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Once in the kitchen, he discovered that Wu Minqi and Ji Xue, who had been previously unseen, were each sitting on a small stool in the back kitchen, processing beans.

At a casual glance, there were 9 small bags placed by Wu Minqi and Ji Xue; the quantity didn’t seem much, but combined, it was quite substantial, and each bag appeared to contain a different type of bean. Wu Minqi was peeling soybeans while Ji Xue was shelling broad beans. Peeling beans was a delicate task; the two of them just sat there quietly without a word or sound, eyes fixed on the beans in their hands, only their fingers nimbly dancing.

“What are you doing shelling beans here?” Jiang Feng asked, curious.

“Xue said she wanted to make a Longevity Soup for Grandpa Jiang. It was too slow for her to shell the beans alone, so I came to help her,” Wu Minqi explained.

“Longevity Soup?”

“Actually, it’s a Mixed Bean Soup, a traditional soup that must be drunk on the birthdays of people over 90 in my mother’s family. The Longevity Soup requires 9 different kinds of beans, and for each year of the elderly’s age, that’s how many beans you put in, originally it was nameless, but later everyone started calling it Longevity Soup for a blessing,” Ji Xue explained.

“Only beans and nothing else added?” Jiang Feng asked.

“Just beans, just add a bit of salt,” said Ji Xue.

Nine types of beans, just add salt…

Jiang Feng pondered, then asked a soul-searching question, “Does the soup made this way… taste good?”

Ji Xue fell silent, “It’s difficult to swallow.”

Jiang Feng & Wu Minqi: …

The motions of Wu Minqi, who was shelling broad beans, paused for a moment; she was now somewhat regretful for having boarded Ji Xue’s ‘ship of thieves’ to help her shell beans.

“If it’s difficult to swallow, then why has it been passed down to the present and become a custom?” Wu Minqi couldn’t understand.

As is commonly known, all kinds of stories and snacks associated with emperors who loved the South that have been passed down to this day survive because they are delicious.

Food is the simplest thing in the world; it competes only on flavor.

“It’s probably because of the origin of the soup, I heard it from my grandmother. She said that many years ago, there was an old woman in their village who loved beans, but her family was so poor that they could only count the beans they ate. When the old woman got older and lost all her teeth and couldn’t chew the beans anymore, her children and grandchildren made her bean soup,” Ji Xue wasn’t very good at telling stories, her narration was always pause and go, stop and think, organizing her thoughts before continuing.

“On the old woman’s 91st birthday, her grandson made her a small bowl of Mixed Bean Soup with 9 different kinds of beans, and because they were poor, he only put one of each kind. Then on her 92nd birthday, her grandson repeated the process and made her a bowl with two of each kind of bean.”

“Until after the old woman’s 99th birthday, their family suddenly became prosperous. So, on her 100th birthday, her grandson cooked ten large pots of the Mixed Bean Soup with 10 different beans, 100 of each kind, and invited the whole village to share. The villagers all thought that it was because the old woman drank the Mixed Bean Soup her grandson made that she lived so long; hence, whenever there was someone who was over 90 in a family, in hopes of a blessing, they would make Mixed Bean Soup for them on their birthday.”

“And because everybody’s living conditions have improved, they no longer count beans as they did in the past, so when making Mixed Bean Soup, they put as many beans in as the age of the elder. Everyone thought the name Mixed Bean Soup didn’t sound very nice, so now they all call it Longevity Soup,” Ji Xue said.

“Then what happened?” Jiang Feng inquired, feeling that the story wasn’t complete.

“What ‘then what’?” Ji Xue was somewhat puzzled.

“On the old woman’s 100th birthday, her grandson made her Mixed Bean Soup with 10 different types of beans, but what about her 101st birthday, and the story afterward?” Jiang Feng asked.

