Still Frame Chapter 24
byChapter 24 Drowned Ideals (1)
I must have been speaking too much Bernlinian, which is why I can’t understand Silver State dialect.
Zhang Liuxin suspected this.
Why would anyone make food like this…
He struggled to speak, word by word: “So you don’t like eating Bernlinian cuisine?”
Was that time five years ago, when Wen Jin ate so little, also simply because he wasn’t used to the food?
Wen Jin’s expression looked more like he couldn’t understand why anyone would like Bernlinian cuisine: “Yes, I generally don’t eat out. Before you cooked for me that time, I hadn’t eaten this type of thing.”
He wasn’t even willing to call it food.
For some reason, hearing Wen Jin explain this so earnestly made Zhang Liuxin feel that he had become much more animated.
However… one thing had to be made clear.
“I don’t eat strangely,” Zhang Liuxin retorted righteously, “I just have the local bloodline. Haven’t you seen how much they all love the food I make?”
Wen Jin curved his lip slightly: “Yes, I know.”
The issue that had troubled him for years was suddenly resolved so easily here. Zhang Liuxin couldn’t quite describe the feeling. Saying a heavy stone had dropped was an exaggeration, but he definitely felt a secret joy quietly rising from the depths of his heart.
In the afternoon, Zhang Liuxin and Wen Jin were still minding the shop. Wen Jin’s technique for slicing bread had become much more skilled, and he could basically understand some greeting phrases in the local language.
Tu Huisha went to the market to buy some groceries, preparing to take them to Aunt Mo’s house to cook dinner.
“Aunt Mo’s house is a bit old, watch your step.” Tu Huisha led Duofei ahead, while Zhang Liuxin and Wen Jin followed behind, carrying the grocery basket.
“Okay.”
After knocking on the door, someone opened it after a moment. As soon as the door opened, Duofei sweetly called out, “Grandma Mo!”
“Oh, Feifei,” Aunt Mo beamed when she saw them, quickly saying, “Come in, come in.”
Zhang Liuxin: “Sorry to bother you.”
“Don’t talk about bothering me,” Aunt Mo found them slippers and called toward the inner room, “Old man, come out, Xiao Hui and the others are here.”
A stack of today’s newspapers was placed in the entryway, looking like they hadn’t been opened yet.
“Make yourselves at home, don’t be shy,” Aunt Mo looked energetic, “Feifei, shall Grandma make you pancakes? Do you want cream or yogurt today?”
“Cream.”
“Alright, I’ll go make them for you.”
Tu Huisha patted her daughter: “Go help Grandma. Beat the eggs, just like Mama taught you.”
“Mhm, Grandma, I’ll help you.”
The old woman and the little girl affectionately entered the kitchen. A soft sound came from the wooden floor, followed by the sound of a wheelchair rolling. Tu Huisha was quick, standing up and walking over to help push Uncle Da’s wheelchair.
“Xiao Hui is here.”
Zhang Liuxin looked over, his expression freezing. Uncle Da sat in the wheelchair, his back straight. Although his lower body was immobile, his green eyes were still sharp as an eagle’s, still possessing the power to pierce through smoke and fire.
The energetic man from his memory, holding a microphone, wearing a press badge on his chest, standing before the flying shrapnel of war, had become the old man sitting in the wheelchair before him. It felt like nothing had changed, yet everything had changed.
“This is…”
“Uncle Da, this is a new employee at my shop.”
“Hello, I am Chen Liu, and this is Yue Zhuo.”
“You have new employees at your shop now,” Uncle Da smiled, “Two handsome young men. Not locals, are you? Where are you from? Looking at the black hair and black eyes, Silver State people?”
“Yes, we are from Silver State.”
Uncle Da looked at Zhang Liuxin, his sharp gaze making him feel a bit nervous. Then he heard Uncle Da’s hearty laughter and the long-unheard Silver State dialect: “Why are you so nervous, young man?”
“You speak Silver State dialect?”
“A little,” Uncle Da said, “I stayed in Silver State for a year when I was young, about thirty years ago, probably before you were born.”
“The governor of Silver State was surnamed Yue back then. Is it the one surnamed Gao now?”
Hearing the surname “Yue,” Zhang Liuxin glanced at Wen Jin, worried that Uncle Da might recognize him. But judging by Uncle Da’s eyes, it didn’t seem like it, so he relaxed slightly.
Wen Jin said, “Yes.”
And Zhang Liuxin hadn’t expected Uncle Da’s Silver State dialect to be so fluent. He inexplicably felt a sense of meeting an old acquaintance in a foreign land.
“Silver State must be developing well now. I read about it in the newspaper. Speaking of which, I haven’t had time to read today’s paper yet.”
“Is that the one in the entryway? I’ll get it.”
Zhang Liuxin brought the newspaper over. Uncle Da thanked him, fumbled for his reading glasses on the coffee table, and sighed: “I’m old now, my eyesight isn’t good.”
Tu Huisha laughed: “It’s like that when you get older. Lately, I feel like my vision blurs when I look at things.”
Uncle Da smiled kindly: “Xiao Hui, you’re just too tired. Take it easy sometimes. If you need anything, you can come talk to us. Oh, where is Yi Er? Has he been down recently?”
