Chapter 118: Regarding Dumplings on the Start of Winter

1. Dou-Lan (Dou Sheng & Xie Lan)

Xie Lan had always preferred light, vegetarian egg-and-leek fillings, so Dou Sheng wasn’t worried at all. However, the night before the Start of Winter, after they finished their “business,” a sleepy Xie Lan, huddled under the quilt, mumbled that he missed the pork and celery dumplings Auntie Zhao used to make. Dou Sheng’s internal alarms blared, instantly dispelling his sleepiness. He stayed up all night researching a hundred tips on how to remove the “gamey” smell from British pork.

Unfortunately, it was a total disaster the next day. Xie Lan took only one bite before his expression stiffened. He glanced at the camera set up nearby, tried to swallow, hesitated, and finally—gently—spat it out.

“Do we still have those frozen dumplings from the Chinese supermarket?” he asked in a tiny voice, leaning back out of the frame. “Maybe we can just make do for today and wait until we go back for Chinese New Year to find Auntie Zhao.”

“Could you show a little more respect to me, and to this pig that was wrestled with all night?” Dou Sheng also leaned out of the frame. “Just eat one and tell the camera it’s delicious, otherwise the audience will mock my ‘skills’ for a whole year.”

“I tried to be respectful,” Xie Lan sighed. “But it really is gamey.”

“Then at least don’t be so blunt,” Dou Sheng said dejectedly. “Otherwise, guess what? The chat will be filled with: Who is gamier, the pig or the Dou-zi? Believe me!”

Xie Lan was amused. “They aren’t as… as you say.”

“The hell they aren’t!” Dou Sheng grabbed the camera to delete the clip, scoffing. “They are the ‘gamiest’ of all, taking every chance to mess with me.”

Xie Lan looked blank; he was starting to lose track of the different meanings of the word “gamey/flirtatious” (sāo). Finally, facing the re-positioned camera, he carefully and cautiously recited the line Douzi had thought up for him.

“This dumpling filling has a very… porky essence.”

Xie Lan paused, then added: “But I’m still looking forward to going back for New Year to eat Auntie Zhao’s dumplings—the ones without so much ‘porky essence’.”

2. He-Ye (He Xiu & Ye Si)

On this day, the hospital canteen was giving out free dumplings for lunch.

Ye Si had just finished a surgery and gave up his precious nap time to wait in line. By the time he reached the front, there were only two small bowls left. One was egg and leek, which he hated, and the other was oatmeal and chicken breast—could that even be called a dumpling?

The collapse of the adult Ye-kachu happened in an instant. The fatigue and frustration of consecutive all-nighters peaked at this very moment. Being a “real man,” he couldn’t cry over this, so his eyes only turned heroically red as he turned to leave the canteen.

“Senior…” A new intern bumped into him at the door, startled. He hesitated. “Did… did your patient die?”

“You’re the one who f*cking died!” Ye Si roared. “My dumplings died! My entire expectation, longing, and sense of happiness for this winter—the only hope, sunshine, and faith I had to keep living through this day—they’re all dead!”

The intern stood with his mouth wide open, processing this for a moment before saying admiringly, “Senior, your vocabulary is amazing.”

“…Retard.” Ye Si cursed and walked away, opening a food delivery app. He was annoyed to death; delivery dumplings were often worse than frozen ones. Even in shops where you could see the master wrapping them through a window, they often just pulled pre-made ones from the freezer to sell; the hand-wrapping was purely for the customer’s “emotional value.”

He cursed as he walked, not hearing the intern mentioning someone delivering something. It wasn’t until he returned to the Cardiothoracic surgery lounge and was about to hit the “order” button that he froze.

There was a lunch box on the table. It was wide and deep, made of stainless steel, looking very solid. It was an old-fashioned style but polished until it shone. In the corner was a sticker of a green Bulbasaur.

“Ye Si?” A resident walked in, glanced over, and laughed. “Oho, your partner sent food? What’s for lunch?”

“Cough.” Ye Si coughed unobtrusively, shoved his phone into his back pocket, and nonchalantly scooped the lunch box into his arms. “What ‘love lunch’? I just bought a pound of plain rice from the canteen. After standing through a surgery all night, I’m just filling my stomach with rice. Want some?”

