narrow red

Chapter 126

The next day, Baochan didn't go to Ruyizhou, and got up early in the morning to clean up the house. Last night he checked the flight information in Switzerland, and reckoned that Kuangzheng would be home before dark.

In such a big villa, the sanitation was done all morning, and I ate casually at noon, and in the afternoon I thought about making hand-rolled noodles for Kuangzheng. I was afraid that the noodles alone would not be nutritious.

Armstrong's song, What A Wonderful World, was playing in the living room. Against the snow scene outside the window and the steam in the kitchen, there was an indescribable sense of happiness. Suddenly, the phone rang, Baochan turned off the music, wiped his hands, and an unknown person appeared on the screen. number: "Hello?"

"Hello," said the name over there, "He Shengjing."

Baochan blinked unexpectedly, the name was unfamiliar, but the voice was familiar: "Little Mister?"

Hearing this name, the other side laughed: "Just call me Thongchai."

Pass?With such a strange name, Baochan couldn't say: "Hello, what's the matter?"

There was a pause over there for a moment: "When we broke up yesterday, I saw that you were not in a good condition."

"Ah..." Baochan scratched his hair awkwardly, because an old song made people laugh when they met for the first time, "It's okay, thank you."

Thank you, as if the neighbors were chatting, Mr. Xiao took advantage of the situation and asked, "Do you have time to meet?"

"Today?" Baochan specially left it for Kuangzheng today. "My family comes back from abroad in the evening. I have to cook. There are pig's trotters steaming on the stove. I can't leave."

He spoke a little too fast, Mr. Xiao couldn't hear clearly: "What are you steaming?"

"That's the one..." Baochan didn't know what to think, and stumbled to speak English to him, "pig'sfeet."

Chinglish, who couldn't be more upright, laughed at Mr. Xiao: "Mr. Bao, can I find a place near your house, let's sit for a while, and we won't delay you."

"My house..." Baochan looked out the window, except for the woods and snow, "My place is very remote, there is no place to drink."

Mr. Xiao understands that it is a villa area. A young master from such a big family like him does everything right and never has room for negotiation: "Is it convenient to chat on your porch for 5 minutes?" But the way he pushes others is not annoying, even Cute, "just give me a chair and a glass of water."

Baochan made him laugh: "How can I let you stay on the porch," Uncle Liang's family, he is also a family member, "Come here, my house is here in Hongshi, you go to the subway station first, then go to... "

"Let's add a WeChat?" Mr. Xiao interacts with so many people every day, and has never asked for anyone's WeChat. "You send me the location."

"Okay," Baochan asked nothing of him, so he didn't know how to please him, "add my phone number."

After adding friends and sending the location, he put down his phone and went to work.More than an hour later, there was the sound of wheels rolling over the snow outside the window. Bao Chan took his slippers to open the door, and saw a silver-white car from a distance. He was blind, but he knew that car. A pouting little angel is a Rolls-Royce.

It was snowing again, Bao Chan braved the snow and waved to Rolls-Royce, the car stopped in front of the door, with a little bit of big snowflakes, the driver got out of the car and opened his umbrella, and served the little gentleman to get off the car like a king.

He was still wearing very little, a shirt and a thin coat. Baochan pulled him into the house, patted the snow on his shoulder, and slammed the door: "You are not cold!"

"Fortunately," Mr. Xiao scanned the room, "there are air-conditioners in the room."

Baochan squatted in front of the shoe cabinet, looked at his big feet, and handed over Kuangzheng's slippers: "Why didn't you bring a bodyguard?"

"Bring it," Mr. Xiao took off his coat, "in the car."

Bao Chan pouted.

"There is a big man in your family." Mr. Xiao shook the slippers on his feet, the size was just right.

"My brother," Baochan looked up at him, "I really don't know what you ate to grow up, you are all so tall."

The whole room is filled with the aroma of collagen. Mr. Xiao took a sip. Every meal of his is prepared by a professional chef and served to him by a servant. He has never been in a kitchen, and he has never smelled such a real, strong, Invigorating fragrance.

"You sit down first." Baochan poured him a glass of water and told him to go to the living room, "I'll go and see the pig's feet."

"Pig knuckle rice?" Mr. Xiao didn't go over, but followed him into the kitchen.

"No food," Baochan thought he was in the way, and pushed him, "I only eat pig's trotters."

"Aren't you tired?" Mr. Xiao poked his head to look into the pot.

"It's not greasy." Baozhan lifted the lid of the pot, and the smell of pig's trotters came out along with the cloud-like steam. "My brother and I like to eat this way."

"It's so delicious." Freshly out of the pan, there are no complicated decorations, no pretentious presentation, only genuine deliciousness.

Everyone said so, Baochan was embarrassed not to give it, but he made a total of two sauces, and gave one to others steaming hot. He was reluctant: "Let me give you a taste." As he said, he endured the heat and stretched out his hand Grab into the pot.

"Hey," Mr. Xiao was very picky, "how do you use your hands?"

Baochan usually uses his hands when working in the kitchen: "My hands are clean."

Mr. Xiao said with a straight face, "You just took the slippers."

I still won't get it for you!Bao Chan glared at him. When he first met Kuang Zheng, he also felt that he was poor and fastidious, but unlike this guy, he had too many and annoying things: "How old are you?"

