Starting from a Bankrupt Sichuan Cuisine Restaurant

Chapter 262: Chapter 162: Inheritance

Kong Rui accepted the tea and took a sip. Smiling, he helped the two kneeling youths to their feet. "Qingfeng, Qing Jie, from this day forward, you are my apprentices. You will learn to cook with Huaifeng."

"We have a saying in our trade: ’The Way is not for sale for a thousand taels of Gold, yet it is given freely to a dear friend on a street corner.’"

"You’re my nephews, which is why I’m taking you as my apprentices and teaching you our family’s craft. In the future, no matter how much you learn, you must never teach it to an outsider. Understand?"

"We understand." The two boys bowed their heads, their hands clenched tightly in front of them. Their voices were still young and hesitant.

They wore worn-out cotton-linen clothes that hung loosely on their frames, like laundry on a bamboo pole. Their backs were slightly hunched, so much so that the sharp angles of their bones were visible.

Zhou Yan sighed internally. ’Kong Qingfeng must have remembered this with particular clarity. When he first became an apprentice, he was truly nothing but skin and bones; he could have used a single strand of straw to hold up his pants.’

He glanced at the wall, where a date was displayed in stark relief: 1918.3.12

Kong Qingfeng had successfully become an apprentice.

In the boy’s eyes, Zhou Yan saw nervousness, but also a glimmer of light.

The simple yet elaborate apprenticeship ceremony concluded perfectly under the watch of the three Grandmasters.

Kong Huafeng set down the tray, slung his arms around the two boys’ bony shoulders, and smilingly led them outside. "Qingfeng, Qing Jie, come on. I’ll show you where you’ll be staying. Starting today, you’ll be rooming with me."

He was a full head taller than them and radiated confidence and cheer.

The house wasn’t large, and certainly not luxurious. It consisted of a main room, a small courtyard, and two other rooms—that was all.

The three boys shared one room. With two wooden plank beds set up, the aisle between them was only half a meter wide. A stack of books sat at the head of one bed.

As night fell, Kong Qingfeng and Kong Qingjie sat on their bed, stroking the soft cotton quilt. They gazed at the doors and windows that could be shut securely, their eyes shining brightly.

Kong Huafeng sat across from them, smiling. "It’s a little cramped, I know. But my Old Man said this is just temporary. Once we make some money in a couple of years, we’ll get a bigger house."

"Huaifeng, you don’t think this house is big enough?" Kong Qingjie looked around, his eyes filled with delight. "This is way bigger than our house! And we get to sleep with cotton quilts! Back home, we slept on straw. The blanket we had got soaked in the rain a few days ago, so it wasn’t warm at all. This quilt feels so nice. Is it for me and my big brother to use?"

The smile on Kong Huafeng’s face froze. A look of pity crept into his eyes. He opened his mouth, but his voice came out a bit tight. "That’s right. Qing Jie, you and Qingfeng will take that bed. You’re both skinny enough to share. I’ll sleep here."

"Thank you, Huaifeng!" the two boys chirped.

Kong Huafeng laughed too, waving a hand. "Don’t mention it. Let’s get some sleep. We have to be up early tomorrow to practice our Knife Skills. My Old Man will have my hide if I wake up late."

With a RUSTLE of movement, the three boys climbed into their beds. The oil lamp was blown out, and soon, Kong Huafeng was fast asleep, snoring softly.

On the other bed, a drowsy Kong Qingjie whispered, "Brother, this blanket is so comfy... I’ve never slept in such a warm bed before..."

"Qing Jie, we have to make something of ourselves in this life! We have to make sure everyone in the Kong family has full bellies and a warm bed to sleep in." Kong Qingfeng lay on his back, staring at the ceiling, his eyes glinting with resolve in the darkness.

His brother’s snores started up beside him, even louder than Kong Huafeng’s from the other bed.

Kong Qingfeng smiled and shook his head. He reached over to tuck in the corner of his brother’s quilt, and soon fell into a deep sleep himself.

...

Zhou Yan’s vision went black, then lit up again.

A new date appeared on the wall in red: 1918.6.13

Three stone tables were set up in the open-air courtyard. On each table sat a chopping block. Outside, the sky was just beginning to brighten.

The two boys stood before the chopping blocks, cleavers in hand, slicing winter melons.

Three months had passed. The gaunt cheeks of Kong Qingfeng and Kong Qingjie had filled out noticeably. Their thin cotton-linen clothes no longer revealed the sharp outlines of their bones as before.

Both of their left hands were covered in a mix of new and old cuts, especially Kong Qingfeng’s, which was a dense lattice of scars.

Even the mornings were muggy in June.

Beads of sweat already dotted their foreheads.

Of course, that might not have been entirely due to the heat. Their master was standing beside them, a discipline ruler in his hand.

CRACK!

The ruler struck Kong Qingjie’s right hand, instantly leaving a red welt.

Kong Rui’s face was grim. "Look at this mess you’re making! Are any two of those winter melon slices the same thickness? You keep your fingers so far back, terrified the blade might nick you. How are you ever going to master the Straight Blade Technique with an attitude like that?"

"I told you to hold the ingredient steady with your left hand! Brace the side of the blade with the first knuckle of your middle finger. Move your fingers back the same distance with every slice. That’s how you ensure all the slices are the same thickness!"

"The more you hesitate, the more likely the blade will slip and cut your fingers."

Kong Qingjie clutched the cleaver, not daring to put it down. He flinched, pulling his hand back as tears welled in his eyes. He nodded and whispered, "Master, I understand."

"Get another piece of winter melon and keep practicing! I’ll be watching you," Kong Rui said sternly, his expression unyielding.

Kong Qingjie sliced off another piece of winter melon, took a deep breath, and began to slice again, ever so carefully.

"Steady your left hand! Yes, just like that. Bring the blade straight down. Straight up, straight down. Don’t angle it in or out, or your slices and shreds will come out ugly."

"And keep your wrist flexible! Your joints can move, they’re not made of stone. That’s it, like that..." As he instructed Kong Qingjie, Kong Rui turned his head to look at Kong Qingfeng.

Kong Qingfeng’s grip on his cleaver was already quite steady. The blade rose and fell in a straight line. His slices were still a bit thick, but on the whole, they were mostly uniform.

A fresh cut had appeared on his hand. Blood slowly trickled from his middle finger. It wasn’t deep, and he didn’t even flinch. He calmly finished slicing the piece of winter melon before him, then picked up a nearby strip of gauze to wipe the blood away. Without waiting for his master’s prompting, he got another piece of winter melon and continued his practice.

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