503: Chapter 503 The sky was covered by the mountaintop

It was just past noon, and the center of An City was bustling.

Tongshengxiang Restaurant, situated next to the Bell Tower, is a century-old establishment with a great reputation in Shaanxi Province.

The restaurant had an imposing facade with flying eaves and painted pillars.

Pushing through the doors, the lobby was spacious and bright, with carved wooden pillars supporting an incredibly high dome, and the air was filled with the rich aroma of beef and mutton interwoven with complex spices.

Tao Zhiyan didn't stop on the ground floor.

He led Lin Que and Zhou Mingda to a private booth on the second floor.

The private room contained a mahogany round table, with old paintings hanging on the walls, and one could see the flow of people at the street intersection outside the window.

The lobby manager personally brought in tea, and upon seeing Tao Zhiyan, a smile immediately spread across his face.

"Teacher Tao, it's been a while since you've been here. Same as usual today?"

"Let's change it up today."

Tao Zhiyan waved his hand and pointed at Lin Que.

"I've brought a guest from afar, so let's put the paomo aside for now. Have the kitchen prepare a few dishes from the mountains of Southern Shaanxi—the more authentic, the better."

The manager glanced at Lin Que and nodded with a smile.

"Understood, you can rest assured."

Tao Zhiyan leaned back in his chair and turned to Lin Que.

"This place looks like it has the style of Guanzhong, but the kitchen hides an old master from Southern Shaanxi."

"You must try the Ziyang Steamed Basin later."

"Others make it too, but without the water and firewood from the mountains, the flavor falls short by a wide margin."

Lin Que nodded.

He didn't offer any polite pleasantries, simply picking up his teacup and taking a sip.

Tao Zhiyan observed this, not rushing to speak.

The food arrived quickly.

The first earthenware pot was placed on the table, and as soon as the lid was lifted, steam billowed out.

Free-range chicken, pig's trotters, and cured meat were submerged in the rich broth, with oil droplets floating on top, and the pungent kick of dried chili and Sichuan peppercorns drilled straight into the nostrils.

Ankang steamed noodles were served next.

Thick noodles were coated in red chili oil, topped with minced garlic, and bits of crushed chili were embedded in the folds.

Then came a dish of sour and spicy pig's blood; the red soup was piping hot, the blood cubes were neatly sliced, and chili oil covered the entire bowl.

Zhou Mingda picked up a chopstick full of steamed noodles.

He ate quickly but couldn't help stealing a glance at Lin Que.

The dishes on this table had a very intense flavor.

The oil was rich, the heat was heavy, and the numbing sensation of the Sichuan peppercorns pressed against the root of the tongue.

People from An City are used to flour-based foods, but even they would need a few extra sips of tea when encountering this table of Southern Shaanxi mountain cuisine.

Especially since Lin Que came from Jiangcheng, Su Province.

A seventeen-year-old boy, visiting Shaanxi Province for the first time, would surely show some signs of discomfort sitting in front of this spread.

Tao Zhiyan held his teacup, his peripheral vision fixed on Lin Que.

He didn't rush him.

Nor did he introduce the food.

This meal was a welcome.

It was also the first threshold.

Lin Que picked up his chopsticks.

He didn't put on a show of heartiness, nor did he hesitate.

He simply picked up a piece of cured meat from the steamed basin and put it into his mouth.

He chewed a few times and swallowed.

His movements were as natural as if he were at his own dinner table.

Tao Zhiyan held his cup, waiting to see him reach for water.

Instead, Lin Que put down his chopsticks and looked up at the earthenware pot.

"There is an astringent aftertaste of mountain spring water in the broth base."

Tao Zhiyan's hand froze.

Zhou Mingda's movement of picking up food also slowed by a beat.

Lin Que picked up a piece of chicken again, his tone steady.

"But the soup has been simmered for a long time, and that slight astringency at the finish is more like the rugged flavor brought out from the mountain water."

After speaking, he took another bite of the steamed noodles.

The red oil clung to the noodles, and the spiciness was intense.

His expression didn't change.

Tao Zhiyan put down his teacup and stared at Lin Que for several seconds.

"You kid."

He suddenly slapped the table, causing the bowls and dishes to tremble slightly.

"You're quite the connoisseur, hahahaha."

Lin Que picked up a chopstick of sour and spicy pig's blood.

"There used to be a braised food shop at the entrance of my alley."

"The owner was from Western Hubei, and he was particular about the water when making braised dishes."

"He always muttered that whether a pot of marinade could hold its own depended first on whether the water base was clean."

"I went there often as a child; after hearing and smelling it for so long, I remembered it."

The private room was quiet for a moment.

Tao Zhiyan looked at him.

Then, he burst into laughter.

The laughter was loud, making the waiter passing by the door glance inside.

After laughing, Tao Zhiyan picked up his teacup and raised it toward Lin Que from afar.

"Old Gu called me last night and said that you, child, possess experience beyond your years."

He took a sip of tea, and the smile on his face slowly faded.

"Now I believe it."

Zhou Mingda also put down his chopsticks.

He had worked at the Writers Association for many years and had hosted many young authors who came for inspiration.

Some said they wanted to experience life, but as soon as the food was served, they would take photos for social media.

Some would force themselves to eat a couple of bites, their faces turning beet red, and would head straight for a convenience store to buy bread afterward.

The seventeen-year-old boy before him sat in an elegant private room, yet he was eating the heavy, oily, and spicy old flavors of the mountains.

He didn't frown, nor did he pretend to be hearty.

He even accepted the slight hint of firewood smoke in the broth.

This composure could not be faked.

Halfway through the meal, Tao Zhiyan had someone add a dish of stir-fried cured meat.

