The second high school was located in the suburban area of the county town, while the chicken and mushroom stew restaurant that Rouqiu mentioned was in the busiest part of the downtown area. Walking there and back would take nearly fifty minutes. Rouqiu asked Lin Fang to wait for him while he went back to his dorm to get his motorcycle. He was the only rural student in the first year of high school who rode a motorcycle to school.
Although Rouqiu was usually careless, he was quite considerate when it came to Lin Fang, whom he had grown up with. Because of Lin Fang’s heart condition, she couldn’t get too excited or be overly stimulated. Whenever she rode on his motorcycle, he never drove too fast. Sometimes, Lin Fang would beg him to speed up, even sweet-talking him—something she rarely did despite her lifelong habit of teasing him—but he would firmly refuse. Of course, his chubby face would suffer for it afterward, but even then, he wouldn’t change his mind.
Once Rouqiu brought the motorcycle over, Lin Fang climbed onto the back seat, and they carefully rode out of the school gate. Outside, they were greeted by the increasingly barren winter fields. This time of year should have been when the wheat was lush and green, but the land here was bare, with nothing but wild grass and the tall trees lining the road.
The school faced south, with farmland surrounding it on the east and west sides. Only the north side bordered a shoe factory, and beyond that was the road leading to the downtown area. As they rode further, houses began to appear more frequently, and small shops selling daily necessities dotted the roadside. Occasionally, they passed small restaurants with few customers. The closer they got to the city center, the livelier it became—more people, more vehicles, and the streets buzzing with noise. The shops were packed tightly together, and the restaurants looked far more upscale than those in the suburbs, their glass windows displaying signs advertising signature dishes that made one want to step inside and try them.
The chicken and mushroom stew restaurant Rouqiu mentioned was right in the city center, not far from the Xinhua Bookstore. The new bookstore he had talked about was next door to the restaurant and looked somewhat old-fashioned. Lin Fang remembered that it used to be a shop selling roujiamo (Chinese hamburgers). Roujiamo had been the main dish, but they also served noodles, rice noodles, millet porridge, eight-treasure porridge, and cold skin noodles. The business had been decent, so she didn’t know why the owner had decided to close it.
When they arrived at the chicken and mushroom stew restaurant, Lin Fang got off the motorcycle but didn’t rush inside. Instead, she headed straight for the bookstore next door, telling Rouqiu, “Go ahead and order. Just get me a bowl of noodles. I’ll check out the bookstore—call me when the food’s ready.”
The owner who had converted the roujiamo shop into a bookstore had either been too lazy to renovate or had intentionally preserved the old-fashioned style of the original shop. They had simply cleaned the place up, changed the sign to “Ancient Books Renewed,” and opened for business. The interior layout hadn’t changed much either—bookshelves were placed at intervals along the walls, filled with books. Between each pair of shelves stood a table, originally used for dining, but now, where condiments like oil, salt, and vinegar would have been placed, there was now a circle of magazines.
In this not-yet-fully-open era, the bookstore’s setup was quite novel—something Lin Fang had only seen in supermarkets when she was in college. The Xinhua Bookstore across the street was completely different, with a wide counter separating the bookshelves from the open space in the middle. Books were placed on shelves behind the counter, and a few were displayed in the glass cabinets on the counter itself—though the cabinet doors were on the clerk’s side. If you wanted to browse or buy a book, you had to ask the clerk to fetch it for you. If you decided you didn’t want it, you had to return it quickly, or the clerk would grow impatient. Other bookstores were similarly arranged.
Entering the bookstore, Lin Fang followed her usual habit—starting from the entrance, she browsed the shelves clockwise. After flipping through a few books, she couldn’t help but chuckle. The so-called “Ancient Books Renewed” were just reprinted old books, with the oldest dating back no further than the Republican era. The only thing that gave them an “ancient” feel was that most of the text was in traditional Chinese characters, and the books were read from back to front, with the text running from right to left. The magazines on the tables were a mix of old and new, though the old ones weren’t that old—many were collections of folk tales from various regions. The newer ones had publication dates from the current month.
Lin Fang picked out a reprinted book from the Republican era and sat down at a nearby table, engrossed in reading. She became so absorbed that she didn’t even notice when someone sat down across from her.
“Young lady, judging by your age, you must be a middle school student. Can you actually understand this book?”
Looking up, she saw an elderly man around seventy years old. Though his hair was gray, he looked spirited, with a neatly combed-back hairstyle and a clean-shaven face. His plain gray clothes were tidy, and his eyes were bright and kind, giving off a warm and approachable vibe. Lin Fang smiled politely and replied, “Yes, I can. Although this book is about human evolution, it’s written in a novelistic style that’s easy to understand. It’s not hard to follow at all.”
The old man chuckled. “Ah, my apologies—I didn’t phrase that well. What I meant was, the book is mostly in traditional characters, and the format is different from most books. Doesn’t that make it difficult for you?”
Oh, so that’s what he meant. Lin Fang nodded. “My family taught me to read traditional characters from a young age. It’s been over ten years now, so reading them is as natural to me as reading simplified characters.” In her past life, she had grown up reading traditional script, and the thought brought a pang of melancholy.
