mousepad-d2 Chapter 72: A Bowl of Hot Noodles Sends Away the Water Tank Woman
Chapter 72: A Bowl of Hot Noodles Sends Away the Water Tank Woman
Tong Kexin held the bowl, a thin layer of frost forming around the rim. The frost climbed up her fingertips, but she didn't let go.
Cheng Xiaojin used his sleeve to support the bottom of the bowl and took the noodles.
"Boss lady, give me the hot work."
Tong Kexin stared at his right hand.
"Don't touch it."
The little face inside the fried egg twitched, the yolk cracked, and murky water and black mud seeped out.
Cheng Xiaojin looked down at her.
"He Xiaoman, let's eat somewhere else. The kitchen is full of grease and smoke, which will affect your image in your next life."
Tong Kexin's eyelids twitched when she heard the name.
The little face didn't say anything more.
Cheng Xiaojin carried the noodles back to the courtyard.
Yellow paper was placed on a stone slab at the wellhead, with a copper coin at each of the four corners. A small square table was set up in the center of the courtyard, with clean water, new chopsticks, three red paper road signs, and an iron box with a crack.
The broken chopsticks, a dark red, lay in the box.
Zhou Banxian squatted by the table, drawing circles with wine.
"Don't go beyond your comfort zone."
Tang Wanqing wrapped the red thread around Cheng Xiaojin's two wrists and then pressed the Qianlong Tongbao coin against the edge of the bowl.
The copper coin touched the porcelain bowl, and the steam from the noodle soup receded half an inch.
Master Ma lit the yellow paper.
"He Xiaoman, daughter of the He family on Huguosi Street, dinner is served for you tonight."
"Eat the hot meal you didn't get to eat before you leave this world."
"I'll burn the road pass for you, the water jar won't stop you, the threshold won't stop you, and the debt I owe you will be repaid by the living in the future."
As soon as the fire started, the sound of water flowing from the well followed, and the clear water on the table sank into the middle.
Cheng Xiaojin placed the noodles on the square table.
The little face inside the fried egg slowly lifted up, forehead, eyes, wet hair, and finally became a seventeen-year-old girl.
She was thin, her old cotton-padded jacket was dripping wet, the cuffs were worn out, there were purplish marks on her wrists, and a red hair tie hung loosely from the ends of her hair.
She looked at the noodles, then at Cheng Xiaojin.
"Should I not be alive?"
The wind stopped blowing in the courtyard.
Tong Kexin gripped the back of the chair, her lips pressed tightly together.
Cheng Xiaojin squatted down beside the bowl. "Who told you that?"
He Xiaoman lowered her head.
"My mom said that we can't afford to raise two children."
"My younger brother will get married in the future, and I won't be able to bring any money back with me after I get married."
"Dad said that buying insurance is for my own good, so that if something happens, the family will have something to rely on."
Cheng Xiaojin tucked her hand into her sleeve to suppress the stinging pain under her nail.
He Xiaoman continued, "That night, they said they would cook noodles for me."
"I hadn't eaten all day, and the water in the pot hadn't boiled yet, so Dad told me to go and scoop water from the vat."
"Mom held me down from behind."
The noodle soup in the bowl began to bubble, and black mud rose to the surface.
"I called her, but she didn't look at me."
She said, "Xiaoman, don't blame Mom. Mom will repay you in the next life."
"Dad said not to let her make a sound, or the neighbors will hear and it will be all over."
Tong Kexin turned around and raised her hand to cover her mouth.
Aunt Zhang wiped her eyes at the door, while Tang Wanqing, holding the compass, also had red eyes.
He Xiaoman looked at Cheng Xiaojin.
"I felt suffocated, water was getting into my nose, and there was water in my ears too."
"I heard my younger brother ask from inside the house, 'Sister, why haven't you eaten yet?'"
"Mom said she's not hungry."
The noodles in the bowl had turned black one by one.
Tang Wanqing cautioned, "Don't touch Xin metal."
Cheng Xiaojin pressed the rim of the bowl with only his fingertips, and the Qianlong Tongbao coin felt cold under his palm.
"You deserve to live."
He Xiaoman looked up.
Cheng Xiaojin looked at her.
"You're seventeen, and you still haven't paid back the tofu pudding you bought on credit, you haven't had hot noodles, and you haven't even gotten a new red ribbon for the one you wanted."
"Of course you deserve to live."
"Damn it, put the blame on them, not on yourself."
He Xiaoman's lips moved slightly.
"But they are my parents."
"When your own parents pressed your head down, they had already slammed those four words onto the ground."
A muffled sound came from the wellhead, and water vapor rose from under the stone slab, wetting a corner of the yellow paper.
Zhou Banxian poured the wine towards the well.
"Eat your food, and don't listen to those who are ignorant!"
Tang Wanqing pushed the compass forward, and the pointer pressed against the wellhead.
He Xiaoman's figure swayed slightly as she looked towards the well.
"It called me."
Cheng Xiaojin bit the tip of his tongue, and the taste of blood spread.
Tong Kexin grabbed his shoulder.
"Cheng Xiaojin!"
"fine……"
He spat the blood from the tip of his tongue onto his fingertip and then onto the new chopsticks.
Red veins appeared on the bamboo chopsticks, all the way to the tip.
Tang Wanqing frowned.
