The Game of Life

According to Ji Yue, though her mom’s pumpkin drygoods may not taste the best, they were still quite enjoyable to chew on, and who knows, maybe someone with a unique palate might actually like them.

Zhang Guanghang lived far away, so he left first. The Jiang Family Members who lived on the floor below, Jiang Feng simply took several trips to bring down the pickles and jams to distribute among his uncles.

Dividing the goodies required some thought, like knowing that Mrs. Jiang and Aunt enjoyed having sour string beans with their steamed buns, so they got a little extra of that.

Having been nurtured by Mrs. Wang Xiulian’s equally superb pickling skills over the years, Mr. Jiang Jiankang surely couldn’t be satisfied with ordinary Shanghai green and pao cai, but Ji Yue’s mom’s cabbage pickle that just received unanimous praise from everyone would definitely win his heart. Although Ji Yue had only allotted three jars to Jiang Feng, after all, Mr. Jiang Jiankang was his own father, a whole jar of pickles for him was a given.

The great-aunt was hopelessly addicted to her dieting and probably had little interest in pickles, but Jiang Feng knew she loved jam.

Fruit is healthy food, and apples are dieting treasures, so logically, eating apple jam shouldn’t make one fat.

On Jiang Feng’s fourth trip to Ji Yue’s home for pickles to deliver to Sir and Mrs. Jiang, Ji Yue chased him out the door with two jars of pickled chilies: “Jiang Feng, you forgot the chilies. Doesn’t your Granduncle Weiming like spicy food?”

“My granduncle is staying with my Uncle now, and Aunt has already returned to Alan City to monitor my cousins’ studies. I’ll get the chili next time,” Jiang Feng said.

Seeing that Ji Yue had almost given away all the pickles and sauces without keeping much for herself, Ji Xue asked in surprise, “Yue, don’t you want to save some for yourself to eat?”

“I did save some, the ones left on the table are for the two of us,” Ji Yue pointed to a few jars on the dining table, “My mom makes so much of these things every year, and she made even more this year when she had nothing to do at home. Most of our basement is filled with her pickle jars; it looks just like a pickle workshop. She said to bring some over for you guys to share, and if everyone likes them, she’ll send more. Just tell her what you like, and she’ll ship that, plenty of it!” she exclaimed.

As she spoke, Ji Yue’s gaze glued onto the jar containing pickled garlic and couldn’t move away.

“Xue, how about we split a garlic clove?” Ji Yue offered with a smile, showing her craving for garlic.

“Garlic?”

“My grandma said, one clove of garlic a day, it’s antibacterial and cleanses the intestines,” Ji Yue was already eager to try, “Do you eat garlic? The flavor of my grandma’s pickled garlic is a bit strong.”

“I do.” Ji Xue was already won over by Ji Yue’s family’s various pickles.

Ji Yue twisted open the jar and used chopsticks to fish out a clove of garlic that was thoroughly stained with vinegar.

Instantly, the entire room was filled with the scent of garlic.

Ji Yue started skillfully peeling the garlic, handed half to Ji Xue, and then popped a peeled clove in her mouth.

She bit down.

Spicy, hot, sour, pungent.

Refreshing!

“Ah,” Ji Yue let out a sigh of contentment as she sat on the chair.

Following Ji Yue’s example, Ji Xue also put a clove of garlic in her mouth and bit down, but lacking Ji Yue’s expertise in eating garlic, she was almost brought to tears by the rampaging spiciness in her mouth.

But soon enough, Ji Xue adapted and became immersed in the sea of pickled garlic.

“Ah,” Ji Xue issued the same exclamation while sitting in her chair.

When Jiang Feng came in again, he saw two human-sized cloves of garlic sitting by the dining table.

“You’re eating garlic?” Jiang Feng was astonished; this was some kind of night-time ritual that felt like a cult meeting.

“Want to try a couple of cloves?” Ji Yue invited.

Jiang Feng’s gaze shifted to the visually appealing pickled garlic on the dining table, and he was tempted.

A few seconds later, a new clove of garlic appeared on the chair.

