The Game of Life

"Yes, I am. Who’s this?” Jiang Weiming asked loudly.

"I’m Jiang Feng, I…”

"Kid, you might have the wrong number. I don’t know you, I’m not interested in insurance, real estate, investing in funds or stocks, and I don’t fall for scams.

Find someone else!”

Then Jiang Weiming hung up the call.

Jiang Feng: ???

He’d received so many telemarketing calls recently that rejecting them had become second nature.

Jiang Feng made another call.

This time, it was picked up immediately.

"Kid, I told you I’m not interested in those things. I’m just an old man living in

The countryside, I have no money!”

Seeing that Jiang Weiming was about to hang up again, Jiang Feng hurriedly said,

“May I ask if you know Jiang Weiguo?”

There was silence on the other end of the line, a full thirty-four seconds that felt awfully long.

"Who are you?”

"I’m Jiang Weiguo’s grandson. I saw a photo of you with another elder at her place and thought you looked similar, so I asked her for your number. I just wanted to ask,” Jiang Feng said his prepared speech, swallowing nervously, his voice trembling,

“are you Jiang Weiguo’s brother?”

"I am.”

Jiang Feng almost threw his phone in excitement.

"I’m his third brother. How’s your grandfather, is he doing well?”

-My grandfather is fine, in great health. He can eat, drink, sleep, and even cook. May I ask where you are now? Could we find a time to meet? I’m currently in the capital city of Shu province. How about…”

"Tomorrow, I’ll go to the capital city tomorrow. I’ll contact you then,” Jiang

Weiming said.

"I should come to you! It’s not convenient for someone of your age to be running around. Just tell me your address, and I’ll find my way there.” Jiang Feng couldn’t let a ninety-year-old man take the trouble to come to him.

"I’ll come to you!” Jiang Weiming insisted, not allowing Jiang Feng to refuse, and hung up the phone.

As if he was avoiding Jiang Feng.

Jiang Feng actually wanted to make another call, but after thinking it over, he decided against it. Jiang Weiming had been in Shu for so many years, probably assuming like the old man that all his brothers had long since passed away. Suddenly hearing news of a relative after all this time, he’d surely need time to process it.

Jiang Feng sent a text message to Jiang Weiming-Granduncle Weiming, I’ll

Come to the train station to pick you up tomorrow.

Two minutes later, Jiang Weiming replied with the word

“okay.”

Jiang Feng didn’t know that Jiang Weiming, in his nineties, clutching his senior-friendly phone, seeing the words

“Granduncle Weiming,” had trembled as he took a full two minutes to draw the character

“okay” on the screen.

Jiang Feng woke up early the next day; he hadn’t slept well, troubled by bizarre dreams all night. One moment, he was at the station picking up Jiang Weiming, the next moment Jiang Weiming was hitting his head with a spatula, scolding him for messing up the ingredients for a fish head with chopped chili. Later, he even dreamt that he made the dish correctly, Wang Hao ate it, succeeded in confessing his love to the school beauty, and then hordes of single men and women from the school besieged him, wanting him to make fish head with chopped chili.

Jiang Feng was actually woken by the fright.

He wiped the sweat from his forehead and checked the time on his phone-

6:55-

He got up, washed up, put on a relatively formal set of clothes, ate his usual bowl of chitterlings rice noodles at the community entrance, and headed straight to the train station.

Jiang Weiming hadn’t sent any messages, so Jiang Feng casually waited at an exit gate. He checked the time intermittently, feeling a mix of nervousness and fear, akin to meeting an internet friend.

Finally, just after nine o’clock, Jiang Feng received a text from Jiang Weiming.

‘TH arrive at 9:32.”

Jiang Weiming would have to travel from the countryside to the town, then from the town to the county. Jiang Feng suspected that Jiang Weiming must have set off well before six o’clock.

Actually, Jiang Weiming had started preparing since a little past 4 a.m. The elderly don’t sleep much, and if they sleep early, they wake up early, but Jiang Weiming had barely slept, tossing and turning in bed.

From the moment Jiang Feng uttered the name Jiang Weiguo last night, Jiang Weiming had no doubts. Years ago, while fleeing turmoil, he had become separated from his father and several brothers. In 1951, he changed his name to Jiang Yuanchao, and even his son didn’t know his original name was Jiang Weiming, let alone the fact that he actually had six brothers.

