“Dad, Mo-ge and his friends are here,” Shen Fei said.

Shen’s eldest uncle’s hand gave a jolt, and another sheet was ruined. “Ah!…”

He set down the brush and turned to see Shen Mo — finally breaking into a smile. He called out, “You’re back! Sit, everyone sit! Xiao Fei, go pour the tea!”

Bai Youwei was unusually proactive, smiling brightly. “Please keep writing, Uncle — there’s no need to entertain us on our account. Is this clerical script? It seems we’ve come at an inopportune moment — we made your final stroke wobble a little. What a shame, it was such a fine piece of calligraphy.”

Shen’s eldest uncle was very gratified inwardly, and his smile grew even more radiant. “Ah, it’s nothing, just nothing special.”

“If your level of skill is ‘nothing special,’ then the rest of us can’t write at all — how many young people nowadays can’t even hold a calligraphy brush properly?” Bai Youwei laughed. “They say a person’s character is revealed in their handwriting. With an uncle like you as a role model, it’s no wonder the younger generation of the Shen family is so full of talent.”

Shen Mo: “…”

He glanced at Bai Youwei out of the corner of his eye and genuinely wondered if he was looking at the right person.

Shen’s eldest uncle said, “Practicing calligraphy really does cultivate one’s character! I wasn’t any good when I was young either — far too impetuous. Xiao Fei inherited my hot-headed temperament, but fortunately I had the foresight to put him to calligraphy practice early, and look — he’s much steadier now…”

Bai Youwei nodded in sincere agreement. “No wonder — one look at him and you can tell he’s a promising young man.”

Shen Fei: “…”

As if the person who’d once called him a half-wit wasn’t her.

Teacher Cheng looked over Shen’s eldest uncle’s couplet and also offered praise. “Excellent lines, truly excellent — ‘Through the four seasons, many joys and blessings; through the eight festivals, enduring peace and harmony.’ Nothing could be better wished for than joy and peace. Shen-xiansheng has written wonderfully!”

If Bai Youwei had merely been flattering him, Teacher Cheng’s words sent Shen’s eldest uncle into absolute delight.

Shen’s eldest uncle laughed. “You’re far too kind! In front of you, sir, I am merely showing off with an axe before a master carpenter!”

Shen Mo watched the warm, animated scene in the living room and inserted himself rather stiffly: “Uncle, where’s my dad?”

“The kitchen!” Shen’s eldest uncle pointed toward the back. “Said he wanted to cook personally — put together a full table of dishes for you all.”

Then he chuckled. “Been in there half the day and I haven’t smelled so much as a single drop of oil sizzling.”

Bai Youwei immediately said, “How could we have elders going to all this trouble for the younger generation? Uncle, Shen Mo and I will go take a look.”

Shen’s eldest uncle said, “You two go check on him. Tell him not to bother — I’ve already arranged for someone to take care of the cooking, and his aunt will have the dishes delivered here shortly.”

So Bai Youwei and Shen Mo went to the kitchen to find Shen Mo’s father.

Tan Xiao and Pan Xiaoxin stayed behind in the living room with nothing to do, and settled in to crack and munch on sunflower seeds.

Teacher Cheng and Shen’s eldest uncle began studying the couplet together.

Shen Fei sat in the living room for a while. He had nothing in common with Tan Xiao, and couldn’t find topics to discuss with Xiao Xin either — feeling genuinely awkward, he found an excuse and headed outside to hurry along the food delivery.

…

Shen Mo and Bai Youwei went into the kitchen and found the table and floor piled high with all manner of ingredients — radishes, pumpkins, potatoes, napa cabbage — just the vegetables alone were impressively abundant.

Shen Mo’s father was wrapping dumplings.

In Shen Mo’s memory, this was probably the first time his father had ever cooked.

A man who’d never learned to cook suddenly going into the kitchen — what on earth could he make?

He was still puzzling over this when Bai Youwei spoke up.

“Hello, Uncle! What are you making? It all looks so delicious.” Her words were warm as honey, smile bright and cheerful. “Let me come help. You can teach me anything I don’t know how to do.”

Shen Mo: “…”

A pile of raw dough — how exactly could that look delicious?

Shen Mo’s father laughed and said, “That would be wonderful — I was just worried about not finishing in time. Shen Mo, you help Weiwei too. Go wash your hands first.”

Shen Mo walked over to the sink and found a dead fish floating belly-up inside it, its scales and flesh scraped off in a sorry state.

Shen Mo: “…What’s this?”

Shen Mo’s father: “Ah — I was trying to make squirrel-style mandarin fish. It didn’t go well.”

Shen Mo washed his hands in silence, pulled out a paper towel to dry them, and noticed a pile of white paste-like residue in the trash can.

Shen Mo: “And this?”

Shen Mo’s father: “Ah — after that I tried to make stuffed tofu. That didn’t go well either.”

—