The Shaw house sat in the west of the county town. This area was older, economically lagging, dominated by large but haphazardly arranged dwellings lining a wide central road. While the government pushed development north and south – sprouting tall, modern buildings, a new market, and a bus station – attracting those with money to buy homes and shops, West Street remained stubbornly unchanged.
Old Shaw, Nigel's grandfather, had been a skilled carpenter whose reputation brought steady work. Tragically, his son squandered the accumulated wealth. The house was the sole inheritance. Nigel himself likely knew the trade – his daughter's childhood essays mentioned toys and carts he'd crafted, sparking classmates' envy – but he hadn't pursued it.
The immediate neighbors were the Wangs on one side and an empty house on the other. Behind lived the Lius. The Wangs had a daughter just starting university. Uncle Wang rented a butcher stall in the market and did freelance slaughtering in villages; Aunt May sometimes helped at the stall. Their business seemed prosperous; they were the first nearby to own a telephone and television. The original "Jiang Rou," however, rarely ventured out, leaving her largely unfamiliar with the neighbors.
Aunt May hurried to Jade's door. "Quick! Nigel's on the phone! Still holding!" Jade obediently locked up and followed.
Aunt May was a plump, rosy-cheeked woman with a naturally warm demeanor. As they walked, she chatted amiably. "That's quite a belly! Five, six months?"
"Six and a bit," Jade replied softly.
"Oh, my dear!" Aunt May's face creased with concern. "You're much too thin! That Nigel, leaving you like this! You tell him he needs to get back soon. The later it gets, the harder it is. Some babies come early, you know!" Jade smiled. She knew the daughter's birthday was October 17th; that's why she hadn't protested Nigel leaving. The idea of being helpless without a man felt alien. The women she knew – her university dean scolding students while giving birth, female officers chasing suspects at eight months pregnant, her sister-in-law negotiating deals in full makeup – they all powered through. Their resilience had steeled her.
Aunt May subtly appraised Jade. Living next door, she knew little about the couple. The girl had just appeared one day, keeping the gate shut tight, silent. Seeing her later, pregnant, confirmed suspicions. Nigel's bad-boy reputation made fathering a child unsurprising; his looks had always drawn girls. Aunt May's own plump daughter had once fancied him. Though relieved that ship had sailed (her daughter was in university, destined for better than a laborer like Nigel), seeing Jade's delicate beauty – the petite oval face, fair skin, fine brows, and large, bright almond eyes – stirred an odd pang. He didn't deserve this either. Shaking off the uncharitable thought, she focused on being neighborly, ushering Jade inside.
"Talk! He can hear you!" Aunt May whispered urgently, holding the receiver to Jade's ear, clearly intending to eavesdrop.
Jade flushed. Nigel's voice, low and resonant, vibrated through the earpiece, sending a shiver down her neck. "Jade?"
"Yeah," she murmured.
A simple "Hmm" came back. Silence stretched. Jade, familiar with his reticence, knew she had to break it, especially with Aunt May pretending to dust nearby. She turned slightly. "When did you get there? Everything okay?"
"This morning. Fine."
Succinct, as always. Jade feigned relief. "Good. But… wasn't it just the next city? It took this long?"
"Job there finished. Moved sites."
Jade's stomach tightened. "Moved? Far?" Is he already trapped? But if trapped, could he call? Reluctance won. "Maybe… come back? I've been worried. I hear construction sites are rough. There are other ways to earn money."
A soft chuckle came through the line. "It's fine here. Food's decent. Pay's good. Stop worrying."
"Really?"
"Hmm."
Seeing persuasion futile, Jade conceded. "Okay. Just… be safe. Don't worry about the money. Come home soon." Was it the line, or did a beat pass before his voice, slightly husky, replied, "Okay."
"I'll hang up then."
"Hmm."
---
In a dim, cramped room, Nigel slowly lowered the receiver. A thin, dark-skinned man beside him grinned, revealing yellowed teeth. "See, Boss? Told ya! Stick with us, we're family! Make big money, treat the missus right, eh?"
