Chapter Thirteen: Harsh Words

Just as I was lost in thought, Lei Ren suddenly extended his wine cup and gently tapped it on the table towards me.

I immediately understood—what he wanted me to do was pour him some wine.

Honestly, I wasn’t particularly willing. This old man never seems to tire of ordering people around. Or perhaps, after I embarrassed him earlier, he wanted to regain his dignity. Still, since the conversation was riveting and I had no desire to argue, I forced a smile and, with utmost respect, obliged him, giving this elder his due.

After I refilled his cup, Lei Ren, now satisfied, continued his story.

Lei Ren said that his father had once wished to become the apprentice of Zhao Qingshan, but Zhao Qingshan claimed he never accepted disciples outside his family, and thus did not take in Lei Aniu. However, Zhao Qingshan proved himself honorable; he wrote a letter for Lei Aniu, recommending him to work at the Jinan Cantonese Guild Hall. Lei Aniu seized this opportunity, joining the Five Peaks Temple trade, and from then on personally witnessed and experienced countless grievances and rivalries among the chefs of Shandong during the Republic era.

As Lei Ren spoke, he became deeply sentimental. He told us that his father, Lei Aniu, admired most the “Chef Zhao” from Zhao Family Tower in Shiren Gu, southern Shandong—a man of integrity and skill, possessing a chef’s knife bestowed by the emperor himself. He could ward off spirits and contend with warlords; even the Japanese feared him. His life was truly legendary.

When speaking of the Japanese, Lei Ren made a special point: back then, the Japanese, arrogant and ignorant, set up the “Pixie Culinary Formation” in Jinan, openly challenging the Five Viscera Temple—a famous episode among Republic-era chefs. That incident, thanks to Zhao Qingshan’s imperial knife, ended with the Japanese forced out of Shandong’s culinary world, humiliated, and their chef committing seppuku after losing the contest. It was a moment of restored pride for the Chinese, giving rise to the saying, "Japanese soldiers may enter Shandong, but Japanese cuisine cannot stay in Jinan."

I realized the final story Lei Ren spoke of was the so-called “Pixie Culinary Duel.” Truth be told, that was the tale I was most interested in. According to Lei Ren, it seemed Zhao Qingshan clashed with the Japanese over this event, wielding his chef’s knife and making quite a name for himself.

But before I could press for details, Xian Hongye beside me nudged me with her elbow.

Snapping out of my reverie, I quickly turned to her.

Hongye, with an air of nonchalance, extended her hand, revealing her wristwatch.

Good heavens—it was already past three o’clock!

Her gesture was a clear reminder: we had wasted too much time at the highway service station, our car was broken, and if we didn’t hurry to find another, our journey would be delayed.

After all, we couldn’t afford to idle away the whole day at the service station. Until the toxin of the White Food Gu was purged, we wouldn’t have a moment’s peace.

So, reluctantly, I interrupted the old man’s post-drink storytelling.

I told him, thanking him for his hospitality, that we had urgent business and needed to leave immediately. With the car out of commission, we had to find another.

In short, we couldn’t continue chatting; we would part ways, exchange phone numbers, and each head off in different directions.

My words left Lei Ren somewhat surprised, but what he said next surprised me even more.

When the old man heard we were leaving, he cheerfully suggested, “Young fellows! I see it’s late—why don’t you stay here and rest well? Tomorrow, let Wangcai personally send you to southern Shandong, and I’ll take the opportunity to visit the descendants of the man who saved my father.”

His proposal was both unexpected and reasonable.

He even invoked his father, offered to help us, and I had no reason to refuse. Yet his words left me feeling uneasy. Wasn’t his change of attitude a little too swift and thorough? Moments ago, he had the sly smile of a black-market innkeeper, but now he was the gracious host, sending us off like a living Maitreya. Such dramatic transformation inevitably breeds suspicion.

As I watched the white-bearded Lei Ren, I couldn’t fathom his true intentions, and for a moment, I was unsure.

But just then, at this crossroads, Xian Hongye nudged me again, “reminding” me, “Old Tian, don’t you still need to spend a few days in Dezhou visiting friends? I fear the elder may not be able to wait.”

Hongye, with a casual tone, fluttered her eyelashes at me, and I immediately understood. She must have sensed something off about Lei Ren’s sudden enthusiasm.

With her reminder, I caught on and wasted no more words with that “strange man.” After a brief farewell, we deposited Wang Hou’s car with them and hurriedly left, heading to Dezhou to “visit friends.”

