He’d just finished dinner and couldn’t eat another bite. So he only looked at the mooncake.
This year, he couldn’t reunite with his family for Mid-Autumn. Next year, he wouldn’t be able to either.
The third session of the provincial exam fell on the fifteenth day of the eighth month.
How could he be this unlucky?
Just looking at the mooncake irritated him.
He set it down and asked the old gentleman, “Care for a game of chess?”
The old man’s eyes lit up. “Absolutely!”
People say chess mirrors life: once a move is made, there’s no taking it back, and a player’s conduct at the board reflects their character.
The old gentleman was a hopeless chess player. Xie Yan’s style, by contrast, was upright and steady. True to his name, he was as solid as a rock. No matter how the board shifted, no matter how a heavy hand tried to stir things up, he never rushed or grew agitated. His eyes held only the board and the black and white stones, and he placed each move according to the position before him.
A couple of days earlier, the old man had taken back his moves five games in a row, teaching Xie Yan a lesson—whether you care about winning or losing, whether you care about your opponent’s conduct, you can still waste time and ruin your mood. Once you sit at the board, you can’t stay detached.
Xie Yan had been annoyed at first. After a while, he calmed down.
If he could learn something from it, then it wasn’t wasted time. And besides—he could win.
If he took it seriously, he would win.
If the board got completely muddled, then they’d start another game.
He was young. He could endure. He was determined to win.
The board spread out in his mind like a net. One move placed, a hundred moves considered—the whole game lay within his grasp.
He wasn’t as greedy as the old man, who always wanted to swallow a huge swath of territory. Xie Yan was like an ant devouring an elephant: even a single stone was a gain. Small victories accumulated into a big one.
The old man’s chess manners were abysmal in every respect, except for one thing—he took losing cheerfully.
He laughed and said, “Winning even against a trash player like me—young man, you’re formidable.”
Only after winning a game did the knot in Xie Yan’s chest finally loosen.
He said, “The road is long and hard. Walk it, and you’ll arrive.”
Life was messier than any board. If you wanted to win, you had to step into the game and see it through.
The old man said eagerly, “Another round. One more.”
Xie Yan declined.
Today had been bad enough. It was time to study properly.
As Mid-Autumn approached, the season of mooncakes arrived.
Following the shape of mooncakes, Lu Yang made a few molds and added a new item to the shop: mooncake buns.
They had no filling—just for the symbolism. With the holiday coming up, a bit of morning hawking sold them fairly well.
Since mooncake buns weren’t real mooncakes, Lu Yang came up with another idea to boost sales.
He announced that some of the buns contained filling. After buying, customers shouldn’t leave right away—break them open and take a look. Anyone who found a filled bun would get a lucky bonus: a big pork bun, free.
He also promised that before Mid-Autumn, anyone who hit the “lucky draw” twice—getting two big pork buns—would receive an extra two jin of real mooncakes.
With that, many neighbors came specifically to buy mooncake buns.
Even people with a little spare cash, who might otherwise skip it, came to try their luck. The buns were cheap anyway—small, mooncake-shaped buns sold for one coin each. You couldn’t really lose.
Once inside the shop, after eating buns and smelling the meat, people got hungry. Many ended up buying three small buns to satisfy the craving.
Seeing how easily his brother came up with good ideas, Lu Liu followed him around showering praise. “Brother, you’re amazing! How does your brain work? How are you so smart, and I’m so slow?”
Lu Yang pinched his cheek. “I’ll take you to eat something good to nourish that brain.”
In autumn, chestnuts came into season. Lu Yang took some fresh ones from the shop to a roasting stall and asked them to roast them.
The roasted chestnuts came in three kinds: plain, savory, and sweet. Lu Yang chose the sweet kind—the sugar-roasted chestnuts people hawked on the street.
Lu Liu stood beside him, waiting.
Neither of them had ever eaten sugar-roasted chestnuts before. They were expensive—half a jin cost twenty coins. With the shells on, once peeled there were only a few left.
If you brought your own chestnuts and sugar, the processing fee was three coins per jin.
Lu Yang brought ten jin of small chestnuts. After roasting, he planned to keep two jin at the shop for Lu Lin to share with others, give one jin to Boss Ding—that made three jin gone.
