Chapter 35

The old Daoist Qingyun and Uncle Youcai stepped outside.

Youcai bowed to the old Daoist and prepared to leave.

“Aren’t you coming back with me?” asked the old Daoist.

Youcai shook his head. “I’ll take a walk.”

“Going to see Qiaozhen again?” asked the old Daoist.

Youcai said nothing, which counted as confirmation.

The old Daoist sighed in frustration: “You had no courage when alive, yet now you’re so foolishly devoted—what a pitiful man. Back then, Master Yu San was such a remarkable figure… alas…”

The Master Yu San the old Daoist spoke of was Youcai’s grandfather—and Shen Siyuan’s great-great-grandfather.

He was once a great man, but time spares no one; all has faded with the wind, and now few remember him, leaving not a trace behind.

Youcai said nothing in reply, only bowed to the old Daoist, then drifted away.

The old Daoist watched his back, then turned his gaze to the second floor behind him.

“I never expected the one who most resembled Master Yu San would be an outsider’s descendant.”

The old Daoist paused briefly, then drifted away as well.

“Siyuan, wake up—it’s already late, still sleeping?”

In a daze, Shen Siyuan heard his mother knocking on the door.

He opened his eyes; daylight had fully come, sunlight streaming through the curtain’s gaps, casting vertical beams across the floor.

He picked up his phone—already nine in the morning.

“I’m up, stop knocking.”

Shen Siyuan called out, got out of bed, hastily pulled on his clothes, then went to open the door—his mother had already left.

“Mom, why didn’t you wake me earlier?” Shen Siyuan called out.

“There was nothing to do this morning—why wake you early? I wanted you to sleep longer,” came his mother’s voice from downstairs.

That’s just… she didn’t say that when she was knocking.

Apparently, all mothers are like this: they want you to sleep longer, yet don’t want you to sleep too much.

“Didn’t you say I had a blind date this morning? Are you planning to wait until afternoon? I’ve got plans this afternoon.” Shen Siyuan came downstairs.

“What plans could you possibly have this afternoon?” his mother said dismissively.

“Personal matter—I’m meeting a friend.”

His mother, who had been peeling beans, looked up at him. “Who is it?”

“I told you—you wouldn’t know them.”

Shen Siyuan sighed helplessly—this was one reason he didn’t want to return home to help his father run the chicken farm.

She asked about everything, probed into every detail, controlled everything, left no room for privacy.

“My classmate—you don’t know them,” Shen Siyuan gave her a random excuse.

His mother then said: “Porridge’s on the table—it’s cold, perfect to drink. Hurry up and eat. Aunt Qi will come soon to take you.”

Hearing it wasn’t afternoon, Shen Siyuan breathed a sigh of relief.

“Alright, I know.”

His mother sized him up again. “Go to the bathroom and fix your hair—you look a mess, no dignity at all. And can’t you change your clothes…”

Shen Siyuan ignored her nagging and went straight to the bathroom to wash up.

Just as he finished half his breakfast, Aunt Qi arrived.

“Aunt Qi” was merely a village term—she had no blood relation to Shen Siyuan’s family.

Aunt Qi was slightly younger than his mother, a plump middle-aged woman with a loud voice who always laughed twice before speaking.

“Teacher Huang, you home? Had breakfast yet?”

“I’m here, just waiting for you,” his mother hurriedly put down her work and went out to greet her.

Shen Siyuan quickly gulped down the rest of his porridge, then cleared the bowl and chopsticks into the kitchen.

When he came out of the kitchen, his mother had already led Aunt Qi inside.

“Good morning, Aunt Qi,” Shen Siyuan greeted quickly.

If he hesitated even a moment, his mother would start lecturing again.

Seeing Shen Siyuan, Aunt Qi smiled warmly: “Siyuan, you’re such a fine-looking young man—this time, make sure you seize the chance. Get married this year, let your mom hold a grandchild next year.”

Shen Siyuan glanced at his mother—her eyes met his.

He immediately looked away, embarrassed. His mother gave him two light punches.

“Give your old mom some pride.”

After the two punches, she shifted to smoothing out his collar.

“Your dad isn’t home?” Aunt Qi asked.

“He’s at the chicken farm,” his mother replied.

“Let’s go, don’t waste time—go early, come back early.”

Though it was just the next village, it still took a while to walk there.

Once outside, Shen Siyuan asked: “Aunt Qi, you haven’t told me who this girl is yet.”

“The daughter of Zhang Laowai from Shiqiao Village—two years younger than you. Don’t let Zhang Laowai’s looks fool you—his daughter’s absolutely lovely…”

“Zhang Laowai?” Shen Siyuan nearly stumbled.

He knew exactly who Zhang Laowai was—his son, Zhang Haibo, was his classmate. Because Zhang Laowai had a crooked mouth, they nicknamed Zhang Haibo “Little Crooked Mouth.”

Because of that nickname, Zhang Haibo got into plenty of fights—today, he’d be called Crooked Mouth Dragon King.

Their villages were close, both under Qingshui Town, so they attended the same school from elementary through junior high.

So they not only knew each other, but got along well—Shen Siyuan had definitely met his sister.

In memory, she was a skinny, dark-skinned snot-nose girl—was that what Aunt Qi meant by “lovely”?

But they were already halfway there—he couldn’t back out now. He’d just have to meet her.

At that moment, Aunt Qi, sitting behind him, added: “I’ve introduced her to three guys—you’re the last one she’s meeting.”

Shen Siyuan thought: If she’s already met two, what if she likes one of them? Then I’m just wasting my time.

But then Aunt Qi continued.

“The first two were uglier and less qualified than you. I did it on purpose—let her see two ugly, misshapen ones first, then when she sees you, her chances of saying yes go way up.”

Wow—blind dating with strategy.

“Thank you, Aunt Qi, for going to so much trouble,” Shen Siyuan said.

“No problem—what’s my relationship with your mom?” Aunt Qi chuckled.

That sounded suspiciously like an insult.

When they arrived at Shiqiao Village, Shen Siyuan walked confidently toward Zhang Laowai’s house.

Aunt Qi noticed and asked: “You know Zhang Laowai’s place?”

“His son’s my classmate,” Shen Siyuan said.

“Oh, that’s perfect—if you like the girl, it’ll be double kinship!” Aunt Qi said.

Shen Siyuan looked dumbfounded—what kind of “double kinship” was that?

If Zhang Haibo found out, he’d pull the “I thought you were my brother, but you’re dating my sister” routine and beat him up.

Though, truthfully, he hadn’t seen Zhang Haibo in years.

Though the villages were close, since high school, they’d barely met.

“Is Zhang Haibo, Zhang Laowai’s son, home today?” Shen Siyuan asked.

“No, but I heard his son’s done well—he made money in Yei City,” Aunt Qi said, glancing at him.

Aunt Qi, what’s that look for?

Shen Siyuan felt himself being looked down upon.