Chapter 36: A "Warm" Dinner

Chapter 36 A "Warm" Dinner

The one who cooks, truth be told, utterly despises clearing the table;

It is much like the fulfillment and joy one derives from feeding small animals, contrasted with the reluctance to tidy up their pens.

Fortunately, Karen did not have to clear the dishes, as Aunt Winnie and Aunt Mary would help tidy things away.

On the second floor, Karen poured himself a glass of water, fetched two cubes from the ice tray in the refrigerator to drop inside, and, glass in hand, returned to the third floor.

He had intended to take a midday nap, but unfortunately, when he pushed open the bedroom door, he found Mina, Sarah, and Lunt huddled before his desk, busily working on their homework.

The nap was completely ruined.

After all, as a psychological adult, one simply lacked the effrontery to evict children doing their schoolwork just so one could sleep.

Not only did the nap fall through, but under Mina's questioning, Karen also ended up tutoring her and Sarah through their physics assignment.

It was readily apparent that Mina possessed quite excellent academic marks; no wonder her aunt did not wish for her to remain and inherit the family trade. In truth, from a purely financial perspective, if Mina were to inherit her aunt's skills as an undertaker's cosmetician, her future would undoubtedly be very comfortable, but in life, when circumstances permitted, one ought to strive for a few more choices.

As for Sarah, her grades were rather ordinary, and her capacity for comprehension was quite average.

Karen also took note of Sarah’s clothes; they were quite new, so new as to be somewhat ill-fitting.

This subtle detail struck a chord within Karen; when his family's circumstances had been modest during his childhood in his previous life, he too had possessed clothes set aside exclusively for visiting relatives.

At the same time, Sarah's stationery was visibly inferior to the supplies used by Mina and Lunt.

Furthermore, every time Karen spoke, Sarah would immediately shift her posture to face him directly.

By all rights, this timid young girl shouldn't have suddenly become so forward, actively seeking to lock eyes with him;

Later, while explaining a problem, Karen realized the reason: Sarah’s right ear seemed to have a hearing impairment. If one spoke softly toward her right side, she likely couldn't hear clearly, which was why she had to turn her head every time she perceived him speaking.

Once the tutoring session concluded, Karen stretched his arms and leaned back lazily against the bed.

"Are you tired, Brother?" Mina asked.

"I'm alright."

Mina stood up, walked over, and began massaging Karen's shoulders.

Though initially somewhat hesitant, Sarah also stepped forward and began kneading Karen's legs.

Watching this scene from the side, Lunt merely smiled; even though he had been slapped by this cousin not long ago, he truly couldn't harbor any hatred toward Karen, nor did he feel any jealousy;

Much like his father's perception, he did not feel that Karen was simply an elder brother, but rather resembled an uncle or a senior guardian.

"Listen, there's no need..."

Karen did not wish to indulge in this sort of "landlord master" comfort. If his younger siblings were still smaller, he wouldn't mind using loose change or sweets to trick them into running errands or pounding his legs—most people, in truth, had done similar things.

Yet his sister was grown now, and there was a strange female classmate present besides.

To Karen's surprise, however, young Sarah's kneading technique was highly proficient and her pressure was quite firm; for a brief moment, Karen actually felt a tinge of reluctance to call a halt.

In the end, reason prevailed over all, and Karen sat back up, saying:

"Mina, and Sarah, you are grown up now, young ladies. In the future, you must remember to maintain a proper distance from the opposite sex."

"But you aren't an outsider, Brother," Mina stated as a matter of course.

Even Sarah nodded in agreement.

"Still, this is inappropriate." Karen reached out to pat Mina's head. "I don't care for this sort of thing."

Watching Mina receive a head pat, Sarah's eyes shone with a look of deep envy.

So Karen reached out his hand and gave her head a pat as well.

Just as men possessed no resistance against beautiful women, women likewise held very little resistance against a handsome man.

That effortlessly manifested charm toward the opposite sex felt like a stroke of immense luck to an ordinary person, but to a select few, it was like Chinese cabbage growing by the wayside, ready to be plucked anywhere.

It was simply that the vast majority of people could never experience such a sense of relatability.

"Sarah, do you usually help massage your family's legs at home?" Karen inquired out of curiosity.

"Yes, I massage my father's legs every single day."