The other guy lost interest. “I’ll order takeout.”

Ye Si gave a hum and strode out calmly clutching the box. Before he even reached the door, his grin had reached his ears. Finding a quiet spot, he opened the box. Whoa, two different fillings!

His phone lit up with a new message.

– Professor Bulbasaur: The boiled ones are juicy beef; the steamed ones are radish and beef. I made a lot, don’t be stingy, share some with your colleagues.

Ye Si, already with his cheeks bulging and hands covered in oil, typed back: Shared, shared, gave them so much that I don’t even have enough for myself now.

3. Chen-Xing (Zhong Chen & Jian Zixing)

“Did you receive the dumplings?”

“Got them.” Zhong Chen laughed and couldn’t help but whistle. “Not bad, Ms. Chen Zhu, you’ve still got it.”

“If I hear the word ‘old’ from your mouth again, don’t even think about getting a cent of New Year’s money!” The phone erupted, and the faint sound of Comrade Zhong Yongjun soothing his wife’s temper could be heard. Zhong Chen chuckled. “I said ‘still got it’! And you were actually planning to give us New Year’s money? Rare. I thought since I was told to be independent, I’d never see a dime of your silver again.”

Chen Zhu rolled her eyes so hard she almost went blind, her playful annoyance turning into a shout: “Scram! Let Zixing on the phone!”

Zhong Chen held the phone out. “You handle Mom; I’m going to boil the dumplings.”

Ms. Chen Zhu had personally wrapped these Start of Winter dumplings and sent them via cold-chain delivery across several provinces. Jian Zixing was stunned when he opened the lid. It was a kaleidoscope-like platter with seven or eight different fillings, even including both sweet and meat Tangyuan (glutinous rice balls) favored in the South.

A female entrepreneur’s family care.

He stared at the massive platter for a long time. Listening to Zhong Chen casually teasing his mother, a small, warm flame flickered in his heart, making his nose sting. Whether it was the Start of Winter or New Year’s Eve, in previous years, if the family could meet, they’d wrap dumplings together; if not, they’d exchange texts. Chen Zhu had never specifically sent them dumplings before, let alone such a grand, hand-wrapped platter traveling ten thousand miles.

He could vaguely guess why. A few days ago, when Zhong Chen was on a video call reporting work to Chen Zhu, he happened to be on the phone with Xie Lan. Xie Lan, in the UK, had mentioned missing Douzi’s mom’s dumplings. He had casually replied that he had grown up with his family’s dumplings too, but hadn’t had them in over a decade, so the craving wasn’t as strong anymore.

He never thought Chen Zhu would overhear that, let alone take it to heart. But the moment he opened the package, he knew with absolute certainty that his words were the source of this. Ms. Chen Zhu was a formidable woman. For instance, she rarely “nagged” him with empty concerns, but she always provided massive emotional value every few days in the most unexpected yet natural ways.

“Mom…” Jian Zixing hesitated, then said softly, “Thank you. It must have taken a lot of time.”

“What time?” Chen Zhu instantly switched her tone, laughing brightly. “Xing-xing, keep an eye on Zhong Chen, don’t let him eat himself to death. Those fillings are all your favorites; you have to fight him for them at the table, understand? I’ve prepared the New Year’s money already, both shares are for you, just to spite that heartless little wolf pup. New Year’s Eve or the first day, pick one and come home.”

“Got it.” Jian Zixing looked down at his slippers. “Last New Year’s was at my dad’s place. This year, I’m coming home.”

Chen Zhu’s laughter was crisp. “Wonderful! I just learned how to make rice cakes recently; I’ll make some for you then.”

Jian Zixing hummed in response, telling Chen Zhu to take care of her health while watching Zhong Chen happily carry the giant platter of dumplings into the kitchen.

“Alright, I’m busy.” Chen Zhu was as decisive as ever, but her voice softened. Like any gentle mother caring for her son, she whispered into Jian Zixing’s ear: “Eat your fill of dumplings, and have a warm winter this year.”