The Game of Life

In life, there are three kinds of noodles: “First Noodles,” “Longevity Noodles,” and “Farewell Noodles.” First Noodles are eaten at the cleansing ceremony three days after a child’s birth, while Farewell Noodles are consumed three days after an elder’s passing during the mourning feast. One signifies birth, the other death; only the Longevity Noodles are eaten during birthdays, in hopes of praying for a long and healthy life.

Theoretically, Longevity Noodles must not be bitten off but eaten in one mouthful, which is why they’re normally served in a small bowl, making it easier for the elderly to finish them in one go. But according to the Jiang family’s tradition, the longer the noodles, the better; symbolizing a longer life. During eating, it’s customary to stuff a bit more into one’s mouth, and eating a little less is just fine.

And so, with everyone watching, Jiang Weiming slowly picked up his chopsticks and found the end of the noodles in the bowl. He began to slurp them up from that point, just like how everyone slurps up noodles on a regular day, bit by bit, mouthful by mouthful, until the noodles that tangled like winding paths in the bowl were all gone.

“Clap, clap, clap!” A waitress from the Jiang family’s side, whose name Jiang Feng couldn’t recall, actually burst into excited applause as if she had just witnessed something remarkable, her excitement and exhilaration clearly written across her face.

It was only after she finished clapping that she realized how odd her behavior was, and she bashfully looked down, whispering, “I… it’s my first time seeing someone eat Longevity Noodles; I got a little excited.”

The crowd responded with friendly laughter, and then a thunderous round of applause roared like a tide.

Jiang Weiming finished the bowl of noodles in one breath, and because he ate them so quickly and somewhat eagerly, he almost choked. He took a moment to catch his breath before saying, “Don’t all stand there; sit down. The smell of the hot pot has made me hungry.”

“Granduncle Weiming, we still have to wait for you to blow out the candles and cut the cake, how can we sit down?” Jiang Ran said.

“Right, Master Jiang, the cake hasn’t been cut yet,” everyone chimed in unison.

Jiang Weiming laughed at his lapse, “Look at my memory. I’d forgotten that eating cake is part of celebrating a birthday. Come on, let’s cut the cake. Eh, why are there two cakes?”

“This cake was specially made for you by Zhang Guanghang; that other one still in its delivery box, I don’t know who ordered it, but they left my phone number,” Jiang Feng explained.

Everyone moved the dishes aside to make room for the two cakes. Zhang Guanghang carefully presented his French-style birthday cake in front of Jiang Weiming. Meanwhile, Jiang Feng began to unwrap the other cake.

Inside the box lay a peach-shaped cake, a large one adorned with a big ‘Shou’ (longevity) character on one side and the number 99 in Arabic numerals on the other. In front of the peach was an icing figurine of a benevolent and amiable old man that came off as somewhat endearing.

This cake was clearly very pricey, easily amounting to a four-figure sum at least.

Jiang Feng carefully moved the cake out of the box, mindful not to scrape or damage the peach-shaped image. When the cake had completely come out of the box, a card that had been placed inside fell out.

Jiang Feng picked up the card. It was simple, with only six words written on it.

Father:

Happy Birthday.

Instead of an exclamation point, there was a period following “Happy Birthday.”

Clearly, the cake was ordered by Jiang Yong.

He always remembered Jiang Weiming’s lunar birthday. Although he had rushed over from Magic City without a phone call or a message, he had still gone out of his way to order a special cake for Jiang Weiming and even had the bakery staff write a card.

The awkward and complex relationship between father and son could only truly be understood and navigated by the two of them.

Jiang Feng passed the card to Jiang Weiming, who took a glance and was stunned, as if he couldn’t believe his own eyes. He read it over and over again, staring at the card as though trying to see right through it.

“Good…” Jiang Weiming muttered, the smile reaching from his eyes to his lips, “Let’s cut the cake then, starting with this peach one.”

“Granduncle Weiming, would you like to make a wish first?” asked Jiang Shoucheng, somewhat puzzled, not understanding why Jiang Weiming had become so happy just by reading the card.

Jiang Weiming always wore a smile, ever the kind and affable old man, but anyone who spent enough time with him could easily distinguish the different kinds of smiles he wore.