Jiang Feng, infatuated with eating garlic, no longer wanted to deliver the pickled vegetables and decided to keep Uncle Five and Granduncle Weiming waiting a bit longer; for now, he just wanted to sit quietly on the chair, pretend to be a clove of garlic, and have a chat with the other two cloves of garlic.

“Ji Yue, is your family’s pickling craftsmanship handed down from your ancestors, or did your mom learn it on her own, or maybe your grandma taught your mom?” Jiang Feng asked curiously.

Pickling techniques are usually passed from mother to daughter, like Mrs. Wang Xiulian’s pickling skills were taught by Jiang Feng’s grandmother, hand by hand.

“The pickles my mom makes and the ones my grandma makes are different. My mom’s pickles come from my maternal grandmother’s side, and my grandma’s come from my hometown. Back then, our place was famous for pickling. I remember when I was young and visited my grandma’s house, there were pickling workshops everywhere. Both my uncles used to be in the pickle business,” Ji Yue reminisced happily, recalling his childhood, “When my grandma was still making pickles, she used to make them by the dozens, if not hundreds of jars. We ate them at home and sold the rest if there were too many.”

Jiang Feng: …

And you said your family never sold pickles before.

“What happened later?” Jiang Feng asked.

“Later on, my grandma got older and stopped making them, and my uncles also stopped the pickle business to join my dad in the clothing wholesale. But I remember my mom telling me that it wasn’t that my uncles didn’t want to continue the pickle business, it’s just that it became harder to make a living from it. Although our pickles and preserved vegetables were famous, they were made in small workshops or at home, with no large factories. How could the small workshops’ hand-made products compete with those mass-produced by big factories? Besides, people found it hard to trust products from a small workshop. My uncles struggled for a few years but eventually, they had to switch to the clothing business with my dad,” Ji Yue said, squinting her eyes.

“How about now?” Jiang Feng pressed.

“Now? Last year my dad almost went bankrupt, and my uncles were in a similar situation. My eldest aunt flat out divorced my uncle, and now all three of them are out doing business. My second aunt is probably making pickles with my mom, as she also enjoys it. I heard, just heard, that last year my second uncle’s situation was even worse than ours, to the point of selling their house. They rely entirely on what my second aunt makes from selling pickles for their rent money,” Ji Yue explained.

“Just how many pickles did your family make?” Jiang Feng was shocked.

“I’m not sure how many pickles my second aunt made, but after hearing about my second aunt’s pickle-selling feats, my mom got worried, fearing that my dad might go bankrupt again and we might have to sell our house. So she specially made a huge batch of pickles and learned to make all kinds of jams and sauces, all as a precaution,” Ji Yue said.

Jiang Feng: ???

“I’m not blowing smoke, but when my dad’s clothing wholesale business was at its peak, half the province’s clothing distribution went through him. Anyone in our province in the clothing business has eaten my mom’s pickles. Come wintertime, our house was bustling, almost like a pickle distribution market,” Ji Yue claimed.

Jiang Feng: …

“So, how is your dad’s business doing now?” Ji Xue asked with curiosity.

“I’m not sure, it should be alright, I guess. If it weren’t, my mom and second aunt would probably be out selling pickles together by now,” Ji Yue said.

“But what about all those pickles your mom made before?” Ji Xue incisively inquired.

“Don’t know, she probably gives them away; she didn’t tell me,” Ji Yue pondered.

Jiang Feng’s eyes lit up as an idea dawned on him.

“How about… we discuss with your mom about selling the pickles to our Taifeng Building?” Jiang Feng revealed a capitalist’s smile.

“Huh?”

“Ji Xue, tell me honestly, wouldn’t the pickle fried rice we had tonight be good enough for our menu?” Jiang Feng asked.

“It’s good enough,” Ji Xue affirmed, “It’s much tastier than the poorly-selling Yangzhou fried rice at our restaurant.”

“Right, we already have some supply channels for our restaurant, and delivery is definitely not a problem. Your family’s pickles are great, whether for making fried rice, stir-fried shoots, stir-fried meat, or as side dishes on their own,” Jiang Feng clapped his hands, “What do you say? You talk to your mom, I’ll talk to mine, and we could have an answer by tomorrow.”

Ji Yue: ???

Is my mom’s business about to experience a second spring?

Is my family destined to sell pickles?