IBO -Chapter 173 Qingming Festival

This novel contains sensitive and taboo content like R*pe, Mu**er etc. Read only if you are comfortable.

On a mid-April morning, which happened to be a Saturday, Song Yiran was busy in the kitchen preparing breakfast.

Xiao Zhong’er stretched and walked over: “Song Yiran! Good morning! Happy Qingming Festival!”

“I checked the calendar of your original country. You have both the lunar and solar calendars. Today happens to be Qingming on the lunar calendar!”

“When humans celebrate festivals, you always wish each other happiness. So today I want to wish you a happy Qingming too!”

Xiao Zhong’er felt extremely thoughtful. Hands on his waist and arm hooked around Song Yiran’s neck, he asked: “Song Yiran, it’s Qingming today. What delicious food will you make?”

“Hehe, I heard humans prepare feasts during festivals. There’s probably a big feast today too?” Xiao Zhong’er’s eyes sparkled, imagining the food, his stomach growling in anticipation.

Song Yiran paused mid-action, then looked out the window. The leaves outside were still so green. He murmured, “Today is Qingming…”

Xiao Zhong’er curiously asked: “By the way, what do humans usually do for Qingming Festival?”

“Qingming is our day to honor our ancestors. We visit their graves, offer sacrifices,” Song Yiran said, lowering his eyes to hide his expression. “Speaking of which… I should prepare to visit my parents’ grave too.”

Xiao Zhong’er immediately regretted opening his mouth—he shouldn’t have asked! Now he’d struck a sore spot.

He awkwardly scratched the back of his head: “I’m sorry… I don’t really know about your holidays.”

Song Yiran sighed and forced a smile: “It’s fine. My parents passed away years ago. I’ve long since gotten used to it.”

Xiao Zhong’er stared at him, finally managing to blurt out: “Are you really okay?”

Song Yiran smiled and nodded: “Really. I’m used to it.”

“Honestly, it’s nothing. Everyone dies eventually. I’ve accepted it. Visiting their grave is nothing—I’ve done it before,” he said casually, though his hands moved faster than usual.

He cut the remaining carrots on the board into sticks, contrasting sharply with the small pile of shredded carrots already prepared.

Xiao Zhong’er silently closed his mouth, realizing if he said another word, he might be forced to help cut them.

After breakfast, Song Yiran announced in the kitchen: “Dear family, today is Qingming Festival, a day to honor our ancestors.

So today, we’ll make dumplings! And we’ll honor our ancestors! But you don’t need to join for the ancestral rites—you just focus on making dumplings.”

Song Buli curiously asked: “Brother, what is Qingming Festival? I haven’t heard of it.”

Song Yiran explained: “Qingming is a festival from my hometown. It’s a day dedicated to honoring ancestors.”

Song Fu tilted his head: “Brother, what are dumplings? Can we eat them?”

Song Yiran: “Dumplings are a kind of food. Very tasty!”

Song Xiufu raised a paw: “Brother, what does honoring ancestors mean?”

Song Yiran: “It means paying respect to ancestors, like visiting their graves or offering them things. Essentially, it’s about showing respect to those who came before us.”

Next came the lively dumpling-making session.

In Song Yiran’s hometown, festivals usually involve making dumplings, sometimes called “jiaozi ba.”

Unlike other regions, his hometown typically makes dumplings from rice flour.

For Qingming, the ideal type is “mugwort dumplings,” made by adding mugwort juice to the dough, giving them a green color.

These dumplings have a fragrant mugwort aroma and a subtle herbal taste.

But Song Yiran didn’t plan to make mugwort dumplings—kids often dislike the smell.

Since there were many children in the house, he decided to make regular dumplings instead.

In the yard, everyone sat on small chairs in a big circle.

Song Yiran had already kneaded the dough—a large white batch (technically rice dough) sat in the middle, ready for the dumpling-making session.

There was also a large bowl of filling. This time, Song Yiran had prepared chive and pork filling.

Under everyone’s expectant gaze, Song Yiran rolled up his sleeves and began his demonstration. “Little ones, watch my movements carefully.”

He pinched off a small piece of dough—more accurately, a rice dough ball—but in any case, it was a little lump.

He placed the small lump in the palm of his hand, then slapped the other hand down on it, flattening it into a dumpling wrapper.

Song Yiran smoothed the surface of the wrapper as evenly as possible, then scooped a spoonful of filling from the bowl onto it. Carefully, he folded the wrapper over the filling.

“Pay attention to this step,” Song Yiran explained. “When you fold the wrapper, you need to press it firmly so it doesn’t come apart.” He pinched the edges tightly and even added little decorative crimps along the sides.

