“Boss, how do you make your chili oil? It’s so delicious.” After slurping down an enamel bowl of sour and spicy dough drops, the driver wiped his mouth with his hand, let out a long, comfortable sigh, and finally found the energy to speak properly.
Dong Huixin laughed. “How else? Every household knows how to make chili oil. I do it the same way everyone else does—nothing special.”
Lin Fang disagreed. “Mom, you can’t say that. Food is a mysterious thing. Take rice porridge, for example. Every family drinks it morning and night, using the same rice, the same water, the same firewood, even the same measurements. Yet, the taste and texture of the porridge from each household are different. How do you explain that?”
“Exactly! Your daughter makes a good point,” the driver chimed in, now comfortably full and in the mood for conversation. “I drive all day and eat out a lot. Take this sour and spicy dough drop dish—I love it and order it everywhere. I’ve tried it at many places, and the ingredients are pretty much the same. But today, yours is the best I’ve ever had.”
Dong Huixin beamed. “Really? Then next time you pass by, come eat here again.”
“Deal. I’ve been hauling ore lately, so I’ll be on this route for a while. I’ll definitely stop by when I’m in the area.”
After chatting a bit longer, the driver, now well-rested, insisted on paying for four bowls despite only eating two, claiming the generous portions and excellent flavor were worth it. Dong Huixin, feeling guilty, gave him a clean jar filled halfway with chili oil as a gift.
The driver, ever cheerful, accepted it gladly. He also bought over twenty large steamed buns and asked to have his two thermoses filled with hot water. He said this would keep him fed on the road, and with the chili oil, he wouldn’t have to worry about bland meals.
Long-haul truck drivers don’t always get hot meals, especially on remote routes. Sometimes, they go days without passing a restaurant. Even when there are places to eat along the way, drivers often skip meals to save money.
While Lin Yuanmin packed the buns for the driver, Rouqiu was gathering his things. The driver noticed Rouqiu putting persimmon-flavored steamed buns into his bag and asked, “Are those for sale? Sitting all day driving makes me constipated—sometimes it’s so bad I bleed. Persimmons help with digestion.”
Dong Huixin hesitated. “These are for the kids to take to school. We only made a few.”
“Sell them! If it’s something you think is good, we’ll sell it!” Rouqiu quickly dumped the buns back into the steamer.
“Hey, Rouqiu, you promised your classmates you’d bring them some. If you sell these, what will you give them tomorrow?”
Despite his usual tall tales, Rouqiu was fiercely loyal and kept his promises. Lin Fang was worried for him.
On Friday, as Rouqiu was leaving school, a classmate from the city stopped him and asked if his family still made persimmon buns. His grandmother loved them, and he wanted to trade something for them. Rouqiu had agreed immediately. Selling them now would make him a liar.
Dong Huixin agreed. “Rouqiu, we can’t take back our word.”
She then apologized to the driver. “We’re running a business, but we can’t neglect the kids’ promises. Sorry.”
Lin Tuo, who had just come in, overheard. “Mom, it’s fine. Sell the buns to him. Bleeding from constipation isn’t good. We still have soft persimmons—I’ll make more tonight while I’m on watch. It won’t delay Rouqiu.”
The night was cold, and Lin Tuo, sweaty from refueling the truck, shivered in the wind. He’d come inside to warm up and joined the conversation.
Seeing a chance, the driver quickly added, “Exactly! Sell me these, and you can make more. In fact, make extra—other drivers will buy them too. We all have the same problem.”
Lin Yuanmin made the call. “Alright, we’ll do as you say.”
“Great! I’ll pack them for you. Just remember, eat these with hot water, or you’ll get diarrhea. Then you’ll be stuck with nothing left to pass but still feeling like you need to go. Worse yet, if you’re in pain and can’t go at all—that’s misery.”
The restaurant had only been open for two days, and tonight felt like its real debut. Excited, Rouqiu had initially forgotten his promise when the driver asked for the buns. Now, thrilled to sell them, he packed them eagerly, handing them over with earnest advice.
The driver laughed. “Kid, I’m decades older than you. I don’t need the lecture.”
After some banter, the driver asked about the fuel cost. Lin Tuo replied, “Check the tank first. Make sure I gave you enough.”
Refueling manually was tedious—filling a bucket from the tank, then carefully pouring it into the truck. Spillage meant wasted money.
“No need. Your family’s honest. I trust you.” The driver paid without checking.
As Lin Tuo walked him out, he asked, “No offense, but why drive alone? It’s tiring and unsafe. Plus, it’s inconvenient if something happens.”
The driver sighed. “I had a partner, but we split. He wanted to haul coke; I preferred ore. Different directions, one truck.”
Lin Tuo saw an opportunity. “Will you look for another partner?”
“Of course. Driving alone gets lonely. But a good partner’s hard to find—someone you get along with, not just tolerate.”
“If you’re in a hurry, I know someone. He drives, repairs trucks, ex-military police, knows martial arts. But I’d need to ask him first.”
Lin Tuo was pitching his older brother, Lin Yong. Like Lin Fang, he felt it was a waste for him to farm.
“Sounds perfect! Saves on maintenance, and truckers fear hijackings. An ex-cop who can fight? Ideal. But no time today—I’ll stop by on my return trip to meet him.”
“Safe travels.”
Watching the truck leave, Lin Tuo returned inside. Rouqiu bounded over. “Second Brother, when are you making the buns? I’ll help!”
Lin Tuo smirked. “Help, or sneak in sugar? Persimmon buns are sweet enough. Your mom warned us—less sugar, or you’ll stay too fat to marry.”
Rouqiu had planned to make extra-sweet buns for himself. Caught, he scratched his head. “Don’t listen to her! She says that, but cooks how I like at home.”
Lin Tuo shook his head. “We promised her. Besides, I’ll be up late making them. You have school tomorrow—no helping.”
Rouqiu scoffed. “Who cares? Lin Fang skips class; my teachers ignore me sleeping in class. I can stay up!”
After relentless pestering, Lin Tuo held firm. Defeated, Rouqiu sulkily “packed” his already-packed clothes in protest.
Ignored, he gave up and went to bed, soon snoring loudly. The others chuckled—still a kid at heart.
“Mom, make extra chili oil tonight. I’ll take some to school tomorrow. If teachers and classmates like it, maybe we can sell it!” Lin Fang had the idea after hearing the driver’s praise.
Lin Yuanmin teased, “Fang, you’re money-obsessed. Everyone makes chili oil—who’d buy it?”
Dong Huixin worried, “Hot oil and chili fumes will make you dizzy. You’ll oversleep and miss school.”
“Oh, right.” Lin Fang paused. “Wait—I was right by the stove earlier with all that chili, and I didn’t feel sick!”
No discomfort at all. Had her rebirth cured even this? Could she finally eat freely? Ha!
Lin Yuanman realized, “She’s right! We were so happy, we forgot Fang can’t handle chili. Maybe her heart’s better, and the allergy’s gone too.”
“Exactly!” Lin Fang cheered inwardly. *Dad, you’re brilliant—saved me making up excuses!*
Lin Tuo brought a chili jar for her to sniff. The doctor had said chili was like sleeping pills for her—harmless. If she reacted, she’d just sleep all day.
*Ah-choo!*
A huge sneeze, then another. The family exchanged excited glances. Normal reactions to chili—her allergy was gone.
But Lin Fang’s grin faltered. Something was off.
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