"How filial of you."

Karen stepped out of the bedroom, halted by the bay window, and pushed it open; Purr, who had been napping there originally, shifted her body with a few movements of deep dissatisfaction.

Drawing out a cigarette, Karen lit one for himself; the wind outside carried a sharp chill, so Karen turned his body sideways to reduce his exposure to the draft.

Just then, Dis emerged from the study, and Karen offered a brief smile.

"The thermos is out of water," Dis remarked.

Karen immediately called into the bedroom, "Mina, go refill the thermos for Grandfather."

"Alright."

Obediently, Mina walked out, took the thermos from her grandfather's hand, and went downstairs to the kitchen to fetch hot water.

Dis voiced no objection to Karen's "lazy" behavior, instead inquiring:

"Today is the fifteenth."

"Yes, the client booked until the seventeenth. There are two days left; in truth, only one day remains," Karen replied, because the seventeenth was the final deadline, which would certainly be the memorial service. Therefore, the client would have to deliver the deceased by the sixteenth—tomorrow—at the very latest, otherwise there simply wouldn't be enough time to prepare the post-mortem cosmetic presentation.

And if the client delivered the body during the daytime on the seventeenth, even in the morning, it would be difficult for the memorial service to proceed smoothly, unless they truly just desired a superficial formality. The issue, however, was that the client had paid far too much.

A patron with such a lavish hand would surely not wish for a funeral to be conducted in a careless manner.

"Uncle Mason has already accepted a welfare client, planning to perform it on the eighteenth."

This was a precaution in case the client delivered on the seventeenth or eighteenth; a welfare order offered far higher flexibility. It was just like Jeff from last time, a matter of taking three photographs; the reason it was scheduled for that day was to facilitate bargaining once the "deadline" had lapsed.

Of course, if the client truly arrived a day or two late, in deference to the deposit, they would still perform the service, but the family could afford to be far more relaxed regarding requirements and specific details.

"Mm." Dis nodded, took the thermos back from Mina's hands, and returned once more to the study.

Just then, Karen noticed that it had begun to rain outside, and he extinguished his cigarette butt against the windowsill.

Purr glared at the tiny black scorch mark on her favorite sleeping spot, pointing her paw at it in extreme discontent:

"Meow! Meow! Meow!"

Karen reached down, stroking Purr exactly as one would comfort an ordinary cat.

"Brother, I am heading home now," Sarah said as she emerged, carrying her schoolbag to take her leave of Karen.

"Who is coming to fetch you?" Karen asked.

"I am taking the tram back," Sarah replied.

The tram station lay beyond Mink Street, requiring a bit of a walk.

"I'll accompany Sarah to the station," Mina said, holding an umbrella.

"Ah. Where do you live, Sarah?"

"In the East District, Mine Street."

The East District was the industrial heart of Luojia City. Aside from factories, it consisted of rows upon rows of old-style worker dormitory blocks; to live within those blocks was considered fortunate. Many workers, along with the population that subsequently gathered there, could only construct rows of shanties surrounding the dormitory blocks, forming a vast shantytown.

A few years ago, the old mayor had implemented a plan to improve living conditions in the East District shantytowns. Of course, he was neither capable of nor possessed the power to enact a grand "shantytown redevelopment project," but he did manage to connect water and electricity to the entire area, which could be considered the fulfillment of basic livelihood security for the shantytown residents.

Mine Street was the eastern district's notorious shantytown quarter, thick with small shops and host to a flea market famous throughout all of Lodia.

"Tell you what, I'll drive you back. Mina, go get the car keys from your father."

"Yay! Thanks, big brother."

Soon, Mina returned with Uncle Mason's car keys.

"Father asked if you knew how to drive, brother, and Mother said you drive beautifully."

Aunt Mary was referring to the time she and Mrs. Hughes had gotten drunk, and he had driven them home.

"Get in."

This was the first time Karen had stepped inside the new hearse. Not only was the driver's seat far more spacious, but the back featured a rectangular recess designed to hold a coffin, flanked on both sides by bus-like seating.

Starting the engine, Karen began driving toward Mine Street.

Because the previous "Karen" had loved going to the flea market to buy second-hand comic books and novels, Karen knew exactly where the place was.

"Hehe, Sarah, isn't our family car spacious?" Mina asked.

