Chapter 222 - 146: Silent Tofu
[A Pile of High-Quality Baby Bok Choy]
Lines of Identification results floated past Zhou Yan’s eyes. He stopped, bent down, and picked up two bundles of baby bok choy tied with straw. Each bundle was over a pound and cost only ten cents.
He continued on.
[A Pile of Misshapen White Radishes]
[A Piece of Perfect Tofu]
Zhou Yan stopped short. He looked toward a small folding table tucked away in a corner, upon which sat two blocks of tofu.
[A Piece of Perfect Tofu]
[A Piece of Good Tofu]
The two blocks of tofu looked identical, but their Identification results were completely different.
’Between [Perfect] and [Good] were two entire tiers: [Very Good] and [Extremely Good].’
Zhou Yan glanced at the stall’s owner. Behind the small table sat a boy of sixteen or seventeen. He looked very thin, dressed in an ill-fitting, faded indigo Zhongshan suit. His pants had several patches, and he wore a pair of straw sandals, his exposed big toes red from the cold.
The boy looked up just then, and his eyes met Zhou Yan’s. He shyly lowered his head.
Zhou Yan couldn’t help but shake his head. ’This kid isn’t cut out for business. He gets shy just from looking at a man. If he saw a young woman, he’d probably bury his head in his pants.’
He glanced ahead. Sure enough, there were three other tofu stalls. He walked on.
[A Piece of Good Tofu]
[A Piece of Very Good Tofu]
[A Piece of Good Tofu]
Carrying two heads of Napa cabbage, Zhou Yan turned back and stopped in front of the boy’s tofu stall.
Tofu wasn’t a novelty. The people of Sichuan loved to eat it and were skilled at making it.
As a result, there were plenty of people selling it.
But a block of tofu Identified as [Perfect]... Zhou Yan had to try it and see what that was all about.
The best rating the others had managed was only [Very Good].
’Perfect... what a rare description.’
While other vendors couldn’t wait to push their stalls into the middle of the path, this tofu stall was set back half a meter, leaving the walkway clear.
The boy was certainly law-abiding. But between his obedience and his shyness, the two blocks of pristine white tofu still sat on his small table, completely untouched. He hadn’t sold a single piece.
"How much for a catty of tofu?" Zhou Yan asked.
The boy looked up at him and pointed to his own ear.
"Hm?" Zhou Yan frowned.
"He’s a mute, and deaf too. Can’t hear, can’t speak," the auntie selling vegetables at the next stall said, sighing as she looked at the boy.
’So he’s deaf and mute.’ Zhou Yan froze for a second. Looking at the fine-featured boy behind the table, he felt a pang of unease.
But the boy looked up, grinned at him to reveal a set of straight teeth, and held up two fingers.
’Even in this situation, he’s flashing a peace sign at life?’ Zhou Yan was moved by his optimistic spirit.
"He means it’s twenty cents a catty," the vegetable auntie translated for him, her voice full of pity. "Same price as the others, but his tofu is a bit more tender. He’s at a disadvantage, not being able to talk. This is his third time coming, and all three times he couldn’t even sell half of it."
Zhou Yan winced, cringing so hard his toes tried to dig their way through his soles.
"This block," Zhou Yan said, pointing to the first one and holding up a single finger. "One catty."
’Perfect tofu. I have to taste what that’s like.’
The boy picked up a tofu knife and made two swift, light cuts, slicing off a perfect square of tofu. He wrapped it in oiled paper, tied it with a piece of straw, and hooked it onto a small steelyard scale to weigh it. The beam of the scale swung high.
’He needs more practice. That’s easily a couple of ounces over.’
The boy handed the tofu to Zhou Yan, still holding up two fingers.
Zhou Yan thought for a moment, then pointed to the second block of tofu and held up one finger again. "This one, too. One catty."
The boy stared, then shook his head. He pointed at the first block of tofu, an anxious look on his face. His slender fingers flew in a flurry of movement that looked like sign language.
Unfortunately, Zhou Yan couldn’t understand. It was like playing a harp for a cow.
"I want this block," Zhou Yan insisted.
’Clearly, the boy knows which one is better and wants me to buy that one.’
’But I want one good piece and one that’s not as good.’
’Otherwise, how could I tell what makes the perfect tofu so perfect?’
’Even experiments need a control group.’
Zhou Yan’s presence was more intimidating. Though the boy didn’t understand, he still cut a piece from the second block for him.
This time, the scale’s beam swung even higher.
’He really does need more practice. This one’s over by at least four ounces.’
Zhou Yan took the tofu, handed over fifty cents, and turned to leave.
The boy stared at the money for a moment, then got up as if to chase him.
"He’s a kind man. If he gives it to you, just take it," the vegetable auntie said, holding him back.
The boy clutched the money but shook his head.
Zhou Yan walked back to his bicycle, placed the vegetables in the basket, and then carefully set the two blocks of tofu on top of them.
"Tofu for lunch?" Comrade Zhou asked, sounding a little surprised.
"Yep. This is some really good tofu," Zhou Yan said with a smile and a nod. He gripped the handlebars, but he still felt a little unsettled.
"Dad, wait for me for another ten minutes," Zhou Yan said, then turned and walked back again.
The boy’s expression fell. He looked up instinctively and, upon seeing Zhou Yan, his face broke into a smile. He immediately held out a ten-cent coin toward him.
"I’m not here for the ten cents. I came to teach you how to sell your tofu," Zhou Yan said, smiling and waving his hand dismissively. He pulled a Parker fountain pen from his pocket and took a sheet of the kraft paper the boy used for wrapping.
On the back, he swiftly wrote two words: Silent Tofu.
He outlined them and made them bold.