"Once blood comes out of her tongue, she can use your anger to eat."
Cheng Xiaojin handed the chopsticks to the side of the bowl, and He Xiaoman reached out her hand.
When she touched the tip of the chopsticks, the pink powder from Cheng Xiaojin's nail creases floated out, turning into tiny specks of light that landed on her sleeve.
Her sleeves stopped dripping, and she picked up a noodle; the blackened noodle slowly turned white again.
He Xiaoman lowered her head and took a bite. Steam rose from her lips, and her eyes regained a spark of life.
"hot."
Zhou Banxian was stunned.
Tong Kexin sniffed.
"It's fresh out of the pot, of course it's hot."
Cheng Xiaojin said softly, "Eat slowly, there's more if you're not full. The proprietress is a great cook, and the soup base is thicker than my life."
Tong Kexin glared at him, "Can you stop using your life as an excuse?"
Cheng Xiaojin shut up.
He Xiaoman ate noodles in small bites, and with each bite, the water on her body lessened.
The old cotton-padded jacket slowly dried, but the blue marks on my wrist became even clearer.
She picked up the fried egg and stared at it for a long time.
"My younger brother likes to eat this, and I used to give it to him."
Cheng Xiaojin said, "You eat today."
He Xiaoman took a bite, and the yolk stopped leaking water; its warm yellow color returned.
She finished the last bite and put down her chopsticks.
The wellhead fell silent.
Three pieces of black mud floated out of the bowl of clear water. The mud dispersed, and a path was reflected on the water's surface, with a red paper fire lit at the end of the path.
After Master Ma finished burning the road permit, the ashes circled around the table legs and crept out through the crack in the courtyard gate.
He Xiaoman stood up.
"Uncle, does the water tank need to be filled to the brim?"
Cheng Xiaojin nodded.
"Need not."
"From now on, if anyone asks you to fill in something, just poke their eye with your chopsticks."
Tang Wanqing looked at him and said, "You can't teach people how to send off a spirit like that."
Cheng Xiaojin changed his tune.
"Then keep a record, live well after reincarnation, and stay away from terrible parents."
He Xiaoman smiled, the swelling on her face subsided, revealing the delicate features of a seventeen-year-old girl.
She didn't look back at the well, nor did she say she was going to find her parents. She reached out and placed a drop of cold water in Cheng Xiaojin's palm.
The drop of water warmed me briefly, then a sharp pain shot into my fingertip.
A water vat appeared in front of Cheng Xiaojin.
There were white scratches from fingernails on the rim of the jar, and a small piece of red string was stuck to the side. Half a bowl of uncooked noodles was on the ground.
He felt the chilling, heavy pressure emanating from the water vat, as if a hand were pressing against the back of his head.
Cheng Xiaojin looked down at his palm; the water droplets were gone.
But he knew perfectly well which items on the table were clean and which had been tainted by yin energy.
The broken chopsticks, a symbol of impending doom, were bitterly cold; the ashtray still held a lingering warmth; Grandpa Ma's enamel mug carried a faint trace of well smoke; and the old broom in the corner of the yard was spotless, carrying only the lingering scent of Aunt Zhang's daily sweeping.
Tang Wanqing looked at him.
"Your yin orifice has been opened."
Cheng Xiaojin looked up.
"It doesn't sound like anything legitimate."
Zhou Banxian stared at his hand.
"It's terrifying."
Master Ma didn't say anything, but rubbed the lid of the teacup against the rim of the cup a couple of times.
He Xiaoman's figure grew fainter and fainter.
She looked at Tong Kexin.
"Sister, the noodles are delicious."
Tong Kexin turned her face away.
"Reincarnate soon, and when you come back, I'll treat you to a meal; you won't have to pay for it."
He Xiaoman nodded, and the red ribbon slid down from her hair and landed on the edge of the bowl, turning into a clean red thread.
The wind blew in through the crack in the courtyard gate, and Lu Yinhui led her out the door.
Cheng Xiaojin stared at the doorway, remaining motionless for a long time.
The red powder from the chopsticks dissipated from under his nails, but his hands grew even colder.
Tong Kexin came over and wrapped his hand in a hot towel.
"Does it still hurt?"
Cheng Xiaojin looked at her.
"pain."
Tong Kexin's eyes were still red, and her tone was harsh.
"Serves you right."
"Um."
It's rare that Cheng Xiaojin isn't poor.
Master Ma tidied up the things on the table, and resealed the half of the deadly chopsticks into the iron box. The chopsticks were a lighter color, and the teeth marks were fainter.
Zhou Banxian squatted at the well opening and listened for a while.
"I can have two hours of peace tonight."
Tang Wanqing put away the compass.
"He's just starting to feel unwell, so don't let him touch his old things."
Cheng Xiaojingang wanted to retort, but his hand bumped into an old pipe on the corner of the table.
The ebony pole and copper pipe hadn't been lit for years. The moment his fingertip touched the copper pipe, his vision blurred.
The lights in the main room have reverted to those of twenty years ago.
Mr. Ma, who looked much younger, sat at the table with a teacup beside him.
Cheng Shouyi sat opposite him, a cigarette dangling from his lips, his hand wrapped in cloth, blood seeping into the cloth.
He placed a damp sheet of rubbing paper on the table, his voice choked with fatigue.
"Old Ma, the seventh one is not quantifiable."