Kitchen doesn't fall, love doesn't grow old.

Author: Ren Yan
Publisher:
Publish Date: 2006-06-01
Features: I thought that after resigning and staying at home, I could finally live a peaceful life sheltered from wind and rain, cooking my own meals. Who knew that less than a week later, I would realize that staying home quietly could still lead to "unexpected misfortunes." For me, this was the daughter of my landlord getting married. Don't misunderstand—I'm not bothered that the fat girl's fiancé isn't me. What bothers me is that their new home is the very apartment I'm renting. In other words, I'm not just unemployed; I might even join the ranks of the "floating population." Listen, "floating population"! It's not far from being "riff-raff."
At the time, the situation was like this: A newlywed couple, carrying a bag of wedding candies and a box of wedding cigarettes, arrived unannounced. The bride was plump like the English letter "D," while the groom was thin as a stick, like the letter "I." Together, they looked like an online chat "ID." The moment they stepped inside, the bride took the groom around, crashing and bumping, completely ignoring me—like robbers had entered. I cleared my throat to get their attention, and the bride finally greeted me, "Master Gong!" (What kind of address is that?) Then she handed me the wedding candies and cigarettes, pushing them toward me: "These are our wedding candies. You have to eat one."
"Congratulations to the two of you!" I took the candies, and the groom handed me another pack of cigarettes: "Here's this too." I don't smoke, so I politely declined the cigarettes: "I don't smoke. You can keep this to harm others." The groom immediately shoved the cigarettes into his pocket, as if afraid I might change my mind, and a timid smile appeared on his face.
The candies were accepted, and congratulations were given. I was about to ask them to leave when the bride explained their purpose: "Master Gong, we want to get married." "Go ahead. I'm not stopping you. For marriage certificates, you go to the civil affairs bureau. This isn't my department." I said.
"My intention is that we need to get married in this house. Please make it convenient for us. Do you understand what I mean?" After hearing this, I felt a chill run down my neck. Of course, I understood. It meant I couldn't rent this house anymore. Thinking of this, I glanced back at my newly renovated kitchen and felt a pang of sorrow.
When I first rented this house, the kitchen was disgustingly dirty. Cockroaches were so bold they walked around with their families on the floor. On the day I moved in, they were unusually active. I thought they were either showing me a challenge or just checking out their new human. Following the principle of "either they go or I go," I exterminated them for three whole days. Then I gave the kitchen a thorough cleaning and had someone repair the range hood. I even sold the gas stove myself—their presence felt like they were my loyal companions. How could I not feel sorrow?
Coincidentally, the bride led the groom to see the kitchen, constantly exclaiming, "Clean! So clean!" This was like pouring fuel on the fire. You'd think she was a fine young woman, not yet 25, who wasn't thinking about contributing to socialist construction but was getting married for no reason? I originally wanted to encourage them to marry later, but then I remembered making sweet potato and cornmeal porridge this morning, and evil took hold of me. Since I couldn't rent the house anymore, I had to vent my anger. Was it to starve the two of them with porridge? No, I wasn't that cruel. Besides, I'd already eaten it all this morning—only enough to fill myself up. Sweet potatoes are great; they're low in calories but sweet. Making porridge with cornmeal is both nutritious and delicious... I was going to turn the sweet potatoes into a weapon (smirk).