"Uh-huh!" Sarah nodded. "You could even lie down and sleep in here."

Driving ahead, Karen heard this and smiled.

"Haha, you certainly can't lie down in this car."

Halfway there, they encountered a street undergoing roadwork, forcing Karen to back out and take a detour. The reversing process took a considerable amount of time; after all, the new hearse was bulky and not easily maneuvered.

By the time they reached Mine Street, it was already five o'clock in the afternoon.

"Mama." Sarah spotted her mother's figure.

Karen found an empty space nearby and smoothly parked the vehicle.

Mina followed Sarah out of the car.

A moment later, Mina and Sarah came over to the driver's side window.

"Brother, Sarah's mother has invited us to their home as guests."

"Yes, big brother, my mother makes delicious milk tea!"

Karen initially intended to refuse, preferring to drive straight home, but seeing the expectant look in Sarah's eyes and the somewhat rigid, hesitant woman standing a short distance away, Karen nodded anyway.

"Alright."

...

Sarah's home lay deep within Mine Street. Since it had just rained, the road was riddled with puddles, some of which had bricks placed in the center, forcing one to step only on the bricks to get across.

The eaves were very low, requiring one to bend over to walk inside. Within were two rooms: one belonged to Sarah's parents, and the other to Sarah and her grandmother.

The cooking area was outside, featuring a small brick-built stove half-shielded by a sheet of iron.

Inside, the house was very clean, decorated with a few bouquets of wildflowers.

"Grandmother, I brought my classmate and her brother to play at our house."

"Good, good, wonderful."

The old grandmother was well along in years, but her hair was meticulously groomed. She sat there, smiling as she looked at Mina and Karen.

"Oh, Sarah brought classmates home to play?"

A man's voice came from outside. He entered with a limp, leaning on a crutch. He had been holding a half-burnt cigarette in his hand, but as he stepped through the door and his gaze swept over Mina and Karen, he tossed the cigarette directly outside.

"Hello, Uncle," Mina spoke up.

"Hello, classmate, hello, hello."

"Hello, I am Mina's brother, Karen."

Karen extended his hand to the man. This was an unalterable habit of his, as he had never viewed himself as a child, and his family had grown accustomed to this, so he felt no need to disguise it at home.

The man froze for a moment but still reached out to shake Karen's hand.

"Hello, you can call me Rott. The neighbors all call me Cripple Rott."

Rott's hand was rough and thick with calluses. The other trouser leg beneath the crutch hung completely empty.

Upon entering, Karen had noticed a number of tires and sliced tire hides in the courtyard, along with some simple tools. Rott made a living by turning discarded tires into "slippers" to sell.

As for Sarah's mother, according to what Sarah had said in the car, she worked as a laborer in a nearby cotton mill, though it was currently the slack season and there were not many days she was required to work.

"Please sit, please sit."

Sarah brought over a few stools, and Karen and Mina sat down.

"Dear, I smell something wonderful. Are you brewing milk tea?" Rott shouted toward the outside with great exaggeration.

"Yes, it's ready."

Moments later, Sarah's mother entered carrying several cups resting on a pot lid. The cups were filled with white milk tea.

The cups placed before Karen and Mina were filled to the brim, the cups for the old grandmother and Sarah were half-full, while the cup before Rott held only a tiny layer at the bottom.

Sarah's mother smiled again and said:

"I am going to prepare dinner. Sarah just told me, thanking your family for treating her to such a sumptuous meal today."

"That's right, Mama! Brother Karen's cooking is truly amazing. I've never eaten the kinds of food he makes before, but I think my mama's cooking is just as amazing as Brother Karen's."

Sarah's mother lowered her head, kissed Sarah on the forehead, and smiled.

"Don't worry, Mama won't disappoint you."

Immediately following this,

As if fearing Karen might refuse to stay for dinner, Sarah's mother pointedly added:

"Please do us the honor of staying for the meal, as a return for your hospitality to Sarah."

Rott also spoke up: "But of course. Classmates and friends mean that if you come to my house today, there's a hot meal to eat, and if I go to your house tomorrow, there's a hot meal to eat too. Isn't that right, Mr. Karen?"