“He came down a few days ago to fix the phone, then went back up the mountain. He’ll probably be down again in a couple of days. As for me, I’m doing better now. Chen and Yue help me a lot,” Tu Huisha turned to Zhang Liuxin, “Chen, you and Yue chat with Uncle Da. I’m going to cook.”
“I’ll help you.”
Zhang Liuxin wanted to follow, but Tu Huisha pressed his shoulder, making him sit back down: “It’s rare that Uncle Da speaks Silver State dialect and has lived there. You and Yue should chat with him more.”
After Tu Huisha left, Uncle Da asked them: “When did you start working at Xiao Hui’s shop?”
“Just three days ago.”
The person who had appeared on screen many years ago was now sitting beside him. Zhang Liuxin felt a little nervous and asked, “Sister Hui said you used to be a war correspondent. Coincidentally, I’ve seen your documentary.”
Uncle Da withdrew his gaze from Wen Jin, surprised: “Really?”
Zhang Liuxin and Wen Jin didn’t look like pastry chefs. Uncle Da, having worked on the front lines for so many years, was a good judge of character. He continued to ask, “What did you do in Silver State before?”
Wen Jin also looked over, showing a slightly surprised expression, but quickly realized: “You watched it in college?”
“Yes,” Zhang Liuxin hesitated, “I majored in journalism in college. I used to be a host.”
“Ha, half a colleague then,” Uncle Da was delighted by the unexpected answer. He maneuvered his wheelchair to the TV cabinet, bent down with some difficulty to open the drawer, and pulled out a large stack of certificates and photos. “These are all things I photographed before.”
Zhang Liuxin hadn’t expected that, so many years after graduating from college, he would actually have the chance to see these photos that had moved him so deeply back then. He carefully took them, flipping through the precious pictures one by one. Some he hadn’t seen—images of devastation that were shocking to behold—and some he had seen, having even set foot on that land with Wen Jin.
“Is this Xinwu City?” Wen Jin recognized it.
Uncle Da only needed a glance to know, and nodded: “Yes. At that time, their country was in internal conflict. Politicians were fighting with words, but real bullets were hitting the common people. In the end, it’s the ordinary folks who suffer. I remember going there with my team. We encountered three terrorist attacks on the first day. A two-month-old baby was abandoned on the main road. Before we could get to him, the car next to us exploded.”
Mentioning these things, deep sorrow showed in Uncle Da’s eyes. He wiped his face: “Later, the chief executive they elected seemed quite good. The situation in Xinwu should be much better now.”
Zhang Liuxin exchanged a look with Wen Jin. Wen Jin’s gaze fell on the photo: “It is indeed much better.”
Uncle Da asked: “Have you been there? Xinwu is very far from Silver State, isn’t it?”
“We have.”
Zhang Liuxin remembered clearly. At that time, the Wen family had an inter-state charity project, facilitated by the State Committee, to help promote post-war reconstruction. Wen Jin had just finished a project and received a precious five-day vacation. He volunteered to take charge of this matter, wanting to fly directly to Xinwu, but his father didn’t allow it. The father and son seemed to have argued about it.
Coincidentally, Silver Mirror Station had a special column on this event. Zhang Liuxin applied to join without telling Levi. In the end, he didn’t know why Levi didn’t contact him, but Wen Jin found him first.
“Xinwu is currently under reconstruction and quite chaotic. It’s not suitable for your current physical condition,” Wen Jin pushed a document toward him. “I’ve arranged a new nutritionist for you. Starting tomorrow, follow the plan on this.”
Zhang Liuxin didn’t open it, saying, “I think my body is fine. There’s no such thing as suitable or unsuitable. Didn’t you want to go too?”
He still couldn’t figure out why his past self dared to speak to Wen Jin in such a tone.
However, Wen Jin looked at him for a while, said nothing, and didn’t force him. It wasn’t until the next day that Zhong Sixun came to pick him up at Wen Jin’s private airport, saying they wouldn’t travel with the main television crew; they would go themselves.
In Zhang Liuxin’s memory, Xinwu was a city composed of brown and gray. But as the plane was about to land, Zhang Liuxin saw the city visibly brightening. Gray had turned into shiny black asphalt roads, and brown had become newly planted greenery.
He and Wen Jin entered the newly built hospitals, schools, and churches, witnessing firsthand the slow recovery of this scarred city.
Midway, Wen Jin’s parents called. Wen Jin simply tossed his phone to Zhong Sixun. His fringe was messy from the wind and sand, but he didn’t care. He bent down and distributed milk and bread to the children with Zhang Liuxin.
Wen Jin must have been thinking of that time too: “When we went four years ago, schools and hospitals had already been rebuilt, and the children in the welfare homes were being cared for. It will be even better now, and in the future.”
His tone was not loud, as always, calm and steady, carrying a certainty that commanded belief.
Uncle Da was stunned for a moment, then his lips curved up, a smile permeating the lines of age on his face, bringing comfort: “Since you young people have this confidence, that’s wonderful.”
Zhang Liuxin looked at Wen Jin’s profile. He knew that Wen Jin could speak this way not only because he had the backing—the Wen family’s charity projects hadn’t stopped for over a decade—but also because he had the determination to fly to a distant city without a word.