Rebirth of Chinese Entertainment, the Diary of a 95 Flower

Chapter 124: Gone is the youthful spirit; the past glories will never be mentioned again.

I had planned to show Jiang Yang around the village, but I didn't have time.

Inside the house, Yang Shimin's shouts urging people to eat lunch rang out.

Push the door open and go in.

To the left of the courtyard is an open-air stove built of red bricks, with firewood piled up in the corner and years of grease accumulating on the edge of the iron pot.

A faded lard jar sat beside the pile of firewood.

Next to it was a water pump, wrapped in straw to prevent freezing.

The cement surface of the courtyard is cracked, and rice is dried on sunny days, but water accumulates and forms puddles on rainy days.

In the center was a foldable elm wood round table used for banquets, with three bowls of steaming dishes on it.

Yang Shimin, wearing an apron and hunched over, was busy at the stove.

"Brother Yang, this is taro and dried shrimp soup. You can't find it anywhere else. It's good for your spleen and stomach."

"The middle bowl?"

Jiang Yang looked at the elm wood round table.

The taro and dried shrimp soup in the middle looks like a thick, rice-white soup with a slight sheen on the surface.

Golden shrimp float on the surface, and bright green scallions are sprinkled on top, revealing crispy bits of fried pork lard.

The taro puree is smooth yet retains a grainy texture, the soup is rich but not mushy, and the garnish of dried shrimp and chopped green onions adds a nice color and depth.

It looks very appetizing.

"What is this?" Jiang Yang pointed to the bowl of steaming food next to him. It smelled of rich and savory chicken soup with a hint of soy sauce.

"Chicken and vermicelli stew is nourishing and good for your skin."

The translucent sweet potato noodles are coated with a thin, amber-colored gravy, and the broth is clear.

The remaining dish was the Wuyou Drunken Snails that Yang Chaoyue had told Jiang Yang to try on the way here.

The dark brown snail shells were piled up in the dish, and the snail meat was translucent amber in color.

The marinade clings slightly to the snail shells, and the surface is garnished with chopped chili peppers and cilantro.

You can smell a strong aroma of baijiu mixed with the salty and fishy smell of seafood.

Yang Shimin was still cooking other dishes when he smiled at Jiang Yang and said, "Boss Jiang, Yueyue said you're from Chongqing, so you must be good at eating spicy food, right?"

Yang Shimin tried his best to speak to Jiang Yang in Mandarin, but his tone still carried the Yancheng accent.

However, Jiang Yang understood.

He laughed and said, "Yes, Uncle Yang, people in my hometown really love spicy food..."

Just as I was saying this, I suddenly remembered the braised pork trotter rice that Yang Chaoyue had brought me, which almost made my lips swell from the spiciness.

He quickly corrected himself: "I can't handle that much spice, mild is fine, just mild is good!"

"Okay, Mr. Jiang, please have a seat for a moment. I'll order two more dishes, and I'll be right back."

Yang Shimin continued his work.

Yang Chaoyue used the well to fill a wooden basin with water to wash the dishes and chopsticks, and went back to the house to get some beer.

Realizing that Jiang Yang would be driving soon, she changed the order to coconut juice.

Jiang Yang got back into his car, took two cartons of Zhonghua cigarettes and a bottle of Moutai from the trunk, put them in his pocket, and wrapped them in newspaper.

They looked Yang Chaoyue's house up and down.

The house is a single-story brick-and-mortar building facing south, with a floor area of ​​about 80 square meters, excluding the main hall and courtyard.

The exterior walls retain the beige terrazzo popular in the 90s, with some areas showing signs of weathering and peeling.

The roof is a double-sloped roof covered with blue tiles.

There is a shower room built with asbestos tiles at the base of the south wall of the courtyard.

The couplet on the main gate of the hall still bears the words "diligent farming and reading in the rain".

Above the door is an iron plaque for "Family of Honor," which was installed on August 1st, Army Day, by a ceremony arranged by the village committee.

At that time, Yang's father was not yet married. He was a spirited young man who entered a state-owned textile factory. He was full of military enthusiasm and had a straight posture.

Years have passed, and the sea breeze continues to blow through the saline-alkali soil of Wanggang Village day after day, causing the iron sign to gradually rust.

In addition, exposure to ultraviolet rays accelerates the aging of the coating.

The lettering on the iron plate is already very faint.

Yang's father has lost his youthful vigor and no longer mentions his past glories.

Now they're all around the stove.

He left behind only the simple and frugal qualities of a soldier, and taught his daughter from a young age to be kind, not to harm others, and not to break the law.

Time is like a silent thief, stealing away the youthful vigor of those in military uniforms, leaving only rust on the iron plaques.

We walked through the courtyard and into the inner room.

The west room was Yang Chaoyue's boudoir, with strings of origami cranes and wind chimes made of glass candy wrappers hanging on the door frame.

