Chapter Thirty-Eight: Hobbies

“Then name your terms,” Chen Liang handed the initiative to Old Lu, resigning himself to whatever fate awaited him, ready to be fleeced.

“Do you really like it?” Old Lu asked, to which Chen Liang nodded earnestly. “I really do.”

“Alright, then I’ll set the conditions!” Old Lu’s words jolted Chen Liang. “Please, go ahead!” he replied, even slipping into a tone of utmost respect.

“Here’s the deal: for one year, two cartons of Zhonghua cigarettes and a bottle of Maotai each month. If you agree, this treasure is yours!” Old Lu was well aware of Chen Liang’s resourcefulness.

Rarely did Old Lu meet a young man who struck a chord with him. To get a better understanding of Chen Liang, he even sought out that boy from the Li family, Li Yuanchao. After asking around, he was amazed! The young man was not only skilled both in literature and martial arts, but also valued brotherhood and had a shameless tenacity. In ancient times, he’d have been a warlord like Liu Bang or Zhu Yuanzhang. Old Lu was immediately interested in befriending him, regardless of the age gap.

Old Lu himself was a flamboyant character, unconcerned with age or other such barriers. For people like him, friendship was all about that instant connection—if he liked you, a beggar could be a friend; if not, even the emperor wouldn’t make the cut.

“No problem at all!” Chen Liang agreed without hesitation, eagerly taking the little wooden box, caressing it as gently as if it were his beloved Xiaoyu.

He fondled the box for quite a while, satisfying his inner craving, then turned, putting on a stern face. “Old Lu, let’s be clear; twelve bottles of Maotai, twenty-four cartons of Zhonghua, and this treasure is mine, right?”

Old Lu couldn’t help but laugh at Chen Liang’s shamelessness. But that was the fun of making friends—if he were really expected to keep up appearances, Old Lu himself wouldn’t enjoy it.

“For now, that’s all. If I think of anything else, I’ll let you know!”

“Hey! Old Lu, that’s not how things are done!” Chen Liang protested.

Old Lu shrugged indifferently. “If you don’t agree, just give it back. I’m not forcing you to take it.”

“Fine, you win. I admit defeat!” Chen Liang couldn’t bear to part with it anyway—this was his dearest treasure, second only to his beloved Xiaoyu.

After securing the little wooden box, Chen Liang sat with Old Lu, sipping tea and smoking, the two of them chatting about anything and everything under the sun.

Their conversation drifted from mythology to Chinese geography, growing more animated as they went. Eventually, they found themselves discussing women. Old Lu regaled Chen Liang with tales of the Eight Lanes and Rouge House in old Beijing, while Chen Liang shared stories of mixed-gender baths and bubble soaks in Japan.

Old Lu was surprised at how much Chen Liang knew, and couldn’t help but reminisce about his youth during the Republic era, when he frequented the foreign concessions and mingled with exotic women.

Chen Liang understood, but kept his mouth shut—after all, as a young man who had never even left Beijing, if he claimed to have experienced those foreign delights, he’d be exposed in a heartbeat.

So Chen Liang fell silent, sipping his tea. Seeing he’d gained the upper hand, Old Lu became even more animated, recounting all the romantic exploits of his younger days.

By the end, Chen Liang realized this old man before him was no ordinary philanderer—compared to him, even Master Xu was unworthy of carrying his shoes! It was a pity he wasn’t as famous as the master; otherwise, feminist groups would have had another legendary figure to gossip about.

They only stopped when the sandalwood incense had burned out, mainly because they were hungry—endless tea-drinking was no substitute for a meal.

The city library had nearly two hundred staff, not to mention the occasional reader who got so absorbed in a book they refused to leave, so the library had its own canteen.

Chen Liang had no intention of having lunch with an old man—he wasn’t crazy. Wouldn’t it be better to dine with his lovely Xiaoyu?

But as he collected his meal in the canteen, Chen Liang couldn’t hold back his disgust—what on earth was this stuff they were supposed to eat?

He picked up a sticky, viscous mass with his chopsticks, resembling nothing so much as snot, and simply couldn’t bring himself to eat it. Seeing Xiaoyu’s indifference, he finally snapped.

He marched up to the canteen, slammed his tray down in front of the fat chef, grabbed him by the collar, and demanded, “Tell me, what is this stuff? Is this what we’re paying to eat?”

The fat chef didn’t even blink. “That’s my cooking. Eat it or don’t.”

How could anyone tolerate that? Chen Liang dragged him out from behind the counter and, with a deft over-the-shoulder throw, slammed him to the ground—stunning everyone in the canteen, kitchen staff included.

To single-handedly haul a man weighing over two hundred pounds out the window and slam him down—was he even human?

Still fuming, Chen Liang gave him a few more kicks for good measure, then stormed off to Old Lu’s office. Pushing the door open, he found Old Lu calmly picking at the same sticky food with his chopsticks.

Old Lu, have some dignity for us dashing men—how can you stomach that snot-like stuff?

“Come on, Old Lu, with a chef like this, aren’t you going to do something? How can you eat this?”

Old Lu was forthright. “I don’t even know the chef. If they’re fired, am I supposed to cook myself?”

Pfft! The image of the dashing old man crumbled in Chen Liang’s mind. He smacked his forehead. “Tell you what, Old Lu, if I can find you a good chef, will you sack them? Eating this stuff, aren’t you afraid of poisoning yourself?”

Old Lu perked up. “You can really find a good chef? I’ve had enough of them, too!” His ability to change his tune was no less impressive than Chen Liang’s.

“Would an imperial chef from the Tan family do?” At that, Old Lu’s face changed instantly. “Really? If you can bring him here, I’ll fire them on the spot.”

“Just wait, I’ll go right now!” Chen Liang said no more, hopped on his bicycle, and was off.

Old Lu shouted after him, “Hurry up, boy! I can’t stand this stuff any longer—it's poison!” Bah! He was truly cut from the same cloth as Chen Liang, changing his tune as quickly as turning a page.

Chen Liang couldn’t understand it either. How could someone as renowned as Sha Zhu be content to stay at Red Star Steelworks? Was it really the director who wouldn’t let him leave?

An imperial chef! No matter where you are, that’s the pinnacle of the culinary world—qualified even to cook for state banquets.

Pedaling hard all the way, when Chen Liang arrived at Red Star Steelworks, Sha Zhu was sitting dejectedly on a bench by the stove, the gloom around him so thick it seemed to repel all comers.

The spoilers Chen Liang had revealed the night before had kept Sha Zhu up all night. He couldn’t understand how he’d ended up living like such a fool.

Sha Zhu thought it over and realized Chen Liang’s words were spot on—Yi Zhonghai really was a scoundrel, and yet he’d treated him like family all this time!