Chapter Sixteen: A High Salary

Many thanks to Brother jly69 for the generous reward. I am truly moved.

Tourists had arrived in the small town, something that took everyone by complete surprise. It had been a long time since anyone visited. Yet Sean Biggs brought a group with him—Japanese visitors, no less.

It was said that they were core members of a Japanese conglomerate. Their purpose here was to inspect the local ranches, and Sean Biggs was the ranch owner. He intended to sell his property to these Japanese buyers.

A large, boisterous group, they seemed like members of a big family. Their first stop was Sean Biggs’s ranch, where they wandered about all morning. In the afternoon, Sean took them to the local bar.

Qiu Fengyu, meanwhile, had already sold out his noodles by midday, so he sat in a booth, listening to an old man from town—his usual source for gossip—ramble as he finished his bowl. This was the very same old man who had come with Britt the first time to freeload some noodles.

“Sean’s lost a lot of money. He still has loans at the bank to pay off. Since the drought hit, he’s been forced to sell his ranch to clear his debts. They're all a bunch of bloodsuckers!” the old man grumbled with indignation.

“Indeed, bloodsuckers. I’m one too, but only a tiny one,” Qiu Fengyu said, gesturing with two fingers to show just how small. “I’m only a mosquito—just a little sip and I’m full.”

The old man burst out laughing. “You’re a funny guy, but I like you. I like your noodles. Here’s your…” He handed over twenty-three dollars, with three dollars as Qiu Fengyu’s tip.

“Thank you, pal!” Qiu Fengyu took the bills and smiled. “A small bloodsucker, quite content.” He waved the money playfully before clearing the dishes.

“Hey, did you know how much the Japanese are offering for Sean’s ranch? Four point one million dollars. Not a single good man among them—they’re taking advantage of someone in trouble. No different from those bloodsucking banks. Or maybe they’re in cahoots with the banks on this.”

Someone else, who had been eating, suddenly stood up and exclaimed angrily at the old man.

“Hey, sir, calm down, will you?” Qiu Fengyu tried to soothe him with a gesture.

The man hesitated but sat down, still muttering, “It could have sold for over five million, and now it’s a million less. Unbelievable. That’s three hundred acres of prime ranch land.”

“You could buy it yourself, then. No point shouting here,” someone else retorted.

The whole room fell silent. Times were tough all around. The drought had been severe these past years, and nobody was doing well, much less able to help Sean.

So, amid this tense conversation, the lunch concluded. Twenty bowls of noodles sold out quickly as always. Even in a bad mood, people still ate noodles.

Qiu Fengyu said little, simply listening from the side. He harbored no resentment toward the Japanese; the pursuit of profit was human nature, and it had nothing to do with him. He was, after all, just an outsider. To this day, he hadn’t truly become part of the town.

The day passed this way. That evening, Qiu Fengyu went to the bar, intent on unwinding. The Japanese group was still there, lively and loud. After two drinks, Qiu Fengyu decided to leave; it was simply too noisy.

“These Japanese folks like their drink, and once they’re drunk, they get loud. Before the alcohol, though, they hardly speak and look almost like fools,” Breckin said to Qiu Fengyu with a grin. “But I like them. They spend freely.”

Qiu Fengyu said nothing, just glanced at the Japanese group. It seemed to be a whole family—men and women, four middle-aged individuals who were likely two couples, and five young people, presumably their children. Among them were two young women. The girls hadn’t drunk, sitting quietly with unreadable expressions.

“Those two Japanese girls are quite something. If you can win over either of them, I’ll say you’re the man—I’ll bet a hundred dollars on it,” Breckin joked.

“I don’t play such childish games,” Qiu Fengyu replied, downing his drink in one gulp before leaving. He had no interest in the noisy scene.

The next day, Sean continued showing the Japanese group around the ranch. Near noon, he brought them to Qiu Fengyu’s noodle shop.