Nigel let out a short laugh. He leaned back, crossing his legs, plucking the cigarette tucked behind his ear and placing it between his lips. The man scrambled for matches on the rickety table, lighting it obsequiously.
Nigel inhaled, exhaling smoke. "Family?" he drawled.
"Family!" the man affirmed eagerly. This guy was sharp, tough. Two days of "training" bounced right off him. Instead, the man found himself playing lackey. He'd be perfect for scamming others.
Nigel gave a lazy smirk. "Alright." He shoved the table away with his foot. It groaned in protest, cups and bowls rattling. He stood. "Show me how to be… family."
Mistaking compliance for acceptance, the man eagerly followed.
Twenty-odd other people huddled against the walls, filthy, clutching bowls of watery rice gruel. They watched the two leave, no one daring to touch the untouched steamed buns on the table. In the corner, Chuck Zhu watched Nigel's retreating back, a wave of bitter envy washing over him. Same trap. He's running the show. I'm stuck with slop.
---
Jade hung up. Aunt May beamed, dust cloth hovering. "All done?"
"…" Jade smiled back. "Yes. Thank you, Aunt May. I'll head back." Unsure about phone charges, she pulled fifty cents from her pocket. "For the trouble."
"Oh, nonsense! Calls don't cost anything here!" Aunt May pushed the money back.
Jade insisted. "I might need to use it again. Can't always impose. Please, take it, or I won't dare come back." Outmaneuvered, Aunt May accepted. "Wait here!" She bustled to the kitchen, returning with a bundle of slippery pig intestines tied with straw. "Not much to offer, just some offal. My man brought it back from a village slaughter this morning. Fresh. Stir-fry it with chilies, makes a decent bite." The Wangs believed in good neighborly relations, especially when met with courtesy. Jade was the first caller to offer payment.
Jade accepted graciously. "Thank you, Auntie."
"Of course, dear!"
After a brief exchange, Jade, holding the offal, carefully made her way back next door, waving off Aunt May's offer to escort her.
It was still early. Low on groceries, Jade grabbed an umbrella and headed to the market. Besides fresh produce, she bought spices. Stir-fried offal? She preferred braised. Plus, braising preserved it better in the heat.
Her cooking skills came from her mother and a personal passion fueled by countless online recipes in her past life. But Jade wasn't just indulging a craving. Aunt May's words – "lots of offal," "stir-fry makes it edible" – revealed these parts were cheap and underutilized locally.
It made sense. Decades of scarcity meant most people focused on filling bellies, not flavor. Though reforms had created pockets of wealth, many here still struggled. The real boom came post-2000. Shops selling southern fashions, trendy salons, video rentals, and eateries were only just appearing amidst rising unemployment.
Maybe I can sell food, Jade thought. No grand plans yet; survival came first. Her baby deserved formula, not watered-down rice gruel. Cooking was her only marketable skill.
That afternoon, she tackled the pig intestines. Cleaning them was laborious: rinse, scrub with salt, baking soda, and starch, rinse again, turn inside out, trim excess fat (leaving some for flavor), then scrub with rice wine, liquor, baking soda, and starch once more. Multiple rinses followed before a cold-water blanch with ginger and rice wine. Finally, a warm water wash.
Aunt May likely skipped these steps, hence the reliance on strong chilies to mask the smell.
The real magic happened before bed. Jade heated oil in the wok, melted rock sugar until caramelized, then fried scallions, ginger, star anise, cinnamon, dried chilies, bay leaves, fennel, and Sichuan peppercorns. Water went in next – a lot, given the generous portion. She added the intestines, soy sauce, salt, and a precious half-spoon of oyster sauce (a coastal import still novel and cheap inland).
She banked the fire low under the wok, letting it simmer overnight.
Her skill proved true. By morning, the transformation was complete: rich, aromatic broth clung to the deeply colored intestines. The heavy scent was gone, replaced by an irresistible savory fragrance. Jade savored a bowl of noodles topped with the braised offal for breakfast.
Later that morning, armed with half-sewn baby clothes and a plate of the braised pork intestines, Jade headed back to the Wangs.