Chapter 11: Promise of Noodle
179 1 14
X
Reading Options
Font Size
A- 15px A+
Width
Reset
X
Table of Contents
Loading... please wait.

It was two hours before Shen Jing and Xuan Lang left the house, expression curated thoughtfulness. Once they were far enough away, though, Shen Jing collapsed into distress and worry, while Xuan Lang looked contemplative.

“It’s awful, it’s awful, it’s awful,” Shen Jing said to Assistant 51C. “It’s awful, a child that age witnessing murder?”

As Xiao-Jiang grew more trusting of them, he spilled more and more, at times revisiting a previous description to add onto it as he more freely accessed his memory of what he’d seen. It turned out that it wasn’t just him or the girl down the street; be it through rumor or direct witnessing, the kids here really did invent a game that seemed to imitate the grisly murder. And it, of course, terrified Xiao-Jiang.

But the child was resilient, despite it all— knowing that the two cultivators in front of him believed what he said, he seemed to be as relaxed as one could be as he recounted everything, scribbling on the pages as he talked. There was no more hesitation about wasting the paper; he flipped to a new page as soon as the old one got too crowded, and when his palm grew too sweaty he let go of the charcoal stick to wipe it off on his clothes before Shen Jing caught him and wiped it with a handkerchief instead.

And now they were leaving; at first Shen Jing offered to take the kid back with them until his mother came home, but he said he shouldn’t leave the house, so they could only let it be. Instead, Xuan Lang promised that he would walk his mother back home later— that seemed to put the child’s worries to rest.

<At least you did well enough with the kid, he’s visibly more relaxed now,> Assistant 51C tried to reassure. <And you managed to suppress your anxiety to take care of him, that’s some good mom friend override. If you’re still worried, then I’d say you can read up more on the subject and get yourself educated for next time it happens.>

Feeling his heart sour a bit, Shen Jing only hummed in answer.

Xuan Lang had led the way; after fifteen minutes of walking, Shen Jing realized that they weren’t heading back the way they came. Still, he only stole a glance— if Xuan Lang had other business in mind before they returned for lunch, then Shen Jing had no problems. This da-shixiong of his only walked, though, without saying a word, weaving them round the backstreets of this town. 

It would be anxiety inducing, but Shen Jing was feeling a bit too tired to be anxious…

Not long after, Shen Jing realized that they were back on the main street— that was, the area that circled the small lake, the one with the stalls and restaurants.

And then… Xuan Lang went into one of the restaurants.

It wasn’t a crowded one, as it seemed that it was the tail-end of the usual lunch hour— a good number of guests were rising from their seats and leaving to get back to work. Shen Jing stepped to the side as he waited for them to walk past, Xuan Lang turning to watch him. Once a group of five left, he led Shen Jing deeper into the restaurant, picking a quiet corner. Shen Jing chewed on his bottom lip as he sat down.

Da-shixiong, is this where…”

“No,” Xuan Lang said. Before the waitress could come over, he said in a low voice, “The beef noodle is decent.”

Shen Jing paused, trying to process the words. No what? But before he could think about it, the young waitress was beside their table already, full of energy as she rattled off the menu. Shen Jing blankly stared at the wood and tracing lines on the grains as her words flowed into one ear and out of the other, each syllable moving too fast for him to grasp. Xuan Lang, though, didn’t seem to have any problems. He looked at Shen Jing.

“Spicy or not?”

That made Shen Jing look up. “Uh… spicy?”

“Very or mild?”

“Mild…”

With a nod, Xuan Lang passed on the orders— the noodles. Well, all right then… Silence fell upon their table as the waitress, realizing that Xuan Lang wasn’t about to talk any more, left to pass their order to the kitchens. Shen Jing gambled and pulled his hands up, letting them rest on the surface; Xuan Lang didn’t seem to take notice, instead pulling out his copy of the case book, going through the details once again. 

“Wu-jie, why are we eating here?”

<I don’t know, I’m not your da-shixiong.>

Well. Fair enough. “Then can I get more of the, uh… I don’t know what it’s called…”

While talking to Xiao-Jiang about the children in the area, Assistant 51C had been busy, too, inserting some bits of information she gathered in real time in response to the line of conversation. And Shen Jing had to admit, his perception of the kids who seemed to be a bit aggressive and violent had softened; even through word of mouth witnessing violence was hard on a child, and play was one way of channeling and processing experiences that adults might not believe them on. Xiao-Jiang looked particularly pitiful because his response was, in comparison, soft, but it didn’t mean that those kids weren’t affected either. No adults have asked them and believed the answers they gave, Shen Jing was certain. And though this was a conjured world, constructed out of the bare bones of a mere novel...