Although Rott felt this young man before him looked youthful, his demeanor carried an air of distinction, much like the civil servants sitting in government offices, causing him to subconsciously append "Mr." to the name.

"Then I shall look forward to it."

Mina lifted her cup and took a sip of the milk tea.

"How is it, Mina?" Sarah asked.

"It's delicious," Mina said.

Karen also lifted his cup and took a sip, then instinctively suppressed his natural urge to frown. This cup of milk tea tasted remarkably like the malted milk extract from his childhood, and it had been laden with extra sugar, rendering it cloyingly sweet.

Karen took two more large gulps.

Setting down the cup, he smiled and said, "It is very good."

"Hahaha, see?"

Rott appeared highly pleased. He raised his cup and drained his small portion, letting the cup linger a moment longer. When he set it down, the rim of his lips was stained white, which he then licked with his tongue.

"Have a smoke, Uncle."

Karen drew out his cigarette case.

In truth, his craving for tobacco was not particularly strong these days, amounting to a mere two or three cigarettes a day. Moreover, his professional responsibilities occasionally overlapped with those of his uncle, meaning he always needed to carry a pack on his person purely for the sake of social etiquette.

Morf Gold Frames, seventy lubis a pack—a price tier even higher than the Soft Chunghwa of his past life.

Karen slipped one out and offered it to Rot, who accepted it with both hands.

Just as Karen produced his lighter, intending to strike it for Rot, the latter cast a brief glance toward his mother, who sat nearby.

The old matriarch smiled and said, "Go on, smoke. Keep Mr. Karen proper company."

Catching the underlying meaning, Karen took the initiative to speak up: "Let us step outside to smoke."

"Right, yes, of course."

Karen moved to assist Rot with his crutches, but Rot anticipated him, preemptively taking hold of them to prop up his body. "Please, this way, sir."

The two men stepped into the open air.

Rot extracted a match from his pocket, struck it awake, and shielded the flame with his left hand as he leaned toward Karen.

This was a gesture one could not politely decline, for the match flame would soon die out.

Karen could only offer an apologetic smile, placing a cigarette between his lips and leaning forward. Once Karen’s cigarette was lit, Rot brought the match—now burning perilously close to his fingers—to his own face, ignited his own tobacco, and immediately flicked the spent matchstick away with a sharp hiss of breath.

"Mr. Karen, is your family in the funeral parlor business?" Rot added, "I heard it from Mina."

"Yes, Uncle Rot." Karen drew a business card from his pocket and handed it over. "I shall have to trouble you to introduce some clients to us in the future."

"Ah, if anyone living around here passes away, they are taken straight to the crematorium. Who would ever hold a proper wake?"

Though he spoke thus, Rot nevertheless placed the card with great care into his breast pocket after receiving it.

"Is business good these days?" Rot inquired.

It seemed that regardless of the background, the environment, or even the loftiness of one's social status, once two men struck up a smoke together, the conversation would inevitably drift toward the same refrain.

It rarely departed from: *How is business lately? (How have things been treating you?)*

"Not terribly busy," Karen replied.

After all, that patron who had left a deposit of one hundred thousand lubis had yet to send word, and since the family could not possibly take on other work in the meantime, they were quite at leisure.

"Yes, same here."

Rot nodded in agreement.

In truth, during the summer months, the slippers crafted from discarded tire rubber sold reasonably well; there was a certain demographic that favored such extraordinarily cheap footwear. But now that winter was setting in, buyers for slippers naturally grew scarce.

"Things will look up," Karen remarked. "That is the nature of business; there are always slack seasons and peak seasons."

Rot agreed wholeheartedly. "Yes, indeed. Your words are quite true, Mr. Karen. Everything will look up."

Rot found great fondness in this manner of conversation, even though his tire-rubber slippers fetched a mere two lubis a pair during peak season, and he was well aware that a single transaction for Karen's family might equal a year’s worth of his slipper sales—perhaps even more.

Yet he truly relished the atmosphere of standing beside Karen, speaking of "slack and peak seasons."

Look at us, we are both men of commerce.

When Karen’s cigarette was half-burnt, he instinctively moved to cast it to the ground, but after a moment’s hesitation, he kept it held between his fingers.

Rot waited until his own cigarette had burned down nearly to the filter, took one final, sharp drag, and only then dropped it to the earth. Karen took the cue and dropped his own alongside it.

