Chapter 5: Trouble Strikes

Dusk filtered through the branches of the ancient locust tree, casting a golden hue over the stone slabs. The distant jingle of bells carried on the evening breeze, mingling with the sweet aroma of steamed rice cakes, drifting into her nostrils.

Jiang Yanwan stepped off the bus and spotted the tricycle vendor selling the rice cakes. “The old man has a banquet tonight, so it’s just me and Lin Mingzhi left at home. We’ll make do.”

Instinctively, she thought of Lin Sicheng: that scoundrel hasn’t come home for over two months. She wondered if he had lost weight.

Would six hundred yuan be too little? Would it cover a month’s expenses?

If only she had told Gu Ming to bring more.

Lost in thought, she approached the tricycle and bought two kilograms of rice cakes.

Carrying the package back to the compound, a beep sounded behind her—a slightly worn Accord pulled up at the gate, and Lin Mingzhi stuck his head out.

Jiang Yanwan glanced at her watch: 6:10 p.m.?

The funeral home closed at six, and it was over twenty kilometers from home—Lin Mingzhi usually took at least half an hour to get back.

“Why are you home so early today?”

“Left work early!”

“Why?”

“Your precious son is home.”

Jiang Yanwan’s eyes lit up. “Really?”

“My father said so—how could it be false? He said Lin Sicheng called him, and he canceled all his evening appointments.”

“That bastard, finally showing some conscience?” She cursed under her breath, then happily slid into the passenger seat. “Drive faster!”

“It’s just a few steps—how much faster can I go?”

He replied but, seeing the deserted lane, pressed the accelerator.

…

The narrow stairwell reflected the dazzling terrazzo floor. Jiang Yanwan strode up, taking three steps at a time with her long legs.

Lin Mingzhi followed, eyes fixed anxiously on her high heels—if she twisted an ankle, she’d be bedridden for at least half a month.

In a moment, they reached the third floor. Jiang Yanwan pulled out her keys and glanced back once more.

Her expression turned cold, tinged with warning. Lin Mingzhi immediately understood. “Don’t worry, I won’t mention him today.”

Jiang Yanwan remained still, her gaze still frosty.

He thought for a moment and sighed helplessly. “I promise I won’t bring up the graduate program or let Dad mention it either, okay?”

“Can you even control your father? But if you dare to side with him today, we won’t be done…”

Lin Mingzhi raised his hands in surrender. “Alright, alright!”

Snorting, Jiang Yanwan opened the security door.

Inside, the kitchen’s exhaust fan hummed, mingling with the sound of chopping knives. A distinct aroma of cured meat wafted through the air.

Jiang Yanwan exhaled in relief—it must be her father-in-law cooking.

With only one heir in three generations, the eldest grandson was his precious treasure. Yet, extremes had bred tension. The old man’s strictness only provoked Lin Sicheng’s rebellious streak.

Moreover, the grandfather and grandson shared the same stubborn nature, almost like cast from the same mold. Over time, distance grew between them.

But today, her father-in-law seemed in good spirits. Later, she’d ask Lin Mingzhi to persuade him not to mention the graduate program or job arrangements after graduation. For now, the priority was coaxing that scoundrel home.

Lost in these thoughts, she swapped her shoes for slippers and paused in the living room.

Her father-in-law sat on the sofa, staring blankly at a bottle of liquor with unfocused eyes, seemingly lost in thought.

By his feet lay a crate of liquor—two characters for Maotai stood out prominently.

“Dad!”

Lin Changqing snapped back to reality. “You’re back?”

“Yes.” She set down her bag and glanced toward the kitchen.

Behind frosted glass, two vague figures surrounded the kitchen counter.

“Who's in the kitchen? Lin Sicheng and Gu Ming?”

“Yes!” The old man set down the bottle. “Chengwa wouldn’t let me in—said he wanted to show us his skills!”

…

“What? His ‘skills’? Whether it’s edible is another matter…”

Before he finished, Lin Mingzhi’s ribs received an elbow.

Jiang Yanwan shot him a glare. “No matter what he brings out today, you better sniff it and call it delicious.”

Lin Mingzhi caught on instantly, snorted, and slid open the kitchen partition.

Gu Ming clumsily chopped garlic sprouts while Lin Sicheng flipped the wok, flames rising with each toss.

It was noisy enough that no one noticed the people standing outside.

The savory aroma reached Jiang Yanwan's nose. She looked at her son’s gaunt profile, her eyes moistening. Her hand reached for the man’s waist.

Lin Mingzhi, astonished beyond words, thought, “Our son actually has this skill?” Suddenly sensing something, he quickly grabbed his wife’s hand. “What are you doing?”

“He’s learned to cook; how much hardship must he have endured? It’s all your fault…”

Of course, the one most to blame was her father-in-law, but since Lin Mingzhi was son, husband, and father, if not him, then who else?

“Jiang Yanwan, aren’t you ridiculous? He went to university, not a vocational school!” Lin Mingzhi sneered. “Why don’t you ask who taught him? And how he got so good?”

Huh?

Tears welled up again, but Jiang Yanwan swallowed them back. “That scoundrel’s dating someone?”

Who else could have taught him?

Hearing the voices, Lin Sicheng turned, startled.

His father was still the same carefree, devil-may-care man. His mother, just over forty, already bore faint lines at the corners of her eyes. Her gaze was misty, as if on the verge of tears.

Lin Sicheng recalled his previous life: it took years after graduation to resolve his inner conflicts, then he began returning home more often. But within two years, his grandfather passed away, his parents grew older, and he started his life in Beijing.

