Shan Yu genuinely didn’t know how to wrap dumplings. His parents never made dumplings from scratch; growing up, his holiday memories of dumplings consisted almost entirely of store-bought frozen ones.
They had tried making them themselves once. His dad rolled out petal-shaped wrappers, combined with his mom’s “fold-it-in-half” pinching technique, and the moment they hit the boiling water, most of the skins dissolved completely. What they drank that day was thick pork and fennel soup.
The reason that memory stuck with him so vividly was realizing that his parents still remembered he loved fennel dumplings.
Down on the first floor, the dining area was already set up for making dumplings: kneaded dough, and three large bowls of different fillings.
The inn’s staff were gathered around the table, along with a few unfamiliar faces who were likely guests joining in on the fun. The faster ones had already started wrapping.
Aside from Chen Jian’s dad, several of the guests looked considerably more adept than the inn’s young crew.
“There’s fennel filling?” Shan Yu caught the distinctive herbal aroma the moment he walked downstairs. He stepped over to inspect the bowls, confirming that one was indeed fennel.
“Mm,” Chen Jian answered from beside him. “There’s also pickled cabbage and chive.”
“Why fennel?” Shan Yu asked in a low voice.
“Because my dad mixed the filling,” Chen Jian said.
“He likes it?” Shan Yu asked.
“I like it,” Chen Jian lowered his voice further. “That’s the perk of pulling strings.”
Shan Yu pulled out a chair with a chuckle and sat down.
“Do you not like it?” Chen Jian leaned in, whispering softly behind his ear. “If not, can you eat the pickled cabbage or chive ones?”
“I asked because I do like it,” Shan Yu said.
The warm breath brushing past the side of his neck and the low, slightly raspy murmur made Shan Yu instinctively raise his hand, wanting to reach back and touch Chen Jian’s face.
“What a coincidence,” Chen Jian whispered. Then, reaching from behind, his finger flicked lightly against the back of Shan Yu’s hand.
Ouch… Shan Yu tilted his head away.
Chen Jian pulled up a chair beside him and sat down, shooting him a look.
“Did you two wash your hands?” Sun Nana asked.
“I’ll go wash,” Chen Jian stood up and headed for the kitchen.
“And you?” Holding a dumpling wrapper in her left hand, Sun Nana elegantly wielded a long-handled coffee spoon in her right to scoop filling, eyeing Shan Yu.
“Store Manager Chen assigned me to play with dough,” Shan Yu said, standing up anyway and walking toward the kitchen. “Does that mean I can skip washing?”
“What if on a sudden whim you decide to wrap a few?” Hu Pan said. “It’s not that hard…”
“The way you wrap them, they’ll burst the second they hit the pot,” Sanbing glanced at the dumpling in her hand while wrapping his own. “Pinch it tighter…”
“Why are you still here?” Hu Pan said. “Aren’t you going home? It’s officially time off today, why haven’t you guys gone home yet?”
“I’m heading back after eating this lunch batch of dumplings,” Chen Erhu said. “My dad and I are having lunch at my eldest uncle’s house today. If I show up too early, a whole crowd of relatives will trap me and lecture me on life.”
“Same here,” Sanbing said. “Plus, I’m coming back tonight to set off fireworks.”
“What about Lao Wu?” Sun Nana asked Lao Wu, who was head-down pulling pieces of dough into small dough balls.
“Don’t worry about me,” Lao Wu muttered. “I’m merely a man nobody cares about…”
“Understood,” Sun Nana replied flatly.
“Squirt some soap for me,” Shan Yu held his hands out.
As Chen Jian picked up the soap dispenser, he noticed Shan Yu’s hand was palm-down.
“…I see it,” Chen Jian squirted a dollop of soap directly onto the reddened patch on the back of his hand where he had just flicked him. “Who told you to get touchy-feely?”
“You hit pretty hard,” Shan Yu rubbed his hands together.
“You startled me,” Chen Jian said. “A second slower and your hand would have been on my face. I didn’t have time to calibrate my strength.”
Shan Yu smiled, casting a glance back toward the dining area. With the line of sight blocked by the corner of the wall, he reached out and touched Chen Jian’s cheek.
“You really don’t know your way around our inn, do you?” Chen Jian looked at him.
“Hm?” Shan Yu gave his chin another light pinch.
“You didn’t know you can’t see this spot from the dining room?” Chen Jian said.
“So what?” Shan Yu said. “I’m not the store manager.”
“Wash your hands again,” Chen Jian turned and walked toward the dining room.
“I’m just playing with dough,” Shan Yu turned on the tap. “Aren’t the hygiene standards a bit excessively high…”
The water had barely hit his hands when the phone in his pocket rang.
