Chapter 33: Put in My Place

"Eight hundred li of the Qin Mountains, with dust rising to the skies; thirty million Shaanxi folk, roaring in unison to the Qin opera; a bowl of oil-splashed noodles, full of joy and delight; if there’s no chili, everyone grumbles and fights."

This local proverb from the Guanzhong region speaks to the status of oil-splashed noodles in the hearts of Shaanxi people. It was also the highest farewell ceremony a veteran squad leader could offer his brothers who were about to die on the battlefield of Songhu. Though the brothers of the Special Operations Company never got to eat those noodles or the *roujiamo* (meat burgers), that sentiment and emotion are things I still miss, even many years later.

Perhaps it is for this reason that the oil-splashed noodles and *roujiamo* I make have a flavor all their own... —Excerpted from *Hu Shuo*, a collection of Hu Biao’s journals.

In the suburbs of a provincial capital in the south, there is a residential complex called Times New City. Back in 2011, the property price here was 8,500 per square meter, peaking at 16,000 in 2018; one could say that residents who bought early on suddenly found themselves with a net worth of over a million. But what is the latest price? Real estate agents have it listed at 7,500 per square meter, and even then, there are no takers.

Consequently, for the more than six hundred households living there, whenever they think about how their fixed assets—once worth millions—are now worth at most a third of that, they are overcome with a strong urge to fling open their windows and scream at the world.

Gao Yi, a middle-aged, weary-looking man, was once one of them; especially when he thought about how a significant portion of his monthly salary went toward his mortgage, he often felt like ending it all.

I say "once" because, after Gao Yi opened his eyes and realized with joy that he hadn't died and had returned to his familiar little home in the modern world, his mindset changed entirely. He is now happily making breakfast for his family. Yes, making breakfast; after many years, the head of the Gao household has finally stepped back into the kitchen.

Why? Previously, as a middle-aged man exhausted from working overtime, he would wash up and go straight to sleep on a single bed in the study. He wouldn't wake up until his wife had finished making breakfast, at which point he would grab a quick bite and rush off to work. As for why he slept in the study after coming home? Let’s just say, those who know, know.

But today is different. After catching an accidental glimpse of that photograph of the Special Operations Company, every detail of those dozen days—every familiar face—rushed back like a tidal wave, leaving Gao Yi momentarily dazed.

He was only shaken from his trance when footsteps echoed from the living room; his wife must have been getting up to prepare breakfast. Instinctively, he looked at the sky outside and his phone. He was surprised to find it was only 5:45 AM. The sky was still pitch black—so his wife had been waking up this early every single day.

One or two days might not matter, but doing this for years must have been exhausting. Thinking of this, Gao Yi felt an inexplicable sense of guilt and heartache. After all, when his wife first married him, she didn't even know how to cook. He quickly got out of bed, gave his bewildered wife a hug, and said, "Go back to sleep for a while. I’ll take care of breakfast today."

"What’s gotten into you? You’re acting all strange today," his wife teased, though the smile on her face could not be hidden. Yet, the wrinkles at the corners of her eyes were striking; that girl who was once so youthful and moving had, without notice, developed so many lines.

The breakfast was rice noodles with a topping of sautéed pork and chili. Whether it was the family being supportive or Gao Yi’s skills performing beyond expectations, the meal received high praise from his wife and two children. Gathered around the table, the family chatted and laughed in a lively atmosphere; it could be said that the Gao household had not felt this kind of joy in a long time. It turned out that to make the family happy, a simple bowl of rice noodles was all it took.

In that moment, Gao Yi realized something: isn't this what life is? Ordinary, trivial, and filled with all sorts of worries. But as long as one's parents are healthy, one's wife is in good spirits, and the children are growing up happily, that is enough.

***

Half an hour later, at a Shaanxi noodle shop in Majuqiao, Hu Biao asked the owner with a skeptical tone, "Boss, are you sure you're from Shaanxi province? Is this the most authentic way to make oil-splashed noodles and *roujiamo*?"

Hu Biao had reacted this way after arriving at the shop full of anticipation, ordering a large bowl of oil-splashed noodles and two *roujiamo*. While the boss was busy rolling and boiling the noodles, he had even peeled some garlic in advance, prepared to order a second bowl if the first wasn't enough. Although a large bowl of plain oil-splashed noodles—without meat—cost 20 yuan, and a *roujiamo* cost 12, it wasn't cheap by Hu Biao’s current spending habits. He usually ate at fast-food joints where he could get a meal with one meat and two vegetable dishes for ten yuan. Eating here once was enough to cover two days of his usual meals.

And the result? After eating what was, for Hu Biao, a "blood-letting" feast, several critiques couldn't help but surface in his mind:

They didn't use rapeseed oil; the oil temperature was too high, scorching the seasonings—a failure!

Not enough alkaline was added when kneading the dough, the kneading technique was lacking, and the noodles were boiled too long—a failure!

The chili powder wasn't authentic Qin chili, nor was it the kind the owner should have roasted himself; it was likely bought cheaply at a vegetable market, meaning the noodles lacked a soul—a failure!

Even the vinegar, garlic, and vegetable toppings were all found wanting. Every aspect was flawed, and the portions were quite limited. The only thing worth mentioning, according to Hu Biao, who had just returned from traversing through time, was that the noodles were at least sufficiently greasy.

Facing Hu Biao’s questions, the middle-aged boss, who was busy reading a web novel on his phone, didn't even look up: "Yeah! I'm a native born and raised in Chang'an, Shaanxi. My oil-splashed noodles and *roujiamo* are 100% authentic!"

Good grief! That thick Northeastern accent made Hu Biao realize he had asked for nothing.

However, after experiencing the battlefield of Songhu, Hu Biao understood the importance of food like never before, especially food with such rich oil content. These noodles and *roujiamo*, while disappointing, were not something he intended to waste. As he ate, he offered the boss some suggestions: "Boss, next time you knead the dough, you should add a third more alkaline, double the kneading time, and when boiling the noodles, look..."

Before he could finish his sincere advice, the boss flew into a rage, threw his phone down, and began to curse: "Who gave you the right to be so picky? Eat it if you want, and get lost if you don't. If you're so damn good, go open your own noodle shop!"

Hu Biao: "..."

After finishing the food and paying his 32 yuan, Hu Biao walked out with his hands in his pockets. He strolled slowly, a cigarette dangling from his mouth, looking like an idler with nothing to do. In reality, he was deep in thought about where his future lay.

First, he confirmed one thing: he would absolutely not continue to "lie flat" in the future. To do so would be a betrayal of the brothers who died in battle. No matter how bad the modern world might seem, for them, it was an era they wouldn't even dare to dream of. So, for the sake of his own future—and for the expectations and memories of those brothers—he had to live well. He didn't ask for wealth or glory, but he had to live actively.

This meant that continuing to work odd jobs wouldn't cut it. Should he go work in a factory or carry bricks at a construction site? Those choices seemed decent enough; with a stable job, he could learn some skills in his spare time. He would slowly save money, pay off the mountain of debt he owed, and stop running away. Of course, this process would be difficult, but could it be harder than clutching a bundle of grenades and charging through gunfire to blow up a tank?

With this thought in mind, Hu Biao headed toward the Majuqiao job market. Yet, just as Hu Biao’s life trajectory was about to head toward becoming a factory veteran or a construction worker, a bald man brought another strange possibility into his life. Or more accurately, as Hu Biao walked along with a sense of purpose, a voice suddenly reached his ears:

"Hey, buddy, have you eaten yet..."