Chapter 64: Fable

“Boss Qiao, do you have any new books?” Zhou Sen asked with a gentle smile. He really enjoyed the atmosphere of this bookstore—peaceful, filled with the scent of books.

“Yes…” Qiao Sanlang hesitated for a moment, but still answered.

“That’s good, Boss Qiao. You go about your work. I’ll browse on my own,” Zhou Sen said, for he preferred choosing books by himself, following the whims of his own heart.

These days, Zhou Sen read purely according to his mood. In fact, there were some books he truly couldn’t get through—not because he was unwilling, but because he simply couldn’t quiet his mind. If your heart isn’t calm, some books can do more harm than good. Better not to read them at all. So, he was more inclined to pick out storybooks, or even books said to be “beneficial for mind and body.”

In his view, reading such “beneficial” books was an excellent way to maintain one’s health.

“Russian Fables.”

How could a book like this be here? Zhou Sen was a bit surprised and pulled it from the shelf—it was even in Russian.

It must be a storybook meant for children’s enlightenment. In this city, where so many White Russians lived, such books had a solid market; any White Russian family with children would buy one for the home.

Zhou Sen leafed through it with interest. Some stories he remembered hearing from old Father Antony when he was a child, others were unfamiliar. After all, Father Antony was never much of a storyteller.

“Officer Zhou, is that really you?” A cheerful voice suddenly called out to him, and as Zhou Sen looked up, he saw a familiar face.

Su Yun, daughter of Su Wenqing.

Since the lost wallet incident, he hadn’t seen Su Yun. He had already put this young lady out of his mind.

“Miss Su, do you need something?”

“Officer Zhou, I always wanted to thank you for helping with my wallet, but I never had the chance…” Su Yun replied a little shyly.

“Oh, it was nothing. Besides, serving the public is our duty as police officers,” Zhou Sen said, closing the Russian fable book in his hand.

“It meant much more to me. There was something truly precious inside my wallet—if I’d lost it, I could never have gotten it back,” Su Yun insisted.

“Is that so? Well, I’m glad it turned out well.” Zhou Sen smiled politely. Su Yun was beautiful, but they were not from the same world.

“Officer Zhou, may I buy you a cup of coffee?” Su Yun invited.

“I… I don’t think that would be appropriate…”

“Do you dislike me, Officer Zhou?”

“No, not at all, Miss Su. I’m just afraid your father might misunderstand if he found out,” Zhou Sen quickly offered an excuse.

It wasn’t entirely an excuse—Su Wenqing certainly knew who he was, and would hardly be pleased to see him interacting with his daughter. Su Yun seemed so naive, and Zhou Sen didn’t want to drag her into his affairs.

Bai Yulan likely thought the same; otherwise, she would have acted against Su Yun long ago.

“Miss Su, today is New Year’s Eve. I still have many things to do, so I won’t keep you from your book browsing,” Zhou Sen said, and turned to leave.

“Officer Zhou…” Su Yun was left bewildered. Was she some kind of plague that he’d run from her at the mere sight?

“Boss Qiao, how much for this book?”

“Oh, that book isn’t expensive, Officer Zhou—eighty cents is fine,” Qiao Sanlang replied with a chuckle. Zhou Sen choosing a children’s book was odd, but he didn’t dare ask.

Zhou Sen paid, tucked the book under his arm, and left the bookstore.

He then boarded a tram; his main purpose today was to visit the Fragrant Pavilion. He hadn’t shown himself for days—it was only right to let them know he was safe.

“Miss, you sneaked out again—we’ve been looking everywhere for you…” No sooner had Zhou Sen left than a car pulled up outside “Yi Gu Zhai.” Su Xing stepped out and ran into Su Yun emerging from the bookstore.

“Uncle Xing, did you see Officer Zhou?”

“Officer Zhou? Which Officer Zhou?” Su Xing was momentarily confused.

“The one who found my wallet!” Su Yun exclaimed, stamping her foot and running off into the street to search.

Only then did Su Xing realize who she meant. This was a name no one dared mention in front of the master anymore; this man had been giving Su Wenqing a headache for days. He had no idea Zhou Sen’s name was already on the master’s blacklist. That young policeman had gotten involved with Bai Yulan, and if it weren’t for the ongoing conflict with Qin Old Seven—no one wanted to make another enemy—Zhou Sen would have been dealt with already. After all, he was a policeman, and to harm a police officer was to invite consequences. Moreover, it was rumored that this little cop had Japanese backing, so caution was doubly necessary.

“Miss, Zhou Sen is not a good man. You mustn’t have anything to do with people like him,” Su Xing admonished, not knowing that Zhou Sen had already made the master’s list.

“What did Officer Zhou do to make you say that?” Su Yun asked curiously.

Su Xing was at a loss. Could he tell Su Yun what he knew about Zhou Sen? Clearly not. Was he supposed to say that her father’s soon-to-be bride had an affair with this young cop? That would raise quite a storm.

…

Zhou Sen got off at Zhengyang Street; the Fragrant Pavilion was not far—just a short walk, and he’d arrive in time for dinner. Along the way, he kept an eye out; he didn’t sense anyone following. That familiar presence had not reappeared.

Had they given up, or just changed the watcher? At least, he hadn’t noticed anyone suspicious. Having been kidnapped once, a little caution was only wise. Once bitten, twice shy—he wasn’t about to let himself be caught off guard again.

“Brother Sen.” He didn’t have to wait long. Ah Xiang came and opened the back door for him.

“Surprised?”

“Brother Sen, you’re finally here! Sister Lan hasn’t had much appetite these past days; she can’t eat,” Ah Xiang said, delighted to see him.