He shut off the faucet, pulled out his phone, and saw it was his mother.
A little surprised. Since returning to Dayin, he hadn’t contacted home. Although the emotional distance had shrunk significantly, decades of ingrained habits were hard to change overnight.
He had originally planned to call her tomorrow, not expecting her to call first.
“Mom,” he answered.
“If you stuff that much filling in, it’ll definitely burst! Look, the skin is already transparent!” Hu Pan’s booming yell echoed from the dining area.
If Dayin ever held a yelling contest, Hu Pan would take first place without contest.
“Making dumplings?” his mother asked.
“Yeah,” Shan Yu smiled.
“Sounds like quite a controversial wrapping technique over there,” she noted.
“Barely anyone knows how. Rolling out the wrappers relies entirely on Chen Jian’s dad and a couple of guests,” Shan Yu said.
“If we come over on the second day of the New Year, will his father still be at the inn?” his mother asked.
“Mm. Without his dad here, we wouldn’t have anything to eat over the holidays,” Shan Yu said.
“Does his father know about the two of you?” she asked again.
“Didn’t let him tell him,” Shan Yu said. “The timing isn’t right.”
“I see,” she said.
“When is your family gathering?” Shan Yu asked.
“Heading out right now. Having lunch with your eldest aunt and second aunt, and visiting your uncle’s in the afternoon,” she said. “The schedule is packed to the brim. Work isn’t even this hectic, and instead of earning a salary, we’re handing out cash.”
“Rake some back for me, tell them to give me lucky money,” Shan Yu joked.
“How many years has it been since I last gave you lucky money?” his mother mused, her tone suddenly nostalgic.
“Give it to me now, then,” Shan Yu said.
“Then give us your New Year greetings,” she chuckled.
“Happy New Year, Mom, Dad,” Shan Yu said softly. “Good health and may everything go smoothly.”
Silence hung on the other end for a few seconds before his father’s voice came through: “Happy New Year. Wishing you prosperity and success in your business.”
“Thanks, Dad,” Shan Yu smiled. “Where’s Mom?”
“She’s crying,” his father said.
“No crying on the New Year,” Shan Yu said.
“Let her cry. It’s the last day of the year,” his father said. “She won’t cry tomorrow.”
“Mm,” Shan Yu acknowledged.
“Go wrap your dumplings,” his father said. “We’ll let you know before we set off on the second.”
“Alright,” Shan Yu said.
Hanging up, he washed his hands again and returned to the dining area.
Chen Jian had taken over from the clumsy Chen Erhu, expertly rolling out wrappers with practiced ease. A guest beside him laughed, “It really takes the store manager to show how it’s done.”
Shan Yu walked up beside him, pulled out his phone, and snapped a few photos. Stepping back a few paces, he captured the warm, bustling scene of everyone wrapping dumplings alongside the guests.
Not for future promotional materials, but because it genuinely carried an inexplicable warmth.
“Look over here,” Shan Yu called out.
Everyone looked up together, holding up their dumplings and rolling pins, grinning broadly at the lens.
Shan Yu walked back to Chen Jian: “Let me try.”
“Wash hands,” Chen Jian said.
“…Just give me a lump of dough, then,” Shan Yu surrendered without a moment’s hesitation.
Chen Jian glanced at him, plucked a small piece of dough, and handed it over with a smile.
Shan Yu picked up a toothpick and sat at the very corner of the table where finished dumplings were laid out.
He kneaded the dough, splitting it into two small lumps. One he rolled into an oval shape, and the other he pressed flat into a thick disc.
He was remarkably focused on playing with his dough.
Chen Jian glanced over several times, unable to decipher what on earth Shan Yu was making. A rabbit could be made from a single lump, a dog too, and even an Erge wouldn’t need to be separated into two pieces.
Yet that piece of dough clearly wasn’t enough to keep Shan Yu occupied for long. Before long, he finished his masterpiece, set it upright on the edge of the table, and got up to wash his hands.
“Let me try,” he stood beside Chen Jian once more.
“So stubborn,” Sun Nana laughed. “Let him play around. We can barely keep up with wrapping the wrappers anyway.”
“Any leftover dough can just be boiled into noodle soup,” Chen Jian’s dad said.
Chen Jian set two dough portions in front of Shan Yu and handed him the rolling pin.
Holding the pin in one hand and pinching a dough ball in the other, Shan Yu gestured horizontally and vertically several times, completely at a loss for where to start. Finally, with an involuntary flick of his wrist, the rolling pin launched half a foot forward, spun rapidly in the air, and caught neatly back in his grip.
The room erupted into cheers, and a guest actually started clapping.