Chestnuts were best eaten hot. They’d keep two jin for home to eat with their mother. Of the remaining five jin, Zhang Tie would make two trips—two jin to the God of Wealth, three jin to the Luo brothers.
The aroma made Lu Liu salivate. His eyes stayed glued to the roasting pans, already impatient.
He’d brought a small cloth pouch with snacks: dried sweet potato, jerky, sour plums, and some tiny buns.
Lu Liu loved the tiny buns. Most of the time he was just craving something, not truly hungry. The buns melted in his mouth—perfect for relieving the craving without filling him up.
He took out a small bamboo tube and invited his brother to eat with him.
After a couple of bites, something occurred to him and he suddenly laughed.
“Brother, did you know? During the New Year, I wove Erhuang a little net bag out of yarn spun from his fur. I let him wear it, with snacks inside. He walks around the village looking so dignified. Some kids play with him and take food out to feed him.”
Chewing on a tiny bun, Lu Liu said, “I’m just like Erhuang now—going out with a bag of snacks.”
Lu Yang replied, “You’re not the same. He needs others to feed him. You can feed others.”
Lu Liu burst out laughing. “You’re my brother, not ‘others.’”
Lu Yang found that line oddly familiar. Thinking back, he realized he’d said something similar to Lu Lin recently, and he laughed too.
At Mid-Autumn, the county town was lively. Several streets were decorated with lanterns, full of riddles and games.
Counting the days, Lu Yang figured Lu Liu probably wouldn’t be in town for Mid-Autumn. Once the chestnuts were ready, the brothers returned to the shop, set some aside, told Zhang Tie to deliver the rest, and then headed home.
At home, they ate chestnuts and talked about lanterns.
Lu Liu knew how to make large round lanterns and long cylindrical ones—the kind farmers used. Usually they were for cold nights with strong winds, when candles and oil lamps weren’t enough. Carrying a lantern provided light.
Both brothers knew a bit of bamboo weaving—simple skills. More intricate designs were beyond them.
Just then, since Lu Yang had been practicing drawing lately, he suggested making square lanterns and painting designs on the four sides. That would count as decorative lanterns too.
No rush, though. First, chestnuts.
Sugar-roasted chestnuts were wonderfully fragrant. Once they got them, they kept them covered in a basket. Every chestnut was warm; even those at the bottom were still hot to the touch.
The sugar had melted during roasting. The chestnuts weren’t overly sweet—just fragrant, soft, and starchy, a little dry and almost choking, yet once you started eating them, you couldn’t stop.
Zhao Peilan had dried osmanthus blossoms for tea. They drank tea, ate chestnuts, and talked about what else to cook with them.
This season was perfect for soup.
With plentiful ingredients and the first drop in temperature, hot soup warmed you right down to the belly.
They still had two racks of ribs at home, so dinner would use both.
One rack stir-fried—braised ribs with chestnuts. One rack for soup—chestnut rib soup.
Lu Liu loved Chinese yam, and they had some. He cut half a root to add to the stew later.
It was a day devoted to chestnuts. Even so, the braised ribs weren’t enough. The puppy, Weimeng, circled Lu Yang’s legs, but there were only bones left for him to gnaw. Lu Liu grabbed two more sugar-roasted chestnuts to eat.
After tidying the kitchen, Lu Yang put the yam into the soup pot to simmer and led Lu Liu back into the room.
Lu Liu’s lower back often ached now. In the afternoon he leaned against a cushion while sitting. The chair was small; leaning back felt unsafe, so he always sat straight. On the heated brick bed, he could finally lean back a bit and give his back a real rest.
Lu Yang sat beside him and took out the paintings Xie Yan had drawn for him.
“We look the same,” he said. “Let’s pick a few. Tomorrow I’ll trace them, tweak them a little, and we can paste them onto lanterns.”
These paintings were his treasures. He treated them as tokens of Xie Yan’s affection. His words were casual, but a quiet sense of loss crept into his chest.
Lu Liu scooted closer, leaning against his arm. “Brother, are you missing Brother-in-law?”
Lu Yang flipped through the sketchbook and replied, “Not exactly. I just don’t know how he’s doing in the prefectural city.”