The corner of the wall was covered with certificates of merit, and there was an old photo frame on the table containing a faded family portrait.

Preserve complete happiness.

It's hard to tell how old Yang Chaoyue was at the time. The little boy stood between his parents, happily making a peace sign at the camera.

Yang's mother wore a floral dress, had fair skin, and looked very much like Yang Chaoyue; she was very beautiful.

Yang's father was wearing a military uniform, his posture was straight, and his back was not as hunched as it is now.

The bed in the boudoir was an old-fashioned wrought iron bed, painted with a light green anti-rust paint that had peeled off.

The headboard is welded with a wavy pattern, a style popular in rural towns in the 90s, and hooks hang pilling plush hair ties. It's a palm fiber mattress.

Two cotton quilts were stacked on top, one as a mattress and the other to cover the body.

There is no air conditioning in the room.

There is an electric blanket on the bed.

The power strip was wrapped with insulating tape, and the plug had charred marks.

There was an old "Teenagers" magazine, its pages curled from repeated readings, and a few coins on the bedside table.

The east room was Yang's father's room, and the door was open.

An old-fashioned palm fiber bed and a plywood wardrobe.

The room is kept tidy, a habit left over from my time in the military.

He joined the army in the late 80s, and after his discharge, he became a worker in a state-owned textile factory, where he was laid off during the reform wave.

There were two signed postcards on the bedside table, one by Huang Lei and the other by Li Nuo.

Jiang Yang didn't put the gift in Yang's father's bedroom; that would be impolite.

It's placed on the table in the main room.

The girl's daughter has given me so many advantages; even if I have a dark conscience, I have to do something about it.

I originally intended to give it to him in person.

On second thought, I decided against it.

Poor families often value dignity more.

Like thin porcelain, the more you cherish it, the more afraid you are of breaking it.

I was worried that if I gave it to him in person, he would think I was giving him charity.

Giving it behind someone's back is more dignified.

As a guest, having given a gift, Jiang Yang felt much more at ease sitting back at the dining table in the courtyard. Otherwise, he would always feel like he was there to freeload.

He could shamelessly go to rich people's homes to freeload, not only without giving gifts, but also taking away two packs of expensive cigarettes before leaving.

If I did the same thing at Yang Chaoyue's house, I would feel guilty.

Just by looking at the dishes that Yang's father served, you could tell that he had put in a lot of effort and money, and it was all out of sincerity.

Suddenly, a deep, powerful, and urgent dog bark was heard: "Woof! Woof woof!"

Jiang Yang looked in the direction of the sound.

On the right side of the yard, there is a doghouse made of fertilizer bags and tattered quilts.

Yang Chaoyue's childhood enamel washbasin is inside; he used it as a dog bowl.

Inside, a chubby yellow dog had just woken up and was baring its teeth at you, its neck and back fur standing on end, its tail stiff and held high.

With a long, guttural growl, it barked repeatedly at itself: "Woof woof woof woof!!"

It's obvious that it's Yang Chaoyue's guard dog.

A very authentic Chinese rural dog.

Yellow short-haired mixed-breed dog.

I just woke up and felt like a stranger to myself.

Yang's father raised his voice fiercely, and the dog stopped barking. It intelligently let out a soft panting sound towards Jiang Yang and stuck out its tongue to moisten its nose.

Jiang Yang made a few sucking sounds.

The dog's tail swayed from side to side like a propeller, causing its pelvis to sway slightly.

She came up to Jiang Yang and licked his hand.

"Little Yellow! Don't lick it!" Yang Chaoyue walked over and slapped the dog on the head: "Go back to your kennel, don't come out!"

The dog lowered its tail and walked towards its den.

"Does your dog bite?" Jiang Yang asked.

"It never bites."

"Why are you being so fierce to it? It's a guard dog. It wags its tail at me as soon as it sees that I'm a guest. It's okay, I'll just play with it."

Jiang Yang reached out to the dog, purred it a few times, and beckoned it over.

The dog was indeed very friendly.

First, it licked Jiang Yang's fingers a few times, then touched Jiang Yang's knee with its front paw pads, tentatively interacting with Jiang Yang.

When it noticed Jiang Yang stroking its fur, it boldly licked Jiang Yang's cheek.

"Your dog drools a lot."

Jiang Yang turned his face away abruptly, caught off guard.

My cheek felt wet.

Yang Chaoyue, who was washing dishes, saw this and scolded the dog: "Little Yellow, don't lick it, go back to your kennel, don't come out!"

Just as the dog left, Jiang Yang called him out again: "Why were you so mean to him? Your dog is so obedient. Seeing you being mean makes my heart ache... By the way, Chaoyue, what did your dog eat to grow up like that? It's so fat."

"Eating fish, eating vegetables, eating leftovers, I'm 8 years old now."

“It’s an old dog now,” Jiang Yang laughed.

"Yeah, he often runs off to play by himself, and he eats poop really fast."

(End of this chapter)