The Game of Life

Chapter 639: Chapter 637: The Self in Memory

That evening, the Jiang family gathered around the living room coffee table in high spirits, having spent the entire night making dumplings.

Lin Juan was a semi-professional housewife, so making dumplings was naturally a piece of cake for her. Jiang Yong, the editor-in-chief of Taste magazine, also knew his way around the kitchen, and the dumplings he made were quite attractive. Jiang Weiming was even better at this.

The only novice in the family was Jiang Xiaoran.

The dumplings he made looked just like pancakes.

And not the firm kind, but the floppy, saggy ones.

For some reason, the look in Jiang Feng’s eyes softened considerably when he looked at Jiang Xiaoran.

The dumpling-making activity continued until 10:30 PM, and afterward, everyone washed up and went to bed. The once lively house quieted down once more, leaving behind nothing but the calm of the night.

Jiang Feng had experienced many such nights in his memory and was quite familiar with them. He also didn’t have the habit of peeking at others while they slept, so he quietly sat in the living room as usual, waiting for dawn to break.

Just one thing puzzled him, why did Jiang Xiaoran, who had been back in his room for half an hour, come back out with two apples? “Crunch, crunch,” he ate the apples at the dining table, then went back to his room to sleep again.

Who had he picked up this habit from?

Even though he was leaving, Jiang Weiming still got up early to make one last breakfast at Jiang Yong’s home—clear soup noodles.

Yes, just as it sounds, clear soup.

Jiang Weiming had made a pot of noodles with the clear broth he prepared the day before.

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One could only wonder if the ordinary, cheap supermarket-bought noodles felt trepidation when encountering the clear broth in the pot.

At least Jiang Xiaoran seemed like he wanted to bury his entire face in the bowl as he ate his noodles.

“Dad, there’s still a pot of soup in the fridge. What should we do with this soup?” Lin Juan, who was taking fruit out of the fridge to wash and pack in a zipper storage bag for Jiang Weiming and Jiang Xiaoran to eat later, found a pot of clear broth still in the fridge.

“I remember we have some thermos flasks at home. Let’s pour it into the flasks and bring them along,” suggested Jiang Weiming.

Then Jiang Xiaoran began rummaging through cupboards to find the large thermos flasks, finally coming across the two ungainly but very large flasks that Jiang Feng had seen before.

After packing up their belongings, Jiang Xiaoran and Jiang Weiming, carrying the luggage Jiang Feng had seen earlier, headed to the train station.

It wasn’t until the two of them got on the train and settled down to sleep that Jiang Feng belatedly realized he was the one supposed to meet them in Beiping.

So, he would see himself in his memory.

The self from two months ago.

The thought was quite thrilling.

With a heart full of anxiety and excitement, Jiang Feng paced back and forth on the high-speed train, moving from one carriage to the next. It wasn’t until he reached the third carriage that he realized he had an unusually large range of movement this time.

To ascertain the limits of his range, Jiang Feng walked along the carriages, only to be blocked by an invisible wall four carriages away from where Jiang Weiming was seated.

With this range of movement, Jiang Feng could stroll around as much as he pleased, without any worries about accidentally running into those invisible walls.

After that, Jiang Feng started walking around the train, at times listening to the cries of children in one carriage, and the quarrels of a couple in another. When tired of listening, he would move onto the next carriage to watch television with a fellow passenger—who didn’t use headphones and played the sound loudly, disturbing others but conveniently for Jiang Feng.

The hours passed by as he walked around, and although he felt quite content strolling and watching shows on the train, he started to feel inexplicably nervous as soon as he got off the train.

Not for any other reason but the imminent encounter with himself.

Jiang Feng followed behind Jiang Weiming.

Then, Jiang Feng saw Wang Hao, as well as his own self beside Wang Hao.

What does it feel like to come face-to-face with oneself? Jiang Feng couldn’t describe it—it was weird and wonderful, like being in a holographic game where he was the main character.

Although he had never played a holographic game and didn’t know if he ever would in his lifetime.

Seeing a living, moving, and talking version of himself, possessing the same thought processes, it was impossible for Jiang Feng not to keep staring at himself.

Then he noticed a soup stain on his collar, probably from lunch.

His shoes were dusty with several noticeable black marks, probably from being stepped on.

At this moment, Jiang Feng was too absorbed in observing himself to pay any more attention to Jiang Weiming. His gaze stayed fixed on his own self, as he knew all of this from personal experience and what was going to happen next.

The only tricky part was squeezing into the car, as it already accommodated Jiang Weiming, Jiang Xiaoran, Wang Hao, and the Jiang Feng from his memory, leaving no room for him to fit in unless he floated in mid-air, squeezed into the trunk, or climbed onto the roof.

Choosing between the trunk and the roof, Jiang Feng ultimately decided to scale the roof. He had experience with this; it wasn’t his first time. There were a lot of luggage to be put into the trunk, which took some time and gave Jiang Feng enough opportunity to climb onto the roof.

Since gaining the ability to enter his memories, Jiang Feng had accrued a rather extensive range of unusual experiences.

As an observer, watching the events he had once lived through first-hand, Jiang Feng noticed many things he hadn’t seen before.

Jiang Xiaoran always seemed to glance subconsciously at the thermos, and when the Jiang Feng from his memory asked Jiang Weiming what was in the thermos, Jiang Xiaoran would show a hint of smugness, giving away that he was in the know.

Also, Chen Suhua had actually bought pastries from the Eight-treasure House that day, but they were finished by Jiang Shoucheng and Jiang Zaidi before Jiang Feng had a chance to enter the living room.

Jiang Feng had no interest in hearing the conversations and speculations about the top-floor restaurant all over again, so he followed Jiang Weiming into the kitchen.

