Under the fist

Chapter 62 Third Aunt, the Scratcher
As evening approached, a cold wind blew in through the window, carrying frost and snow. Although it wasn't strong, it was still quite uncomfortable.

"Auntie, your cooking is so delicious."

Inside the house, the lights were on at the dining table. Zhao Xiaozhi and Yan Tao sat around the table, looking at the sumptuous meal and smelling the aroma wafting in the air, and couldn't help but praise it repeatedly.

Since the two women were new to Xijing and unfamiliar with the place, Zhao Lanxiang decided after much thought to let them stay at her house for the night. There was an empty room with beds in it, which was for relatives like her third aunt who came to the city to deliver goods.

Lian Shuang, Lian Lei, and Third Aunt also sat on the side, looking Zhao Xiaozhi and the others up and down, asking all sorts of questions, constantly inquiring about how Lian Youming had saved Yan Tao on the train.

Lian Youming listened with trepidation, fearing that his secrets would be revealed by the two men.

Hearing others praise her cooking skills, Zhao Lanxiang beamed with joy. Then, while Lian Youming was getting the bowls and chopsticks, she pulled her son aside and said seriously, "My good son, you can't get involved in anything like that. Your Aunt Shen called me and said you've started dating a girl from Guangxi in the Northeast. She's even written to you. I don't expect you to be outstanding, but you can't be fickle. If you dare to cause trouble, I'll have your dad beat you to death."

Lian Youming felt increasingly uneasy as he listened. "Mother, I just got back and haven't even had a bite to eat yet, and you're already scaring me like this."

Upon hearing this, Zhao Lanxiang touched Lian Youming's rough cheeks again, a hint of heartache in her eyes. But she quickly asked curiously in a low voice, "What does that girl look like? Your Aunt Shen said she's quite pretty, a descendant of some family of traditional Chinese medicine practitioners, and has a good appetite. What's her name again?"

Lian Youming took a bite of a guokui (a type of flatbread) and casually replied, "It's still a long way off, can't you at least think about your own son... By the way, it's so late, why hasn't Lao Lian (Old Lian) come back yet?"

But Zhao Lanxiang handled him like a child, much better than him. "You're as strong as an ox, why would I need to worry about you? Your dad doesn't know you're coming back today. He said he's going to the steel mill to drink with some friends after get off work. We don't need to wait for him. I've already prepared food. Maybe he'll sleep there after drinking tonight."

Lian Youming was actually a little uneasy. His family didn't know that Qin Yuhu had lost an arm. Shen Qinghong hadn't told him to tell his family when they were in Northeast China, and if this got out, he'd probably get a beating.

However, this matter concerns Gong Wuer, and Qin Yuhu clearly intended to keep it a secret, so his family must understand.

After the last dish was served, Lian Youming sat down next to his younger sister and brother and invited everyone to start eating.

Auntie chuckled, “I’m really lucky today. This table is even more lavish than during the New Year. It’s all thanks to my nephew.”

Lian Youming chuckled as he listened. His third aunt's family was the closest to his family in the village, and they would always send over some wild game or mountain produce whenever they had any.

The reason for this was that in the early years, there was a great famine. Lian Youming's parents went hungry and used most of their savings to help the villagers.

Even if there's only one bag of rice, each family has to share a bite.

The bond forged through life-and-death struggles is not kinship, but it far surpasses kinship.

She had only taken a couple of bites when Zhao Lanxiang seemed to remember something. She took an aluminum lunchbox from the kitchen, the food piled high inside. "Oh right, take the food to the ragpicker first."

Lian Youming took the lunchbox and subconsciously muttered, "Tsk, that old man really knows how to live."

As a result, Zhao Lanxiang smacked her with her chopsticks when she turned around, saying, "How can you talk like that? If your dad hears you, he'll definitely beat you up again."

Lian Youming chuckled, realizing he had misspoke, but he meant no harm; it was just a sigh.

As the name suggests, this "ragpicker king" is an old man who collects scraps. He moved to this area even before his family, and he lived alone and destitute in a small house filled with junk. In addition, every family has its troubles in the past, and seeing that no one was taking care of the children, the old man simply took the initiative to step in and raise a dozen or so children all by himself, and he managed to keep them all safe without any problems.

As the old man grew older, following the fine tradition of Lian Youming's family, they couldn't just let him be. Whenever there was something delicious, they would serve him a bowl, and the neighbors would also bring him something every now and then.