“I don’t know either; it’s just something that’s said. I don’t even know from when that grandma lived. It’s a story my grandmother told me when I was little. It’s what everyone says and does, and whether it’s true or not, nobody knows,” Ji Xue said. “Also, the tradition in our family from the South is that once an elder reaches a hundred years, they shouldn’t celebrate their birthday, and they need to keep their age a secret to live a long life. Maybe that grandma stopped celebrating her birthdays after she turned a hundred, so her grandson stopped making her the mixed bean soup.”

Jiang Feng immediately felt relieved. Legends are always full of people’s various wonderful fantasies and desires, with no need for logic, just somewhere to place their wishes.

The origin of the celebratory soup that Ji Xue talked about was already very convincing among the many strange and curious legends.

Jiang Feng vaguely remembered the variety of customs and legends from the village that Grandma Jiang told him about when he was little, mostly related to ghosts and spirits. Stuff like a long time ago, a child from a family was possessed, or a wife from a family was possessed, or an elder from a family was possessed. Or even earlier, a young lady from a big family in the city eloped, or a greedy landlord was punished by a fairy – the kind of stories you’d find in ‘Strange Tales from a Chinese Studio’ that scared Jiang Feng silly when he was young.

It seemed as if without possessions, elopements, or fairies seeking revenge, you couldn’t have a legend.

Jiang Feng went to check on the zongzi in the pot; there was still some time before they were ready to come out. Since no one needed to watch over the zongzi as they cooked, Jiang Feng went to help Ji Xue shell beans, sitting in a row with Wu Minqi, shelling broad beans.

The shells of broad beans are tough. Originally, boiling the beans with salt in hot water before cooling them would make shelling much easier. But Ji Xue told Jiang Feng that since the celebratory soup was a representation of grandchildren’s filial piety towards their elders, the harder it was to shell the beans, the better. It was said that the harder you worked shelling the beans, the longer the elderly would live.

A strange custom, but with a good intention.

It was only when Wu Minqi had finished dealing with the red beans, green beans, and soybeans that Jiang Feng and Ji Xue just barely managed to finish shelling 99 broad beans.

It had been a long time since Jiang Feng had intently and continuously focused on something so small for such a long time without moving. After finishing the broad beans and lifting his head, the whole sky seemed to have brightened, even though it was the ceiling light that was shining.

“By the way, have you ever had this celebratory soup?” Jiang Feng asked, twisting his neck.

He felt he was not far from getting cervical spondylosis.

“I have, when I was very little, at a grandma’s hundred-year banquet,” Ji Xue said with an expression that spoke volumes. “Although it didn’t taste very good, my grandmother said it was a blessing. Everyone had to drink a bowl to share the old person’s blessings.”

“However, it’s said that the original batch of mixed bean soup at that grandma’s hundred-year banquet was very delicious, but why it has become so hard to swallow now, I don’t know,” Ji Xue added.

Jiang Feng nodded, understanding that during times of scarcity, even boiled pork slices could be considered a delicacy, let alone a celebratory soup interlaced with people’s good wishes and blessings for their elders. It was normal to talk it up a little.

When shelling beans, it was hard to notice the passage of time, which stretched out interminably, much like how physics classes felt in high school.

Jiang Feng glanced at the pot of zongzi and said, “Ji Xue, Qiqi, stop shelling. The zongzi are almost done. Let’s peel them and eat first.”

“Okay,” Wu Minqi said, standing up and coming over to help Jiang Feng peel the zongzi.

“Go out and tell them,” Ji Xue placed the beans she had just shelled into a large bowl, cleaned up the mess they had made, restored everything to its place, and stood up to go outside and inform everyone that the zongzi were ready to eat.

Jiang Feng picked up a zongzi with a string and lifted it out of the pot, not forgetting to tell Wu Minqi, “Qiqi, wait for it to cool down a bit before you peel it. It’s too hot right now, sss.”

He had inadvertently touched the zongzi leaf and retracted his hand after getting scalded.

“Okay,” Wu Minqi laughed.

Her boyfriend was just too cute.