Since then, his career flourished, wealth increased, and his reputation soared, but time with his parents dwindled—sometimes not even once a year.

Now, in hindsight: was it worth it?

His nose tingled with emotion. Barin a tooth, Lin Sicheng smiled faintly. “Dad, Mom!”

Jiang Yanwan sniffed and said, “Let me handle this.”

“Mom, it’s ready. Just the lamb left—five more minutes!”

Looking at the dishes on the stove, Jiang Yanwan’s tears circled her eyes again.

Lin Mingzhi sensed trouble and stepped back.

“What are you hiding from? Why aren’t you serving the dishes?”

“Oh, okay~”

…

The table was laden with meat and vegetables, chicken and fish, the main dish being hand-pulled lamb, especially fresh.

Lin Sicheng poured wine. The clear liquid slid down the glass, drawing silvery threads. The aroma blossomed, rich and fragrant.

Once poured, he placed a glass before each person.

Four generations, eight eyes blinked rapidly.

Just preparing such a meal was astonishing enough, but Lin Sicheng’s expression was what caught attention: devout, solemn, relieved, anxious, even a little uneasy.

The old man took his glass, smiling gently. “Got into trouble?”

“No!”

Though stubborn, his grandson never lied to him. The old man smiled again: “Dating someone?”

Lin Sicheng shook his head. “Grandpa, no.”

The old man nodded, jokingly, “This wine isn’t cheap—it cost your dad over a month’s salary. Got rich?”

Lin Mingzhi and Jiang Yanwan froze—they assumed the liquor crate was bought by the old man.

Three thousand yuan for a crate, while Lin Sicheng’s monthly living allowance was just six hundred. Where did he get such money?

Could it be… from some shady dealings?

“No classes this afternoon. I went with Gu Ming to the East Gate to find Grandpa, but he wasn’t there, so we just wandered around…”

Lin Sicheng spoke concisely, roughly recounting the events. The old man remained calm, but the couple gaped.

Lin Sicheng spent thirty yuan to pick up a book, then resold it for ten thousand?

The problem was his tone and expression—it was like he’d earned ten yuan.

More importantly, he implied he no longer needed an allowance, relying on this to support himself.

Lin Sicheng, are you joking? Your grandfather wouldn’t dare give up his pension, relying on finds like these to build a family fortune.

Thinking of his son’s school behavior, Lin Mingzhi frowned, disgusted: “Blind man peeling sheep’s whip—you’re talking nonsense!”

He looked around, then dug into his pocket. “Here, take a look. If you really want to make money with this, I’m definitely not getting involved!”

Jiang Yanwan curled her lips. “You want to control it? You have that power?”

Not that she had much say—her father-in-law had already paved Lin Sicheng’s path ten years ahead.

Lin Sicheng paused his chopsticks. A small glass bottle, about the size of an egg, painted with a pond, reeds, and a pair of mandarin ducks.

The colors were nice, but the craftsmanship was mediocre.

Lin Sicheng smiled. “This is a Beijing-style inside-painted snuff bottle—quite neat.”

“Don’t leave it half-explained—be clear!”

“There’s form but no meaning,” Lin Sicheng mused. “Probably the master painted the base outside the bottle, and the apprentice copied it inside.”

“Don’t talk nonsense if you don’t understand!” Lin Mingzhi turned the bottle. “See? Liu Shouben, head of the Beijing school!”

Reading the inscription on the other side, Lin Sicheng nearly laughed out loud: if Master Liu had this skill, he’d have been ridiculed long ago.

“Definitely not painted by Liu Shouben. Not even the base outside. At most, his apprentice painted the base, and a less skilled apprentice copied the inside painting for practice.”

“What are you saying?”

Lin Mingzhi was about to argue but saw the old man’s eyes flash brightly—his words caught in his throat.

What Lin Sicheng said… was right?

“Dad… I examined it for so long, didn’t you remind me?”

“Something bought for a few hundred yuan—do you think it’s a genuine Liu Shouben?”

The old man poured himself another drink leisurely, his eyes shining intensely.

Jiang Yanwan blushed, pulling a jade pendant from her neck. “Here, help Mom look at this jade.”

Lin Mingzhi glanced at it, his heart skipping a beat. “Don’t joke—how would she know jade?”

“Shut up!”

Jiang Yanwan shot him a glare. “Son, look carefully!”

Lin Sicheng was puzzled but examined it earnestly. “Machine-carved, decent craftsmanship, but poor quality jade. Just ordinary Afghan jade—you can buy two jin for a hundred yuan.”

Jiang Yanwan blinked. “Machine-carved? Not hand-carved?”

“No chisel marks at all. Definitely machine-carved!” Lin Sicheng nodded. “Looks like it’s from Nanyang, treated with acid and machine oil to bring out the color… Should we show it to Grandpa?”

The old man’s face flushed, eyes shining fiercely, but he shook his head vigorously. “I won’t look!”

Jiang Yanwan paused—she knew exactly why.

Lin Sicheng wasn’t lying: he truly knew, and even someone as steady as the old man struggled to hide his expression.

Lin Mingzhi was worse, mouth agape, stunned.

But why was he so angry?

She bit her lip. “Lin Mingzhi, didn’t you say when you gave me this jade that it was top-quality ancient Hetian jade, and that you spent eight thousand yuan on it?”

Lin Sicheng’s heart skipped: oh no, Dad made a mistake?

Wait, that wistful little look?

Haha, you spoke too quickly—you’re in trouble now…