Chapter 81: The Warmth of Home

Chapter 81: Chapter 81: The Warmth of Home

He pushed open the courtyard gate, and before he even stepped inside, a familiar presence rushed toward him.

The first to run out and greet him was none other than the daughter who was the apple of his eye.

"Dad! We’ve been waiting for you to come back!"

As she lunged forward, she knocked over the umbrella stand by the door, but she didn’t even glance back, burying her face directly in his chest.

Song Yao smiled so wide her eyes curved into crescents.

’At first, I really did just see Shen Zhenwu as a convenient human shield. But lately, every time I’ve gotten into trouble, Old Shen has stood up for me without a second thought. That little guard I had up has long since melted away.’

’Honestly, after not seeing him for ten days, I kind of missed the old man.’

Shen Zhenwu was grinning from ear to ear, his mustache curling upward with his smile.

He bent down to pick up the umbrella stand and looked at Song Yao. "While Dad was away, did anyone give you a hard time?"

Song Yao linked her arm through his. "Of course not! No one dares to mess with me now. After Sheng Hui scurried away from our house last time, his family dealt with him immediately. I heard he was shipped off to the Northwest to build a railway!"

She stood on her toes, leaned close to his ear, and lowered her voice. "He tried to come and apologize, but I had Xiao Li stop him at the gate."

That night, Shen Zhenwu had indeed gone to the Sheng Family’s home and spoken with Sheng Zhanhong behind closed doors for half the night.

When he returned, he said only one thing: "If that Sheng Hui ever dares to show his face near you again, I’ll break his legs myself."

Sure enough, not two days later, news arrived: Sheng Hui had been shoved into a covered truck and sent overnight to a construction site in the windiest, sandiest part of the Northwest.

They were rushing a major project there. The deadline was tight, they were short on manpower, and work started before dawn every day.

Sheng Zhanhong was dead set on teaching him a lesson...

"This whole table of food... you made it all yourself?"

Shen Zhenwu didn’t go to the front courtyard, where Yao Yuzhen and Song Shuangshuang were sitting.

Song Yao had already made it clear: they weren’t worthy of touching the food she cooked.

She had drawn the line crystal clear, without a moment’s hesitation.

"You bet! Xiao Li and I were in the kitchen before dawn. Heating the wok, kneading dough and rolling wrappers, mincing the meat, mixing the sauces—we did it all ourselves. Go on, have a taste! See if my skills have gotten rusty."

Song Yao pushed him into a seat and thrust a bowl and chopsticks into his hands.

Turning her head, she saw Xiao Li still standing there like a fool and immediately called out, "What are you just standing there for? Are you waiting for me to bow and kowtow before you’ll sit down?"

Xiao Li scratched the back of his head and chuckled. "The young miss is eating with the Chief. It’s not my place to take a seat."

"We’re family. Why draw such lines?"

Shen Zhenwu slammed his hand on the table, his voice booming, "Sit! Sit down right now!"

Xiao Li’s smile vanished, and he swiftly pulled up a chair and sat.

Song Yao picked up a glass bottle and filled a mug with orange-flavored soda. She served Shen Zhenwu first, then handed one to Xiao Li, and finally poured a glass for herself.

"Come on! A toast to Dad’s safe return!"

"Alright! Cheers!"

Shen Zhenwu tilted his head back and took a huge swig, drinking with such gusto it was as if he were toasting with strong liquor.

There weren’t many dishes on the table, but each one was a delicacy.

There was glistening, braised pork belly; sweet and sour carp coated in a shiny sauce; fragrant, rustic pot-stewed chicken; and Di San Xian, soft and savory.

There were two large plates of dumplings: one filled with chives and egg, the other with pork and scallions.

And the soup?

A rich, white, piping-hot pig’s trotter and daikon soup, whose aroma alone was enough to make your mouth water.

Shen Zhenwu stared at the table, rubbing his hands together, his eyes darting about, unsure which dish to focus on first.

"My girl, just looking at this feast has my stomach rumbling. I haven’t been this hungry in decades!"

Listen to that—a dignified chief, and his voice was thick with emotion.

Without a word, Song Yao picked up three dumplings and piled them into his bowl. "Xiao Li said pork and scallion is your favorite, so I made two whole steamer baskets. They’re fresh out of the pot! Once this plate is finished, there’s more steaming on the stove!"