Lin Que ate cleanly.

There wasn't much soup left in the bottom of the bowl, and he didn't place his chopsticks messily.

Tao Zhiyan watched him push the bowl away, the probing look in his eyes fading slightly.

This boy could truly ground himself in life.

"Let's rest for a while."

Tao Zhiyan beckoned the waiter to change the hot tea.

"We leave at two in the afternoon; it's still a few hours before we enter the mountains."

Lin Que nodded.

"I'll follow your arrangements."

1:50 PM.

Zhou Mingda drove the Writers Association's black business van to the entrance of the restaurant.

In the trunk were Lin Que's suitcase, a full case of mineral water, and various dry rations.

The driver's seat was empty.

Tao Zhiyan and Lin Que sat in the back row.

The car doors closed, shutting the meaty aroma of the restaurant behind them, while the lingering scent of Sichuan peppercorns and cured meat still clung to their sleeves.

The wheels rolled onto the main road.

The urban area of An City receded little by little.

High-rises became shorter, and shop signs gradually became sparse.

The gray-yellow skyline opened up on both sides.

The Guanzhong Plain spread out outside the window.

The terrain was flat, and the colors were flat too.

The post-harvest wheat stubble fields stretched out one after another, gray mixed into the earthy yellow.

A few poplar trees stood by the field ridges, most of their leaves fallen, their dry, thin branches reaching toward the sky.

The road was straight.

The speed was steady.

Lin Que sat in the back, his gaze fixed on the car window.

Tao Zhiyan didn't turn back.

He adjusted the seat back a bit, rested his arms on the armrest, and seemed to be closing his eyes to rest.

Zhou Mingda held the steering wheel, occasionally glancing at the back seat through the rearview mirror.

The boy's sitting posture hadn't changed.

He wasn't looking at his phone.

He wasn't wearing headphones.

Nor did he ask when they would arrive.

Only the low hum of the engine remained in the car.

Twenty minutes.

Forty minutes.

Outside the window, it was still the plain.

The scenery was as monotonous as old paper spread out repeatedly.

Tao Zhiyan hadn't slept at all.

He kept his eyes half-lowered, his gaze occasionally sweeping toward the back row from the rearview mirror.

The journey was dull, and he intentionally didn't start any conversation.

Most of the young authors he had picked up before couldn't last half an hour before they started scrolling through messages, taking photos of the outside, or complaining about the length of the road.

Geniuses were the same.

After hearing too much applause, patience wears thin.

Tao Zhiyan wanted to see how far Lin Que's patience could last.

An hour later.

Lin Que took an old notebook out of the side pocket of his backpack.

He opened to a blank page, uncapped his pen, and began to write.

He didn't write fast.

Line by line, the spacing was very steady.

Tao Zhiyan saw that hand holding the pen in the rearview mirror.

The knuckles were steady.

The pen tip touched the paper without hesitation.

He resisted for a while, but finally turned to look back.

The notebook was spread out on Lin Que's knees.

A few short sentences had already been written on it.

"After the poplars drop their leaves, the old scars on the trunks are more conspicuous than the branches and leaves."

"The wheat stubble fields shimmer with a dehydrated gray-yellow, and the sun has dried up the last bit of moisture."

"The red sign of the third gas station has faded to a pale pink, its edges curled like old cloth that has been sun-baked for many years."

After reading it, Tao Zhiyan turned his head back.

He stared at the straight road ahead, his fingers tapping lightly on the armrest twice.

No praise.

No interruption.

The car continued south.

After getting onto the highway, the scenery outside the window finally began to change.

The edges of the plain began to undulate.

Low hills began to pop up one after another.

The trees on the hilltops became denser.

The road also began to curve, no longer stretching endlessly as far as the eye could see like before.

In the distance, a gray-blue mountain ridge lay across the horizon.

The Qinling Mountains had arrived.

The mountain range spread out, and the sky to the south was suddenly lowered.

As the vehicle drew closer, the originally blurred mountain line became clear.

Gullies.

Rock strata.

Varying shades of tree colors.

The sheer volume of the entire mountain range slowly pressed toward the car window.

Zhou Mingda slowed the car down.

"We are entering the Qinling tunnel group ahead."

He gave a reminder.

"There are several consecutive tunnels with short open-cut tunnels in between, so the light changes rapidly."

As soon as he finished speaking, the car plunged into the first tunnel.

The white lights hit the car windows, blindingly bright.

Lin Que squinted slightly.

By the time his pupils adjusted, the gray concrete of the tunnel walls was already zipping past on both sides.

A dozen seconds later.

The car rushed out of the tunnel exit.

Sunlight poured in violently.

Immediately after, the second tunnel bore down on them.

Darkness fell.

White light pierced in.

And was swallowed by the next tunnel section.

Lin Que's pupils contracted and dilated in rhythm.

Everyone in the car fell silent.

Tao Zhiyan still leaned against the passenger seat, not turning back.

After passing through several tunnels in a row, the car entered a section of open-cut tunnel.

The rock walls on both sides had been split open.

Ferns grew in the crevices.

Water droplets dripped down from the rock face into the drainage ditch, the sound fine and dense.

Lin Que suddenly spoke.

"Just now on the plain, the sky was pressing down on top of our heads."

Tao Zhiyan opened his eyes.

Zhou Mingda's hand on the steering wheel also subconsciously steadied.

Lin Que looked at the split rock strata outside the window, his voice low.

"Once we entered the tunnel, the sky was gone."

"When we came out again, the sky was being carried by the mountain peaks."

He paused for a moment.

"It's the same sky, but after passing through a tunnel, its weight has changed."