Chapter 22 - The Price of an Omelet
It was becoming increasingly clear that I wouldn’t be able to pry a single useful syllable out of Ling Xiao’s mouth. After running in circles and hitting a wall of icy indifference, I realized my only remaining lead was "Little Cardigan."
Little Cardigan’s real name was Yin Taiyi, a name so clunky and phonetic that my brain had immediately autocorrected it to "Yi Taitai"—the Concubine. Once that nickname took root in the fertile soil of my mind, it refused to be uprooted.
I spotted the Concubine’s little blue Polo from a block away as I waited by a bustling roadside food stall. The air was thick with the scent of scorched chili peppers and the humid, heavy exhaust of city traffic. I waved my arms frantically until he pulled over. As he killed the engine and stepped out, he gave his neck a sharp, theatrical twist, his expression sour enough to curdle milk. He was clearly not in the best of moods.
We sat down at a grease-slicked table, and I went all out, ordering the most expensive dry-pot shrimp on the menu. I even played the part of the devoted servant, diligently peeling the shells off the prawns and placing the succulent meat on his plate. Yi Taitai, however, looked utterly unimpressed, picking at the food with a listless air.
A wave of annoyance washed over me. *I’m the one treating you,* I thought, my fingers slick with spicy oil. *Even our Captain doesn't get to eat stir-fried shrimp like this. He’s out there, the sole breadwinner for a massive family of cats, probably starving himself just to keep them in kibble, forced to fight in dangerous underground matches just to make ends meet. And here I am, spending my hard-earned cash on a 'Concubine' who doesn't even know what real hardship looks like.*
The more I thought about Ling Xiao’s "tragic" circumstances, the more my heart ached for him and the more my resentment toward Yi Taitai grew. I stopped peeling mid-shrimp, wiped my hands on a cheap paper napkin, and huffed, "Just eat."
Yi Taitai blinked, startled by my sudden shift in temperament. "Ooh, look at you, throwing in the towel already? You’re more mercurial than a woman, brother."
"I’ve peeled a mountain of them," I snapped. "If you’re not going to eat them, I’m packing them up and taking them home."
Only then did he lazily pick up his chopsticks. "Strange... I could have sworn you were the one asking me for a favor."
He had a point. Swallowing my pride, I peeled two more for him. "Don't be like that. I’m just... a little frustrated."
Yi Taitai arched an eyebrow, a smirk playing on his lips. "Fine. Out with it. What do you want to know?"
I knew the "bribe them with food" tactic would eventually work. I pulled my plastic stool closer, the legs scraping harshly against the pavement. "Those underground matches... where exactly are they held?"
Yi Taitai sucked the juice from a shrimp head, making a clicking sound with his tongue. "Weren't you supposed to be the capable one? What happened? Couldn't get it out of him?" He was delighting in poking my sore spot, and he didn't stop there. "Where’s that legendary stalker prowess of yours? Use your skills~"
I glared at him. Wasn't there a saying about being kind to the person feeding you? What happened to that?
"That depends on what I’m being fed," Yi Taitai said, as if reading my mind.
"Seafood!" I barked, gesturing at the pot.
"To me, 'seafood' implies shark fin and abalone," he retorted. Then, seeing my face turn a shade of indignant red, he let out a short laugh. "Alright, alright, I’m joking. Don't look at me like that—you look like Sergeant Keroro. But seriously, you didn't manage to track him?"
The memory of that failure was a bitter pill to swallow. To tail Ling Xiao, I had gone so far as to borrow a rickety bicycle from one of the security guards at the Zishan Base. Last Sunday afternoon, the moment he stepped out the gates, I was on his six.
"The tail went smoothly at first," I recounted, leaning in. "He didn't seem to notice me. I followed him all the way to a Hong Kong-style cafe..."
I remembered the scene vividly. Before entering the restaurant, Ling Xiao had paused and glanced over his shoulder. His behavior was textbook "suspicious." My imagination, fueled by years of action movies, had already mapped out the rest: he would walk through the dining area, slip into the staff room, push aside a hidden door, descend into a secret basement, and emerge into the high-stakes arena of an underground tournament.
I paused for dramatic effect, glancing at Yi Taitai. He was focused entirely on the shrimp, seemingly won over by the roadside flavors. After a long silence, he gave a perfunctory, "So? Did you see the glorious arena?"
I rolled my eyes. "I didn't see a damn thing. I didn't even see Ling Xiao. He walked in and vanished like a ghost."
