Just then, the stout owner bustled over with a large tray.
"Food's here! Careful, it's hot!"
With practiced speed, he laid steaming dishes upon the table:
Mapo Tofu glistening in chili oil, Fragrant Pork Shreds bursting with sweet-sour fragrance.
Sliced Pork in Garlic Sauce, translucent as cicada wings; Twice-Cooked Pork radiating savory crispness.
Soy-Braised Ribs gleaming deep amber; Crispy Shredded Egg shimmering gold.
Kung Pao Chicken with crunchy peanuts; Fish Slices with Pickled Cabbage tender and tangy.
At the center—a clay pot of milky-white tofu soup, steam curling into the air.
Eight dishes, one soup, eight bowls of glistening rice.
A humble storefront, yet every home-style dish was perfect in color, aroma, and taste.
Scents intertwined—mouths watered uncontrollably.
"Don't stand on ceremony—dig in!" the owner beamed, rubbing his hands. "Tell me how the cooking holds up!"
"Yes!"
Starving, they seized chopsticks—murmurs of delight filling the air.
Wu Zhangkong gazed at the familiar spread. His eyes softened.
He lifted chopsticks, slowly selecting a strand of Crispy Shredded Egg.
Chewing deliberately—not just tasting the dish, but the memories woven within.
His gaze drifted, distant.
"Say, Zhangkong…" the owner mused, wiping his brow. "It must be over ten years since we last met?"
"Mm. Over ten years," Wu Zhangkong murmured.
Fang Yang shifted aside. The owner settled beside Wu Zhangkong.
"By the way—you came alone this time? No Miss Long Bing?"
He chuckled warmly. "She adored my cooking. Always praised it endlessly."
Silence.
Clatter.
Wu Zhangkong's chopsticks slipped onto the table.
He froze.
Then—tears fell without warning—silent streams tracing paths through eyes long frozen.
That name. Buried deep. Never spoken.
A key turned. Memory's floodgates burst.
"Wow, Zhangkong—I love their Crispy Shredded Egg! Who knew eggs could taste this amazing?"
"After we marry, I'll learn to cook it… and I'll make it for you every day, okay?"
"Save me some tofu! They say it's good for the skin. My skin's already better than yours… but I'll keep trying!"
"This Fragrant Pork is so tasty—I want another half-bowl! Will I get fat?"
"Silly… there's rice on your cheek."
"Don't you dare kiss it off! Ah—stop leaning in!"
Every detail was vivid, scorching, and utterly irretrievable.
"Bing'er…"
Wu Zhangkong whispered the name etched into his soul—a breath of sorrow, a lifetime of longing.
"Zhangkong, I…" The owner paled, hands fluttering. "I didn't know…"
"Teacher Wu…"
Tang Wulin, Xie Xie, Xu Xiaoyan—faces tight with worry.
(Only Fang Yang and Gu Yue remained serene.)
"It's fine…" Wu Zhangkong's voice cracked, thick with guilt. "I… failed to protect her."
"Zhangkong…" The owner's eyes glistened.
He hurried to the counter, returning with two aged bottles of baijiu.
"Let's… drink."
"Mm."
Wu Zhangkong poured a full cup. Tilted his head. Swallowed the fiery liquor.
Throat burned—briefly numbing the ache within.
The owner followed suit.
After several cups, Wu Zhangkong stared into his glass, voice low:
"Bing'er and I… met at Shrek Academy. We fell in love."
"Her father… was Darkness Hummingbird of the Holy Spirit Cult. He forced her to steal Academy secrets…"
"She was discovered and so to protect her… I chose to leave with her."
"Soon after… he found us."
A choked sob. Another cup drained.
"He gravely wounded me… Bing'er… took the fatal blow meant for me…"
"She died in my arms."
"My teacher arrived in time… saved me."
The owner's eyes reddened.
"Zhangkong… I…" He could only clap Wu Zhangkong's shoulder, pour another drink, swallow it raw.
"Holy Spirit Cult…"
Fang Yang's gaze sharpened. Had Zi planted agents there?
And Long Bing… if even a fragment of her soul remained… resurrection was possible.
"Teacher Wu…" Tang Wulin's voice trembled.
He dared not imagine losing Senior Sister (Ouyang Zixin).
Silence draped the table. Only the soft clink of cups.
The owner sighed heavily, refilling both glasses.
Wu Zhangkong's pale face flushed faintly.
His emerald eyes gazed into void—drinking not to forget, but to endure.
Fang Yang set down his thoughts.
He lifted serving chopsticks, placed Crispy Shredded Egg atop Wu Zhangkong's untouched rice.
"Teacher Wu—the food's growing cold."
His tone was calm, steady. "The owner's craftsmanship is exceptional. Don't let it go to waste."
He turned to the owner: "Boss, could we get some more hot soup? Another bowl, please."
The owner blinked—then nodded vigorously. "Yes! The Clay Pot Tofu Soup's kept warm! I'll fetch it now!"
He scurried to the kitchen.
Tang Wulin rallied: "Right! Teacher Wu—you've eaten so little today. Please, have something."
He added Braised Pork Ribs to the bowl.
Xie Xie, Xu Xiaoyan, the others followed:
"This Kung Pao Chicken is delicious, Teacher!"
"Try the Garlic Pork—it's wonderful…"
Wu Zhangkong stared at the overflowing bowl.
At his students' earnest faces.
The raw grief in his eyes softened—just slightly—by this sudden warmth.
Slowly, mechanically, he took a pair of fresh chopsticks.
And began eating. Robotically, moving without feeling.
The owner returned with steaming soup. "Zhangkong—drink this. Warm your stomach."
The air loosened. The others resumed eating in quiet solidarity.
Wu Zhangkong ate little and drank his sorrows.
No one spoke Long Bing's name again. Only sharing glances of concern.
After the meal, the owner refused payment.
"My treat! Zhangkong—little ones—whenever you pass through Tianling City… come again!"
He gripped Wu Zhangkong's shoulder, eyes glistening.
Wu Zhangkong didn't protest. Only whispered: "Thank you."
He glanced at Fang Yang.
Fang Yang understood and slipped the payment quietly onto the counter.
Outside, sunlight blazed.
Wu Zhangkong walked ahead—back straight, yet radiating profound solitude and weariness.
The street fell silent.
Even Xie Xie, usually vibrant, walked with lips pressed tight.
At the hotel, Wu Zhangkong halted.
Without turning, voice low: "This afternoon, I'll give you free time. Do not wander far."
He entered his room. Closed the door.
Fang Yang watched the shut door.
"Is Teacher Wu… alright?" Tang Wulin murmured.
Xie Xie shook his head gently. "Let him be."
Some wounds only time can mend. All others offer is silent presence.
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A/N: I genuinely admire Wu Zhangkong's character. In the original novel, he was always kind to Tang Wulin and the others.
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