“So soon?” Zhou Sen feigned amazement.

“What are you thinking, Brother Sen? Sister Lan’s stomach is delicate; sometimes she’s just like this,” Ah Xiang said, blushing bright red.

Though still young, Ah Xiang had learned much from working in this house of pleasure—far more than others her age.

“Then let’s make her something to whet her appetite.”

“She’s tired of my cooking…”

“But just because you can’t, doesn’t mean I can’t. Come, let Brother Sen show you his skills,” Zhou Sen grinned.

“You can cook, Brother Sen?”

“Of course! There’s nothing I can’t do except give birth,” he boasted. After all, there was no tax on bragging.

“Nonsense!”

Ah Xiang’s little kitchen was neat and organized—a joy to work in. Cooking here was a pleasure, sure to inspire a chef’s best.

There was fish—he’d make a sweet and sour squirrel-shaped mandarin fish.

Chicken dice, frozen shrimp, carrots—shrimp and chicken stir-fry.

Chinese cabbage—classic boiled cabbage, a banquet favorite.

Leftover rice from yesterday—perfect for Yangzhou fried rice.

He just needed one more dish—a soup.

Longan, red dates, yam soup: nourishing, good for the stomach and blood, ideal for women. Three dishes and a soup—done.

Glancing at the available ingredients, Zhou Sen quickly settled on a few home-style dishes he was confident making.

“Ah Xiang, start simmering this soup for me, then lend a hand. Today, Brother Sen will show you what he can do,” Zhou Sen said, tying on his apron.

Cooking was an essential skill for any modern homebody—especially if you didn’t want to eat greasy, salty takeout every day.

Scaling, gutting, cutting—he moved with a swift assurance that left Ah Xiang, chopping vegetables beside him, almost slicing her own finger in awe.

She’d need the better part of an hour to prepare a fish like that, but in Zhou Sen’s hands, it was done in less than ten minutes.

Such efficiency, such knife skills—even Ah Xiang, who prided herself on her kitchen abilities, felt she was outmatched.

“Want to learn?”

“Mm-hmm…” Ah Xiang nodded eagerly.

“As long as you put in a good word for Brother Sen, I’ll teach you everything,” Zhou Sen chuckled. Bai Yulan trusted and doted on Ah Xiang the most—win her over, and he’d never lack for inside information.

“Really?” Ah Xiang’s mouth twisted in a sly grin.

“Of course.” Zhou Sen was already deep-frying the fish.

When he poured the sweet and sour sauce over, the dish was done—crisp and flavorful, kept warm at the edge of the stove.

He moved on to the shrimp and chicken stir-fry—oil-blanching the ingredients, then a quick toss in the wok with a light glaze, served up in moments.

Boiled cabbage might look simple, but it tested a chef’s skill. Zhou Sen was no banquet chef, but with a good broth, his home-style version would do.

Last was the Yangzhou fried rice—his specialty, made and eaten often.

As for the method, it depended on the ingredients and the diner; there was no fixed recipe.

An hour and a half later, three dishes and a soup were ready.

“All right, let’s serve the food,” Zhou Sen said with satisfaction, wiping his hands and taking off his apron.

Ah Xiang’s mouth watered at the delicious aroma.

With no appetite, Bai Yulan hadn’t rushed Ah Xiang to serve lunch. She lounged lazily on the sofa, listening to an old opera record—“The Drunken Concubine” sung by Mei, the great master.

“Sister Lan, lunch is ready,” Ah Xiang called, bringing in the squirrel fish.

Bai Yulan mumbled an acknowledgment, but made no move to get up.

“Sister Lan…”

“Mm.”

“Sister Lan?”

“Coming…” At last, Bai Yulan yielded to Ah Xiang’s urging. She got up, switched off the phonograph, and walked to the dining room.

“Ah Xiang, Ah Xiang…” Upon seeing the squirrel fish and shrimp stir-fry on the table, Bai Yulan was genuinely surprised. Ah Xiang had never made these before.

Had the girl bought them from a restaurant?

Suspicious, Bai Yulan sat down, picked up her chopsticks, and tasted a piece of fish. The sweet and sour flavor instantly awakened her palate—it was delicious, far beyond what any nearby restaurant could offer. None of their chefs had this skill or flavor.

Could this really be Ah Xiang’s work?

At that moment, Ah Xiang entered, carrying a large bowl of steaming Yangzhou fried rice. The heat rising from the rice proved it wasn’t takeout. Even the best insulated box couldn’t keep food piping hot after delivery.

And that bite of fish she’d just had was still hot enough to burn her tongue.

“Ah Xiang, what’s going on? Who made lunch today?” Bai Yulan fixed her with a sharp gaze.

“Sister Lan, how is it? Tasty?” Ah Xiang asked, as if presenting a treasure.

“Don’t change the subject. Tell me, who cooked? This is beyond you.”

“Sister Lan, guess.”

“It couldn’t be him, could it?” Bai Yulan frowned, a certain someone coming to mind.

“Sister Lan, you two are truly in sync. All three dishes, plus the fried rice, were made by Brother Sen,” Ah Xiang said, smiling.

“It really was him?” Bai Yulan was astonished. How could a wealthy playboy cook so well?

This level could rival the chefs at Houdefu.

“Ah Xiang, you talk too fast! No sense of drama—now Brother Sen can’t impress anyone. No cooking lessons for you!” Zhou Sen came in, carrying a bowl of nourishing soup.

“Here, try this longan, red date, and yam soup—it’s good for your stomach and blood, just right for you.”