Ten people, ten bowls of noodles—Qiu Fengyu served them. He had known this group would come; after all, his shop had a Chinese name, and the Japanese could roughly understand it. Some of them liked noodles, too.

The Japanese men, young and old, arrived with critical expressions. They were particular, picking up noodles strand by strand and chewing slowly, savoring each bite. Yet after the first mouthful, their eyes widened. They grabbed their chopsticks and began eating quickly, etiquette forgotten. Two of the older men, however, continued to taste each bite slowly, their brows alternately furrowed and relaxed, as if experiencing the full range of life’s flavors.

The younger ones finished quickly. One of them turned to Qiu Fengyu and said, “Another bowl each, please.”

“We’re sold out. Only twenty bowls a day. If you want more, come earlier tomorrow,” Qiu Fengyu replied, unmoved.

“We’ll pay double,” insisted one of them.

“Masatoshi, don’t make things difficult for the gentleman,” one of the Japanese women said to the young man. “Don’t break another’s rules.”

“I understand.” The young man nodded, offering Qiu Fengyu an apologetic smile. “Sorry, sir, my fault.” He spoke in English to Qiu Fengyu, but in Japanese with his companions.

Qiu Fengyu shrugged, then began to clear the tables.

The two older men who had been tasting slowly finally finished. One of them, tears streaming down his face, said to Qiu Fengyu, “Sir, these are the most delicious noodles I’ve ever eaten. Thank you so much.” He even bowed deeply.

“Twenty dollars per bowl, with a five-dollar tip,” Qiu Fengyu said, glancing between the two Japanese men and Sean. “Who will pay?”

Sean looked at the Japanese, then sighed and said, “I’ll pay.”

Qiu Fengyu took the money from Sean, nodded, and said, “Just two dollars for the tip is fine.” He counted out some bills and returned them to Sean.

Sean accepted the change with a smile and was about to usher the Japanese out when the older man who had eaten slowly stood up, bowed formally to Qiu Fengyu, and said, “You are a true master of cuisine. In Japan, someone like you is held in the highest esteem.”

“I’m respected here as well,” Qiu Fengyu replied.

“I mean, if someone like you were to come to Japan, you would create miracles in the culinary world. To craft a bowl of noodles that moves people is a rare accomplishment. The last time I felt this was when I was ten, eating food prepared by the greatest master in our family—sadly, he passed away many years ago. It’s been impossible to find such a master in Japan since.” The man spoke with genuine sincerity.

“What are you trying to say?” Qiu Fengyu asked. “If you’re done eating, please leave. I need to clean up and wash dishes. Damn, I really ought to find someone to help.” The last words were more of a grumble.

The Japanese man bowed deeply again, his expression earnest. “Sir, I would like to invite you to Japan. I will fund your restaurant or hire you as our family’s head chef. You’ll have a brilliant future and will surely become one of the world’s greatest culinary masters. Please, I implore you.”

His gesture surprised the other Japanese, but they seemed to understand—perhaps he was the highest-ranking among them—so they all fell silent.

“If you’re done, go,” Qiu Fengyu said, ushering them out.

“We can offer you a million dollars a year…” the Japanese man said, bowing again. “Rest assured, our family holds masters in the highest regard…”

“A million dollars!” The remaining townsfolk in the shop were stunned by the offer.

“Sean, take them out. Don’t interfere with my business,” Qiu Fengyu said, turning to Sean Biggs.

Sean tried to speak to the Japanese man, but the man quickly upped the offer: “Two million dollars a year—please, sir,” he said, bowing once more.

Qiu Fengyu just shrugged, turned, and walked away.

As he left, the Japanese man stood there, visibly disappointed, unmoving for a long time before finally leaving with his family at Sean’s urging.

As soon as they were gone, the shop erupted. The few diners who remained let out a collective, “Wow—!” Two million dollars a year—such an offer was unheard of in this small town.