The Game of Life-Chapter 772 - 771 Gifts (Part Four)

Chapter 772 -771: Gifts (Part Four)

Chapter 772 -771: Gifts (Part Four)

Zhang Guanghang did the same as the day before, returning to his room to sleep and then waking up to do homework. The only difference was that this time he spent considerably less time doing it, taking just over half an hour before slipping back to the kitchen.

Xia Mushi had figured it out; he had set up a sort of campfire rack on the flat ground outside the kitchen, where he was baking flatbread as if roasting meat.

The real deal—baking flatbread.

The campfire setup was large, but the fire was tiny, with just a small cluster of weak flames flickering in the wind, looking pathetically frail and helpless. From the charred remains of what was obviously withdrawn firewood scattered about, Jiang Feng could tell that the small fire was deliberately controlled by Xia Mushi.

Xia Mushi sat on a low stool, leaning forward with hands gripping the thick dough of a large flatbread, eyes fixed intently on it as he slowly moved it over the feeble flames to bake.

“Master,” Zhang Guanghang called out.

Only then did Xia Mushi notice Zhang Guanghang, giving him a look before quickly redirecting his attention back to the flatbread: “Have you finished your homework?”

“Done,” Zhang Guanghang replied.

“Good timing. Go to the photo studio and pick up the photos,” Xia Mushi instructed, shifting his position and adjusting the stool underneath him before continuing his taxing flatbread baking.

“Master,” Zhang Guanghang felt that what Xia Mushi was holding wasn’t a pie but a flatbread, and his intuition told him that this wasn’t the right way to bake flatbread, “Is this how flatbread is supposed to be baked?”

Jiang Feng felt that Xia Mushi rolled his eyes—perhaps he wanted to roll his eyes, and Jiang Feng sensed this intention, so he believed that’s what happened.

“I would have used a pan to bake it, but this ‘pie’ you wanted is so big, and the crust so thick, how could I bake it with a pan?”

“I told you last year to buy an oven, but you insisted that it’s useless,” Zhang Guanghang said, feeling aggrieved.

“That thing is so expensive, several thousand a pop, what do I need it for?” Xia Mushi replied irritably.

“I saw ovens on sale when I went to the department store the day before yesterday.”

Xia Mushi: …

“Even if it’s on sale, what’s the use of buying that thing?” Xia Mushi waved his hand at Zhang Guanghang, signaling him to hurry to the photo studio to get the photos.

Seeing his attempt to sell the benefits fail, Zhang Guanghang could only give up obediently and go to get the pictures, but he had barely taken a few steps when Xia Mushi called him back.

“An oven, is it really that useful?”

Jiang Feng: ?

Zhang Guanghang: !!!

“Very useful, Master, it’s incredibly useful. If you had an oven, you wouldn’t have to sit here using fire like you are now…”

“Go get the pictures.”

“Oh.”

Zhang Guanghang headed towards the photo studio.

Fen Garden wasn’t too far from the photo studio; taking a direct route instead of this morning’s detour through the vegetable market would only take about twenty minutes.

The photo studio looked the same as it did that morning, with its old signboard, the lackluster owner sitting at the entrance waiting for business, no customers, no mythic makeup artists, and just a few clean but outdated and unexciting clothing items, which had a certain retro vibe, hanging quietly in the store.

The owner remembered Zhang Guanghang and, without waiting for him to speak, took the initiative to retrieve the photos for him.

“Here, these are the photos you took with your grandfather this morning. Take care of them. They came out really well, lots of feelings in them. Remember to come back to us if you and your grandfather want to take photos again,” the owner said enthusiastically, trying hard to court a potential repeat customer.

Zhang Guanghang took the photos and, standing outside the photo studio bathed in summer sunlight, stared at them; Jiang Feng moved closer to take a look as well.

Indeed, the owner wasn’t wrong—the photo really had a special feel to it.

