Vinegar and Dumplings, Justice Delayed

Noon.

Tang's Mother, still wrapped in her blankets, woke up and wiggled a little.

“Little Tieshan, what time is it? Why didn’t you call me for breakfast today?”

She yawned, a hint of displeasure in her complaint.

Usually, before she even felt hungry, Old Master Tang would come by to ask if she wanted to eat. Unless there was a special occasion that required her to wake up early, this was how it always went—it had become a habit.

Today, she was already hungry, but no one had come to get her. Wasn’t that odd?

“Could he have gone out for a run again?” she muttered, stirring herself upright to find her clothes.

Whenever he didn’t answer her calls, it usually meant he was out—working on his fitness or the like. A meal out was unlikely; no one could drag Old Master Tang anywhere except for Tang's Mother.

“Honestly, he could have at least told me…”

Tang's Mother grumbled like a little old lady as she slipped on her cotton slippers and headed out. She opened the door, and blinding sunlight streamed in.

“Ah, what a nice day!”

Stretching, she was about to head to the kitchen to scrounge up something to eat when a delightful aroma of food hit her nose.

“Huh?” A question mark seemed to form over her head. They were already eating?

And they hadn’t called her? How outrageous!

Fuming, she rolled up her sleeves, ready to storm over and set things straight. But when she reached the dining area in the hall, she stopped dead, staring in disbelief at the scene before her.

Ye Cheng and Old Master Tang were drinking together, with her youngest son pouring the wine on the side. The three of them had distinct roles and were chatting like they were completely in sync.

Old Master Tang’s face was flushed red from the drink, and the smell of alcohol reached her from a distance. Something like this was usually impossible.

Drinking clouded judgment.

Though Old Master Tang enjoyed liquor, given his age and the discipline ingrained from his army days, he rarely drank much—partly to prolong his life.

Unless he met an old friend and got caught up in storytelling, he’d have a glass or two. Otherwise, he abstained.

But now, not only was he drinking, he was getting properly tipsy, his face bright red. Ye Cheng was also drinking, though he didn’t seem to show it as much, proving his tolerance was much better.

Her youngest son’s chubby little face was also flushed. While listening to the two of them talk and inhaling the wine’s aroma, he’d sneaked a couple of sips himself—and it showed.

Of the three, two were fairly drunk.

But judging by Old Master Tang’s demeanor, he was clearly ecstatic, almost like he was reminiscing with an old comrade.

Tang's Mother: “???”

What… what is going on?

Why was Xiao Cheng here?

And hitting it off so well with her grumpy old man?

A huge question mark seemed to hover over her head. She didn’t interrupt, instead creeping closer as quietly as she could.

As she drew near, she finally caught snippets of their conversation. Most of it was Old Master Tang speaking with a boozy slur, punctuated by Ye Cheng’s occasional nods and agreements.

“The villagers were very good to me; otherwise, I wouldn’t have survived to this day. I was raised on meals from every house…”

“Back then, there was no such thing as orphanages or welfare homes the way there is now. No one was looking out for you. Lots of people starved. I was quick on my feet when it came to mealtimes, helped people with chores, and next time they saw me, they’d spare a bite to eat…”

“Later, I went up into the mountains—all kinds of mountains. A lot of people died. Worn out, frozen to death, dragged along until they dropped, and starved…”

“Lad, I can tell you’ve suffered a great deal, haven’t you?”

Old Master Tang paused here, his emotions welling up. Dredging up the past, scenes of what had happened surfaced in his mind: snowy peaks, grassy plains… only he knew the depth of that suffering.

Society had improved now—people no longer died by the roadside without anyone caring—but it was only relative.

From what Ye Cheng had just said, he’d come to understand that even in this bustling metropolis of Shanghai, there were still places light didn’t reach.

There was already plenty of bounty—more than enough to keep people from starving—yet hunger still existed. Why was that?

Some bastards only behave properly when they’re strung up on lampposts!

The fruits of victory had been stolen!

Gulp, gulp…

The strong liquor went down, burning its way through his throat and igniting a fire in his chest. His already fervent emotions surged to a peak.

Seeing this, Ye Cheng downed his own glass of spirits in one go, smacking his lips a couple of times… No real taste, just aroma, and a harsh burn in the throat. Not as good as iced tea.

But the wine was clearly top-shelf.

Earlier, under Old Master Tang’s direction, the youngest son had dug it out from a corner of the kitchen. The lid was thick with dust, giving it an aged, historic feel.

The jar wasn’t full; some had already been drunk before…

Seeing the two finish their glasses, the little boy hastily refilled them from the jar, then poured a bit into his own tiny cup and downed it in one go.

His already rosy cheeks turned even redder, and he wobbled as he walked. Tang's Mother, lurking behind a pillar and eavesdropping, could only slap her thigh in exasperation.

You can’t handle that, Xiaobao! Your grandfather’s liquor is too strong!!!

Oh dear!!!

She was about frantic, but Tang's Mother didn’t dare step in. With the mood this good, interfering would make her the villain.

“Suffered? I wouldn’t say that. Bitterness and sweetness are just different ways of experiencing life. Finding joy in hardship—whether it’s bitter or sweet, only the one living it truly knows,” Ye Cheng said.

Old Master Tang grew more puzzled by these words: “Lad, your speech is a bit roundabout. I wasn’t well-educated—you can be more straightforward.”

This poetic way of talking reminded him of the political commissars he used to know, always circling around things.

