Siheyuan (traditional courtyard house): Don't touch my parents!

"Is that old woman from the Jia family gossiping again?"

"It's nothing," He Daqing waved his hand dismissively.

"That's just how she is, no need to pay her any attention."

"It's good that you know what's going on."

"Zhu Zi, is the water boiled yet?"

"Dad, it's almost open!"

"Bring a big basin; we'll need it to pluck the chicken feathers later!"

"Okay!"

About ten minutes later, the father and son were squatting in the kitchen, having already plucked most of the chicken feathers.

He Daqing carried the basin full of chicken feathers out to empty the dirty water.

He Yuzhu followed behind, carrying a small basin, and went straight into the cellar.

When he came out of the cellar again, he had a cabbage and a few potatoes in his hands.

The father and son squatted in the yard washing vegetables, their fingertips stiff and numb from the icy water.

When He Daqing returned, he was taken aback by the efficient and decisive way his son washed the vegetables.

She then laughed and scolded, "Kid, you've finally figured it out? You know how to help with chores now? Are you afraid your mother won't love you anymore once you have a little sister?"

He Yuzhu didn't even look up, his hands never stopping scrubbing.

"Dad, I'm hungry."

This straightforward and simple answer made He Daqing pause for a moment.

He then burst into hearty laughter.

"Alright, alright! Your old man will go cook for you and the kids right now!"

He took the basin of vegetables, washed them, and hurried inside; it was very cold outside.

"Why."

He Yuzhu quickened his movements—the water was so cold it was almost unbearable.

When He Yuzhu stepped into the house, He Daqing had already chopped the chicken into small, even pieces and was preparing to cook it.

Seeing his son walk in, he casually instructed, "Slice the potatoes into shreds and the cabbage into slices."

"Okay."

He Yuzhu accepted the offer and casually picked up the kitchen knife next to the cutting board.

With a slight downward movement of his wrist, the cleaver spun half a circle in his palm before he firmly grasped it.

This incredibly familiar touch... it felt as if I had practiced it a thousand times in my dreams.

He held the potato firmly with his left hand and brought the knife down with his right.

"Knock knock knock knock..."

The sound of fine, rapid chopping echoed throughout the kitchen.

It was like a sudden downpour pounding on a chopping board, continuous and relentless.

The shredded potatoes were neatly arranged under the sharp blade.

Each strand is as fine as a hair, perfectly aligned as if carefully measured with an ink line.

He Daqing was pouring rapeseed oil into the iron pot.

He caught the familiar sound and instinctively turned around to look.

Upon seeing that, he couldn't help but widen his eyes in surprise.

"You..." His Adam's apple bobbed, and for a moment he was speechless.

"When did you learn this skill?"

He Yuzhu's hands never stopped chopping vegetables.

But he deliberately put on a somewhat naive and honest expression and answered:

"If you practice cutting it a lot more often, you'll naturally learn it by watching."

He Daqing's gaze was fixed on his son's hands, scrutinizing them for several breaths.

Finally, he shook his head helplessly, a hint of amusement in his voice as he playfully scolded:

"You little rascal, so you were hiding this trick from everyone."

He didn't investigate further and turned back to focus on the work in the pot.

Chen Shuxiang, inside the room, listened to the noise coming from the kitchen—

The dull thud of chopping meat, the sizzling sound of stir-frying vegetables, and the occasional brief conversation between the father and son filled the air.

She turned her head to look at her daughter, who was sleeping soundly beside her.

A gentle smile spread across her eyes and brows.

"Tap tap tap... Crack crack crack..."

The chopping sounds on the cutting board gradually changed from clumsy to smooth, and the rhythm became faster and faster.

It was as if the pent-up energy had finally found an outlet.

The sensations and rhythms from my dream surged to my fingertips like a burst dam in spring.

He Yuzhu gripped the kitchen knife tightly, his wrist as steady as if it were welded shut.

The potato shreds slid down the blade with a soft rustling sound, each one thin, even, and neat.

The cabbage was sliced ​​so thinly that it was as thin as a cicada's wing, and when held up to the light, it could even cast a hazy shadow.

He Daqing, who was busy at the stove, noticed something was wrong and looked up at them with a hint of surprise.

"Pillar," he said, staring at his son's nimble, flying hands.

"Did you... secretly practice?"

"Um."

"You silly child..." He Daqing couldn't help but laugh out loud.

"He seems incredibly lazy on a regular basis, how did he manage to hone this skill on his own?"

"Dad, can't I make some progress?" He Yuzhu didn't look up, but his hands moved even more nimbly.

"Yes, of course!" He Daqing laughed even harder.

"My son has really made progress!"

Before long, a rich and mellow aroma of chicken soup wafted out from the He family's kitchen.

The aroma, carrying a warm scent, slowly drifted through the entire courtyard.

As dusk settled, the men finishing their work wrapped themselves up tightly in their clothes and hurried home along the frosty dirt road. The freezing wind whipped up snowflakes that stung their faces, making their noses turn red.

They all hunched their shoulders and bent their backs, hurrying towards their own courtyard gates, looking like a flock of sparrows rushing to their warm nests.

As soon as Jia Laonian stepped into his own house, his cotton shoes still covered in shards of ice from outside, Jia Zhangshi, hearing the noise, poked her head out from the kitchen and began her daily grumbling:

"Old Nian! Take a sniff and smell that! The He family next door is stewing chicken!"

"Take another look at what's cooking on our stove. Dongxu's growing taller and stronger right now. You're quick on your feet, go ask the He family if they can give Dongxu a bowl of chicken soup to help him recover."

Old Jia took off his blue cotton coat, soaked with the chill of winter, and carefully hung it on the wooden nails behind the door. He then slowly shuffled to the edge of the kang (a heated brick bed) and sat down, his voice tinged with laziness:

"Did Old He's wife give birth today? Is it a boy or a girl?"

"You gave birth to a money-losing brat!" Madam Jia spat on the ground in annoyance, the saliva condensing into tiny droplets in the cold air. "Are you going or not?"

"Go if you want to." Old Jia breathed warm air into his palms, sat down on the edge of the kang (a heated brick bed), and crossed his hands on his lap. "I'm too old to ask others for help."

"Who are you calling a jerk, Jia Laonian?!" Jia Zhangshi's eyes widened instantly, her stray hairs trembling as she stood with her hands on her hips and roared, "You're not eating at the table tonight!"

"Why can't I eat?" Old Jia reached into the basket, grabbed a cold cornbread, and bit off half of it with a fierce bite, crumbs falling onto his clothes. "This money is hard-earned from dawn till dusk. Dongxu, come and eat!"

"Hey!" Jia Dongxu was always afraid of his mother's explosive temper, but as soon as his father spoke, he immediately scurried over to the table, picked up a cornbread and started gnawing on it, his cheeks bulging like he had a walnut in his mouth.

Madam Jia was so angry that her face turned green, and her chest heaved violently. In the end, she clenched her fists and glared for a long time, but she still couldn't do anything to deal with her stubborn old man.

Yi Zhonghai kicked open his front door, letting in a gust of cold wind mixed with snowflakes. He rubbed his hands, red from the cold, his knuckles cracking, and shouted into the house: