Chapter 524 - 45: Whose Tomb
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Once a person hits seventy, it’s as if they’ve... it’s as if they’ve become a child again, eating what can be eaten, whining when they can’t - this is one of the old sayings of Mao Dazhu.
So when his wife snatched away the chopsticks he’d reached for to grab the leftover Mao’s Braised Pork from last night’s dinner, Mao Dazhu immediately slapped her hand away with a "snap," reclaimed the chopsticks, and stuffed the heavenly fatty pork into his mouth.
The greasy and fat-rich meat nearly tied his intestines in a knot as he ate it. Enraptured, Mao Dazhu argued with his glaring wife, "Won’t let me eat? Last night I was heartbroken, eating meat replenishes meat. Such a fine Black Wisteria Mat, I’ll probably only come across once in my lifetime, and just like that Old Yu ruined it."
Last night, after seeing Xiao Xian off, Mao Dazhu eagerly waited for Old Yu to return to the seniors’ home.
He did come back, but the mat he had taken with him was gone. When asked, the answer was he gave it away.
Gave it away to whom? Old Yu even left him with a disdainful glance, as if to say, "I’ll give it to whoever I want, what’s it to you?"
Mao Dazhu was all too familiar with such looks. In the past, his then-living junior brother, Bai Juyi, often gave him the same kind of looks.
That year, hearing that Old Man Bai had grown some top-quality Hami melons, Mao Dazhu, drooling, went to ask for some, only to be told that the ripe melons were already given away and to come earlier next time if he really wanted some.
One did it, and so did another - his whole life seemed spoiled by the likes of these men, Old Man Bai and Old Man Yu.
No wonder Mao Dazhu felt compelled to eat the fatty pork first thing in the morning to dissolve the resentment.
After reflecting, he reached for the last piece of braised pork on the plate.
Two "meat chopsticks" descended in front of Mao Dazhu’s eyes and into the plate, and in a blink, the meat ended up in his grandson’s mouth.
Mao Yi, holding a basketball, devoured the meat in two to three bites, "Grandpa, with your three highs (hypertension, high blood sugar, and high cholesterol), eat less, don’t anger Grandma."
"You little brat, snatching what your grandpa likes to eat, you’re such an ingrate! Think about how many treats I saved for you when you were little," Mao Dazhu grumbled, spittle flying as he clenched the chopsticks.
"Grandpa, let’s drop it, you’re talking about when I was little? Don’t think I don’t know about the time when the auntie from next door brought me a mango from Hainan. I didn’t want to eat it and buried it to grow a mango tree, and the next thing I knew, you’d dug up and eaten my mango, then lied to me, saying a stray dog must have taken it while digging for bones," Mao Yi was more than a little familiar with his grandfather’s character.
On hearing this, Mao Dazhu couldn’t save face, muttering, "Mangoes can cause inner heat, not good for kids. Weren’t you on some summer internship? Up before the roosters and back later than the owls, yet today you deign to show up."
"It’s the weekend, even deities need to rest. I’ve got a basketball practice lined up, just stopped by to tell you, Xiao Xian called earlier. She said to bring your reading glasses to the senior’s home to inspect the mat," Mao Yi wiped his greasy hands, feeling energized after devouring the fat.
"Oh, I got it," it took a while, but after Mao Yi had left the courtyard, Mao Dazhu yelled, "Since when did I need reading glasses!"
Though he said so, Mao Dazhu still headed to the seniors’ home. Xiao Xian actually managed to weave a mat? Calling it a mat might be an exaggeration; the Black Wisteria she took home last night might at best make for a decent pillow mat, not to mention how little of his mat-weaving technique Xiao Xian could recall from the night before.
Mao Dazhu had only been at the senior’s home a short while when Xiao Xian arrived, familiar with the place.
On weekends, there were more visitors in the senior’s home. Xiao Xian had to wait quite a while before she got a chance to pull Mao Dazhu aside in a corner.
"Where’s the mat?" Mao Dazhu had no high hopes for the mat Xiao Xian might have woven, but it was essential not to dampen the youngster’s enthusiasm.
"I’ve brought it," Xiao Xian patted the mat in her hand. Considering the mat’s two-hundred percent rate of attracting second glances, Xiao Xian and Grandma Zeng borrowed two bags that were used for carrying Mulan Swords to cover it, tied up in the middle, drawing much attention on the bus, "But, can we take the mat to Uncle Yu’s to have a look?"
Checking the mat was an excuse; Xiao Xian wanted to inquire further. Zhu Shijun in the phone call played down the importance of the Party Constitution, but when leaving Ge Village, he had placed his passbook and the Party Constitution together, entrusting them to her quite seriously. There must be a reason for the complete change in her grandfather’s attitude then and now.
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