An elderly man in dark clothes with a stern face, and a mixed-race blonde youth dressed in colorful, rural clothing with a sweet smile—one old, one young, one seated, one standing—they somehow looked remarkably harmonious and full of character in this photo. Jiang Feng thought if the photo were black and white and slightly aged, it would certainly be worthy of appearing in textbooks.

Jiang Feng noticed that Zhang Guanghang kept staring at Xia Mushi’s hand in the photo.

Looking in the same direction, Jiang Feng was surprised to find that Xia Mushi’s hand, because of being overly tense, was clenched into a little fist, resting on his leg in what seemed like a natural position but was actually very awkward.

This kind of subtle detail was not noticeable unless you looked closely.

Zhang Guanghang stared at the photo for a while before turning back to the photo studio owner and saying, “Thank you, boss, I think this photo turned out really great. I will definitely come back here next time I need a photo taken.”

The owner was delighted, wishing he could pull out some advanced equipment to record Zhang Guanghang’s words and play them on a loop on a TV at the shop entrance, proving his photography skills were top-notch, even earning praise from an international friend.

Zhang Guanghang left the photo studio.

After leaving, he didn’t head straight back to Fen Garden but instead took a detour to a shop that had a nice decor, resembling a general store but not quite. He bought a jar of strawberry jam, and only after that did he head back towards Fen Garden with a spring in his step.

Returning to Fen Garden, Zhang Guanghang didn’t go directly to the kitchen; instead, he deliberately took a path avoiding the kitchen area and headed to his room. After reaching his room, he set the jam down on the desk, placed the photos also on the desk, turned them over so the backside was facing up, and picked up a pen ready to write on the back of the photos.

Just as the pen was about to touch the photo, Zhang Guanghang paused, set the pen down, rummaged through a drawer, and found a very delicate and obviously expensive fountain pen.

After filling the fountain pen with ink and ensuring it could write smoothly, Zhang Guanghang penned a sentence on the photo.

Avoir chaque anniversaire avec mon grand-père.

Jiang Feng didn’t understand; his memory from his stay at Shafu Roast Chicken had long faded.

Once done, Zhang Guanghang picked up the photo, blew on it a few times to dry the ink, then tucked it into his pocket and grabbed the jam, running towards the kitchen.

Xia Mushi’s apple pie was ready.

However, this apple pie didn’t quite look like an apple pie.

If he had to describe it, Jiang Feng would call it a work of art.

Perhaps it was because Zhang Guanghang’s description hadn’t been very specific, which led Xia Mushi to form the wrong impression about what an apple pie should look like on top. Mistaking the latticework for decorative cuts, Xia Mushi, after baking this thick-crust apple-filled pie, carved designs into its surface with a knife.

Not the sort of ugly gashes a child might hack into a pie, but really quite beautiful, resembling the knife work on a fruit platter.

Jiang Feng was dumbfounded when he saw this apple pie.

Zhang Guanghang was dumbfounded too.

Xia Mushi, seeing Zhang Guanghang’s expression, thought his apple pie was a resounding success, so brilliant that it stunned his young apprentice into silence, even feeling a smidgen of pride.

“Actually, this ‘whatever pie’ isn’t that hard to make. You don’t even need an oven, no need to buy one,” Xia Mushi said nonchalantly, casually massaging his sore wrist.

Zhang Guanghang: …

Seeing that Zhang Guanghang remained silent for a while, Xia Mushi felt something was amiss and asked, “What’s wrong? Is there a problem?”

“No problem at all, Master. This apple pie you made is just too good. I’ve never seen an apple pie made this beautifully.”

Only then did Xia Mushi feel satisfied.

“How do we eat this thing? Do we just grab it and eat, or should we slice it?” Xia Mushi inquired.

“Slice it, but just wait a moment before eating, Master. I need to write a few words on top,” Zhang Guanghang remembered what he had originally planned to do. He placed the jam on the table and went into the kitchen to find a small spoon.