“Nowadays, people like to downplay and compare suffering, as if whoever endures more hardship is stronger, and that being unable to take hardship is something to be ashamed of.”

“Pain is pain. Losing a dollar is pain, getting slapped is pain, going hungry is pain…”

Ye Cheng’s gaze was calm as he began to explain.

Tang’s Mother, eavesdropping nearby, was baffled. Hey now, Xiao Cheng, weren’t you just talking a little while ago about where to find cheap oranges and how to haggle at the market like a pro?

Now you’re suddenly sounding all literary and profound?

Tang’s Mother felt a bit lost. In her memory, Ye Cheng wasn’t like this at all. How in the world had he ended up bonding so well with her Little Tieshan?

She had some schooling herself, but not much. Later, even when she had the chance, she didn’t want to study more—looking at text gave her a headache.

She’d rather spend that energy pressuring her sons and daughters to step up their game, hehe…

Old Master Tang sobered up a little, sitting up straight and frowning: “So what you’re saying is, I’ve become sentimental?”

Following Ye Cheng’s logic, wouldn’t all those past things he just mentioned become nothing more than complaints, making him a sentimental person?

Ye Cheng shook his head.

“Brother Tang, if you’re being sentimental, there’s hardly anyone who isn’t. What I mean is, everyone has different limits of endurance. Some people have a weaker capacity to bear pain, so when they face the same suffering, they show it more intensely.”

“But the yardstick for measuring that pain isn’t in the hands of people like us. It’s in the hands of others.”

“I grew up in an orphanage. If you ever get the chance, Brother Tang, you should come with me and see. The people there have their mouths covered, their eyes blindfolded, their ears plugged… They don’t feel pain, and the pain isn’t visible to those around them. Their pain stays locked inside their hearts…”

“So, do they feel pain or not?” Ye Cheng asked in reply.

Old Master Tang frowned, quickly catching the key point in those words.

“Someone’s been skimming from the till?” Old Master Tang’s face changed instantly.

Ye Cheng’s way of speaking was very indirect, but he wasn’t stupid—he could hear the implications hidden in Ye Cheng’s roundabout words.

Too bad so many people these days only look up at the beautiful sky above, never lowering their heads to see the suffering in this world.

Ye Cheng first nodded, then shook his head. “Wrong, Brother Tang. Their hands are very clean, so clean there’s not a single flaw or slip. Everything is normal.”

Old Master Tang’s sturdy frame jolted, the alcohol haze clearing from his eyes.

“What’s the name of the orphanage?” Old Master Tang squinted, starting to grill him, no longer in the mood for small talk, ready to tackle this problem for Ye Cheng right away.

Ye Cheng shook his head again. “The name doesn’t matter. Their name is just ‘orphanage.’”

Old Master Tang was stunned by this answer once more. He stood there for a long time before sitting down…

“A single spark can start a prairie fire, Xiao Cheng. This will take some time…”

Ye Cheng nodded. “The question of whether delayed justice is still justice is a debatable one in itself. At least in my view, it is, because there are still people like you, Brother Tang, in this world.”

“Good!”

Old Master Tang was deeply moved, visibly emotional. He downed the strong liquor in his cup in one gulp, looking immensely satisfied.

The praise from those around him landed in his ears as mere flattery. It wasn’t exactly disgusting to him, but deep down, he felt somewhat put off by it. Yet he knew those people meant well, so it wasn’t wrong either.

Still, he couldn’t bring himself to feel happy. Why did compliments that should lift his spirits leave him flat? Ultimately, because they never hit the mark.

They were like assembly-line goods, churned out mechanically. The identity of the speaker was wrong, so the words lost their flavor.

Now, here was Ye Cheng, saying this casual, honest remark that hit Old Master Tang with a surge of satisfaction, straight to the core of his being—yes, yes, this was the feeling. He needed recognition from someone like himself, not the empty flattery of the crowd…

Everything was right, except the identity of the speakers. Only Ye Cheng’s identity fit the bill!

Ye Cheng’s life experience, combined with the words he was speaking now—it was the perfect alignment of time, place, and people. This was truly praise that went straight to the heart!

“Xiao Cheng, your elder brother can’t do right by you. That girl of ours—lazy and stubborn as she is—no, your brother will introduce you to someone else…”

Tang's Mother: “???”

Tang Tieshan, what are you trying to do!!!

Everything was moving in a good direction. Tang's Mother felt a wave of relief. And then, the very next second, Old Master Tang blurted out, “Your brother can’t do right by you”…

What are you trying to do!!!

Tang's Mother let out a sharp, piercing shriek and sprinted over in a flash.

She appeared before Old Master Tang, who was still in the throes of a burst of brotherly righteousness, and snatched the cup right out of his hand. Her face wore a smile that was all “sweet warmth.”

“Tieshan, you’re drunk. You should go inside and get some proper rest…”

With that, Tang's Mother began to guide Old Master Tang back into the house to sleep.

Maybe it was the courage that liquor gave him. Old Master Tang found some unknown reserve of boldness and gently pushed her away: “I’m not drunk. I’m perfectly clear-headed. Xiao Cheng, let me tell you, I’ve got some brothers—men with whom I’ve shared life-and-death bonds?…”

“Tang Tieshan!”

One shout from Tang's Mother, and all of Old Master Tang’s drunkenness evaporated in an instant. His eyes went clear and crystal, with a flicker of fear emerging in them.