Chapter 133: Father Dajiang (Bonus Chapter for 390 Monthly Tickets)

"Hong Tao, these gloves are way too tight!" Zhang Dajiang wasn't happy about wearing them either. His chubby hands had been a struggle to squeeze in, and they felt terribly uncomfortable.

"Tight or not, you have to wear them! Fly pupae carry bacteria; they'll give you a stomachache and diarrhea, and you won't want to eat meat for months!" Hong Tao didn't waste any time, striking straight at Dajiang's Achilles' heel.

"Then I’m not digging anymore. I’ll go home and have my dad dig them for me." Sure enough, as soon as Zhang Dajiang heard he might not be able to eat meat for months—which was essentially a death sentence for him—he immediately hid his hands behind his back, refusing to dig even with the gloves on.

"Hey! You can't just quit and leave me to do all the work! We're buddies, right? We share the burdens as well as the joys! Here, you take the pickaxe and break the soil, and I'll handle picking up the pupae! That way, you don't have to touch them, see?" Hong Tao thought, *Oh, my temper! You're trying to dodge this faster than me? Not on my watch.*

"Alright then, as long as I don't have to touch them!" Dajiang felt Hong Tao’s new work distribution was quite humane. As long as he didn't touch those pupae, he shouldn't lose his appetite for meat. As for whether swinging the pickaxe was tiring, that wasn't something he bothered to consider.

"Hong Tao! You really are a piece of work! You're just working that poor boy to the bone! You make him swing the pickaxe while you stand there with a pair of little bamboo tweezers just watching." An old man using the alleyway toilet witnessed the scene and couldn't help but chime in.

"Listen, Third Uncle, is your grandson’s skin itching for a thrashing? Should I help you loosen up his muscles this afternoon?" Hong Tao hated people who meddled in his business and didn't waste any pleasantries on him.

"You dare! You're nothing but a little bandit!" Although the old man kept cursing, his momentum had vanished. Even though Hong Tao had been relatively well-behaved these past few years—not going around causing trouble—the boy had become far more threatening and cunning in his ways.

"Hey, get lost! I’ve claimed this public toilet, no digging allowed here! And I've claimed the one inside the alleyway, too! You go dig outside the alley!" Hong Tao didn't just have to pick up the pupae Dajiang unearthed; he had to defend his territory. There were only five or six public toilets in the vicinity, and he had already staked out two, forbidding other children from approaching.

"How many have we got?" Dajiang was already drenched in sweat.

"The results aren't ideal. Only nine so far! At this rate, you definitely won't get that little red flower!" Hong Tao looked at the small cardboard box in his hand. It contained only a few pupae.

Getting a little red flower was hard for Dajiang; he wasn't top of the class, his performance was mediocre, and the teachers didn't particularly like him. He could only earn one through sheer manual labor. While Hong Tao couldn't care less about those little red flowers, all the other children treated them as if they were life-or-death matters.

"How about we go dig inside the toilet? There should be more in there, right?" Dajiang wasn't satisfied with their progress either. He figured the smellier the place, the more pupae there would be.

"That's the women's restroom! You want to go in there and dig? Come on, let's take a break. I'll think about where there might be fewer people—the toilets around here have been picked clean." Hong Tao took off his gloves, pulled out a piece of chocolate, peeled off the wrapper, and shoved it into Dajiang’s mouth. It was the only way to keep him quiet.

"I... my dad... at his unit... there's a toilet... it’s super stinky... nobody digs there... shall we go there?" Unfortunately, the piece of chocolate was a bit too small; it didn't manage to plug Dajiang’s mouth for long.

"Where is it?" Hong Tao couldn't think of any better locations.

"Right at the Copper Tube Factory. Want to go?" The Copper Tube Factory Dajiang mentioned was right on the Third Alley. It wasn't far—less than a ten-minute walk.

"Let’s go! Let's check it out!" Hong Tao thought Dajiang's idea was actually quite bright. Factories usually didn't have these kinds of activities, so those toilets probably hadn't been bothered yet.

With Dajiang leading the way, the two boys easily entered the factory. The guard clearly recognized Dajiang; once you saw a kid like that, you never forgot him—his features were too distinct. Dajiang didn't take Hong Tao straight to the restroom; instead, he led him to a row of bungalows behind the workshop. Before even entering, Hong Tao knew exactly where they were: the smell of steamed buns gave it away. This was the factory canteen.

"Oh! Son, why did you run over here? Have you had lunch yet?" Zhang Dajiang was a carbon copy of his father, just a few sizes smaller. Upon seeing his son, the first question Father Zhang asked was, naturally, about food.

"Not yet. Our teacher told us to dig for fly pupae. Hong Tao and I dug for ages and only got this many. I wanted to dig in the toilets over here; there are more!" Dajiang explained his intentions to his father.

"Oh, you little rascal, that place is filthy! Hey, you’re kitted out pretty well—rubber gloves and everything. Xiao Tao, this was your idea, wasn't it?" Father Zhang laughed when he saw the rubber gloves on his son's hands and the large mask hanging around his neck.

