Early in the morning, Chen Changsheng went out to eat a bowl of noodles.
Truth be told, the taste was quite wonderful, nearly identical to what he rembered from his past life.
The owner of Baixiang Noodle Shop was Doctor Wang’s son. Running the busy shop were husband and wife. Rumor had it Manager Wang t his wife after his noodle shop flourished—a hardworking woman who treated him well.
When Chen Changsheng arrived, the shop wasn’t crowded yet.
With a mont to spare, Manager Wang greeted him.
“Are you from Qingshan City, sir?”
Chen Changsheng paused before answering, “One could say I’m half a Qingshan City resident.”
“Half?”
“Mm. The first part of my life was elsewhere. The later part I plan to spend here… but then again, I might leave later on.”
Manager Wang froze briefly but quickly understood—this guest was likely alone, so it wasn’t the right topic to press.
“Have you tried our noodles before, sir?”
Chen Changsheng said, “I did three years ago, though they weren’t as tasty then.”
“Three years ago?”
Manager Wang blinked in surprise.
His wife nearby added, “But the shop didn’t exist three years back.”
“Exactly,” Manager Wang confird.
Chen Changsheng smiled. “Your honorable father treated to noodles back then.”
Hearing Chen Changsheng refer to himself as “this Chen” and ntion his father, Manager Wang suddenly realized.
“Aren’t you… aren’t you the storyteller Mr. Chen from the teahouse?”
“Did Doctor Wang speak about ?” Chen Changsheng asked.
Manager Wang sat down. “Yes, yes! My father said without Mr. Chen, this noodle shop wouldn’t exist. Nor would Qingshan City’s third culinary wonder!”
Turning to his wife, he called, “Bring the gentleman more braised at! Large chunks with fat!”
“No need, no need,” Chen Changsheng waved him off. “I’m full. Can’t eat more.”
“It’s no trouble! My wife will pack so for Mr. Chen to take ho.”
“Oh, are you still living at Chuanfeng Alley, Mr. Chen?”
“Yes.”
“Before my father passed, he left you a letter… with my uncle at the old clinic. Did you receive it?”
“I did.”
Chen Changsheng nodded.
He’d kept that letter—the one asking after his well-being—carefully tucked away.
Manager Wang nodded back. “Good, very good.”
They chatted during the lull.
Manager Wang shared his father’s life story.
Doctor Wang started as an herb boy in a clinic, learning scraps of dicine while secretly studying texts. His skills were never polished.
He thought he’d keep learning, but war broke out. Qingshan City suffered as fighting engulfed the region.
Against the odds, Doctor Wang survived. But the clinic never reopened.
Once peace ca, he opened a small pharmacy in Chuanfeng Alley—mostly selling herbs, rarely treating patients. He knew his limits.
Late though it was, Chen Changsheng slowly learned who Doctor Wang had been in life.
They hardly knew each other intensely.
Yet within half a month, Doctor Wang grew to cherish him—even leaving final words before passing.
Reading that letter left Chen Changsheng strangely moved.
Manager Wang sighed. “My father had a decent life. Spared severe hardship. I benefited greatly myself.”
“The future will only improve,” Chen Changsheng offered.
“I hope your words bring fortune.”
After a few more exchanges, new custors arrived.
Manager Wang bustled away. Chen Changsheng finished his al and rose to pay.
But Manager Wang’s wife refused his coins.
She even thrust a bowl of braised at into his hands.
Unable to decline, Chen Changsheng accepted—but insisted on paying for the noodles.
Too big a favor felt wrong.
Grudgingly, his wife took the few copper coins.
Chen Changsheng carried the at back to his courtyard.
Ping’an guarded the gate, eagerly rushing forward as Uncle Chen returned.
“Uncle Chen, what slls so amazing?”
“Braised at. You’ll taste it later.”
“Yes!”
“Where’s Ruyi?”
“Elder Sister went to the well with Mother for laundry. I wanted to go, but Mother called it won’s work.”
Chen Changsheng chuckled. “Ping’an, one day you’ll oversee the household.”
“What’s ‘oversee the household’?”
“Never mind. Let’s go inside.”
Chen Changsheng unlocked the gate.
Ping’an skipped to the Main Hall and grabbed his Wooden Sword to practice.
He hadn’t reached school age.
Besides, he’d learned much by three years old. His obsession now was swordsmanship.
Likely hoping to defeat Elder Sister.
Chen Changsheng entered the kitchen. After returning, he hadn’t used it at all.
The cleaver was rusty beneath his gaze.
He shook his head wearily. Spying a whetstone, he planned to sharpen it—until he saw the empty water jar.
Another head shake. He suddenly felt almost pitiful.
Indeed—only when needed did he realize what’s missing.
Unable to slice the at, Chen Changsheng broke off a chunk for Ping’an.
Though ssy, to Ping’an, such eating was fun. But Chen Changsheng knew sliced at tastes nicer.
“So yummy!”
Ping’an didn’t care. He munched joyfully.
Even in prosperous years, at was scarce—let alone succulent pieces like this.
Grease sared his lips as he asked, “Uncle Chen, how long must I practice this?”
“Still miles to go. Probably till my next return.”
“Huh?”
Ping’an froze. “You’re… leaving again?”
Chen Changsheng rembered the Sutra of Rebirth in his sleeve.
He hesitated. “Not necessarily…”
Whether this Sutra could break his Curse remained unknown. He’d find out only when his Soul Fla flickered near darkness.
Ping’an blinked. “Why must you leave, Uncle Chen?”
“Believe … I wish I didn’t have to.”
Chen Changsheng smiled faintly. “But it’s my Destiny.”
Ping’an swallowed the at, staring bewildered.
Plainly, the word “Destiny” slipped past him.
After eating, Ping’an wiped his lips on his sleeves, rested briefly, then resud sword practice.
Days spun by swiftly. Ping’an’s sword felt smoother.
Though much remained lacking, his skill already blood beautifully among peers.
In swordsmanship, Ping’an truly shone.
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