Seeing resentment in the Tabby Cat’s eyes, Ruyi immediately put her hands on her hips and said, “What are you looking at? Stop staring at me!”
Lihua the cat glanced at Chen Changsheng once more.
Chen Changsheng turned to Ruyi. “Don’t pick on Lihua. She holds grudges. You called her fat yesterday and said it again today—she’s definitely unhappy.”
Ruyi was taken aback. “What? Uncle Chen, You’re siding with the cat instead of me?”
Chen Changsheng laughed helplessly. “Lihua isn’t an ordinary cat.”
“But shouldn’t I be your family?” Ruyi asked.
Chen Changsheng paused and fell silent.
Ruyi watched him, waiting for an answer.
Chen Changsheng nodded. “Of course you are.”
Ruyi folded her arms. “Then Uncle Chen should side with me more.”
Chen Changsheng shook his head. “To me, Ruyi is family, and Lihua is family too.”
Ruyi froze, staring at Uncle Chen. Her mouth opened slightly, but no words came out.
It was probably then that she truly understood how important this cat was to Uncle Chen.
But she didn’t know what to do.
Should she apologize?
Yet Ruyi felt awkward about it—unable to speak the words.
When Lihua heard Chen Changsheng’s words, she too paused.
Family?
The meaning of that word seemed unclear to her.
Ruyi looked toward Lihua.
Sensing the gaze, Lihua looked back.
The girl and the cat locked eyes, neither knowing what the other was thinking.
In the end, Ruyi made up her mind and walked up to the cat.
Lihua took half a step back.
Then Ruyi spoke: “I was wrong.”
Lihua tilted her head, confused.
Ruyi seemed embarrassed and turned her face away.
A moment later, she felt something brush her hand.
Startled, she looked back.
Lihua’s paw rested gently on her hand.
It took Ruyi a moment to react.
She reached out and took hold of the cat’s paw, then broke into a smile.
Watching this, Chen Changsheng felt a wave of relief.
Suddenly remembering something, he said, “Play together now. I need to step out—there’s something I nearly forgot.”
“Don’t forget to eat your noodles!”
“Got it.”
Ruyi answered as Chen Changsheng went inside and reappeared carrying a small bundle.
Lihua smelled something delicious—dried fish was inside.
She padded forward and looked at Chen Changsheng.
He said, “Not this one—it’s something I promised to deliver for someone. I bought fresh fish for us to have tonight.”
Lihua nodded and watched Chen Changsheng leave.
Ruyi stared, puzzled.
‘Could this cat really understand human words?’
She began to wonder silently.
Carrying the bundle, Chen Changsheng walked from Chuanfeng Alley to the main street.
He didn’t know whether Third Master Jin had returned to Qingshan City. If not, he’d have to leave the dried fish either with Cao Fa or Manager Zhuang.
Tang Family Teahouse.
By now, the Tang Family Teahouse had become an old, respected name in Qingshan City. Having survived disasters and turmoil, its teapots never once stopped steaming. The beams in the teahouse showed every year they’d endured.
It wasn’t the right time. The Storyteller hadn’t taken the stage yet, and many customers had already left for meals, leaving only a handful behind.
Chen Changsheng stepped inside and glanced around.
After a dozen years, the teahouse had changed—no longer as it once was. Unfamiliar faces filled the seats below, though a few might be people he knew long ago.
He approached the counter and saw a middle-aged man behind it—a Manager with a beard and dark skin, looking capable and shrewd.
After a pause, he asked, “Manager?”
The man behind the counter lifted his head.
“Yes, sir? Tea?”
He asked automatically, but upon seeing the speaker’s face, he froze and stared.
“No tea today. I’m looking for someone.”
Yet after Chen Changsheng spoke, the Manager didn’t react.
Chen Changsheng waved a hand in front of him.
“Manager?”
The man jolted back to reality.
“W-what did you say?”
“I’m looking for someone.”
“Who?”
“The former Manager, Manager Zhuang, or perhaps Master Cao.”
The Manager’s eyes went distant again.
“They…”
“Are neither of them here?”
“Do you… bear the surname Chen?”
“I do.”
The Manager paused, then stepped out from behind the counter.
He stared intently at the man’s face.
“So similar…”
He murmured the words, astonished.
Then he asked, “Are you a descendant of Mr. Chen?”
Chen Changsheng hesitated. He almost denied it, but stopped himself and decided to play along.
“That’s right. My uncle told me he gave storytelling here many years earlier. I’m visiting today to see his old friends.”
“So that’s how it is.”
The Manager looked at him again and repeated, “It really is uncanny…”
It was as though the same mold had made them both.
“This way, please.”
The Manager led him past a doorway into the teahouse’s quiet backyard, then invited him to sit at a square table.
He asked a worker to bring tea—a fine brew.
“How is Mr. Chen these days?” the Manager asked with genuine interest.
Chen Changsheng replied carefully, “My uncle is thriving. Were you one of his friends when he worked here?”
“When Mr. Chen told stories here,” he explained softly, “Cao Fa—later Master Cao—and I were just helpers then. People called me Niu Da. After Manager Zhuang passed away, the Proprietor put me in charge of the place.”
“Truth is, I never spoke much with Mr. Chen back then. I wouldn’t expect him to mention me.”
Chen Changsheng shook his head gently. “He did, actually. He told me about a worker named Niu Da. Said despite not being as quick-tongued as Master Cao, he was a diligent and honest man.”
Niu Da’s eyes widened slightly. “He truly said that?”
“His exact words.”
A proud smile slowly spread across Niu Da’s face.
He chuckled, shaking his head. “Mr. Chen could always see people clearly. Honesty was all I had back then—I wasn’t destined to tell tales. That gift went to Clerk Cao. I carved my own path. Learned my trade well over the years, finally becoming Manager.”
He exhaled softly, a hint of nostalgia in his voice. “Strange how fates unfold. All of us came through alright in the end, thanks to luck. Except Manager Zhuang…”
Chen Changsheng offered gently, “Life and death follow destiny. Everyone must face that day.”
Niu Da nodded thoughtfully. “But we owe much to Mr. Chen’s kindness. His help made this teahouse prosper, which gave Manager Zhuang peace in his final years. At his last moment, he was at ease. None of us have forgotten what Mr. Chen did for this place.”
“Is that so…”
“Each time Manager Zhuang spoke of him, his voice grew soft. His regret was never seeing Mr. Chen again.”
Niu Da paused, voice heavy. “A few years ago, after Master Cao passed, I took his notebooks to his grave. Burned every single page there. That seemed… better.”
He looked up, eyes reflecting both memories and quiet respect. “That day, people from the old days who heard Mr. Chen perform came together again. We raised cups at his grave and told stories about him late into the night.”
Chen Changsheng’s gaze drifted toward the teahouse windows, as if looking through time itself.
He felt warmth gather unexpectedly behind his eyes.