I had wandered around the restaurant like a headless fly, but I couldn't exactly go barging into the kitchen or the staff quarters without a reason. Eventually, I decided to approach the hostess at the front desk. With Ling Xiao’s looks, anyone who saw him from a distance of five feet would have his face burned into their memory. If she claimed she hadn't seen him, it would be as good as a confession that the place was a front for something illicit.
I paused again, raising an expectant eyebrow at Yi Taitai.
He stuffed another shrimp into his mouth and looked at me, puzzled. "What? Keep going."
The man had zero sense of narrative pacing. If I were telling this to Old Seven or Big Fatty, they’d at least be throwing out a "No way!" or a "Then what happened?" to keep the energy up.
I had thought my plan was foolproof. However, the hostess’s reaction was entirely unexpected. She didn't say she’d seen him, nor did she deny it. Instead, she just giggled at me—a long, tittering laugh that left me feeling utterly bewildered. Then, she told me to wait at a table, claiming Ling Xiao had told her I’d be coming.
My heart sank. He’d made me. But I had no choice but to sit down, chin in hand, wondering what kind of game he was playing. A few minutes later, the girl emerged from the kitchen carrying a plastic takeout bag.
"The handsome guy from a moment ago told me to give this to you!"
I stared at the bag, afraid to touch it. "What is it?"
"Omurice!" she chirped. "The kids who come here love it!"
...
And so, I ended up pedaling my borrowed bike back to the base with a box of omelet rice dangling from the handlebars. Halfway back, I was so tempted to hurl the box into the bushes, but I couldn't bring myself to do it. The rice wasn't at fault, and I was actually starving. I pulled over to the side of the road and ate the whole thing.
Biases aside, the omurice was delicious. As I finished the last bite and looked up at the clear blue sky, my anger toward Ling Xiao evaporated. But then, as I went to throw the container away, I felt a slip of paper stuck to the bottom. I unfolded it and read the scrawled message:
*If you didn't eat it, forget it. If you did, that’ll be 20 yuan.*
Yi Taitai, his mouth glistening with oil, finally looked at me with something resembling genuine pity. "...And after all that, you’re still not giving up on him?"
"Why would I give up?" I snapped the head off another shrimp with unnecessary violence. "That was Ling Xiao’s biggest mistake. He doesn't realize I’m the type who sees a 'Beware of Tiger' sign and immediately starts looking for the tiger."
"In my circles, we usually just call that 'being an idiot,'" Yi Taitai remarked.
I slammed my chopsticks onto the table.
"Fine, fine! Honestly, I’m getting curious about how this drama ends myself." He pulled out a pen, scribbled an address on a napkin, and slid it over. "Here. The location of the matches."
I hurriedly wiped my hands clean before gingerly picking up the napkin. "Fushan Villa?"
Even someone as out of the loop as I was knew that name. It was the most prestigious gated community in the city, home to the ultra-wealthy and the politically connected.
Yi Taitai began picking his teeth. "Whether or not you can actually get inside... well, that’s up to your own luck."
I tucked the note safely into my pocket. "My luck is legendary."
***
Armed with the address, my daily interactions with Ling Xiao took on a new, smug undertone. A few days later, in the locker room, he actually initiated a conversation—waiting, of course, until everyone else had cleared out. He was a *minsao* through and through; I understood his need for privacy.
Before he could even open his mouth, I struck first. "Twenty yuan, right? I haven't forgotten." I pulled a fifty-yuan note from my wallet and slapped it into his hand with a flourish. "Keep the change. Consider the rest a tip~" *Since you love tips so much.*
Ling Xiao didn't take the money. He just stared at me, his expression unreadable. "What are you smiling about?"
An AI like him wouldn't understand the nuances of human triumph. "Nothing," I said, giving him a mysterious, knowing grin as I slammed my locker shut. "I just find the sight of you hilarious."
Ling Xiao looked at me with genuine bewilderment, his face freezing in that delightful "System Error" expression I loved so much. I could almost see the "Error 404" scrolling across his pupils. My mood had never been better.
***
**GLOSSARY OF NEW TERMS**
| Chinese | English | Notes |
| :--- | :--- | :--- |
| 蛋包饭 | Omurice | Omelet rice; a popular dish in East Asia. |
| 军曹 | Sergeant | Referring to Keroro Gunso (Sgt. Frog), a popular anime character. |
| 港式餐厅 | Hong Kong-style cafe | Also known as Cha Chaan Teng. |
--- END OF TRANSLATION ---
