu Ye laughed. “You’ve reminded me plenty of times.”
“Damn right.” Chen Hansong was heated. “If you were borrowing fifty thousand — even five hundred thousand — I wouldn’t lift a finger. That card has five million on it.”
Xu Ye’s tone shifted. “Uncle Chen. How about a bet?”
“Bet what?”
“Three years. I turn that five million into fifty. If I pull it off, I get to ask you for any one thing I want. If I don’t, you get to ask the same of me.”
“Hah. It’s good for young people to have dreams. Just don’t get ahead of yourself.”
“Yes or no?”
“Fine. I’m not afraid of you.”
(End of Chapter 161)