Chapter 2

I didn’t know when, but a crowd had gathered outside the stand.

People from the village and cars passing by all stopped to watch the excitement.

Some people were holding up their phones to record, and others were whispering to each other.

“Isn’t that Old Mick’s son? The one who got hired by the government?”

“Yeah, he got into the tax bureau, and now he’s here to audit his own dad.”

“Tsk tsk tsk, what an ungrateful brat. All that education and he still turned out useless.”

“You can’t say it like that. He’s just doing things by the book. They’re cracking down hard now. Who told Mr. Harris not to get a license?”

“What the hell kind of license does he need? It’s just a tent for a few days on May Day giving people hot water. You want him to go get paperwork for that?”

The murmurs buzzed around the porridge stand like mosquitoes.

Ben’s face was very tight.

He still had that same expression, neck stiff, teeth clenched, glaring at me like I was his greatest enemy.

I said, “Fine, shut it down for today. I’ll go get the license tomorrow.”

I bent down to unplug the stove.

It was an old electric heater, and I had been using it for over ten years.

Every time I plugged it in, I could smell a burnt odor, but it had never broken, so I kept using it.

Ben suddenly said, “Wait. The power cord on this electric stove doesn’t meet safety standards. It’s a fire hazard. According to the regulations, it needs to be confiscated.”

I looked up at him. “Confiscated?”

“Yes. Confiscated. And these enamel cups and thermoses need to be inspected too. Anything that doesn’t meet the standard has to be dealt with.”

The stand fell completely silent.

Even the people outside watching the drama stopped talking.

Everyone was looking at Ben, watching him give orders without any expression as his people started checking the things in the stand.

The young man with glasses walked over to the stove, unplugged it, and lifted the whole electric heater up.

Another woman crouched down and rummaged through the cup noodles I had stacked in cardboard boxes, taking them out one by one to check the production dates, then writing something down in her notebook.

Ben finally spoke again, his voice lower now. “Dad, I’m not targeting you. I’m dealing with the issue, not the person. Everyone in the village knows you’re a good man, but rules are rules. Without rules, nothing works.”

I looked at his uniform and watched the badge on his chest reflecting the sunlight.

I said, “When you were little, you helped out in this tent too. Those long-haul truckers all praised you and said that when you grew up, you’d definitely be a warmhearted guy.”

Ben opened his mouth but didn’t speak.

I asked him, “Ben, can you only choose between being warmhearted and being a government worker?”

He didn’t answer.

At that moment, there was a sudden stir outside the stand.