HLM – Chapter 103 New Year

Wang Bo’s father welcomed the villagers into the house, inviting them to sit. On the table were various brands of cigarettes, sunflower seeds, dried fruits, and playing cards. Once everyone was seated, they began cracking seeds and sipping tea while playing cards.

The cigarettes prepared for the guests were imported ones that Wang Bo had brought back from New Zealand. Someone picked up a pack, examined it, and asked in surprise, “Big bro, why does this look like Zhonghua cigarettes?”

Father Bo chuckled, “Xiao Bo said New Zealand doesn’t really have any good tobacco. This brand is made specifically for export from our country. Try it, try it—hard to find back home.”

Wang Bo had brought back an entire crate of cigarettes. Since New Zealand lacks any famous cigarette brands, he mostly bought Chinese export-only brands and American ones, including several packs of Dunhill.

The courtyard bustled with people coming and going, while inside, glasses clinked and toasts were exchanged. Wang Bo and his mother were busy in the kitchen, working up a sweat.

Today, they were serving catfish rice for four full tables—about ten people per table—more than forty guests in all. With five rooms in their house, nearly every seat was taken.

Preparing food for over forty people was no small task. Wang Bo’s parents had started prepping the day before. Dishes like marinated meat, crispy fish, smoked fish, and dried fish were all cold dishes that could be made in advance without compromising flavor.

Wang Bo also prepared Western-style salads—one fruit and one vegetable—dressed with salad cream and honey, which were served alongside the cold dishes. The villagers enjoyed them immensely.

Each table had sixteen dishes: eight hot, four cold, and four soups. This was traditional in their hometown. The portions were generous, but fishermen had hearty appetites, so the more food, the better.

The eight hot dishes included: fried pork tenderloin, chili pork cracklings, braised pork knuckle, five-spice fish rolls, soy-braised mackerel, steamed lobster, steamed king crab, and finally, catfish cooked in a cast-iron pot.

The four soups were: chicken soup with sea clams, lamb offal soup, sea cucumber and egg drop soup, and a lamb spine stew—which could also be considered a soup.

For the villagers, all that mattered was a feast of meat and fish. Taste and presentation weren’t top priorities. The large cast-iron pot bubbled away nonstop. After a while, Wang Bo and his mother had nearly finished preparing everything.

Once things settled down, his parents went inside to entertain the guests. Wang Bo and Zhong Dabao stayed back in the kitchen, drinking and eating while watching the snow falling gently outside.

They had prepared a basin of lamb spine stew for themselves, and Wang Bo had specially whipped up a few dishes on the side: spicy crab, stir-fried clams with chili, and stir-fried lamb tripe. Along with two cold dishes, their spread was more extravagant than anything inside the house.

Zhong Dabao, a true carnivore, picked up a chunk of lamb spine and started chewing noisily. After the first bite, his eyes lit up and he exclaimed, “Damn, this lamb is delicious!”

Wang Bo laughed. “If you like it, eat more. That whole pot’s yours. I’ll pack up half a slab for you when you leave. I brought back a lot from New Zealand.”

Inside, the neighbors were also raving about the lamb. Father Bo beamed with pride and said, “This is the best lamb from New Zealand—over 50 yuan per jin!”

“Fifty yuan? That’s not expensive at all, Uncle. Ask Xiao Bo to get us some next time,” someone said.

Father Bo chuckled. “I meant 50 New Zealand dollars. When you convert that to our currency, it’s over 200 yuan per jin…”

“Whoa, that’s pricier than lobster!”

“No way,” someone chimed in. “Those lobsters—Xiao Bo said they’re from Australia. Each one costs over a thousand yuan.” The more Father Bo talked, the prouder—and showier—he became.

After all, for parents, the greatest pride is having a capable child.

Amused by the conversation, someone sipped their wine and asked, “So what exactly does Xiao Bo do in New Zealand to make so much money? He’s not caught up in some pyramid scheme, is he?”

Mother Bo shoved a piece of crab into the speaker’s mouth and scolded playfully, “You don’t know anything, Fourth. Eat more, talk less. Our Xiao Bo is doing foreign trade—got some powerful people supporting him.”

“Then have him support us villagers a bit too!” someone joked.

“Ha! You want to work with Xiao Bo? What can you do? He speaks foreign languages! I heard him on the phone at the village entrance last time—he was going on and on in a foreign tongue. Sounded like an American movie!” another chimed in.

Someone else was unconvinced. “Okay, maybe I can’t speak it, but my son can! He could go abroad and gain some experience. I’m telling you, Xiao Bo is different now—don’t you think he carries himself with a whole new air?”

Father Bo laughed and said, “Second Brother really knows how to talk. What kind of ‘air’ could he possibly have? Now, eat, eat—try the crab. This is king crab, not like our local green crab.”

Back in the kitchen, the conversation turned in a similar direction. Zhong Dabao, gnawing on a lamb chop, muttered, “Old Wang, take me abroad too, will ya? I’m not making money sitting around at home.”

Wang Bo replied, “If you’re serious, I’ll take you. But honestly, I think you’d do better staying here and helping my dad with the fishery. I’ll give you a share—it’s a good money-maker.”

Zhong Dabao hesitated. “But helping your dad out at sea… I’m not your relative, and I’m not from your village either. Doesn’t that make it awkward?”

Wang Bo stuffed a crab leg coated in chili sauce into his mouth and grinned. “Who cares? The boat’s mine. If I say it’s not awkward, then it’s not.”

The catfish feast went on until evening. After the villagers left, Wang Bo and his parents began cleaning up. Zhong Dabao was already drunk and couldn’t be counted on.

Bo’s parents carefully packed away the leftovers, while Wang Bo unceremoniously dumped everything into the trash. His mother looked distressed and scolded, “You brat, don’t you know how to live frugally?”

Wang Bo sighed, “Ma, it’s almost New Year. Who’s going to eat leftovers? Besides, we’re not short on money anymore. Better to throw it all away.”

Father Bo nodded in agreement. “He’s right. But still, let’s try not to waste too much. Look at this fried meat—don’t toss it. Stick it in the fridge; we can eat it after the New Year.”

Wang Bo: “…”

A couple of days after the catfish feast, it was New Year’s Eve. According to tradition, Wang Bo first accompanied his father to visit their ancestors’ graves.

In Wang’s Fishing Village, their family was among the least populous—three generations of only children. Within four generations, there were only two direct-line households, so their tomb-sweeping was a quiet affair.

But Father Bo didn’t mind. His son had made something of himself abroad and had just gifted the family a big fishing boat. One son like that was worth more than a hundred ordinary boys from the village. He walked to the cemetery with his head held high.

They first visited the graves of Wang Bo’s grandparents. He had no real memory of his grandfather, who had died in a fishing accident when Wang Bo was very young. His grandmother had passed away from illness while he was in university.

Wang Bo had deep affection for his kind and strong grandmother. After she passed, he stopped fearing ghosts and spirits.

Kneeling before her grave, he kowtowed and murmured softly, “Grandma, please watch over your grandson from heaven. I must make something of myself in New Zealand. Next time I come visit, I’ll bring your granddaughter-in-law for you to meet.”