Amidst the applause, Shan Yu pressed the rolling pin down and shoved it forward.
The dough was flattened into a long, uneven strip.
“Nice!” Sanbing bellowed.
Laughter broke out again.
“Are you beating someone up? So much force,” Chen Jian murmured under his breath.
“How do you do it? How do you rotate this thing?” Shan Yu asked.
Chen Jian reached out, his hand cupping the hand holding the dough, slipping his fingers underneath Shan Yu’s: “Lift it slightly, pinch with your thumb and index finger… rotate counter-clockwise… push the pin forward…”
Both of their hands were dusted with white flour. The friction of fingertips meeting the back of Shan Yu’s hand felt distinct and textured, the fine grains amplifying every subtle touch with startling clarity.
After Shan Yu rolled it twice, Chen Jian withdrew his hand.
“Like this?” Shan Yu glanced at him, his lips curling into an imperceptible smirk.
“Yes,” Chen Jian cleared his throat, stepping back slightly.
As expected of someone skilled enough to crochet hats, Shan Yu picked up the technique rapidly. Within a few tries, he was rolling out neat, round circles, and at a respectable pace too.
Chen Jian stepped to the side to help wrap the dumplings. Walking around the table, his eyes landed on Shan Yu’s dough sculpture.
Though abstract and crude, he recognized it at a single glance.
Shan Yu had sculpted him.
Of the two lumps of dough, one was his head, and the thick disc laid over it represented hair, complete with numerous curls pressed into it using a toothpick.
Although the design was abstract enough to pass for Chen Jian, Sanbing, or Hu Pan, to Chen Jian—who knew the real answer…
If anyone else sees this, it’s game over!
It had to be destroyed immediately.
But before destroying it… Chen Jian pulled out his phone, snapping photos of the little dough figure from every angle.
“Hey?” Sanbing, coming over to carry a tray of dumplings, caught sight of it and yelled out, “Did someone sculpt Panpan?”
“Hm?” Shan Yu looked over, hesitated for a second, and stifled a laugh before nodding: “Yeah.”
“Let me see, let me see if it looks like me!” Hu Pan bounced over immediately, leaning over the little figure: “Let me look…”
Before she finished, she looked up and caught Chen Jian’s eye.
“Does it look like you?” Chen Jian asked.
“It does,” Hu Pan laughed, picking up the dough figure and running over to Sun Nana, cupping it in her hands: “Does this look like me?”
Sun Nana inspected it, darting a swift glance toward Chen Jian: “It does.”
“Give it to me,” Chen Jian reached out to Hu Pan, abandoning all pretenses. “I’ll make a new one.”
Hu Pan handed it back, asking with a grin, “What are you making?”
“A rabbit,” Chen Jian said.
It had to be a rabbit. When wrapping dumplings, the scrap dough kids played with had to be a rabbit. Even though he had never done it as a kid, that was his ingrained stereotype.
“Water’s boiling!” his dad shouted from the kitchen. “Drop the dumplings in—!”
The crowd cheered, escorting the trays into the kitchen. Shan Yu rolled out the final wrapper, using a small spoonful of filling Sun Nana had specifically saved for him to wrap one lone dumpling.
While the crew waited by the stove, Shan Yu and a few guests cleared the table and straightened the chairs.
Then Shan Yu walked over to Chen Jian, who had just finished his rabbit.
“Here,” Chen Jian placed the rabbit into his palm.
“Impressive, Store Manager Chen,” Shan Yu admired the plump, round dough rabbit. “Made it this well?”
“Not as good as yours,” Chen Jian said.
Shan Yu laughed.
“Crazy bastard,” Chen Jian muttered.
“Did it look like you?” Shan Yu asked.
“Sanbing said it looked like Panpan,” Chen Jian countered.
“Sanbing has nothing but Hu Pan in that head of his,” Shan Yu carried the rabbit toward the kitchen. “Can this be steamed and eaten?”
“Steaming will just turn it into a formless blob,” Chen Jian said. “If you really want one, I’ll sculpt one out of Xiao Dou’er’s playdough for you some day.”
“Deal,” Shan Yu nodded.
The crackle of firecrackers hadn’t stopped all morning. At this hour, the neighboring inns were sitting down to eat as well, letting off strings of firecrackers non-stop, the deafening noise drowning out all conversation.
Sanbing and Lao Wu hurried into the courtyard, rolling out a long string of firecrackers along the path outside the entrance.
Guests upstairs poked their heads out the windows to watch.
Sanbing lit the fuse. Their firecrackers had been supplied by the fireworks vendor—premium grade, massive crackers. Chen Jian had braced himself mentally when Sanbing went to light it.