As we left the service station, Lei Ren’s nephew Wangcai tried to persuade us to stay. When he saw we had no intention of reconsidering, he sternly said, “Without my uncle’s help, I’d like to see how you make it to Shiren Gu.”

His words were clearly loaded, but in my haste, I had no time to ponder. Once outside, we quickly hailed a taxi and headed for Dezhou city.

Once in the car, I immediately asked Hongye what she had noticed. Why had she refused Lei Ren’s offer and insisted we find our own way to southern Shandong?

Hongye smiled at me and revealed something that made my skin crawl.

She said, “Didn’t you notice? That old Lei Ren has his eye on you!”

Her words made me feel uneasy.

With an odd expression, I replied, “Lei Ren is so old—could he really be interested in that way?”

My remark made Hongye burst out laughing. From her mischievous smile, I realized I’d misunderstood.

“Not in that sense!” Hongye waved her hand. “He’s not after you as a person, but your identity!”

“My identity?” I asked, baffled. “I’m just a small-time chef. Neither influential nor important. What kind of identity could possibly attract the abbot of Five Peaks Temple?”

Her explanation piqued my curiosity, but her further reasoning astonished us all.

Hongye told me that Lei Ren coveted my background—my roots in the Temple of the Scholar and my inheritance from the Zhao family. The stories he shared and his hospitality were all preparations for his ultimate request.

“What request?” I asked, still not catching on.

“To have you take him to Zhao Family Tower!” Hongye said with a smile, clearly admiring the old man’s cunning.

Hongye’s analytical skills were impressive. Before I could ask, she explained, from the moment Lei Ren appeared, she sensed something was off.

She reasoned, given Lei Ren’s skills and those of his apprentices, how could he be working in a modest service station restaurant? Why feign a limp? If he truly had such a life-or-death connection with the Zhao family ancestors, why try to use my “identity” to gain entry to Zhao Family Tower?

Her words were like a splash of cold water, clearing my head.

Yes! Lei Ren is here in Shandong. Driving to Zhao Family Tower would only take four or five hours—why insist Wangcai accompany us? Especially Wangcai’s remark, “Without my uncle, how could you possibly make it…” was very telling.

It was an outright threat!

Hongye, seeing my unsettled expression, timely told me, “There’s only one explanation… Lei Ren has already been to Zhao Family Tower, but for some reason the Zhao family refused to see him. After learning about your trip, he wanted to use your identity as a ‘knocking brick.’”

“To have me open the Zhao family’s doors for him? But…” I said, suddenly enlightened.

So, Lei Ren was up to no good! Not only was he scheming against us, but if I’d been too soft, we might have fallen right into his trap.

With a lingering sense of dread, I wondered aloud, “But what would he do if he got to Zhao Family Tower with us? Why go to such lengths—what’s his aim?”

I couldn’t figure it out.

If Hongye was right, and the Zhao family refused to see him, that made sense. After all, Lei Ren was no saint—a black-market innkeeper, likely forced out of Five Viscera Temple and now running a highway service station.

With all such vices, it’s only natural that the Zhao family would avoid him.

But the key point was: if they won’t see him, why go to such trouble to get in? What could his purpose possibly be?

Thinking this, I answered myself, “Unless… he’s after something in Zhao Family Tower, right?”

I suddenly looked up at Hongye.

She nodded, saying, “I don’t know his specific aim, but he’s certainly interested in something the Zhao family has!”

“What?” I asked, unable to contain my curiosity.

“The chef’s knife!” Hongye reminded me. “When he spoke of Lei Aniu’s story earlier, I noticed his expression—every time he mentioned Zhao Qingshan’s imperial chef’s knife, he got visibly excited. Just for a moment, but the kind of deep-seated thrill that’s hard to conceal…”

Hongye’s words, like peeling away layers, revealed the true face of the black-market abbot, making me even more curious about the past of Zhao Family Tower.

What other stories could my old squad leader’s ancestors have? Why would Lei Ren be so interested in a legendary chef’s knife? I was desperate to know.

So, amid this anxious mood, I hurriedly wanted to tell the taxi driver to turn around, abandon our “feint” to Dezhou, and head straight for Shiren Gu in southern Shandong.

My mind made up, I didn’t hesitate and called out, “Driver, let’s not go to Dezhou! Take us to Shiren Gu in southern Shandong!”

But upon hearing this, the driver’s face suddenly darkened.

He pulled the car to the side, gave us a wry smile, and said, “Sorry! I don’t go to places like that. Find another ride.”

His words left us all wide-eyed.

Why wouldn’t he go to Shiren Gu?