Chapter 82: We Can Never Go Back to How Things Were

“What are you here for?” Zhou Andong slammed down his chopsticks and stood up.

“If Grandpa and Grandma weren’t here, do you think I’d bother coming?” Zhou Anbin sneered, then grinned at the old woman. “Grandma, I saw plenty of meat at your place the other day—why couldn’t I find any just now? Where’d you put it?”

The old woman asked, “Didn’t you buy any meat yourself?”

Zhou Anbin said, “I bought only two catties. With so many mouths to feed, two catties won’t do—and your eldest granddaughter’s here. Mom told me to come over and take some meat from you. You’ve got so much, you can’t eat it all anyway.”

“You knew your daughter-in-law was coming for the New Year, so why buy so little meat?” the old woman grumbled, then took the key off her waist rope. “I kept it outside in the snowdrift to keep the rats from gnawing it—all of it’s in the meat jar in the west room.”

Zhou Anbin grinned and reached for the key—but grabbed air. He looked up to see the key already in Zhou Andong’s hand. His face darkened. “Zhou Andong, what’s your meaning?”

“Stop causing trouble!” the old woman reached to take the key back.

Zhou Andong raised his hand. “Grandma, did you buy any meat this year?”

The old woman snapped, “You gave me so much already—why would I buy more?”

Zhou Andong smiled. “Good. You still remember it was me who brought it to you.”

The old woman sighed. “Just give the key to Anbin.”

“Exactly!” Zhou Anbin shouted, neck straining. “Stop meddling. Give me the key right now!”

Zhou Andong ignored him and spoke to the old woman. “You’re my grandma. You gave birth to my father and raised him. Now he’s in this state and can’t repay your care—so I, his grandson, will honor you. But you hand my filial offering to Zhou Anbin so his whole family can drain my blood. Is that fair?”

The old woman said, “We’re both Zhou. He’s your brother, his father your uncle, his mother your aunt. A few catties of meat—how’s that draining your blood? Besides, you gave me that meat. I’m just letting him take some.”

Zhou Andong smiled. “Grandma, your favoritism is extreme. Is this just about a few catties of meat? My father’s lying here. Does your eldest brother have a second son like mine? Does Zhou Anbin have a second uncle?”

During the hardest two years, when we couldn’t even afford rice, did they bring us a single grain? Did they bring a bowl of hot soup to my father?”

Forget the distant past. Just recently, when Little Four went to the east courtyard to watch TV, Zhou Anbin dragged him out and threw him into the snow. Do you know how cruelly his brother and your daughter-in-law cursed him?”

The old woman glared at Zhou Anbin. “Is this true?”

Zhou Anbin stuck his chin out. “That’s all past. Let’s talk now—your granddaughter-in-law’s here for the New Year, and we’ve got no meat to serve her. You decide.”

The old woman’s heart softened. “Dongzi, stop this. Give him the key.”

Zhou Andong looked helpless. “Grandma, I’m not causing trouble. This meat didn’t blow in from the wind.”

“Wasn’t that meat blown in from the wind?” Zhou Anbin shouted, eyes wide. “That woman gave it to you—didn’t cost you a cent!”

“Ha!” Zhou Andong laughed bitterly. “Even if it blew in from the wind, it blew into my house. Why should you eat it?”

“Xiao Bei!” Zhou Andong called, tossing the key. “Bring back all the meat. Starting today, Grandpa and Grandma eat with us—until…”

“Got it!” Zhou Anbei jumped down and slipped on his shoes. Zhou Anbin lunged and grabbed him—but the boy didn’t hold back. He swung a fist and slammed it hard into Zhou Anbin’s face.

Zhou Anbin yelped. His eye socket, still bruised from just two days ago, turned black again. “Zhou Anbei, you dare hit me?”

Zhou Andong snorted. “So what if I did?”

Zhou Anbin instantly wilted, wailing. “Grandma, your granddaughter-in-law’s visiting for the New Year for the first time—if she breaks up with me because we didn’t treat her right, your grandson will be a bachelor for life. You’ll never hold your great-grandchild!”

The old woman panicked. “Xiao Bei, don’t learn from your brother. Give the key to your brother Anbin.”

“Enough!” The old man slammed his wine cup onto the table. “Can’t we have one peaceful New Year without everyone’s hearts turning sour?”

The old woman opened her mouth—but the old man snorted. “That meat was Zhou Andong’s filial gift to us. Why are you giving it to the eldest son’s household?”

He turned to Zhou Anbin. “So if you can’t get meat, your fiancée leaves? Then stay a bachelor your whole life. As for great-grandchildren—I have plenty of grandsons. I don’t need you. Go tell your father: if you can afford meat, eat it. If you can’t, don’t. You’re a disgrace.”

Meanwhile, in Beijing, the Moscow Restaurant, located at No. 135 Xizhimenwai Street, was Beijing’s first Western-style restaurant, built in a single year—locals called it Lao Mo.

Lao Mo’s reputation was legendary. In the past, it was where Old Red Guards gathered; dining there was a mark of status. It was also a battleground—most conflicts between Old Red Guards and local toughs began here.

Inside the restaurant, Jian Qiu cut her steak, while across from her sat a thirty-year-old man in light casual wear, short hair, gold-rimmed glasses, and a Rolex worth over 200,000 on his wrist.

Even as he ate, every movement radiated refined gentlemanly grace.

“Qiuqiu, I feel like you’ve been distracted all along. Aren’t you happy I’m back?”

Jian Qiu placed a piece of steak in her mouth, then set down her knife and fork and wiped her hands with the napkin.

“How many years have you been abroad?”

The man thought. “About ten, I think.”

“Yes,” Jian Qiu sipped her lemon water. “Almost ten years. When you came back, did you notice how much China has changed?”

The man nodded. “Compared to when I left, the changes are huge. I landed in Shanghai and took detours through Yangcheng, Zhuhai, and Shencheng. Everywhere, new buildings rose, factories posted hiring signs, and people wore smiles we never saw before.”

Jian Qiu looked at him, voice low. “If a city and a country can change this much—what can’t change?”

The man froze, then his expression darkened. “Qiuqiu, you…”

Jian Qiu waved a hand. “Huaiyu, you’re not the man you were. I’m not the naive girl I was. Ten years—this country changed, this city changed, we changed. You matured. I grew up. We can never go back to how things were.”