Sanbing, however, was clearly unprepared. The moment the fuse sparked, he turned around just as the deafening blasts erupted, leaping two meters forward in sheer panic.
“Is it fun?!” Chen Jian yelled close to Shan Yu’s ear over the din.
“Very fun!” Shan Yu yelled back, turning his head.
They had wrapped a massive quantity of dumplings, and many guests came down to join in the feast. The crew busied themselves in the kitchen for quite a while before all the guests were served.
“How does it taste?” Hu Pan asked.
“Delicious!” Praise rang out across the dining room.
Chen Jian glanced at his dad, who smiled back at him: “Is it really good?”
“It is,” Chen Jian nodded. “I haven’t had your homemade dumplings in years.”
“Things were just too…” His dad let out a long sigh, deeply moved. “It’s all good now. From now on, whenever you crave dumplings, I’ll make them for you.”
After finishing the dumplings, Chen Erhu and the crew finally went off-duty, heading to their respective homes. His dad began prepping the official New Year’s Eve dinner in the kitchen.
Hu Pan and Sun Nana were competent at many things, but in the kitchen, their help only added to the chaos. Fortunately, several female guests stepped in to help out, including the woman who had called earlier when Shan Yu answered.
“The one who answered the phone was your boss,” the woman said. “I recognized his voice.”
“…Really?” Chen Jian stifled a smile.
“I didn’t catch it at first,” the woman laughed. “Just now I asked him if there was a larger mixing bowl, and he said ‘don’t know.’ That’s when I knew—it was him, the hands-off boss.”
“A rare slip-up,” Shan Yu clicked his tongue. “Mostly, I didn’t recognize that it was her.”
“Go rest in the office. There’s nothing going on right now, and you can’t help with cooking anyway,” Chen Jian said.
“Not going,” Shan Yu sat down in the cafe. “I want to be part of the festivities. It’s my first time properly celebrating the New Year. One latte, please.”
“It tastes terrible,” Chen Jian reminded him.
“Mm,” Shan Yu nodded.
Chen Jian made him a latte, grabbed a few biscuits, and placed them on the table before him.
“Aren’t you having any?” Shan Yu asked.
“Even the guests are helping out. It’s one thing for the store manager to sit idle, but drinking coffee on top of that?” Chen Jian said. “Isn’t that pushing it?”
“Taking a jab at me, are you?” Shan Yu said.
Chen Jian smiled without replying, pulling out his phone.
He hadn’t celebrated the New Year with such wholehearted dedication in years. Watching the bustling kitchen, the guests chatting leisurely in the restaurant, and Mushroom running through the sea of red firecracker paper outside alongside the guests’ children—it was a wonderful feeling, simultaneously roaring with life and profoundly peaceful.
He tapped open the chat with Zhou Lecheng.
Above was the firework video he had sent yesterday.
And a photo of the ground covered in red firecracker debris taken first thing this morning.
Much like how Zhou Lecheng had documented his journey in his travel thread, Chen Jian couldn’t quite explain why he felt the urge to do this. Perhaps this year was unlike any other—his dad was by his side, Shan Yu was by his side. Perhaps it was because Zhou Lecheng was gone, or perhaps Zhou Lecheng reminded him of his mother.
He no longer had a way to describe every detail of the New Year to his mother.
[Chen Yu Luo Yan]:Cheng-ge, we wrapped a ton of dumplings with the guests.
[Chen Yu Luo Yan]:Cheng-ge, this is the one Boss Shan sculpted of me… Sanbing thought it was Panpan.
[Chen Yu Luo Yan]:Dayin’s firecrackers are definitely the king of crackers. Left our ears ringing completely deaf.
[Chen Yu Luo Yan]:Tonight’s New Year’s Eve dinner is with the guests. If you were here, you’d definitely join in.
[Chen Yu Luo Yan]:Cheng-ge, check out our twelve dishes.
They’re all my dad’s cooking—well, not entirely his alone.
Mom, did you ever eat these dishes Dad made? They’re delicious. For some reason, they taste so much like yours…
Mom, honestly, I can’t really remember what your cooking tasted like anymore, but I still miss it terribly…
Mom, we’re going to set off fireworks soon. We lit some yesterday too—did you see them?
Dad is very happy. He hasn’t been this relaxed in years. He even sang a song earlier—a bit off-key. Shan Yu said it was traditional opera, but I couldn’t tell.
Shan Yu is the boss of Dayin, the one I told you about before.
Mom, did you see the fireworks! My favorites are the repeating ones. When I was little, I thought the Milky Way looked just like that.
Mom, Shan Yu is my boyfriend. I haven’t told Dad yet, so I’m telling you first.
This is a different New Year, Mom. I’m very happy.
