Chapter 046: What Calamity Are We Avoiding

The matter with the Tong family was finally settled, and my grandfather was able to let go of the worry that had weighed on his heart for so long.

He told me I had done well this time, though he regretted that Tong Ruan had suffered a slight injury—nothing serious, he assured me.

Grandfather also said he would reward me. I thought he might give me some useful item. Last time I had transformed a peachwood ruler into a peachwood dagger, but I’d sharpened it too much and it snapped when I took it out at home. Otherwise, when I faced Zhang Sheng, I wouldn’t have had to improvise with two bricks.

People—when expectations run high, so does disappointment.

Grandfather did the opposite of what I expected; though he claimed it was a reward for me, it felt more like he was rewarding himself.

We sat facing each other, a table between us. On the table was a steaming iron pot filled with rich, red broth, surrounded by tripe, fried dough sticks, marbled beef, cilantro, and every imaginable hotpot ingredient piled high.

Grandfather gazed at the bubbling broth, swallowing eagerly. “Let me tell you, I did my homework—this hotpot place is top-notch. You’ll forget where you come from.”

I pointed incredulously at the spread around us. “Grandfather, is this the reward you mentioned?”

“Of course! Do you know how hard it is to get a reservation here? I’ve been queuing since the day they opened!” He frowned suddenly and looked at me. “What, you’re not satisfied with the reward?”

I gave an awkward smile—he was master of the household; his word was law. I occasionally voiced small opinions, but I gave him a thumbs up and said, “Of course I’m satisfied. I’m just worried about you, Grandfather.”

I glanced around, leaned in and whispered, “Grandfather, with your hemorrhoids, can you eat this?”

He looked at me with disdain. “Life’s about what you eat and drink. If you worry too much, where’s the joy? Eat!”

If only I could be as carefree as my grandfather. I still remember taking him to the hospital, when he swore he’d never touch hotpot again.

But since we were already here, I might as well share his happiness—I love hotpot, after all.

And truth be told, the flavor was excellent. Spicy, but not overwhelming. The heat carried a hint of numbing sensation, exhilarating and far better than the last place I tried.

I bit into a fried dough stick, savoring the oily crunch—it was glorious!

“Grandfather, since we’re eating, why not invite Grandma Liu Aihong?” I gulped down a glass of water and glanced at him.

He shot back, “Why bring an outsider when it’s just us, grandfather and grandson?”

I was about to respond, but he cut me off: “I’ve only ever loved your grandmother.”

I chuckled and let the subject drop, changing tack. I asked if he could get me a proper weapon—my hemp rope and peachwood ruler were gone. I’d need them for future business; without tools, my work would be far less efficient.

Grandfather didn’t bother answering, simply ignored me. From his expression, I understood: if I kept pressing, he might make me pay for the loss of the rope and ruler.

“Grandfather.” I slid a piece of tripe into the pot, cooked it quickly and returned it to my bowl.

I looked at him seriously. “Can cost and backlash be transferred?”

“What did you say?”

After I asked, Grandfather’s gaze changed. “Who told you that?”

I chewed the tripe and replied, “Zhang Sheng said it after he was caught—he claimed he should’ve listened to someone else, transferred the cost and backlash, and then, he’d have succeeded in his revenge.”

“He really said that?”

I nodded. At the time, I’d taken it as a joke, but suddenly remembered and asked offhand.

I never expected Grandfather’s reaction would be so intense. He put down his chopsticks, ignored the unfinished meal, raised his hand and called out, “Waiter! Bill, please!”

By his plan, he intended for me to go home first, while he stayed here for a couple of days before returning.

But now, he immediately booked two plane tickets. He didn’t even see Grandma Liu Aihong, just phoned her briefly, then hurried me onto the plane.

As we boarded, my phone rang. I wanted to answer, but the battery died and the phone shut off.

I tried to charge it, but Grandfather wouldn’t give me the chance, hustling me straight onto the plane.

Everything happened so fast—one moment I was eating hotpot, the next I was seated on the aircraft.

I asked Grandfather what was happening, but he had no intention of telling me.

By the time we arrived home, it was midnight. As soon as we entered, Grandfather said nothing, rushing to his room to pack.

I watched him pull a battered wooden suitcase from under the bed, thick with dust.

He changed clothes and, grabbing the suitcase, prepared to leave in a hurry.

I was baffled by his behavior. “Grandfather? What’s going on? You’ve been acting strange ever since the hotpot.”

He pondered for a moment, then patted my shoulder, speaking with deep meaning: “I’m going to find your father and take shelter. Staying here does you no good.”

“Take shelter?” I rolled my eyes. “Grandfather, is it because of what I asked about transferring cost and backlash?”

“Don’t poke your nose into things. Just focus on your business—it has nothing to do with you.” He grabbed his smoking pipe, and reminded me, “Remember, if you ever meet someone with a nail in their left eyebrow, stay far away no matter what—understand?”

A nail in the left eyebrow?

My mind flashed to six words: alternative-style, emo punk?

“Grandfather…”

“That’s enough. I must go. Remember what I said, and one more thing—never, ever tell anyone my name. Got it?”

Watching Grandfather rush out, all I could do was nod, standing in the doorway as his figure faded into the darkness.

I had never seen him like this, talking about taking shelter—what trouble was he really avoiding?