Chapter 1

When Ben came charging into the porridge stand with his audit team.

I was pouring hot water.

“Everybody stop moving.”

Ben’s voice came in from outside the tent, cold and unlike him.

The thermos in my hand tilted, and hot water splashed onto the back of my hand, burning it bright red.

Old Sam quickly pulled up his sleeve and wiped it for me, muttering, “Mick, your son’s here, in uniform. He looks so impressive.”

Yeah, impressive.

Ben was wearing a dark blue tax uniform, and his peaked cap sat low over his brows.

Five or six others in the same uniform followed behind him.

Some of them were carrying notebooks and cameras.

He stood at the entrance of the stand, backlit, so I couldn’t see his expression clearly.

Ben’s voice wasn’t loud, but every word landed like a nail. “Dad, this stand doesn’t have a business license. Under the Food Safety Act and the regulations on cracking down on unlicensed business operations, this is illegal business activity. You need to stop immediately and accept the penalty.”

The stand went silent in an instant.

A dozen pairs of eyes kept shifting between me and Ben.

I was still holding that paint-chipped thermos, and steam was still drifting out of the spout.

Old Sam spoke first. “Ben, what are you talking about? Your dad has been running this stand here for twenty-three years. Every May Day, he gives people free water and noodles. You were even here helping him boil water when you were little. How does that turn into illegal business now?”

Ben didn’t look at him. He glared straight at me. “The law is the law. Just because you’re doing a good deed doesn’t mean you can ignore it.”

I set the thermos down on the table and wiped my hands on my apron.

“Ben, you got into the tax bureau, and I’m proud of you. But this stand only runs for a few days every May Day, and we don’t sell anything. We just let people have a free sip of water and a bowl of noodles…”

Ben cut me off. “Free doesn’t matter. As long as you’re providing food, it falls under food safety regulation. Do you have a health certificate? Do you have receipts for your ingredients? Has your boiling equipment been safety tested?”

I froze.

“None of that should be necessary, right? It’s just boiling water and instant noodles. The cup noodles come from the supermarket. Anybody can buy them.”

A young man with glasses standing behind Ben opened a notebook.

“You say they’re from the supermarket. Where are the receipts? Where are the purchase records? What if you bought expired products or counterfeit goods? Who’s responsible if there’s a food safety issue?”

I opened my mouth, but no words came out.

Yeah, who would be responsible?

I had never even thought about that before.

The little supermarket where I bought the noodles belonged to Old Wang at the entrance to the village.

It had been open for over ten years.

Every time, I just went there and carried back a few boxes.

He gave me wholesale prices.

I had never asked for an invoice.

And I had never once thought about keeping any receipts.

The young man with glasses walked over to the stove and picked up an enamel cup to look at it.

“Also, this hot water. Your boiling container doesn’t meet food-contact material safety standards. Long-term use could cause harmful substances to leach out.”

My voice grew quieter and quieter. “This cup has been used for over twenty years, and nothing’s ever happened.”

Ben finally moved. He walked to the middle of the stand and looked around.

“Nothing happening doesn’t mean there’s no problem. Dad, stop for today. Tomorrow go to town and get a business license and a health certificate, keep all your ingredient purchase receipts, and every year before May Day apply for a temporary stall permit. It’s not hard.”

I looked into his eyes, trying to find something familiar there.

But it was so unfamiliar.

Old Sam spoke again. “Ben, your dad has done good deeds his whole life, and this is how you treat him?”

The corner of Ben’s mouth moved as if he wanted to say something, but in the end he said nothing.