What Jiang Weiming hadn’t expected was that he, now a 97-year-old man on the verge of death, almost eighty years later, would be found by his younger brother’s grandson, telling him his younger brother was still alive.

All night, Jiang Weiming had been restless, pondering what clothes to wear, what gift to bring for his great-nephew, and he had risen early to rummage through his belongings. In the end, he had settled on two jars of pickles, carefully selected from his pickle vat, choosing only the finest.

After leaving the station, Jiang Weiming sent a text message to Jiang Feng and then waited in place with a cloth bag slung over his shoulder for Jiang Feng to arrive. Jiang Feng hadn’t spotted Jiang Weiming yet, but Jiang Weiming recognized him at a glance.

The reason was simple: Jiang Feng bore a resemblance to Jiang Chengde.

The first thought that crossed Jiang Weiming’s mind when he saw Jiang Feng was that his little brother must have adored this grandson, thinking if only he were a little stouter, he’d look even more like their father.

Initially, when Jiang Feng looked at the memory of Jiang Chengde, he felt there was a four or five-point resemblance to himself. In Jiang Weiming’s eyes, that resemblance was now magnified to seven or eight. Suppressing his excitement, Jiang Weiming quickly walked over to pat Jiang Feng on the shoulder.

When Jiang Feng turned around, he recognized him instantly,

“Granduncle Weiming!”

Compared to Jiang Weiming in ’87, the man standing before Jiang Feng had aged, with more wrinkles, looser skin, many more age spots on his hands and face, not to mention a considerably hunched back, and even his eyes had dimmed.

Time truly is a fearsome killer.

"Have you eaten?” Jiang Weiming asked.

Jiang Feng hadn’t expected the first thing Jiang Weiming would ask upon seeing him was that. He was slow to respond, and before he could, Jiang Weiming had grabbed him and started pulling him toward the exterior of the station without explanation.

"Granduncle Weiming is taking you for breakfast. Granduncle Weiming knows of a place right next to the train station that makes exceptional fried sweet dough.”

Jiang Feng was utterly bewildered.

Just like that, he was dragged by Jiang Weiming into a simply decorated small diner, where he watched him order a serving of wontons, a bowl of porridge, two sticks of fried sweet dough, and then witnessed Jiang Weiming sit across from him and take out two jars of pickles from his bag.

He hadn’t expected the story to develop like this.

He had imagined it would be, if not the melodramatic tears and hugging of a television reunion, at least a heartfelt acknowledgement of kinship. Yet instead, they ended up at a breakfast diner, indulging in a culinary escapade. Jiang Weiming acted like a long-lost relative, quite familiar yet unseen for ages, skillfully taking a younger family member out for a meal.

"Come, Feng, try the special Shu region sweet fried dough,” Jiang Weiming called out, invitingly.

All it took was a glance at Jiang Feng’s face for him to be reminded of his own brother Jiang Chengde, and with that memory, all sense of unfamiliarity vanished.

"Oh, okay,” said Jiang Feng, not knowing what else to say, obediently picking up a stick of sweet fried dough.

His first impression of Jiang Weiming was that the old man wasn’t just advanced in age, but also strong-he had been unable to resist when Jiang Weiming pulled him along.

Jiang Feng had never tried sweet fried dough before.

He had seen it on the streets the previous day, but it wasn’t well made—greasy and off-putting. The version at this diner, however, seemed appealing, caramel in color, with sesame seeds sprinkled atop the uniformly sized pieces on the skewer.

Biting into it revealed a crispy exterior with a soft interior, hollowed out and made from glutinous rice. The outer layer was fried to golden perfection, creating a crispy and fragrant bite, coated with a thin layer of syrup that had a subtle tang, slightly sticky and chewy.

Jiang Feng had a newfound respect for this diner.

Creating a hollow center in such ingredients is no small feat.

When Jiang Feng looked up, he saw Jiang Weiming smiling at him contentedly.

"Feng, how has your grandfather been these years?”

Here it comes!

That’s the question!

Last night, Jiang Feng had rehearsed the expected scenarios of their meeting, considering the various situations that might arise, the questions Jiang Weiming might ask, and what they could talk about, rehearsing until one or two in the morning. Jiang Weiming’s direct invitation for breakfast had caught Jiang Feng off guard, but now they were finally returning to the anticipated storyline!

Jiang Feng straightened his posture, cleared his throat, ready to display the results of last night’s rehearsal..