Shen Zhenwu felt a prickle in his nose. He quickly picked one up and took a bite. It was so hot it scalded his tongue, but he still chewed it heartily a couple of times before raising a hand to wipe the corner of his eye.

But the more he wiped, the harder it was to stop the warmth from spilling over and trickling down from the corners of his eyes.

He wiped the tears away discreetly and quickly stuffed a second dumpling into his mouth.

His voice suddenly boomed, "Delicious! So delicious! I could finish two whole plates of these!"

Watching him, Song Yao felt her own nose prickle.

’Back when I lived with the Shen Family, Shen Zhenwu was never home. He was either at his military base or on business trips, so I never really noticed how Yao Yuzhen treated him.’

’It was only later, when I overheard Xiao Li chatting, that I learned Shen Zhenwu’s favorite food was dumplings.’

’But every time he came back, even on New Year’s Eve, Yao Yuzhen would complain that making dumplings was too much trouble and never once made them for him!’

’But if Song Shuangshuang wanted steamed buns?’

’Oh, that was no trouble at all!’

’The steamer was always hot. There were soft, generously filled steamed buns with fluffy skins at almost every meal...’

’These things sound trivial and insignificant on their own, but when they pile up, it’s like rubbing salt in a wound—the pain just gets worse and worse.’

’Later, I looked through an old photo album and realized that the younger Shen Zhenwu never smiled in pictures.’

’Only once, standing at the kitchen doorway and watching steam rise from a steamer, did the corner of his mouth lift just a tiny bit.’

’Suddenly, I understood. This was probably why my dad had been so desperate to find his biological daughter, wasn’t it?’

’The woman sleeping beside him wouldn’t even offer him a bowl of hot soup, and his adopted daughter wasn’t his own flesh and blood.’

’No matter how lively the house was, it was like looking through a pane of frosted glass. You could see the silhouettes, but you couldn’t feel any warmth.’

’That’s why he longed to find his real daughter—to have at least one person, someone truly connected to him by blood, who would sit at the dinner table and call him Dad.’

"Dad, don’t just stare at the dumplings! The other dishes I made are amazing, too!"

Song Yao shook the distracting thoughts from her head, her chopsticks flying as she put more food on her dad’s plate.

She also ladled a large, steaming bowl of the pig’s trotter and daikon soup and gently pushed it toward him.

Shen Zhenwu drank a large mouthful with a GULP GULP. A pleasant warmth spread through his stomach, and his heart warmed along with it.

It was nothing like before, when stepping into the house felt like walking into a room full of cold air. No matter how hot the food was, it could never warm a person’s soul.

But right now, he was comfortable from head to toe, smiling so much that his eyes crinkled at the corners!

"Come! My girl, Dad will toast you a bowl!"

The two of them clinked their bowls together with a loud CLINK and downed the contents in one gulp.

Shen Zhenwu wiped his mouth and let out a long sigh. "I’ve lived for over forty years, and this is the first time I’ve ever felt that home... is truly a warm place. My girl, Dad really has to thank you!"

Song Yao felt a little shy and smiled, pressing her lips together. "What’s there to thank me for? I just cooked a meal. If you like it, I’ll make it for you every day!"

"Hahaha, I love it! Your cooking is more authentic than a head chef’s at a grand hotel! Xiao Li, you be the judge, am I right?"

Before the words were even out of his mouth, his chopsticks had already snatched up a piece of braised pork and delivered it to his mouth.

To be honest, being able to eat his fill without restraint today was a huge relief for him.

Yao Yuzhen used to always criticize him for eating too loudly, starting to nag him before he could even get three sentences in.

If he dared to talk back, she would immediately throw down her chopsticks, her face darkening as she declared, "I’m not eating anymore!"

Or she would simply turn and go into her room, saying, "I’d rather starve to death than eat this meal!"

After that happened enough times, Shen Zhenwu preferred squatting in the cafeteria eating steamed buns to going home to be scolded.

But it was different here. The three of them ate with gusto. No one was putting on airs, and no one was finding fault.

Xiao Li was even grabbing dumplings with one hand and shoveling rice with the other, even playfully snatching the last one Shen Zhenwu had just picked up. "Uncle, this last one’s mine!"