Chapter Eighty-Two: Departure

People of Gao Ning’s generation had few siblings, a result of national policies, so relatives of the same age were rare. Each family tended to go its own way, seldom gathering together. By the twenty-first century, with the rise of improved transportation and the effects of urbanization, people found themselves scattered to the far corners of the land, making it even harder to reunite—sometimes not even for holidays or festivals.

In Gao Ning’s memory, the only close family were his uncle’s household and his maternal grandparents. So, he had put considerable thought into helping his uncle’s family resolve their financial difficulties, both to ease his mother’s worries and out of his own sense of filial piety. He had always been close to his grandmother.

On this rare visit home, both grandparents were delighted. He stayed for two days, brought Jin Damao to the previously acquired central kitchen, and even recruited a few seasoned regional managers from a headhunting company—specialists in running chain stores—to help Jin Damao develop the business.

Afterward, Gao Ning left Jin Damao in the care of Assistant Liu. “I have business to attend to, so I’ll head back first. Pay more attention to the company matters. As long as you achieve results, I can pull some strings and get you promoted again. There’s no need to close the lamb restaurant either. Now that money’s not an issue, just keep it open. Auntie is more than capable of being the proprietress. After all, our business is in meat, and with our own supply channels, we should seize this advantage.”

Even before boarding at the airport, Gao Ning was reminding Jin Damao of all sorts of important details.

Jin Damao could only grin broadly. Seeing everything with his own eyes, he finally let go of his anxiety. He knew this time, thanks to his nephew, he was finally climbing out of his life’s lowest trough and heading toward a new peak. The thirty thousand yuan monthly salary filled him with pride; he even spoke more loudly these past couple of days.

“Say no more, really. Don’t you trust me to handle things? Just the other night, I rummaged through my old things, found all the recipes my master taught me, along with notes and so on—a lot of materials. I’ll sort them out properly when I get back, and I guarantee I’ll have the beef dishes sorted out perfectly!”

Gao Ning laughed. “What kind of language is that? You should just say it clearly. All right, I won’t nag. Just follow procedure, and lean more on those two regional managers—they’re experienced. Even if you outrank them due to supply reasons, try to handle things smoothly and diplomatically. If anything goes wrong, call me right away, or Assistant Liu if you can’t reach me. Please explain everything to Grandma and Grandpa for me—I won’t be able to say goodbye again.”

“Do you really have to rush off like this? Your grandmother said she’d make dumplings for you tonight!”

Gao Ning’s face almost turned green at this: “Don’t let her make any more dumplings! I’ve been eating dumplings every day; I even dream about them now!”

Jin Damao burst out laughing. “The old folks don’t have much to eat, but they swear by dumplings, thinking they’re the best thing in the world. Of course, they want to serve the very best to their grandson. How can you complain?”

Gao Ning waved his hand, not wanting to talk any further. “All right, I’m off!”

“If anything comes up, call me!” With Jin Damao waving him off, Gao Ning entered the express lane.

Helping family really did bring a sense of accomplishment. If his uncle was happy, if his grandparents were happy, then his mother would be happy too.

For a family to be happy together was better than anything else—money meant nothing to him now; it was hardly even worth a scrap of paper.

After waiting a short while in the lounge, Gao Ning was among the first to board the plane when the attendant’s gentle reminder came. He settled into the spacious first-class seat. A stewardess came by and asked if he needed anything. Gao Ning thought for a moment and requested the day’s newspaper.

Yes, the time was almost up—just a few more minutes. He figured that as soon as the plane soared into the sky, Qi Shan would depart once again, returning to the mysterious train and the next round of adventure. Even though, in reality, time in the world would be frozen while Gao Ning was away, the transition itself always brought a brief moment of dazed stillness, which reading the newspaper helped to disguise.

As the cabin doors opened a second time and passengers from economy and business class filed in, there was a brief commotion. After the usual safety instructions, the engines roared, and the plane surged skyward.

At that exact moment, Gao Ning’s countdown hit zero. The world around him froze: the plane suspended in its ascent, birds halted midflight, people and traffic motionless, the shimmering water on the horizon fixed in place. A flash of white light—and Gao Ning vanished.

He felt his vision blur and found himself once more aboard the mysterious train, standing by the door to his private compartment—entry permit now spent. Passing through the small kitchen to the communal lounge, he saw Liang Bing sitting on the sofa, sipping tea.