Rot was an old hand with tobacco; smacking his lips, he fumbled for his own brand. Yet the moment he drew the box out, he hesitated slightly before finally presenting it—Wild Wolf brand, two lubis a pack.

He drew one out and extended it to Karen, who accepted it while simultaneously producing his lighter to kindle Rot's smoke. Only then did Rot smile.

Puffing upon his own tobacco, the constraint he had felt while smoking the Morf Gold Frame seemed to vanish instantly.

Rot opened his mouth to say, "This leg of mine was amputated after an accident while I was working at the factory. The factory owners paid out a pittance back then, not even enough for the medical bills. It was only after I sought aid from Mr. Hickson—do you know of Mr. Hickson?"

"I seem to recall the name. Is he..." Karen searched his memory of the newspapers. "The Mayor?"

"Yes, precisely, the Mayor. In his younger years, he was a councilman who came out of our East District. He is the pride of the East District, one of our own." Rot heaped praise upon the old mayor, emphasizing the phrase "one of our own."

"Mr. Hickson went to see the factory owner on my behalf, and only then did the man pay out a further sum. It wasn't grand, but I was satisfied enough. At least it covered the medical bills with a tiny bit to spare.

Ah.

A few days ago, several other workers who had fallen ill took their case to court at City Hall, and they lost. The union organized a march and came to notify me, so I joined in as well. Though I no longer labor in the factory, I remain a union member.

Mr. Karen, sometimes with these factory owners, you must show them the strength of our solidarity. Otherwise, they... they truly will not look upon us as human beings."

"Yes, you speak truly."

"I was even chosen as one of the march representatives, walking in the front rank alongside those injured, disabled, and ailing comrades. I had thought this demonstration was meant to show our strength to the factory owners of the East District, but to my surprise, the banners and flags hoisted by those union fellows were actually holding Mr. Hickson to account.

At that, many of our fellow workers became quite displeased.

To give credit where credit is due, was it not Mr. Hickson who brought running water and electricity to our Mine Street these past few years? And it seems a sewerage project is slated for next year, so we won't have to 'dance' just to step outside on rainy days.

Afterward, Mr. Hickson came out to appease us. The moment he appeared, we ceased our clamor. Those few from the union tried to lead us in chanting slogans, but none of us paid them any heed.

Mr. Hickson gave us his word, saying that in the future, a specific portion of the East District’s tax revenue would be set aside to provide allowances for disabled and permanently chronic-ill workers. Though the sum won't be grand, we are already satisfied.

Which means, starting next month, I shall receive an allowance of two hundred lubis each month.

And so, we all raised our voices together, cheering Mr. Hickson's name."

As Rot spoke to this point, his eyes were alight with brilliance.

"Mr. Hickson will forever be one of our own in the East District, the mayor pushed forward by our East District, haha."

Karen nodded.

"Does Mr. Karen have a preferred mayoral candidate?"

"No, I do not. I am not particularly fond of participating in politics."

"I am not overly fond of it either—if only those factory owners would treat us workers with a modicum of humanity."

Rot took a deep drag and exhaled a ring of smoke.

"Who would willingly drag a weary body after a hard day's labor just to listen to some election speech?"

"Indeed," Karen echoed.

"Dinner is ready, Father, Brother Karen," Sarah called out.

"Very well, let us see what delicious fare your dear mother has prepared for us tonight."

The dinner was sumptuous.

Before each person sat a plate of noodles resembling braised noodles, tossed with various vegetables and sauces. In Karen and Mina's dishes, visible chunks of meat were present; they were absent from the plates of the others.

Furthermore, a portion of bread sat before everyone. Before Karen and Mina lay bread topped with cream, while the others received black bread.

Aside from this, there was a small platter of smoked meat, accompanied by a small plate of sausage and a large bowl of pickled cucumbers.

The platters of smoked meat and sausage were placed squarely in front of Karen and Mina, while the pickled cucumbers were set by Rot’s family.

"Mother, where is the fried chicken?" Sarah inquired curiously.

She had wished to treat her good friend and her brother to fried chicken.

Sarah’s mother smiled. "I am so sorry, Sarah, but none was to be bought today."

Sarah looked toward Mina with a touch of disappointment, saying, "What a pity. That meat is so fragrant. I shall invite you to the house to eat it next time."