Sir was there too, cutting meat. He merely looked up and exchanged a few words with Jiang Weiming before returning to his task, only pausing when Jiang Weiming opened the thermos to pour out the clear broth.

“Third Brother, is this…” The cooled-down broth had little flavor, and Sir took a good while before he could be sure, “Clear broth?”

“Mhm.” Jiang Weiming smiled and nodded, “Some of the broth from yesterday was left over, so I brought it over in a thermos. Did you buy the chicken I asked you to get this morning?”

“It’s all cleaned and in that basin.” Sir pointed to the basin on the kitchen counter, “You’re going to make chicken bean curd?”

Jiang Weiming nodded and started to prepare the chicken mince.

To create a chicken bean curd that could believably imitate the real thing, meticulous attention was essential during the mincing of the chicken, leaving no trace of any granules. The chicken mince had to be beaten until it bore no resemblance to chicken fluff, fine enough to relax the mixture later when combined with egg whites.

Although it was also a fussy and detailed task, in comparison to making the broth earlier, it was nothing. Moreover, it wasn’t just Jiang Weiming in the kitchen now; Sir also helped with the mincing for a while.

The brothers chatted about family affairs while cooking, which gave Jiang Feng the illusion that making chicken bean curd might not be so difficult after all, if one just did this and that.

The chicken bean curd had only been off the stove for two minutes when Jiang Weiming was dividing it into bowls, and Professor Li came in following the scent.

“What are you cooking that smells so good? I could smell it from a distance,” Professor Li said with a laugh, then paused in surprise upon seeing the chicken bean curd on the kitchen counter, and quickly realized what it was.

“Chicken bean curd?”

“That’s right,” Jiang Weiming nodded, as he put the chicken bean curd into a food container and walked away with it.

“There’s more in the pot, help yourself.” Sir was a man of action, already ladling out a bowl for himself.

“I had heard from friends that with chicken bean curd, you eat it without seeing any chicken, and it looks just like ordinary bean curd. I never believed it. I’ve had this dish before, too, and though it seemed similar, you could still tell the difference. Now it seems I was lacking in experience,” Professor Li reflected, as he too served himself a bowl.

“It’s not about being inexperienced; it’s that no one wants to put in the effort nowadays,” Sir explained. “To begin with, there weren’t many who could make it. It takes a whole day’s worth of work to make this dish, which is enough time to make Buddhas Jumping Over the Wall—who would bother making this?”

“It’s just that Granduncle Weiming is willing to do it; my bunch of little rascals have got the better end of the deal.”

One of the lucky little rascals, Jiang Feng: …

It wasn’t two minutes before Jiang Weiming returned. Sir tried to help him serve the rest of the chicken bean curd from the pot but was refused by Jiang Weiming with the same excuse he later used to refuse Jiang Feng.

Taste degraded, no need.

Jiang Feng noticed that after Jiang Weiming said that, Sir appeared quite displeased, as if he had something to say but eventually held back.

Then Jiang Feng came in.

Jiang Feng witnessed again the same scenario he had experienced firsthand and heard Jiang Weiming repeat the exact same words to him.

To be fair, Jiang Feng himself found his own performance of the lie he’d told upon entering that he came to see if the kitchen needed any help quite poor, no wonder Sir looked disdainful.

Indeed, only after repeatedly reviewing one’s performance, can an actor identify flaws and make progress.

The story quickly moved on to the point in memory where Jiang Feng filled a bowl with the last bit of chicken bean curd from the pot and handed it to Jiang Weiming.

Jiang Feng looked at Jiang Weiming.

Jiang Weiming was watching Jiang Feng with a smile, like any elder who enjoys watching a beloved younger family member eat.

Jiang Feng handed the bowl to Jiang Weiming, who paused for a second.

Jiang Weiming rarely showed such clear emotional fluctuation that could be easily perceived, this indicated that he really hadn’t anticipated Jiang Feng’s action.

“Granduncle Weiming, even if you can’t really taste it, this is a dish you worked hard to make, and you should eat it. You are the chef who made this, and if even you eating it is considered a waste, then we are truly the ones wasting it.”

Jiang Weiming’s expression returned to its previous smiling state, but his eyes seemed to hide other emotions.

Not moved, not joyful.

There was a tinge of sentimentality, a touch of understanding, and a hint of consolation.

“@*＆%＃…”

Jiang Feng was no longer able to pay attention to his own words or to what Sir was saying; his gaze stayed fixed on Jiang Weiming, as if he had never seen him before, staring without blinking.

He was afraid of missing even the subtlest shift in Jiang Weiming’s emotions.

Having relived once more everything he had experienced before, Jiang Feng realized that his own responses had been slower than he thought.

“Eat!” Sir’s command was so loud that it startled Jiang Feng with a jolt.

Jiang Weiming laughed.

Once, Jiang Feng thought this laugh was one of resignation, for at that time, it seemed to him that Jiang Weiming was being hurriedly coaxed by the three of them to eat the chicken bean curd with a mix of reluctant pleasure.

But now, watching from a truly external perspective, Jiang Feng found that Jiang Weiming’s smile was one of contentment and happiness, albeit seemingly tinged with resignation.

The emotion was complex, beyond the vocabulary Jiang Feng possessed.

If he had to describe it, Jiang Feng felt that Jiang Weiming’s smile was akin to that of an enlightened immortal.

It was as if a practitioner, after decades of vexation by something, suddenly experienced enlightenment, insight, broke through and fulfilled a long-cherished wish, revealing a smile after everything had become clear—a smile in a mood he understood but couldn’t articulate.

“I will eat,” Jiang Weiming took the bowl and scooped up a big spoonful.

Into his mouth.

Jiang Feng could no longer see him clearly, nor himself.

He had left the memory.