Then Zhang Guanghang began to dip the back of the spoon into the jam, slowly tracing letters onto the pie. It would have been easier to write with a piping bag, but Zhang Guanghang hadn’t thought of that, or maybe he had but the sight of Xia Mushi’s stunning pie made him forget.

Thanks to the lovely knife work Xia Mushi had thoughtfully carved into the pie, tracing letters with the spoon was especially challenging. The resulting words were exceedingly abstract, almost impossible to discern. It wasn’t until Zhang Guanghang had completely finished that Xia Mushi managed to somewhat make out the words “Happy Birthday.”

Realizing what the words read, Xia Mushi was dumbstruck.

Seeing that Xia Mushi understood, Zhang Guanghang finally revealed a pleased smile, shifted the pie towards Xia Mushi, and took out a photograph from his pocket to place on the table.

“Happy birthday, Master.”

Xia Mushi hadn’t expected that Zhang Guanghang’s desire for pie and the photoshoot was all for his birthday. He didn’t know what to say for a moment, looking somewhat bewildered and even a bit embarrassed. He didn’t want to show these feelings in front of his apprentice, so he forced his expression to remain indifferent and serious.

Unfortunately, his hands betrayed him.

“Why bother with all this fuss? Didn’t you say this pie is meant to be sliced? I’ll go get a knife and cut it.” After saying this, Xia Mushi went to find a knife.

A sharp, large chef’s knife in hand, he made several swift, forceful cuts, and within moments, the pie—intended as a birthday cake—was sliced up just like a real cake.

Putting its appearance aside, Xia Mushi’s pie was actually quite excellent.

As he made the first cut, the apple filling couldn’t wait to spill out of the seam, thick, sticky, and steaming, like a jam waterfall cascading forth.

Had someone made an animated GIF of this scene and posted it on their Moments late at night, they’d probably get blocked by quite a few friends.

Zhang Guanghang wanted to say more to celebrate Xia Mushi’s birthday but was silenced by a slice of the pie, still dripping with apple jam, that Xia Mushi handed him. He breathed out and took big bites, clearly the flavor was quite delightful.

No child would refuse sweets.

Especially sweets made by Xia Mushi.

As for Xia Mushi himself, he cut a very small piece, mostly crust with only a smidgen of filling, which he held in his hand and chewed thoughtfully and slowly.

The crust, baked slowly over a low flame, didn’t have the flakiness typical of a true pie but was softer in texture. The crust of Xia Mushi’s pie was more like a thick, baked flatbread, its wheaty aroma fully drawn out by gentle, even toasting, giving it a satisfying chew.

This made it somewhat difficult for him to eat with his teeth.

As Xia Mushi was struggling to chew through the piece of flatbread, a thought suddenly struck him.

Something wasn’t right. Today was his birthday, and Zhang Guanghang was celebrating it, yet the cost of the photos and the work of making the pie all fell on him.

Who exactly was celebrating a birthday here?

As Xia Mushi pondered this, he voiced his thought.

“Today is my birthday, so why did I have to make the pie, and pay for the photos?” Xia Mushi looked towards Zhang Guanghang, who was smeared with half a face of jam.

Zhang Guanghang gave Xia Mushi a smile that would have been sweet, had it not been for the half-face of jam making it look rather silly.

“I originally wanted to make the pie for you, Master, but we don’t have an oven in our kitchen.”

Xia Mushi glared at Zhang Guanghang, feeling quite cheated by the day’s events. He reached into Zhang Guanghang’s pocket, pulled out a handkerchief, and roughly wiped away the jam from his face.

“You’re thirteen years old already, and you still eat like you did a couple of years ago, making such a mess. Aren’t you bothered by the heat?”

The inflection on the word “hot” was notably exaggerated.

This chapt𝙚r is updated by freeωebnovēl.c૦m.

The fog started to roll in, and Jiang Feng began to lose clarity of his surroundings.

He watched Zhang Guanghang, until he could no longer see the smile on his young face.

The smile of a young man.

Jiang Feng left the memory.