183: Chapter 188 The Difference Between River and Stream

After dinner, Taylor stood in front of the floor-to-ceiling window watching the night view of the Xiang River. The reflections of the lights on the river were shattered by the wind, and the silhouette of Orange Island was faintly visible in the distance.

Taylor said, "It looks wider than the Mississippi River."

Chen Mo said, "It's a Jiang."

Taylor said, "What's the difference between a Jiang and a He?"

Chen Mo thought for a moment, "The Yangtze is called a Jiang, the Mississippi is called a He; it's probably a matter of who discovered it first."

Taylor laughed, "That's a very philosophical answer."

Taylor asked in a low voice, "You won three Grammy Awards; didn't your parents say anything?"

Chen Mo said, "They did. My mom said I worked hard, and my dad told me not to leave the trophies lying around."

Taylor said, "Just that?"

Chen Mo said, "Just that."

Taylor nodded and didn't ask further.

The relatives didn't disturb them much either; they all went back to their own homes, leaving them enough space and time to rest after their journey.

Chen Mo also had a rare, good night's sleep; before the Grammy Awards, he really hadn't rested.

Thinking back now, he felt like he was a superman.

The mist over the Xiang River in the early morning hadn't cleared yet, and the statue at Orange Island only showed a blurry outline in the gray-blue morning light.

Chen Mo woke up at 5:30, tiptoed out of the guest room, changed into a black hoodie and sweatpants, and started jogging along the pedestrian path on Xiangjiang Middle Road.

The river wind was cold, scraping against his face like fine sandpaper, but it was more comfortable than Los Angeles.

He ran along the river for an hour, from Du Fu Pavilion to Orange Isle Bridge and back, breaking into a sweat.

When he returned to the residential complex entrance, the security guard was holding an enamel mug and drinking tea. Seeing him, he was stunned for a moment, then opened his mouth, but forced himself to swallow the greeting, just nodding instead.

Chen Mo also nodded and swiped his card to enter.

In the morning, Mother Chen said she wanted to take him and Taylor to stroll around Pozi Street.

Chen Mo wore a gray Anta hoodie, and Taylor wore her own white hoodie, her hat pulled low, her mask worn tightly, revealing only a pair of amber eyes.

Father Chen walked in the front, hands behind his back, his pace unhurried, like an old leader inspecting his territory.

Mother Chen held Father Chen's arm, and the two walked on the bluestone road of Taiping Street.

On both sides were old Changsha arcade-style buildings, with signs for sugar oil rice cakes, stinky tofu, and large sausages lined up one after another; the air was filled with the mixed scent of fried sugar crust and brine.

Chen Mo and Taylor followed behind like a young couple being led around by their parents.

Mother Chen stopped to queue at a sugar oil rice cake stall; the sugar oil rice cakes in the oil pan were sizzling, the glutinous rice balls rolling in the brown sugar oil, their surfaces gradually forming a layer of golden crispy crust.

Mother Chen bought four skewers, turned back and shoved one into Taylor's hand, shouting in Changsha dialect, "Try it!"

The voice was so loud that several girls nearby who were taking selfies turned their heads at the same time.

"This is pretty good, give it a try; if you can't finish it, I'll have yours."

One of the girls in a plaid coat stared at Chen Mo's profile for several seconds, then suddenly grabbed her companion's sleeve, her voice very low but every word trembling.

"That voice... it's Chen Mo!"

The other girl raised her phone, the camera scanning back and forth between Chen Mo and Taylor several times, then she took a deep breath, her lips trembling as she squeezed out a few words.

"Ah! And Taylor! My God! Are they really not a couple?"

The girl in the plaid coat calmed down first. She put her phone back in her pocket, patted her companion's hand, and said, "Don't disturb them, his mother is here."

Taylor lowered her head and took a bite of the sugar oil rice cake. The piping hot brown sugar filling oozed out from the glutinous rice skin; she gasped lightly from the heat, then naturally handed the remaining half-skewer to Chen Mo for him to eat.

The girls saw this action and laughed their heads off, but they didn't crowd around, just raised their phones from a distance to take a picture of their backs.

The stinky tofu stall was in the middle section of Taiping Street, oil bubbling in a large black iron pot, the tofu cubes being fried until crispy outside and tender inside in the boiling oil.

The owner was a bald uncle in his fifties, his apron covered in old oil stains. He used long chopsticks to pick out the fried stinky tofu one by one, poked open the skin, and poured in garlic and chili sauce.

Taylor stood in front of the stall, wrinkled her nose, and took half a step back.

"Is this really edible?"

Chen Mo poked a piece with a bamboo skewer, blew on the chili oil still sizzling on the surface, and held it to her lips.

"Trust me."

She gathered her courage and took a small bite, chewing slower and slower, then her eyes lit up. She took the skewer from his hand and took a second bite, garlic sauce spilling from the corner of her mouth; she wiped her chin with a tissue.

"It's delicious. It smells stinky, but it tastes delicious."

Chen Mo took out his phone, took a picture of the pot of bubbling black tofu, and sent it to Scott: "Warming you up, waiting for you to come and eat."

Scott immediately replied with a vomiting emoji, followed by a line of text: "Are you picking the worst-looking one on purpose? I'm arriving in Changsha next week; you'd better prepare normal food for me."

Chen Mo replied: "This is normal. Changsha is normal; it's you who has been eating abnormal food."

Scott replied with a long string of periods.

Taylor was being held by Mother Chen, walking in front; Father Chen had wandered off somewhere to watch chess.

In the afternoon, they went to Cha Yan Yue Se. This shop was located in a small alley at the end of Taiping Street. The storefront was not big, and the wooden sign had "Cha Yan Yue Se" handwritten on it.

Chen Mo ordered two cups of Orchid Latte, no ice, less sugar, less pecan topping on the whipped cream.

The clerk was a young girl with a ponytail. She pressed a couple of buttons on the cash register, looked up at Chen Mo, and her fingers stopped.

She stared at his face for several seconds, hesitated, and her voice was very low: "Are you..."

Chen Mo lifted his baseball cap a little, revealing his whole face: "Yes."

The clerk smiled and drew a small sun on one of the cups with a marker.

She pushed the two cups over and lowered her voice to say: "My sister loves your songs. She heard 'Xiao Chou' at the New Year's Eve gala last year and cried all night. Have fun."

Then she continued to serve the next customer, as if nothing had happened.

Chen Mo walked out, handed the cup with the smiley face to Taylor, and took the other one himself.

The setting sun shone obliquely from the direction of Yuelu Mountain, the bluestone road plated in warm gold, the air interwoven with the scent of tea and the smoky smell drifting from the sugar oil pans in the distance.

Taylor raised her cup and clinked it against the rim of his; the two cups of Orchid Latte made a very light clinking sound of ceramics in the twilight.

"Changsha, delicious, fun."

Coming out of Cha Yan Yue Se, Mother Chen said they were going to the Fire Palace.

Taylor asked curiously, "What is the Fire Palace?"

Chen Mo said seriously, "It's a temple, but it doesn't worship Bodhisattvas inside, it worships stinky tofu."