noveltune Chapter 59: Eating Pork Intestines in the Middle of the Night
Chapter 59: Eating Pork Intestines in the Middle of the Night
Tong Kexin never checks her watch when she closes her braised food stall; she watches to see when the last street lamp on Huguosi Street starts flashing.
The lamppost had been leaning for three years without being repaired, and the light bulb flickered every few breaths, casting uneven black shadows of the two locust trees at the entrance of the alley.
Cheng Xiaojin squatted by the stove, holding a section of large intestine in his left hand and stirring the bottom of the pot with an iron spoon in his right.
All ten fingers are still swollen.
The scabs under the nail dried and cracked again, and the bluish-black color faded down to the first phalanx, becoming lighter than before it was soaked in water.
He deliberately stirred slowly with the spoon, letting the iron spoon handle roll across his palm.
The temperature of the metal, the raised marks of the weld, the small pit made by the shank end—these are transmitted back a beat later, and you can feel the weld mark. This is a good thing.
Tong Kexin poked half her head out from the kitchen.
"If you're going to stir the pot, just stir it. But why close your eyes while you're doing it? What kind of kung fu are you practicing?"
"I am experiencing the past and present life of this braised dish with my soul."
"What did you sense?"
"I was a donkey in my past life, and I'm still a donkey in this life. I haven't turned my life around in either life."
A wet rag flew over and struck the back of his neck.
"If you keep talking nonsense, you won't get to eat."
Cheng Xiaojin stuffed the large intestine into his mouth, his cheeks puffing out.
"Even food can't shut me up; all that braising was for nothing."
Around 11 p.m., the last table of guests left.
Cheng Xiaojin helped clear the dishes and wipe the table.
When his fingers touch the edge of the bowl, he pauses a little longer, his thumb slides across the porcelain surface, and then rubs the unglazed rough bottom of the bowl.
Tong Kexin didn't ask.
When she handed him the bowl, she turned it over so he could feel the bottom.
This woman may have a sharp tongue, but she's more thoughtful than anyone else.
Just as the streetlights started flashing, someone came to the alley entrance.
Slip-flops, slip-flops...
The first sound of footsteps was the kind of footsteps where the soles of shoes dragged on the ground, the balls of the feet couldn't be lifted, and they shuffled forward along the brick surface.
Cheng Xiaojin looked up.
The light flickered on, illuminating a small, shadowy figure.
She was an old woman with gray hair tied in a bun. She was wearing an old cotton-padded jacket. It was the hottest part of summer, and the temperature was 35 or 36 degrees Celsius.
Although Cheng Xiaojin herself was wearing long sleeves, with the cuffs covering her wrists, after Xin Jin had been through that, she always felt a chill in her bones.
But this cotton-padded jacket feels wrong.
The old lady sidled up to the stall, sat down on a bench, and a patch of floor tile under the bench leg was wet.
Tong Kexin came out of the kitchen and wiped her hands on her apron twice.
"Auntie, we're closing soon. What would you like to eat?"
The old woman didn't look up, her voice squeezed out from her throat, "Large intestines, the fattest ones."
Tong Kexin glanced at Cheng Xiaojin.
Cheng Xiaojin gently shook her head, meaning not to be alarmed. She pursed her lips and turned to scoop the food out of the pot.
Cheng Xiaojin sat down opposite the old lady.
The streetlight flickered again, this time illuminating her face clearly. She was skin and bones, with high cheekbones, deep-set eyes, thin, grayish lips, and a lifeless complexion.
The old woman's hands rested on the table; her ten fingers were withered, her nails were black, and there was dirt stuck in the nail crevices.
Tong Kexin brought over a bowl.
The large intestine was cut thickly, and oil floated on the bottom of the soup, with steam rising upwards.
The old lady pulled a pair of chopsticks from her cotton-padded coat pocket; they were a pair of old, dark red wooden chopsticks.
He picked up a piece of large intestine with his chopsticks and put it in his mouth.
When the chewing sound rang out, the hairs on the back of Cheng Xiaojin's hands stood on end. There was no crisp sound of teeth biting or chewing meat.
The meat was flattened, the broth was sucked away, leaving only a dull grinding sound.
A thick, dark red liquid slid down the old woman's lips, clinging to her chin and trickling down her neck along the wrinkles.
The fishy smell filled my nose.
Cheng Xiaojin rested his right hand under the edge of the table, his index and middle fingers together, the pads of his fingers touching the wood grain of the table.