"My mom says fly pupae aren't hygienic and carry bacteria, so we have to take precautions." Hong Tao held out his hands to show Father Zhang that he was wearing gloves too.

"Hmm, that's right, those things are filthy! It's good you're so sensible. I've heard from Dajiang that you look out for him at school. Our Dajiang isn't the brightest, so please help him out more in the future. It’s not that your aunt doesn’t want you playing together, it’s just... well... the teachers at school..." Dajiang’s father looked like a jolly Buddha, but he was clearly much sharper than his son.

"I understand. They can say what they want, and we’ll do what we do. They’re two different things. You go ahead and get busy, Uncle. We’re going to go dig for pupae and help Dajiang get that little red flower so he can be happy." Hong Tao knew what Father Zhang meant. Dajiang’s mother was afraid he would pick up bad habits from Hong Tao, so she discouraged their friendship. But Dajiang’s father seemed to have a more comprehensive view of things.

"Don't go yet, come in! Come in! There's no rush to dig for pupae; they're all over the place over there, you don't even need to dig, just pick them up! I’ll whip up a couple of dishes for you, eat first, then go." Father Zhang smilingly ushered Dajiang and Hong Tao into the canteen and straight into the kitchen.

"Dad, I want meatballs!" As soon as Dajiang entered the kitchen, his eyes lit up.

"Alright, meatballs it is! Go wash your hands, they’ll be ready in a jiffy!" Father Zhang was likely 100% responsible for Zhang Dajiang’s physique; giving him whatever he wanted to eat was a recipe for obesity.

However, Father Zhang's culinary skills genuinely surprised Hong Tao. He had expected the skills of a typical factory canteen cook—nothing to write home about. But to his shock, Father Zhang produced a small winter melon, cut off one end with a small knife, hollowed it out, and casually carved it into the shape of a lifelike carp.

"Uncle, you didn't learn this craft in a factory canteen, did you? This is almost up to state banquet standards!" Hong Tao watched as Father Zhang took a small piece of mutton and, wielding two knives in his hands, began to mince the meat with a rhythmic, steady beat. He immediately realized this man was a master.

Hong Tao had seen meat being minced before, and using two knives wasn't unheard of, but Father Zhang handled them with such fluidity and controlled strength. Each strike wasn't overly loud; it was a display of genuine skill that couldn't be mastered in a day or two.

"Oh, it's nothing that fancy. Dajiang was a picky eater when he was little, so I’d carve things for him to play with so he’d eat a few more bites while distracted." Father Zhang talked while his hands kept moving, the rhythm remaining crisp and steady.

Once the meat was minced, Father Zhang chopped scallions and ginger, crushed Sichuan peppercorns with a rolling pin, and mixed it all into the meat. Finally, he added mashed boiled potato, soy sauce, and sesame oil, stirring until the mixture became thick and sticky. With practiced ease, he scooped the mixture and squeezed out perfectly uniform meatballs from his palm, one after another, at incredible speed.

Once all the meatballs were formed, he placed them into the hollowed-out winter melon, added some seasonings, and put it into a steamer. Ten minutes later, it was done.

"Let it cool a bit. I'll stir-fry some cabbage, and then we can eat!" When Father Zhang pulled the little winter melon from the steamer, the room was filled with a fresh, savory aroma.

Hong Tao enjoyed this lunch immensely. He finally understood why Zhang Dajiang was so chubby; if he had a father like this who could whip up creative meals every day, he’d probably be fat too.

The winter melon meatballs were exquisite; although mutton had a strong flavor, when handled correctly, it was far more fragrant than pork. But what surprised Hong Tao most was the stir-fried cabbage with vinegar. It was a simple home-cooked dish—just cabbage stalks, chili, and vinegar—but in Father Zhang’s hands, it tasted completely different from anything he’d had before.

In his previous life, Hong Tao wouldn't have dared call himself a foodie, as he didn't care much for eating; he was satisfied as long as he was full. But having returned to the 1980s, he felt that even if he wasn't a gourmand, he was at least well-traveled and experienced in the culinary arts.

Father Zhang’s cooking couldn't be called the best in the world, but it was certainly beyond the reach of an ordinary restaurant cook. Cooking required diligence, talent, and, most importantly, heritage. Many things in the culinary world were passed down through generations of experience; without a master to guide you, you missed out on so much verified wisdom.

"Uncle, your craft definitely didn't come from a school canteen master. Don't look at me like I'm just a kid; I have the ability to tell. This stir-fried cabbage—it looks simple, but the simpler the dish, the more it tests the chef's skill." After finishing his meal and wiping his mouth, Hong Tao started chatting again.

"Oh my, I've run into a connoisseur! No wonder Dajiang says you know so much. This stir-fried cabbage is all about the heat control... Hehe, come back next time and Uncle will make it for you again. Go on, go play!" Father Zhang only said half a sentence before stopping, patting his son on the bottom and shooing both Dajiang and Hong Tao out.