Lifting the curtain and stepping out of the courtyard, Lian Youming, carrying a lunchbox, turned left and right before finally entering a small courtyard.

In the yard, which was only a dozen meters long, there were only scattered pieces of junk, all sorts of things, piled up here and there, forming a dirt road about a meter wide.

At the far end, a dim yellow light illuminated a narrow, small doorway, with a dilapidated door panel leaning against it. Inside the doorway, a disheveled old man sat on the ground, his clothes filthy and messy, his full head of silver hair almost knotted together, and his chin adorned with two foot-long pigtails made of his beard, a rather incongruous sight.

Lian Youming walked over with a grin, "Old man, you're in for a treat today."

It's not that he disrespects the elderly, but rather that he's too familiar with them.

After crouching down and squeezing inside, Lian Youming saw that the Rag King was playing chess with himself. The square wooden chessboard was placed on the ground, and there was a crooked crack in the wood on the Chu River and Han Border. There was also a bowl of spoiled rice next to him, which had been brought there at some time.

The ragpicker's face was gaunt and filthy, as if he hadn't bathed in ages. His face was covered in an oily sheen, his fingernails were full of black grime, and his hair was a tangled mess.

Hearing the noise, the old man didn't even look at Lian Youming, and called out in a hoarse voice, "Brother, you're back."

Lian Youming brought out the spoiled rice and put down the lunchbox he was holding. "Why are you thinking about your stupid chess game again? Eat it while it's hot. My mom just made it. Look how dirty you are. I'll take you to get a bath and a new outfit in a few days. You're so filthy."

It's not that I haven't taken this person to get groomed before, but the problem is that they simply don't like cleanliness. They'll wash up, and within half a day they'll be filthy again. They've had plenty of new clothes, but it's like they don't like things to be neat and tidy; they always feel comfortable only when they're torn and tattered.

The old man kept his eyes fixed on the chessboard in front of him, gave a brief reply, but then suddenly twitched his nostrils, sniffed Lian Youming's face, and his eyes lit up. "You brought back something good, kid?"

Lian Youming raised an eyebrow. "No, don't talk nonsense."

The ragpicker chuckled, “Tiger bones aren’t considered good stuff? But yours isn’t top-notch. Years ago, a tiger king jumped out of Zhongnan Mountain. It ate people and flesh. It looked thin and bony, but its ferocity was unparalleled in a hundred years. The smell of its urine alone could scare hunting dogs several miles away to the point of collapsing and wetting themselves.”

Lian Youming was taken aback. "You've seen the Tiger King? Why haven't you mentioned it before?"

The ragpicker rolled his eyes. "Nonsense, you'd never even seen a tiger back then. What good would it do if I told you? What else could you do besides yell and shout?"

Lian Youming was speechless for a while, but quickly recovered and said in surprise, "Wow, your nose is really sharp! You can even smell tiger bones?"

The junk collector waved his hand impatiently, "I don't just look at junk when I collect it, I smell it too. Do you think I'm just sitting around doing nothing? Alright, you go back first. I'll eat after I finish this game of chess. Are you going to soak that tiger bone in a bar? Give me two pounds of it then."

Lian Youming pursed his lips, and as he got up, he looked around. He saw that the room was piled with all kinds of tattered books, and the walls were almost covered with open newspapers, which seemed to depict various chess games. Black and red pieces were scattered, and the chess moves were crisscrossed. When the cold wind blew, they all fluttered and rustled.

"Where did you get all this stuff? Eat it quickly, it's getting cold, it won't last long."

He gave a couple more instructions.

The junk collector didn't even look up; he just waved his hand.

After delivering the food, Lian Youming returned home.

Zhao Lanxiang asked, "How's that old man?"

Lian Youming sat down again. "It's the same as always."

Zhao Lanxiang sighed, "Having no children, you're a pitiful person. Speaking of which, your name was given to you by the ragpicker... Your father was a rough and uneducated man, and the names he chose were either Jianjun or Youguo, and when you were born..."

Lian Youming sighed, “You’ve said it eight hundred times already. When I was born, I had a difficult labor, and my father wasn’t around. That old man drove a donkey cart through wind and snow to take you to the hospital. And that’s how he gave me this name… Don’t worry, I was just saying it casually. I promise I won’t treat him unfairly.”

Zhao Lanxiang rolled her eyes in annoyance. "Let's eat."

(End of this chapter)