Chapter Ten: Wang Mengzi

After downing a glass of wine, Liu Wentao let out a satisfied burp and laughed, “Alright, kid, what made you think of selling watermelons?” This was something he couldn’t figure out. Watermelons could make money? Didn’t he know there was already a watermelon-producing town nearby, Qiyuan Town?

“Don’t worry, I know what I’m doing!” Making a fortune was impossible, but Zhang Ye was confident he could make a small profit. No matter how big a butterfly’s wings were, could they really change the weather?

Hearing this, Liu Wentao didn’t press further. Instead, he encouraged Zhang Ye to drink more. The way Zhang Ye had handled himself had made Liu Wentao see him in a new light—no longer just a kid. Glass after glass went down, and in no time, three bottles of beer were emptied.

“Have you sorted out your supply?” With the drinks nearly finished and only scraps left on the plates, Liu Wentao crossed his legs and picked out a toothpick.

“Yeah, once the shop lease is signed in a couple of days, we’ll head to Qiyuan Town together and sell watermelons exclusively!” Thanks to his experiences in his previous life, Zhang Ye could hold his liquor well. Though this was his first time drinking, he remained clear-headed.

“Watermelons only?” Liu Wentao had more to say but couldn’t find the words. He thought about how watermelons didn’t spoil easily and could last a month or two in a cool place, so he let it go.

Zhang Ye wasn’t sure what Liu Wentao was thinking and didn’t dwell on it, instead chatting idly about anything and everything—about reformatories, about business, about the future, spinning wild tales. Zhang Ye was a gifted talker, often leading the conversation and leaving Liu Wentao dazed and wide-eyed by his stories.

The meal lasted a full three hours. Afterwards, Liu Wentao and the others played a few rounds of pool, and as evening approached, everyone headed home.

“Zhang Ye, did you… drink?”

Like his father and grandfather, Zhang Ye always turned red when he drank, no matter how much or little. Even though it had been over two hours, the unusual flush was still evident on his face; it was clear he’d been drinking, and quite a bit at that.

Though clear-headed, Zhang Ye turned and saw a mature, alluring woman. “Aunt Wang… I didn’t drink much!” Only then did he remember he was still just a high school student.

Wang Mengzi, twenty-five, was Zhang Ye’s neighbor, living just next door. Her father was both friend and old comrade to Zhang Ye’s grandfather. Her father and Zhang Ye’s father called each other brother and sister, which made Zhang Ye a generation younger.

“Look at you, your face is all red, and you say you didn’t drink much.” The woman tapped Zhang Ye on the forehead with her finger, annoyed but affectionate. “You haven’t had dinner yet, have you? Come eat at my place!”

“I couldn’t possibly,” Zhang Ye shook his head quickly.

Wang Mengzi tapped his forehead again. “Look at your flushed face. If your parents see you like this, they’ll kill you. Come on, get inside!” The two families were close, almost like relatives, so her little forehead tap had become her signature gesture toward Zhang Ye.

“Yes, thank you for the reminder, Aunt Wang!” Having been roused by her, Zhang Ye suddenly remembered he was only sixteen, and his parents still forbade him from drinking.

Wang Mengzi’s apartment was a bit smaller than Zhang Ye’s, but for one person it was spacious enough. She lived on the second floor. Outside the living room was a small balcony, decorated with plants and flowers that stayed green all spring and summer, pleasing to the eye.

Inside, a tall bookshelf stood in the living room, filled with all kinds of books—ancient texts, historical records, novels, classics—well-organized, thick and thin.

Wang Mengzi juggled two careers: she was both a newspaper reporter and a celebrated beauty author. All the books had been bought and collected by her, and some were even novels she had written herself.

“Xiao Ye, sit and watch TV. I’ll go cook,” Wang Mengzi called, setting aside her manuscript and heading for the kitchen.

Zhang Ye parted his lips but didn’t offer to help, already knowing what the answer would be.

He got up and walked to the bookshelf, a smile spreading across his face as he looked at the books. He was familiar with them all; in the past, he often came here to borrow books when he had nothing to do. Of course, he could never manage the old classics and history books, but he enjoyed the biographies and novels.

He also read Wang Mengzi’s books and liked them very much.

“‘The Stream at the Foot of the Mountain,’ ‘The Girl on the Bicycle,’ ‘Northward Every Day’…” These were all her works. She was only a minor literary name now, but Zhang Ye knew that this year, she would publish a workplace novel that would take the literary world by storm, making her a famous author.

And at that time, she would resign from her job at the paper and write full time.

“She’s probably started writing it already,” Zhang Ye muttered, picking up the manuscript Wang Mengzi had just set down.

Just as he thought, it was that very novel. Though it wasn’t finished, he recognized the familiar plot and language at once.

The manuscript was full of edits and deletions, sentences polished and reconsidered over and over—one look told you how seriously the author took her craft.

He was lost in reading when Wang Mengzi emerged, patting him on the head. “What are you looking at? Quick, call your mother so she won’t worry.”

Zhang Ye grinned. “Aunt Wang, your book is wonderful. It’s bound to be a big hit—millions of copies sold!”

Saying that, Zhang Ye dashed to the phone and dialed his home number. The call was quickly answered by his mother. “Mom, I’m having dinner at Aunt Wang’s place tonight. No need to prepare my share!”

At this time, cell phones weren’t yet widespread, but landlines were common enough. Any family with a little money could get one installed.

“Don’t make trouble for her. Come home right after dinner,” his mother, Liu Meiju, nagged gently over the phone.

“Got it, Mom. I’ll come straight home after I eat.”

The two families truly were close. Knowing Zhang Ye was at Wang Mengzi’s place, Liu Meiju was reassured and, after a few more words, hung up.

“Come, try my cooking.” The sky was already dark when Zhang Ye finished watching TV, and Wang Mengzi had set the table.

“I knew it,” Zhang Ye muttered with a wry smile.

Three or four small dishes were already laid out: scorched tomato and egg stir-fry, braised pork heavy on the soy sauce, a simple cabbage stir-fry, and wood ear soup that at least looked normal. But knowing her culinary skills, Zhang Ye feared the worst for the taste.

“What did you say?” Wang Mengzi looked at him expectantly, hoping for words of praise.

“Ahem, I said the food looks great—smells and tastes delicious!” Zhang Ye forced down a salty piece of braised pork and, with a twisted face, shoveled in some rice before exclaiming, “No wonder you’re the most talented woman in Lihua County! Aunt Wang, your beauty is known far and wide, your talent is rare throughout the ages, and now even your cooking would put a master chef to shame!” He licked his lips, feigning delight.

“You little rascal, always so glib!” Wang Mengzi rolled her eyes and gave him another firm tap on the head. “Don’t think I don’t know how bad my cooking is. No need to flatter me.”

“But no matter how bad it tastes, you’re not allowed to leave any. You have to finish it all, not a bite left!” Though her cooking left much to be desired, Wang Mengzi loved to cook for herself. More than once, Zhang Ye had been drafted to endure the ordeal of her non-human cuisine.