Song Yiran smiled. “The crimping isn’t necessary, but if you want your dumplings to look nicer, you can make some patterns along the edge.”

And just like that, a dumpling with a decorative edge took shape in Song Yiran’s hands. He placed it on a bamboo tray that had been prepared in advance.

“All right! That’s all there is to making dumplings!” Song Yiran said with a beaming smile. “Why don’t you all give it a try?”

So everyone sat in rows in the courtyard to start making dumplings.

At first, the kids were full of enthusiasm, each confident they could make perfect dumplings.

But reality was harsh.

Some had too much filling, which couldn’t be enclosed. Some dumpling skins tore while wrapping. Some dumplings weren’t pinched tightly enough, and soon fell apart.

A few of the children did manage to make proper-looking dumplings, but with too little filling, leaving them flat. Once cooked, the filling would likely be gone within three bites.

All sorts of dumpling-wrapping disasters had been collected by the children.

The kids could only look at their misshapen dumplings with a mix of sorrow and helplessness.

Even “Little Middle Two” (Xiao Zhong’er) had a rough time. Dumplings seemed easy, but when it was his turn, he just couldn’t get it right.

Finally, he had a change of strategy: if dumplings couldn’t be made, could he make a big pancake instead?

All it took was two dumpling wrappers with filling in between, cover them, pinch the edges—and voilà, a big pancake.

After making the pancake, he expanded his thinking. If there’s a pancake, why not a bun?

So he tried to make a bun. But he couldn’t close the top seam properly, and in frustration, he rolled it into a ball.

Song Yutu, on the other hand, had no problem. His dumplings were perfectly normal, with just the right amount of filling, unbroken wrappers, and neatly pinched edges.

He even added a beautiful crimp along the edge!

The children looked on enviously. Song Buli praised, “Wow! Brother Tutu, you’re amazing! You learned to crimp so quickly!”

Song Yutu snorted lightly, then deliberately paraded the dumpling in front of the kids. “Well, what can I do? I have a humanoid form.”

Proudly, Song Yutu boasted, “Making dumplings as a humanoid is so easy—super effortless! Light work, barely any effort!”

Song Buli thought: I wish I hadn’t just praised him…

Song Yutu’s behavior enraged the children, who all stared daggers at him, trying to judge him with their eyes.

Just as Little Middle Two moved to stop Song Yutu’s arrogance, he suddenly felt a chill on his back.

He turned and saw Song Yiran walking straight toward Song Yutu.

Song Yutu was still showing off: “Tsk tsk tsk—having a humanoid form is great, making dumplings better than all of you!”

“Really? I didn’t know being humanoid was that great.”

Song Yutu immediately retorted, “That’s because you’re not humanoid! Once you are, you’ll know its benefits…”

Wait, who just spoke? That voice sounds so familiar… Brother?

Song Yutu froze and turned to see the angry Song Yiran.

Oh no… this is going badly.

Song Yutu immediately got a “screw” to the forehead from Song Yiran. Song Yiran sneered:

“Being humanoid is so special? Were you born humanoid? Weren’t you once in beast form too?

Using your strengths to compare against others’ weaknesses—are you really brave enough to do that? Aren’t you ashamed? Why not compare your weaknesses to their strengths?

Being able to make dumplings is impressive? Is the world full of people who can’t make dumplings? Were you born knowing how to? Everyone needs to learn when faced with something new. They just aren’t very good yet, but they will improve.”

Song Yiran gave Song Yutu another “screw” to the forehead. “Song Yutu, listen carefully. You can’t flaunt your strengths to show off against others’ weaknesses.

Yes, your dumplings are good, and that deserves praise. But you can’t use it to boast in front of them. How old are you? How old are they? You’ve eaten dozens of times more food than them, this isn’t fair.

Moreover, they’re making dumplings in beast form, which is harder. Comparing your humanoid dumplings to theirs is just bullying them for being young.

If you want to compete in dumpling-making, compete with me—can you make dumplings better than me?”

Song Yutu could only cover his head and kneel, admitting: “Brother, I was wrong… I won’t do it again!”

He then turned to apologize to the kids: “I’m sorry… I shouldn’t have spoken like that.”

The little incident quickly passed, and soon everyone dove back into the lively dumpling-making.

Song Yiran had just enough ingredients. When the last dumpling wrapper was flattened, the remaining filling in the bowl was exactly enough for one dumpling.

After all the dumplings were made, Song Yiran took them to the kitchen to steam.