Chapter 20: Having "Hot Pot"

“It only took about ten days to write it. Back then, after listening to the teacher’s stories, I was inspired and just put my thoughts on paper,” Li Yousi repeated once more. “But I had planned to write novels all along; this is just my first attempt.”

Only then did Zhang Li believe him. Yet, with a gentle sparkle in her eyes, she praised, “I never expected you to be so talented on your very first novel! It seems Comrade Li has the makings of a literary master!”

As the bus reached their stop, Li Yousi stood up immediately and said, somewhat helplessly, “Alright, Comrade Zhang, that’s not so certain.”

“What’s your pen name?” Zhang Li also rose and asked.

“It’s just my name.”

They stepped off the bus and arrived at Qianmen Street.

Since the Ming and Qing dynasties, Qianmen Street had been the commercial heart of Beiping, home to many long-established brands like Tongrentang, Quanjude, and Ruifuxiang.

Standing there amidst the bustling crowds, Li Yousi observed the lively scene; this was truly the most valuable land in modern Beiping.

“What’s the title of your book?” Zhang Li followed closely behind.

“Falling Leaves Return to Their Roots.”

She didn’t ask any further. After noting down his pen name and the title, she could patiently await the release of Li Yousi’s novel in a month or two. She was genuinely curious about his work.

Li Yousi continued leading the way.

Soon they arrived at the entrance of Donglaishun.

The current establishment was a three-story blue-brick building, expanded thirty years ago. Above the door hung a black plaque with gold characters. The entrance bustled with people, from wealthy locals to long-saved-up workers, all eager to enjoy a hot pot of lamb.

Much like the later-famous Quanjude, Donglaishun had become an essential stop when visiting Beiping.

The two entered without a queue and found an empty table.

No sooner had they sat down than the waiter handed them bamboo tags: “How many? One copper hot pot single order is one yuan; adding lamb tail oil for flavor costs an extra 0.2 yuan.”

“For two people, one copper hot pot with lamb tail oil, please. Also, could you add extra chili and pepper?” Li Yousi asked first.

“Huh?” The waiter glanced at them, a bit surprised, but quickly jotted down the notes.

“Certainly.”

There was no menu at the time. The waiter carried a wooden tray around, displaying various cuts of raw meat, priced per plate.

Seeing the raw meat, Li Yousi immediately ordered two plates of lamb slices and one plate of beef. As for the three signature dishes — shoulder, large three-way cuts, and cucumber strips — they were must-haves. Additionally, they ordered some mixed noodles and several vegetable dishes: cabbage, potatoes, and frozen tofu.

Zhang Li looked over the spread softly and said, “Comrade Li, isn’t this a bit much? The two of us can’t possibly finish so much.”

Li Yousi stopped ordering and counted the plates. “About four yuan altogether—just right. Comrade Zhang! I told you I’m treating you today! I must take good care of you!”

“Don’t worry about the cost. The Writers’ Association gives me a daily allowance of two yuan. I get paid even when I’m resting.”

Zhang Li was slightly surprised to hear about the allowance. Their guesthouse also provided one yuan, but obviously, it wasn’t as generous as Li Yousi’s.

She remarked, “The Writers’ Association is quite generous.”

Li Yousi, ever thrifty, muttered, “Beiping’s Writers’ Association has plenty of money! Just resting nets me more than my troupe salary. Makes me not want to go back.”

Soon the copper hot pot arrived. Its broth was noticeably redder than the neighboring table’s, clearly due to the extra chili added by the chef.

After adjusting their dipping sauces, they chatted while tossing in the tougher vegetables.

Then they started dipping lamb slices.

Li Yousi picked up a long chopstick, grabbed a piece of lamb, and swished it once, twice in the broth. Just seconds later, he dipped it into a chili powder sauce, then popped it into his mouth in a whirlwind.

That bite was both numbing and spicy! A faint gaminess lingered, but not too much.

Yet the texture made Li Yousi almost tear up with happiness.

What was his goal in writing novels?

Wasn’t it to enjoy good food and drink?

Zhang Li laughed, “Comrade Yousi, you’re overthinking it! Who can revise a manuscript forever?”

“Better to write more now. Someday, I’ll create something worthwhile! I may not be a Lu Xun or Ba Jin, but I can aim to be a popular writer like Zhang Henshui.”

Zhang Li’s encouragement brought a smile to Li Yousi’s face.

“Do you know who your words remind me of?”

“Who?”

Li Yousi pondered. “Like Baochai in Dream of the Red Chamber, urging Baoyu to pursue success! Truly a good sister.”

Though she was naturally like Baochai, with a hint of shooting the arrow at a target she painted herself, the feeling was unmistakable.

Zhang Li replied directly, “Then can you call me a good sister? I’ve been reading the book recently. Baoyu often calls Baochai ‘good sister’!”

The hot pot’s steam puffed up, gently caressing her small face, turning her already rosy cheeks even redder. She suddenly felt her words might have been untimely.

After all...

Li Yousi answered, “You’re younger than me! Calling yourself a good sister? Maybe you should call me a good brother instead.”

She stuck out her tongue, reddened from the spice, and stubbornly said, “No way!”

“By the way, you’re playing Zijuan, right?”

“Yeah, I’m reading Zijuan’s script now. Zijuan is such a wonderful character!” she smiled.

Li Yousi asked, “You have grace and beauty. Why not try for the role of Baochai or Daiyu? Being the lead just adds fame; maybe you’re even better looking!”

“No, the lead is Comrade Zhu Biyun now. I’m fine playing Zijuan. The teacher said if I perform this role well, many more opportunities will come.”

She tossed her hair and gave Li Yousi a sweet smile.

It was the first time Li Yousi had sincerely complimented her beauty; words from different people always had different effects.

They enjoyed their meal thoroughly.

Having eaten a generous amount of dishes and meat, Li Yousi rubbed his belly in satisfaction. Life in Beiping was truly pleasant.

Zhang Li chatted with him for a while, and the gloomy clouds from the guesthouse seemed to have lifted considerably. Her gaze carried a small whirlpool of admiration.

She thought to herself: The teacher said he was just a minor member of the troupe, but now he was a writer publishing in major magazines. That was quite a transformation.

“Let’s go.”

Li Yousi stood and asked the waiter to gather the leftovers and pour the broth into a small bowl.

In this era, nothing was wasted. Even the top-notch Quanjude allowed customers to take home leftover dishes, even duck or chicken frames.

Saving some noodles meant another meal later.

Wasteful? Impossible!

Li Yousi had always been a man of careful calculation.

He silently praised his own good virtue: not wasting a single scrap of food.