<Oh, you mean about handling kids with trauma? Long-term or short-term? I think the company has documents on that but they’re two different things, and they’re both on the long side. If you wanna go through them, I’d say you can get to it once you get back to the mountain and have some free time. But here, I’ll put it into your journal.>

Two clacks— the food had arrived. Xuan Lang helped pull over the bowl and said, in a low voice, “Don’t think about it too hard. This will be resolved soon.”

“...En.”

The noodle was piping hot, which was always a thrill, but as he dug in, Shen Jing couldn’t help but notice that it wasn’t as brilliantly rich in flavor as he was expecting from such a broth. It lacked edge, in a word; though it was still nice to eat, Shen Jing couldn’t help but fixate on that thought, enough that Xuan Lang actually spoke up.

“I’ll take you to a place with better noodles at the foot of Mount Song.”

Shen Jing straightened up. “A-ah, no, it’s fine Da-shixiong! I just… Ah, it’s okay, I can cook.”

Xuan Lang raised his eyebrows. “Oh?”

“I can cook. I’ll… make something for you and the others?”

Of course Shen Jing could cook. His mother didn’t like to, and when he moved to live with his aunt, she was even worse— she both didn’t care for it and didn’t have time for it. They lived off of food delivery every day, until Shen Jing was around eleven and started cooking on his own. After several months he was better than the catering, and so they stopped  that.

Cooking was nice. His lunchbox wasn’t so pretty that it was eye-catching, but things could look tasty regardless of presentation, and sometimes some of his classmates would ask for a bite. And he wasn’t too opposed to sharing— thankfully, the class rep then was nice enough to growl and tell off the others when they were demanding too much, saying that they could only have a taste after Shen Jing had his share of his own lunch. In any case, long story short, Shen Jing had 8 years to hone his skill, and it was a skill he was happy to improve.

Xuan Lang looked a bit surprised, but then he smiled. “If you do, I will let the kitchens know.”

The restaurant grew more and more empty as they ate, and the two of them resumed their silence, even once they were done and Xuan Lang paid for the meal. Once outside, he led the way again— this time out to the riverbank Xiao-Jiang mentioned.

“Most of the people of the Lower Quarters of Anlin Town are farmers, and so they would be busy with the fields on the other side of the town,” Xuan Lang suddenly said. Shen Jing blinked as he turned to him. “Upper Quarters, many of the people would either have other work, or the children would have school. We didn’t pass by it, but the school is not too far from the lake.”

Shen Jing tried to follow his train of thought, but he wasn’t sure where it was leading. “Is Da-shixiong trying to… that most people wouldn’t be by the riverbank?”

“Mm. It’s not a particularly picturesque river, and though the current is not too fast, it’s a river that sometimes would swallow anyone unsuspecting, as it can get rather murky some days. Some people try to fish, but this isn’t the best place for that either.”

Honestly, Shen Jing was trying to recall how Xuan Lang knew about all this. “Why?”

A chuckle. “There are rice fields downstream. Flooded rice fields are ideal places for growing fish.”

Oh! And the fish would naturally gravitate towards where food was. Even if some escaped, it might not go too far, unless it had something to do with migration patterns. Shen Jing got it now. Xuan Lang shot him a glance— it might even be an approving one.

It didn’t take long for them to arrive. At the edge of the town, just a few feet off the paved streets, the ground dropped by about two meters— and on the lower floor short grass stretched the ten or so meters to the water’s edge. Xuan Lang was right about it being murky. The banks weren't even, too; sometimes the grass would give way to water, sometimes there would be a stretch of rocks and pebbles jutting out all the way to the middle of the river. Still, the sound of trickling water remained clear, and in the tapering daylight, even the dull color of it could glimmer like a thousand milky stars. Xuan Lang led Shen Jing down a small, makeshift staircase carved to the side of the cliff-like drop.

Da-shixiong—”

“Ehh? That’s Da-shixiong. Da-shixiong! Xiao-shidi! Here!”

The two of them turned. “Jiangshan?”

14