My sense of touch has only returned to about 20%; the roughness of the wood and the cracks in the paint are slow to register, but it's still usable.
Tong Kexin stood by the stove, holding an iron ladle in her hand.
She smelled it too.
The old lady picked up another piece with her chopsticks, and this time Cheng Xiaojin saw it clearly.
The sheen of the large intestine changes color from brownish-yellow to grayish-black as soon as it enters the mouth.
The food went into her mouth and immediately rotted.
Cheng Xiaojin picked up the serving chopsticks on the table and handed them over with a smile.
"Auntie, use these. Your chopsticks are quite old and need replacing."
The old lady reached out to take it, and Cheng Xiaojin's fingertips touched the back of her hand.
cold……
Even in winter, Tieguai Li's prosthetic leg has an indoor temperature, but this hand has no temperature and feels like frozen meat.
Cheng Xiaojin took the opportunity to grab the old lady's wrist. There was no pulse, no throbbing, just skin and bones.
He let go and leaned back, a smile still on his face.
"Auntie, your teeth are really good! You can eat whatever you want, hot or cold, sour or sweet?"
The old woman stopped chewing, slowly raised her head, and at that moment the streetlights went out.
The entire alleyway entrance was shrouded in darkness, with only a small patch of red glowing from the charcoal fire under the stove.
The old woman's face was only outlined in the red light, her eye sockets were so dark they were almost black, and she opened her mouth.
"I have no teeth..."
The mouth stretched wider and wider, the corners of the lips extending to the base of the cheeks.
There were no gums in its mouth, only a piece of grayish-black meat noodle, studded with bits of mud and grass roots. Two eyeballs slid out of their sockets, hung on the cheekbones, and then fell onto the table.
Snapped!
Tong Kexin smashed the iron spoon in her hand onto the stove.
Cheng Xiaojin kicked over the bench and stood up, grabbing the enamel bowl on the table with his right hand and splashing the braised soup out.
He pressed his palm against the bottom of the bowl, forcing Xin Jinqi inside, and the enamel bowl struck the old lady's chest.
The cotton-padded coat collapsed, and the whole person collapsed with it. The skeleton under the clothes was pulled out, and the hair was scattered on the table. The skin and flesh turned into black water as soon as it came into contact with the metal aura, which flowed out from the collar, cuffs and trouser legs.
A stench wafted out, carrying the smell of river mud and dead fish. Black water overflowed the tabletop, flowed onto the floor, and seeped into the cracks between the floor tiles.
All that remained on the bench was that old cotton-padded jacket and a pair of dark red old wooden chopsticks.
Cheng Xiaojin took two steps back, his chest heaving violently.
The bluish-black color on my ten fingers has deepened; the little money I just spent on soaking them has now been used up quite a bit.
Tong Kexin rushed over and grabbed his arm.
Are you alright?
"fine."
Cheng Xiaojin's lips were pale, but he still grinned at her.
"It's such a waste to have such a big bowl of pork intestines."
The streetlights came on again, flashed twice, and then settled.
The black water on the table had seeped into the brick joints, leaving only two watermarks.
The chopsticks are still there, the red color seeping into the wood fibers. They are very old, with fine cracks on the wood surface, filled with black grime.
Cheng Xiaojin leaned closer and took a sniff; the musty smell of old wood was mixed with a sweet, fishy odor.
He didn't touch it again.
As I got closer, the bluish-green color on my fingertips was still pulsating.
He dialed Zhou Banxian's number.
Twenty minutes later, the old man arrived carrying a wine jug.
He squatted in front of the table and stared at it for a long time, then brought his nose an inch above the chopsticks and took a breath.
His face twitched, and the wine jug almost slipped from his hand.
"These are the chopsticks for those who will die trying to kill off their descendants."
Cheng Xiaojin held onto the edge of the table.
"What do you mean by 'eating offspring'? What do you mean by 'death chopsticks'?"
Zhou Banxian put the wine pot on the table and lowered his voice.
"When the head of a poor family dies, relatives and clansmen come to the door, eat and drink everything, take everything... the dowry, the money for the coffin, the food coupons for the house, the iron pot on the stove, they all take it away."
He tapped the chopsticks with his fingernail.
"Eating at this place until the family line ends is called eating people who have no descendants left."
Tong Kexin stood behind, her voice trembling slightly.
"Uncle Zhou, is the incident on Huguosi Street a while ago related to this?"
Zhou Banxian didn't reply; he looked at Cheng Xiaojin.
Cheng Xiaojin looked up.
"What is it?"