Most of the time, Jiang Weiming’s smile was one of habit, with other smiles generally falling into two categories: contentment and resignation. The smile he wore now, however, clearly represented a joy bordering on ecstasy.

He was very happy, and everyone could see it.

“There’s no need to make a wish, all my wishes have already come true,” said Jiang Weiming as he took the plastic knife handed to him by Jiang Feng and cut the peach-shaped cake in half.

Jiang Weiming had finished cutting the cake, only taking a small taste of each before the throng of chefs in the back kitchen invited him to try their dishes, vying for his attention like concubines in a royal harem eager for the emperor’s favor.

Among them, Jiang Weisheng, the Senior Consort, was the most attentive, having already scooped the soup for Jiang Weiming. If the soup hadn’t already cooled enough not to require blowing, Jiang Weisheng would probably have held the bowl and used the spoon to stir and gently blow on it.

“Granduncle, please try the Kung Pao chicken I made; this time it’s spicy, not sweet!”

“Master Jiang, come taste my dish!”

“Master Jiang, this dish of mine…”

“Master, the dish I made today…”

Jiang Weiming gave each their due attention, tasting the dishes in the order they were placed before him. After each tasting, he would smile and praise the chef for their recent improvement, then urge them to go have their meal.

The last dish Jiang Weiming tasted was Jiang Feng’s Yun Chicken. There was no helping it; Jiang Feng had arrived late, so the Yun Chicken was at the very end.

As Jiang Weiming reached with his chopsticks for the Yun Chicken, he belched involuntarily.

He had started with a bowl of longevity noodles and under Jiang Weisheng’s expectant gaze, had drunk an entire bowl of strange-flavored soup. Afterward, he had tasted so many dishes. Although he had only a bite or two of each, the sheer number of them left his aging stomach full.

The Yun Chicken had cooled slightly, losing some of its former flavor.

Jiang Weiming bit into a piece of chicken, but before he could chew much, waves of memory washed over him.

He remembered being young, the times spent with his father and six brothers at the Taifeng Building—once had been his eldest brother’s wedding. They all got thoroughly drunk, even his father and little aunt, while the two youngest brothers, too young for alcohol, could only watch wistfully from the side.

Knowing he was almost full, Jiang Weiming couldn’t help but reach for another piece of Yun Chicken, biting down.

He remembered again; this time, it was the last New Year’s Eve dinner with his little aunt before her marriage. It had started so lively, but then she suddenly hugged her brothers and began to cry. Faces that had blurred in his memory became crystal clear, and even the scenes of home he thought he’d forgotten came flooding back.

Jiang Weiming reached for another small piece of Yun Chicken.

He thought of the joy he felt on the day his first son was born, how he told his wife that he would raise the boy to take over for him, to be a chef like him, and to surpass his father.

He remembered the shock and euphoric surprise when he received a call last winter from Jiang Feng mentioning Jiang Jianguo’s name.

His thoughts moved to the unreal and dreamlike excitement when he met his younger brother again.

He thought of the lively joy and happiness of spending this year’s New Year with his younger brother’s family.

Lost in these memories, Jiang Weiming allowed himself to indulge, forgetting even to comment on the Yun Chicken Jiang Feng had made that day.

Seeing Jiang Weiming’s absent gaze, Jiang Feng said, “Granduncle, I’m going to eat now,” and left, allowing Jiang Weiming to relish the warm moments spent with his family in solitude.

When Jiang Weiming came back to his senses, he realized tears were streaming down his face.

On reflection, he found that those warm snippets of life were composed of his youthful days in Beiping, the short years after meeting and starting a family with his wife, and these last six months since Jiang Feng found him.

Compared to his younger brother, his life did seem quite the failure.

Jiang Weiming could only offer a wry smile, turning to look at his noisy progeny, just in time to see Jiang Feng awkwardly smiling as he reached out with a bowl to take the duck intestines Wu Minqi handed him from the spicy hot pot.

He had thought his life was set—that he would end his days alone after his parents, brothers, and wife had passed, languishing in an old country house, keeping company only with his wife’s portrait, waiting for death, or possibly one day, if he was weary of living, he might end his own life.

Who would have thought, as he neared his end, he would still encounter such a twist of fate?

Watching Jiang Feng, an unstoppable smile filled his eyes.

Having this grandnephew made it all worthwhile.