Dragon Raja 2; Chapter 56: Dandelion (3)

Dragon Raja 2

No one ever promised to protect Chu Zihang, yet from a young age, he felt he had many people to take care of.

The sound of rain hitting the window echoed in the room. His mother turned over in her sleep and unconsciously kicked Chu Zihang. He pulled the blanket over her again. He figured there wouldn’t be a chance to say goodbye—his mother always slept soundly, and waking her up would only make her angry.

The housekeeper, Aunt Tong, came in, wiping her hands on her apron. “Zihang, are you going out?” She noticed Chu Zihang’s suitcase.

“Yeah, the school term is starting earlier than expected. They called us back,” Chu Zihang nodded. “Red-eye flight.”

“Oh dear, why didn’t you tell your parents? You should’ve had a family dinner, and asked the driver to take you.”

“I told them yesterday. ‘Dad’ has a social engagement tonight,” Chu Zihang said.

“Your ‘dad’ is having dinner with the Land Bureau people tonight,” Aunt Tong explained, implying that his father had to meet important clients and had no choice but to miss sending him off.

“It’s fine,” Chu Zihang said.

He didn’t doubt that if his father had time, he would have arranged a dinner. His father was so successful in business because he handled all aspects of his social life well, including his interactions with Chu Zihang—always gifting and showing care, leaving no gaps for complaints. But Chu Zihang felt he didn’t need such niceties, so he deliberately mentioned his departure the day before, when his father’s dinner with the Land Bureau had already been scheduled and couldn’t be changed.

“Don’t let my mom sleep in the living room again—she’ll catch a cold,” Chu Zihang said.

“No, no, she just fell asleep,” Aunt Tong quickly explained. “Earlier, she was fiddling around in the kitchen, trying to cook something, and she sent me to the supermarket to buy vinegar. When I got back, she was already asleep.”

“Cooking?” Chu Zihang was taken aback—that was truly strange. “Wouldn’t even bother to pick up a fallen oil bottle” seemed like a phrase custom-made for his mother.

“Oh no! She can’t use the stove properly—something might’ve happened in the kitchen!” Chu Zihang was alarmed.

They both hurried to the kitchen, only to be met by a strong burnt smell. The kitchen was filled with smoke, and the exhaust fan hadn’t been turned on. If the smoke had gotten any thicker, the fire alarm would have gone off. Chu Zihang quickly turned off the gas valve, opened all the windows, and as the smoke cleared a bit, Aunt Tong took a badly charred pot off the stove. It was a stainless steel pot imported from Germany that Aunt Tong polished every day until it shone like a mirror.

“What is this?” Chu Zihang covered his nose. The contents of the pot were all burnt to charcoal, and it was impossible to tell what had been cooked.

Chu Zihang guessed that Aunt Annie had taken his mom to another “fashion cooking class,” and it had inspired her to try her hand at cooking again. Those classes were fun— a group of aunties carrying LV, Chanel, and Gucci bags learned cooking step by step from a chef with a “master” vibe. They would cook either “Coconut Protein King Crab with Timbuktu Alsace Pinot Gris” or “Boletus Plums Braised Pork with Gigondas Royal Red Wine.” After each class, his mom would come home and practice on him. Each time, Chu Zihang would face a porcelain plate of unidentifiable food and suggest, “Mom, do you want to taste it yourself?” After tasting it, she would always cry and say, “What I made in class was definitely not like this!” Chu Zihang understood why—during the class, they had prepared ingredients, and there was a chef standing behind, offering real-time guidance. With that kind of support, even an old man from Northern Shaanxi who sold meat buns could make authentic French cuisine.

“This can’t be cleaned out, just throw the whole pot away,” Chu Zihang said.

“I get it! Your mom was making dumplings!” Aunt Tong clapped her thigh.

Chu Zihang was stunned. Dumplings? Did she mean Italian pasta? “Pasta with Matsutake Mushroom Soup and Riesling White Wine”? This dish failed last time, and his mom swore never to make it again.

“‘Up the horse, dumplings; down the horse, noodles’—your mom was making dumplings for you,” Aunt Tong said. “She’s from Shaanxi.”

Chu Zihang instinctively touched his chest; deep inside, something twitched a little. Flour was scattered across the stainless steel countertop in the kitchen island, along with a big rolling pin… No wonder his mom had sent Aunt Tong to buy vinegar. She was making dumplings—dumplings before leaving. It was a tradition that no fashion kitchen chef would teach her, only something passed down from his grandmother: “Handmade Celery Pork Dumplings served with a Selected 2010 Zhenjiang Vinegar.”

No wonder she hadn’t gone out. He’d thought it was because of the rain, Chu Zihang thought.

He fished out a piece of dumpling skin from the pot and put it in his mouth. The taste was really strong; it was as if his nose had been used as a chimney.

“Can’t eat it; just throw it away,” Chu Zihang said, swallowing it anyway.

As he washed his hands in the sink, he suddenly thought of that man. He always felt that man’s life was absurd, like he had the worst luck, boasting about unrelated things, smiling while driving others, watching his wife leave with his son. Only at the end did he reveal that terrifying bloodline. With that kind of bloodline, he could have easily attained so much.

A bloodline that ruled over others, capable of killing as effortlessly as cutting through paper.

Yet, despite being so powerful, why did he hide that bloodline, lower himself to serve and coax his wife, and live a “normal” life?

What is a hybrid? It’s something between a human and a dragon. Even if what you do concerns the survival of humanity, you yourself are not a true human. When your bloodline burns, your pupils turn golden, just like a dragon’s. Through the golden dragon eyes, the world looks completely different. Dragons live by the rule of strength; if there were a Blizzard ladder ranking in their world, it would be constantly cleansed with blood and death.

A king is always killed by a new king.