The old man looked surprised. “Oh? It seems your family takes education very seriously. Not many families do that these days.”
Lin Fang gave a polite smile and lowered her head to continue reading.
“Child, do you know how to use this dictionary?”
She looked up again to see the old man holding a *Kangxi Dictionary*. When she met his gaze, he placed the dictionary in front of her, his eyes probing yet expectant.
Lin Fang nodded but then lowered her head to keep reading. Even if the chicken and mushroom stew restaurant next door was packed with customers, she had only ordered a bowl of noodles, which wouldn’t take long to cook. She wanted to finish the book quickly—otherwise, when Rouqiu came to call her, she’d feel awkward lingering in the bookstore without buying anything.
But things didn’t go as planned. The old man seemed determined to interrupt her. At some point, he had produced a fountain pen and a blank sheet of paper. He wrote a character on it and slid it toward Lin Fang with a smile. “Young lady, could you look this up for me?”
Lin Fang suppressed a sigh, put down her book, picked up the *Kangxi Dictionary*, and quickly looked up the character “譚” (Tán). Once she found it, she turned to the relevant page, handed the dictionary back to the old man, and then picked up her own book again.
But the old man wasn’t done. He smiled approvingly. “My, you’re quite skilled! Could you do me another favor? I’m getting on in years, and my memory isn’t what it used to be. Could you recite the mnemonic for looking up characters in the *Kangxi Dictionary*?”
Lin Fang recited without hesitation:
*”One and two in ‘zi,’ three in ‘chou’ and ‘yin,’*
*Four in ‘mao,’ ‘chen,’ and ‘si,’ five in ‘wu’ you’ll find.*
*Six in ‘wei’ and ‘shen,’ seven in ‘you,’*
*Eight and nine in ‘xu,’ the rest in ‘hai’ are due.”*
Just as she finished, Rouqiu’s voice boomed from outside: “Lin Fang! The food’s ready! Come eat before it gets cold!”
With a resigned glance at the half-read book in her hands, Lin Fang sighed inwardly, closed it, and stood up to return it to the shelf. But then she hesitated and sat back down. “Grandfather, could you lend me your pen? I’ll write down the mnemonic for you so you won’t have trouble looking things up next time.”
The old man quickly handed her the pen, gratitude in his voice. “Oh, of course! Here you go. Thank you, young lady.”
Lin Fang neatly wrote the mnemonic on the same sheet of paper bearing the character “Tan,” then returned the pen and paper to the old man with a polite smile. She stood up, placed the book back on the shelf, and hurried out of the bookstore toward the chicken and mushroom stew restaurant. She didn’t notice the thoughtful expression on the old man’s face as he stared at the paper with the mnemonic.
The restaurant was packed, with people even standing by the door waiting for seats. Rouqiu waved at her from a corner table. “Lin Fang! Over here!”
When she reached the table, Lin Fang saw a bubbling hot pot in the center, filled with whole shiitake mushrooms floating on the surface like little black umbrellas dancing in the broth. Every now and then, chunks of chicken surfaced as the soup boiled. This was indeed a proper chicken and mushroom stew. Beside the hot pot was a large plate holding ingredients like wide noodles, frozen tofu, spinach, cabbage leaves, sweet garlic, and chive flowers, along with a big plate of uncooked noodles.
Taking in the spread, Lin Fang realized that Rouqiu was treating her to lunch again. The noodles would be added to the pot once most of the other ingredients had been eaten. Compared to the rest of the meal, the noodles were practically an afterthought.
Rouqiu stood up and practically pushed her into a chair, grumbling, “Sit down and eat already! What, you waiting for the chicken to dry out?”
Lin Fang didn’t hold back. She picked up a strainer and started fishing for chicken pieces in the pot, teasing Rouqiu as she did. “Looks like that pile of unsold persimmons at my place just found a new owner.”
Rouqiu, already stuffing his face, paused mid-bite. “What owner?”
“You, of course! Your mom’s persimmon bread hasn’t even reached you yet, and here you are treating me to a feast. When my mom scolds me for making you spend money again, I’ll have nothing to pay you back with—so I’ll just give you those persimmons. Hah, that should cover a good chunk of the cost.”
“You little—I just started eating, and you’re already cursing me with diarrhea? That’s harsh! So what if I stole a few of your soft persimmons last time? It’s not like I got off easy—I was stuck on the toilet for days, and my mom wouldn’t stop saying I deserved it. Lost a few pounds from all that.”
“Hah! Serves you right—consider it a weight-loss plan. If you keep gaining weight, soon your face will be nothing but a big nose and a mouth. You’ll need a magnifying glass to find your eyes.”
“This is called being sturdy! Better than you—skinny as a twig, one gust of wind and you’d snap in half.”
They bickered back and forth as they ate, and before they knew it, they had polished off all the chicken and mushrooms in the pot. When Rouqiu went to add the side dishes, he suddenly paused and asked, “You feeling okay?”
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