"All right," Mina agreed with a nod and a smile.

Yet, in the memories of the former "Cullen," he recalled seeing several stalls selling fried chicken at a flea market. Stirred by curiosity, he had once bought a portion to taste, finding it quite flavorful.

However, upon later discovering that this meat was scavenged from restaurants and rubbish heaps, salvaged from various scraps and then deep-fried in hot oil, "Cullen" had returned home to spend half the night vomiting, coming down with a fever the very next day.

Thus, the "fried chicken" Sarah spoke of must be that exact kind of meat, a novelty circulating only here in East District's Mine Street, much like the tire-tread slippers made by Lott.

Sarah’s mother had lied to her, saying it was unavailable, simply because she did not wish to entertain guests with stale scraps.

Everyone began their dinner.

This noodle dish, resembling braised noodles, was indeed remarkably delicious. The sauce was perfectly seasoned, and the noodles possessed a firm elasticity that made the meal highly satisfying, a dish begging for a clove of garlic.

Without garlic... perhaps a pickled cucumber?

Cullen leaned forward slightly, picked up a pickled cucumber, and took a bite.

Whew... the tart sharpness hit him, so he quickly swallowed a mouthful of noodles to neutralize it, giving rise to a peculiar sense of contentment and indulgence.

"Does Mr. Cullen drink?" Lott inquired.

"No, I drove here."

Lott asked with some bewilderment, "One cannot drink simply because one drives?"

Nevertheless, seeing that Cullen truly did not wish to drink, he refrained from opening the alcohol. Noting Cullen's fondness for the pickled cucumbers, he moved the jar directly in front of him.

After finishing the noodles, Cullen picked up a slice of bread, using it to mop up the remaining gravy.

In truth, this particular cream-infused flavor was rather inferior; within Cullen's culinary philosophy, the introduction of fruits or creams into a main course was nothing short of ruining the dining experience.

Desserts after the meal were a different matter entirely.

His plate was cleared.

Cullen raised his hand to decline Sarah's mother as she attempted to spear more bacon and sausage onto his plate, patting his stomach with a smile:

"I really cannot eat another bite, I am full."

The old grandmother smiled and said, "You must eat your fill, do not be polite."

"I am not being polite, it was truly delicious." Cullen was not merely being courteous.

In truth, the genuine prowess of a chef is revealed in crafting exquisite flavors from the simplest of ingredients, and Sarah’s mother possessed an undeniably fine hand in the kitchen.

Mina had finished eating as well.

She, too, patted her belly and said to Sarah:

"Sarah, your mother cooks just as deliciously as your brother."

"Hehe, right?" Sarah beamed with joy, looking toward her mother.

By the time the meal concluded, the sky had turned pitch black.

Cullen took Mina to bid farewell to Lott's family.

The grandmother stood up and took the initiative, saying, "Come, let us see the guests off, after all, he brought Sarah back to us."

The grandmother moved with great difficulty, requiring Sarah's support, while Lott leaned on his crutch, yet the entire family escorted Cullen all the way to where the vehicle was parked.

"Thank you for the hospitality."

Cullen offered his gratitude to Lott's family, while saying to Sarah, "Come visit our home often with Mina."

"The same to you," the grandmother replied with a smile.

Cullen slid into the driver's seat. Just as he started the engine, he saw Sarah's mother passing a plastic jar through the window. Cullen turned his head to look; it was filled to the brim with pickled cucumbers.

"It seems to suit your palate well, take it home to share with your family."

"Thank you, madam."

Cullen expressed his thanks without refusal, accepting the jar into the car.

Standing nearby, Lott mimicked Cullen's refined tone under his breath, nudging his wife gently:

"Thank you, madam, hehe, madam, did you hear that? He called you madam."

Sarah's mother blushed a deep crimson, ignoring her husband.

"Goodbye, everyone!" Mina called out through the car window.

"Goodbye."

Cullen drove the hearse forward, steering toward the mouth of the street.

Behind the vehicle,

Lott's family remained standing there, watching them leave.

Cullen glanced through the rearview mirror.

Illuminated by the dim and sparse streetlights of Mine Street,

Lott's family, standing together,

resembled a still, old photograph,

gradually turning yellow with time.