She had changed into a snowy white suit, heels long and slender, one leg crossed over the other, her heels poised in the air like a drawn sword.

Gao Ning smiled. “Looks like I’m not the last one back this time!”

“The order of return matches the order we entered—choosing to return early doesn’t change that. With Old Liu gone, of course you’re the second,” Liang Bing replied coolly, her face expressionless, though Gao Ning sensed a faint, almost imperceptible warmth in her tone.

She really was a cold one. Gao Ning shrugged, silently amused, then rolled up his pant leg and sat down casually across from her.

He tapped the table with a finger, and instantly a steaming plate of dumplings appeared before him, each one plump and charming, like little ingots.

“My grandmother’s dumplings are delicious—want to try one?”

Liang Bing didn’t answer, but extended her hand with the teacup, which instantly transformed into a small, snow-white bowl. The bowl was thin as cicada wings, crystal-clear and adorned with hand-drawn designs of pines and cranes—a work of art. There was a dash of sauce inside, and suddenly she had a pair of bamboo chopsticks.

She picked up a dumpling, dipped it lightly, and popped it whole into her mouth. After a few gentle chews, a trace of surprise flickered in her eyes. She nodded slowly. “Not bad. Which school of chef does your grandmother belong to?”

“You flatter her—she’s no master chef. At most, she worked as a kitchen assistant in a steel mill canteen, cooking big pots for the workers.”

“Is that so? No wonder a few flavors are missing, but they’re still quite good,” Liang Bing mused. “Dumplings stuffed with shepherd’s purse tend to be dry—too much oil makes them greasy, too little and they’re unpleasantly dry and sticky, making for a tough chew. Ideally, you’d use a 55-degree warming cabinet and deep-fry the shepherd’s purse seeds in their own oil for about eighteen minutes, then drain and chop them. This way, you preserve their original flavor while making them tender and fragrant, without greasiness.

“Also, shepherd’s purse varies by location. Wild ones are hardy but best not picked from remote hills—the flavor is muddled and can be overpowered by seasonings. It’s better to plant them among coriander, bay, or sesame. After about two weeks, when the plants are palm-length, they’re perfect—not too old or too tender, and they’ll carry a subtle extra fragrance, elevating the dish.”

Gao Ning stared for a moment, the corners of his mouth twitching upward. He made a mock bow. “Well, thank you for your guidance, elder. We all thought you were just a sweet-toothed girl with a chilly disposition, but I see now you’re a true gourmet. My apologies for underestimating you!”

Liang Bing shot him a glance tinged with faint reproach, then picked up another dumpling, eating with relish.

At that moment, footsteps sounded from behind, and Zhou Bansian appeared in a finely tailored bespoke suit, swaying jauntily as he approached.

“Well, you two are back early! Haven’t seen you in a few days, but you both look great. Something good happen?”

Zhou Bansian’s face was all smiles, his eyes nearly vanishing into crescents.

Gao Ning grinned. “Come off it—after what we’ve been through together, you’re still giving us the runaround? How about yourself—have things turned around for you?”

Zhou Bansian boasted, “Turned around? More than that! Time currency is damn miraculous. I tried my hand and made five hundred silver dollars. I’ve left Baoding and opened a small shop in Zhangqiu, Shandong. The Japanese are there too, but it’s much better than Baoding. There are fewer Japanese in the countryside, and they’re less bold—can’t extort much. Plus, with Eighth Route Army activity frequent in Zhangqiu, the Japanese want to set it up as a model of harmonious coexistence for propaganda, so it’s actually much easier to get by there.”

Gao Ning and Liang Bing exchanged glances, at a bit of a loss for words. Though their worlds differed, the backgrounds were similar and close in era, so conversation came easily. Zhou Bansian, however, came from decades earlier—a world entirely unfamiliar to them. The eight years of war with Japan was something they knew only from books, history, or TV, not firsthand. It was like watching a film through frosted glass—lacking the feeling of truly being there.

Fortunately, Liang Bing picked up the thread. “Have some dumplings, Gao Ning brought them—his grandmother made them.”

Zhou Bansian was delighted. “Ah, that’s a rare treat! I must try some!” He conjured a pair of chopsticks, skipped the sauce and bowl, and popped one straight into his mouth.

Just then, a row of small yellow lights blinked on overhead. Gao Ning and Zhou Bansian paused in surprise, but Liang Bing set down her chopsticks, rose, and said, “We have a newcomer. Let’s go welcome them.”