"28."

They are the same age, "How can there be so many bad things at such a young age?" Baochan grabbed a piece of meat, "You are at home, and your mother doesn't use her hands to feed you?"

When mentioning his mother, Mr. Xiao lowered his head and asked dissatisfied: "Is this the only thing you give me?"

"How much more do you want?" Baochan held the meat up to his eyes, "Just two pig's trotters, one for my brother and one for me. I'll give you the best part of mine. Look, it's the softest and most waxy. that piece."

Mr. Xiao made up his mind and opened his mouth to pick it up, but Baochan didn't give it to him: "My hands are dirty." He turned around and took a plate and put the meat on it, "Here, there are knives and forks over there. "

No matter how tender and fragrant the meat was, it became tasteless after being thrown on a cold plate. Mr. Xiao immediately realized that what he wanted was not meat, but the taste of ordinary people.

"I came today," he put down the plate, "actually I want to ask you, what happened yesterday?"

Yesterday... Baochan raised his head, and in front of him was a pair of hazel eyes. They were not unfamiliar, but whether it was the song or his mother, he couldn't open his mouth to this person.

"Is it my cell phone ringtone?" Mr. Xiao asked, he only thought of this possibility, "What special meaning does that song, Feng Feifei's "Coincidence" have for you?"

Baochan felt that he was overreaching, and even made people feel uncomfortable.

When he didn't get an answer, Mr. Xiao didn't insist, but said, "That's my mother's favorite song when she was alive."

Baochan looked at him in astonishment. They were both only 28 years old at the same age, but both lost their mothers at an early age. The difference is that although Mr. Xiao’s mother is gone, she left him an unforgettable love. Baochan’s mother is still alive. In this world, she refuses to love him a little bit more.

"Coincidence", the songs of two mothers, planted very different fruits in the son's heart. It is hard to tell which is more sad, loving a dead person or hating a living person.

"The way you heard that song yesterday," Mr. Xiao said softly, in someone else's kitchen, in the smell of meat like a mother, "I thought it was me."

Baochan looked at him, unable to explain how he felt at this moment, his nose was sore, his eyes were sore, and even the cracks in his ribs were sore: "My mother..." He finally said, "I also like this song. When I was young, I always Listen to her play."

"Your mother..." Mr. Xiao clenched his palms, showing pity for their fellow sufferers.

"She..." Baochan subconsciously grasped the silver bracelet on his left hand, recalling the hospital in his third year of high school, the strong smell of disinfectant, his stepfather's phone call, the cold floor, and his senior brother screaming in the ward, "She threw down I am leaving."

Mr. Little stared at him incredulously, not sure what he meant.

"She's still there," Bao Zhanming said, "but I don't want her anymore."

Mr. Xiao's face seemed to freeze, his light eyes changed color instantly, Bao Chan could feel that he was sympathizing with himself, it was ridiculous, he who has a mother should be sympathized by the motherless.

He squeezed out a smile, turned around calmly, and passed away, so those sorrows and pains, now he has rectified, what father's love, mother's love, all the precious feelings in the world can be filled.

"Come on," he took his pig's trotter out of the pot, drained it, put it on oil-absorbing paper, then took a new plate and a pair of chopsticks, and handed it to Mr. Xiao, "here, it's so big. One, it's all yours."

The oily pig's trotter is so big, Mr. Xiao raised his eyebrows: "Half of each of us?"

"Eat separately," Baochan rolled up his sleeves, "You may not be able to eat me better."

What kind of plates and chopsticks, they started directly, standing in the kitchen, you take a bite and I take a bite.

"Your surname is Bao," Mr. Xiao asked, "What's your name?"

"Zhan," Baochan expertly unscrewed the bone, "Blooming Zhan."

The little gentleman thought for a while, then stretched out his oily palm to him. Baochan's hand was also oily. He scratched his palm with his nails, and wrote stroke by stroke: "Beside a skein, add a definite fixed number." .”

"A handful of silk, settle down," Mr. Xiao remembered, and asked again, "Yesterday you rapped..."

"Well," Baochan sucked the bone, "I'm a Peking Opera actor."

Mr. Xiao immediately said: "I have seen the Peony Pavilion."

Baochan smiled: "That's Kunqu Opera."

"Oh." Mr. Xiao followed him and smiled, with light hair and light eyes, like a person made of glass, Baochan couldn't help asking: "Are you a foreigner?"

"Thailand, Chiang Mai," Mr. Xiao turned his head and spit out the bones in his palm gracefully. "Seven generations of Chinese, engaged in oil tanker and terminal business. My father has Dutch descent and my mother is Taiwanese."

Baochan nodded: "Your mother must be a great beauty."

The little gentleman chewed the meat and looked at him: "Are you praising me for being handsome?"

Baochan concentrated on sucking his bones, thinking that there must be many people who praised him, so he didn't bother to say it.

After a while, Mr. Xiao said abruptly: "Your mother is also a beauty."

Baochan stopped tearing the flesh. His mother is indeed a beauty. If it wasn't for beauty, there wouldn't be so many people chasing him, and she wouldn't leave her alcoholic husband and son and run away with others.