Zi Yan propped his cheek with one hand, using his chopsticks to pick up a blackened, unidentifiable object and look at it.
Zi Yan asked, “Dad, is this the scrambled eggs you made?”
This blackened mystery had some hints of yellow, barely enough to recognize it as eggs. Inside were bits of green, presumably the chopped chives that Zheng Quan had mixed in.
Zi Yan stared at this chive scrambled egg for quite a while, his gaze making Zheng Quan, who sat beside him, feel a bit awkward.
Zheng Quan gave an embarrassed smile and said, “Well, you know, your old man is making scrambled eggs for the first time…”
Zi Yan: “…”
This almost qualifies as dark cuisine… Let’s just forgive Zi Yan—he really couldn’t bring himself to eat it.
If he did, he felt he’d be truly letting down his tongue and stomach.
Zheng Quan: “…”
See, even Zheng Quan, the cook himself, was hesitating about whether to eat this scrambled egg.
He had even asked the Commissary Chef for step-by-step instructions, so how did it end up like this…
On a moderately sized clean porcelain plate lay the eggs, broken up and fried into small chunks, pitch black and shriveled, seemingly from not enough oil.
“Dad, maybe let’s just forget it.” Zi Yan thought for a moment and said, “It’s not too late now. Why don’t we go to that new dumpling place in Wanda Plaza you mentioned before?”
It was the same dumpling place Zheng Quan had ordered from the day Yanli Teacher came for a home visit.
Zi Yan still remembered those dumplings— even after cooling down long after Yanli Teacher’s visit— they tasted far better than the frozen dumplings Zheng Quan had cooked before.
If they were fresh and steaming right out of the pot in the shop, how delicious they must be.
Zheng Quan shook his head and said, “We’re already cooking at home, how can we still eat out?”
“And don’t judge by the looks; maybe it’s actually quite tasty.”
Saying that, Zheng Quan picked up a piece of the chive scrambled eggs and brought it to his mouth. His lips twitched, he gritted his teeth, and resolutely took a bite—
What kind of taste was this?!
The salt and soy sauce combined into an astronomical level of saltiness, the egg’s own flavor completely drowned out by the overwhelming MSG and chicken essence, with the chives inside even slightly burnt…
“Ugh!”
Zheng Quan’s expression instantly twisted; he grabbed his neck, nearly gagging as if about to spit it out.
Zi Yan: “…”
Zi Yan handed over a tissue: “Dad, here’s a tissue.”
“Ptooey, ptooey.” Zheng Quan didn’t care about maintaining his fatherly image now.
“So, Dad, let’s just go out to eat…”
——
The weather was slightly chilly. Going out wearing only a short-sleeve shirt under a softshell jacket— even though the jacket had a thin layer of fleece inside— still left a faint chill in the air, so Zi Yan obediently wore a thin turtleneck cashmere sweater underneath.
The creamy white turtleneck framed Zi Yan’s slender neck. Against the black softshell jacket, paired with dark blue skinny jeans and his usual small white sneakers—
Whether it was the clothes or something else, Zi Yan attracted quite a few glances along the way.
“Dad, I want to eat the Shrimp and Three Delicacies Dumplings.” Zi Yan said.
The two walked toward Wanda Plaza, Zheng Quan beside him.
Sigh, Comrade Zheng Quan’s plan to save money by cooking at home had failed once again.
Zheng Quan did some quick mental math: this newly opened dumpling place in Wanda mostly priced their dumplings around thirty yuan a plate. The two of them would need two plates.
The Shrimp and Three Delicacies Dumplings Zi Yan specifically wanted were actually chive and egg filling with a large shrimp placed inside each dumpling.
The freshness of the chive and egg combined with the shrimp’s sweet flavor was very delicious, but a bit pricey at thirty-six yuan per plate with eighteen dumplings.
Add a few side dishes, and this meal would easily cost nearly a hundred yuan.
One hundred yuan—another bit of Red Leader’s money about to slip away from Zheng Quan…
“Oh, Dad.” Zi Yan suddenly spoke while walking, “What about that sewing machine you promised to sell me? Can we buy it while we’re at Wanda today?”
Zheng Quan: “…”
Back on Monday, Zi Yan had found the sewing machine he wanted online and showed Zheng Quan a screenshot.
Zheng Quan took one look and recognized it immediately—the very same sewing machine sitting in his child’s room in Antwerp.
Pure milky white color, looking elegant.
In the following days, Zheng Quan asked around and found out this brand’s sewing machines actually had a specialty store in Haizhou, conveniently located on the basement level of Wanda Plaza.
He even checked the price—
12,999 yuan, non-negotiable.
Zheng Quan even called Lina to inquire. Lina said she had paid 150,000 yen when she bought it for Zi Yan.
150,000 yen translated to roughly 10,000 yuan here, so that extra 3,000 yuan must be the value-added tax?
Zheng Quan: “…”
His wife really spoiled their child too much.
His own salary—even counting the thirteenth month pay and year-end bonus—was barely a bit over 10,000 yuan per month.
Hearing Zi Yan’s request, Zheng Quan cautiously suggested, “Son, can we maybe buy one that’s a bit… more practical?”
“Huh?”
Zi Yan blinked, eyes shining with wine-red brilliance: “I think the sewing machine I used before was already very practical?”
“Um…”
Out of some strange fatherly pride, Zheng Quan really didn’t want to say “Can’t we just buy a cheaper one?”
Besides, even though Lina was a fashion designer, Zheng Quan was completely clueless about fashion. So if Lina approved and bought this sewing machine for Zi Yan, it must be professional and suitable.
Zheng Quan put his left hand in his pocket, nervously clutching his bank card, palms sweating slightly.
He said, “Alright, let’s eat first, then go look at the sewing machines?”
Zi Yan suddenly stopped, turned around with a smile, and wagged a finger: “No, Dad, let’s look at the sewing machine first, then eat.”
“Ordering a sewing machine won’t take long.”
Zheng Quan: “…”
Leader, I’m sorry…
Suddenly, Zheng Quan found himself reminiscing about a certain old man famous in history.
——
In the basement level of Wanda Plaza, inside a sewing machine specialty store.
The store was not large, just around a hundred square meters. The sewing machines were neatly arranged in a grid, pleasing to the eye.
Zi Yan glanced over, spotted that splash of white, heart happy, and went straight to his “old buddy.”
“Yo, here to look at sewing machines?”
The shop owner was a tall, thin middle-aged man with a goatee.
He pointed to the sewing machine Zi Yan was admiring and introduced, “This model is our brand’s flagship. It has an original dual-feed fabric synchronization technology, which makes sure the top and bottom layers of fabric feed smoothly and simultaneously during sewing.”
“Mm-hmm.” Zi Yan nodded.
Back in Antwerp, this was the very machine he had used. The dual-feed technology was real, and this sewing machine could handle all sorts of tricky fabrics—silk, velvet, wool, even high-performance stretch fabrics.
For example, Zi Yan had used it to make jeans; even thick, fleece-lined denim was no problem when stitching decorative topstitch lines on this machine.
The weather had just turned cold recently, and Zi Yan was planning to make himself a pair of fleece-lined pants.
Zi Yan looked at Zheng Quan with a satisfied smile: “Dad, this sewing machine, okay?”
Zheng Quan: “…”