Chapter Sixty-Two: Old Zhang Throws a Banquet

"Lei, come out, meet me at the Yu Family's old restaurant."
Zhang Old Gun was direct and to the point on the phone.

"Brother Gun, why don’t you come over to my place? It’s pretty cold outside."
Wang Lei wasn’t really fond of going out. For one, winter in the capital was truly biting, and for another, the smog had been especially severe lately. People in the city joked that every outing was a selfless act for the nation’s environmental cause.

"Forget it, you’d better come out. Your mother-in-law and I simply can’t see eye to eye—she thinks I’m a bad influence, I think she’s a tigress. Let’s just meet outside, at Yu Family’s place. I really do have something important to discuss with you today."

"Alright, I’ll bring Mei Mei along. That won’t be a problem, right?"

"Even better if you both come. I was just worried I’d have no one to drive after we have a few drinks. With the New Year coming, it’s impossible to find a designated driver."

The Yu Family’s Old Restaurant was a little-known gem known only to true gourmets in Beijing. The place was small, but the chefs inside were direct descendants of imperial cooks.

The Yu family had always been strict and traditional. Their ancestors had cooked for the court, and after leaving the palace, they opened this humble restaurant. They never expanded, never franchised, and their craft was handed down strictly to one person each generation—always to a son, never a daughter.

By rights, such a family with a century-old legacy should have been a magnet for investors, but the Yu family turned down every investment proposal. They preferred to guard their modest establishment.

Reservations were out of the question; diners queued at the door. If you got a seat, great—if not, you’d have to try your luck another time. Trouble-makers had tried their hand, but each time there was an incident, the Yu family would simply close their doors until the rabble-rousers were driven off by the horde of gluttonous regulars, after which the place would quietly reopen.

But Zhang Old Gun was VIP at the Yu Family’s restaurant. Years ago, when Zhang Old Gun’s father was dining there, he ran into a few brash young scions whose fathers had just been promoted to ministry positions in the capital. They tried to force the Yu family to hand over their recipes and techniques. Zhang’s father pulled out his security officer’s pistol and pressed it to their temples—two of them wet themselves in terror.

Ever since, the Zhang family never lacked a seat at Yu Family’s restaurant.

As Wang Lei and Ma Dongmei stepped into the bustling eatery and mentioned Zhang Old Gun’s name to a white-haired waiter, they were immediately ushered to the backyard.

Seeing this tall couple being led out back, the other diners couldn’t help but feel a twinge of envy. Everyone knew that anyone invited to the Yu family’s backyard was no ordinary guest. The same chef might cook for everyone, but the treatment in the backyard was worlds apart from the noisy front hall.

"Ah, Third Uncle, you’re personally showing people in today? Let the juniors handle it," Zhang Old Gun quickly stood up when he saw the elderly man with snow-white hair.

This old waiter was actually the fifth-generation heir of the Yu family. He’d already passed on his skills to his son and now simply strolled about the restaurant.

"You invited them yourself, Old Gun, I have to see if I can get to know them too, ha! But these two are certainly tall."

The Yu family treated the Zhangs with great respect, and Zhang Old Gun admired their steadfastness even more. Their strict adherence to tradition might seem inflexible to some, but to Zhang, that was the essence of true inheritance.

"Well, they’re not strangers. These two are the granddaughter and grandson-in-law of Old Master Zhan Shan."

"Ah, then they’re certainly not strangers! How is the old master these days? It’s been a while since he last came."

"He’s well, but his blood pressure’s been high lately, so he’s taking it easy. You know how he is—any little thing sets him off."

"In that case, I’ll make some soup for him next time. When you leave, take it with you—a soup to calm the fire. Works wonders. Have a seat, I’ll personally cook for you today."

"No need, Third Uncle. You should rest—Xiao Qing’s cooking is impeccable. I’d lose years off my life eating your dishes!"

In truth, Yu San hadn’t cooked in years. Zhang Old Gun’s father and Ma Zhan Shan often dined at the Yu family’s and had helped them many times. Now, seeing Ma Dongmei, Yu San felt he must show his respect. He saw himself as a craftsman and kept his manner humble.

But neither Zhang Old Gun nor Wang Lei and Ma Dongmei dared see Yu San as just a cook. Perhaps Wang and Ma were unaware, but Zhang Old Gun knew well that this old brother didn’t cook for just anyone. Respect was given, but if they really sat and let Yu San cook for them, it would be a disgrace to both Old Master Zhang and Ma Zhan Shan.

Yu San didn’t insist. He’d shown his respect, and Zhang and the others had received it. They’d be seeing each other often enough; too much deference would be awkward.

Once everyone was seated, Zhang Old Gun mysteriously pulled out a bottle of liquor from his bag. The packaging was crude—just a white porcelain bottle wrapped in a simple net woven from straw.

"Whoa, Old Gun, you’re going all out today. Alright, whatever you ask, I’m not moving from this seat until I’ve finished this bottle," said Wang Lei.

Wang and Ma didn’t know liquor, but Yu San did. This was a genuine bottle of Maotai from the early 1970s, before the distillery expanded—a true “national spirit.”

"Lei, I have to thank you," said Zhang Old Gun as he poured the drinks. "Honestly, I haven’t performed in years. I know the songs we wrote are out of step with the times. You sending that song my way was my good fortune."

"Don’t mention it, Brother Gun. If I’d kept that song for myself, it probably wouldn’t have gotten so much attention. You brought out its spirit—it was meant for you."

As Zhang Old Gun poured the drinks, he felt genuinely grateful to Wang Lei. After years out of the spotlight, he’d returned to unexpected popularity. It showed that rock wasn’t dead, but more than that, it was Wang Lei’s generosity in handing him such a great song that made it all possible.

"Come on, no more talk. It’s all in the wine. This bottle was bartered by my old man years ago. Keeping it at home is a waste—I’m a beer man myself. Tonight, let’s finish it."

They clinked glasses and downed their drinks. The dishes soon followed, and Yu San joined Zhang Old Gun and Wang Lei for a drink. Ma Dongmei, meanwhile, was completely captivated by the food. She thought she’d have to ask her grandfather why he hadn’t brought her here sooner.

"Lei, since I’m back, I’ve made up my mind. While I still have the energy, I want to give it another go. That song, ‘Believe in Yourself’—I hear there may be news after the New Year. The folks in Jinghai say it’s likely to be chosen as the theme song. I want to seize this chance and make another album. What do you think?"

"That’s wonderful, Brother Gun. You have my support."

By now, Wang Lei understood what Zhang Old Gun was getting at—the old “rascal” wanted to ask him for more songs, but was embarrassed to bring it up.

"Well then, I’ll be direct—can you help me with more songs? I won’t say more, but I’ll split the album’s earnings with you, half and half."