Chapter 139 A dignified Tsinghua University professor, squatting in the cold wind to wash vegetables

Why would you send a leading figure in the architecture department of Tsinghua University to wash cabbages by a pond?

Wang Cunzhuan stood frozen in front of the enormous basket covered in fresh black mud for a full half minute.

The cold autumn wind swept through the hall, swirling up a few fallen leaves and making his stubborn hair on his head look disheveled.

He looked down at his hands, which were heavily insured by the state.

These hands usually hold precision drawing pens with millimeter-level accuracy, and caress priceless ancient trees.

Now, they're actually using it to scrape the mud off the roots of cabbages?

Wang Cunzhu raised his head again and looked two meters away.

Lin Mo was leaning against a mottled pillar, holding a chipped enamel mug in his hand, slowly blowing on the floating tea leaves.

That nonchalant attitude, as if he didn't even bother to glance at them, was clearly a way of turning away customers.

Wang Cunzun was torn between his inner thoughts and his own.

If the associate professors and doctoral students in the department saw this, the backbone of Tsinghua University's Department of Ancient Architecture would probably be broken.

But his gaze, uncontrollably, drifted upwards again.

It landed on the old red pine crossbeam that was firmly supported in mid-air, without a single modern nail.

The ingeniously crafted "hidden cross" mortise and tenon joint is like a black hole with a fatal attraction.

It firmly held his lifelong academic beliefs.

Faced with true, timeless skills, a scholar's pride is less important than these wood chips scattered on the ground.

"Yes, Master! I'll take this job!"

Wang Cuncun gritted his teeth, and the fat on his cheeks twitched twice.

He made his next move with unexpectedly swift and decisive action.

He ripped off the well-tailored, high-end Italian-made suit jacket.

Without even glancing at it, he casually placed it on a broken wooden board covered in white ash next to him.

Immediately afterwards, he used both hands to quickly roll up the cuffs of his white shirt, all the way up to his elbows.

Two thin, bony arms with bulging veins were exposed.

With a "whoosh".

Wang Cunzun strode forward and, without a care in the world, plopped down next to the moss-covered tap water pool.

The icy cold tap water gushed out, instantly soaking the cuffs of his dress pants.

This senior expert, who enjoys special government allowances, not only didn't avoid the issue, but instead sharpened his gaze and adopted the posture of someone undertaking a major research project.

"Master, you can rest assured."

Wang Cunzhu grabbed a heavy head of cabbage and loudly declared his stance without turning his head.

"These hands of mine have peeled away the most fragile Han Dynasty bamboo slips in the laboratory."

"When washing vegetables, the key is to apply even pressure and never damage the integrity of the plant fibers."

"I guarantee that every single leaf will be treated to be as translucent as a newly unearthed jade artifact!"

Lin Mo listened to this hardcore, academic declaration on washing vegetables, and the corner of his mouth twitched almost imperceptibly.

He didn't reply, but simply put down the enamel teacup in his hand and turned to walk towards a makeshift stove in the corner of the yard.

It was a simple earthen stove built with a few discarded red bricks, with chopped scrap wood piled up next to it.

Lin Mo skillfully grabbed a handful of dry wood shavings and stuffed them into the stove.

Light a match and throw it in; the flame leaps up instantly.

The orange-red flames danced in the cool air, making soft crackling sounds, adding a touch of warmth to the desolate courtyard.

Lin Mo took out a piece of pork fat about the size of a palm from the bamboo basket next to him that had a hole in it.

He cut this off from the meat stall when he went to the market that morning.

The original plan was to render some lard to moisturize the pieces of sandalwood that had been stored for too long and were somewhat dry.

But now, looking at that free laborer shivering in the cold water.

Lin Mo felt it was more practical to first satisfy the old man's hunger.

He picked up the dark, even slightly chipped, wide-backed iron cleaver from the cutting board.

He casually rubbed it a couple of times on the whetstone next to him.

A flash of cold light.

With just a few gentle flicks of his wrist, Lin Mo transformed the sticky piece of pork fat into uniform half-centimeter cubes.

There are no fancy moves, only precision and stability from muscle memory.

The iron pot was emitting a faint blue smoke from the firewood burning underneath.

Lin Mo casually picked up the back of the knife and scraped it, pushing all the fat on the cutting board into the bottom of the pot.

"Sizzle—"

A loud bang.

An intense, almost tangible aroma of oil exploded instantly under the catalysis of high temperature.

The pure smell of animal fat, carried by the autumn wind swirling through the alley, quickly filled the air of the entire backyard.

Wang Cunxin, who was squatting by the pool, scrutinizing a mud spot on a cabbage leaf, suddenly twitched his nose twice.

His hand movements abruptly stopped.

To control his blood pressure and cholesterol, Wang Cunzhen is strictly managed by his wife, the director of a top-tier hospital, who is more controlling than a prisoner.

Every meal consisted of boiled broccoli with whole grain rice, and even stir-fries were limited to just two drops of olive oil.

He couldn't remember the last time he had smelled that rich, earthy aroma of savory meat.

The smell was so strong, it assaulted his nostrils and directly aroused the most primal cravings in his stomach.

"Gurgle..."

A loud protest came from inside Wang Cunzhen's stomach.

"Are you done washing?"

Lin Mo's voice drifted over through the faint smoke from the cooking oil, still in that relaxed and slow tone.

"Alright, alright! Not only are they clean, but I've also cut them all into thin strips as you instructed!"

Wang Cuncun, feeling as if he had been granted a pardon, rushed over in a hurry, carrying a red plastic basin the size of a washbasin.

His hands, which he used to hold a pen for years, were now red from the icy water, and his knuckles were even a little stiff.

But the shredded cabbage in the plastic basin was cut in a way that was truly astonishing.

Each one is about two millimeters thick, all the same length, and arranged neatly.

It exudes an infuriatingly meticulous and obsessive-compulsive quality cultivated from years of making miniature models.

Lin Mo glanced at the results in the basin and nodded in satisfaction.

"Okay, let's find a place to sit and wait."

Lin Mo took the rather heavy plastic basin with one hand, his movements calm and unhurried.

With a flick of his wrist, he poured the entire bowl of fresh, juicy shredded cabbage into the iron pot that had already released golden scum.

"Whoosh—"

The sweet steam and the scalding lard met instantly, creating a violent clash.

Amidst the rising white steam, Lin Mo's slender fingers picked up a bag of salt worth two yuan.

He didn't use a spoon to measure it; he simply picked up a pinch and lightly shook it in mid-air.

The coarse salt grains traced a graceful arc and scattered evenly in the center of the pot.

Immediately afterwards, Lin Mo picked up a bowl of thick soy milk with a little white foam on it.

That was an extra bowl he deliberately asked for when he bought breakfast that morning, which he poured directly into the pot along the side.

What was originally an ordinary clear soup and water underwent a wonderful chemical reaction the moment soy milk and pork cracklings were added.

The broth quickly turned into a rich and enticing milky white.

This method is not common; it was a self-taught technique that Lin Mo learned from a reclusive master when he traveled around the Suzhou and Hangzhou area in his previous life.

The fire in the earthen stove was burning brightly.

The milky white broth in the pot began to boil violently, making an enticing "bubbling" sound.

Lin Mo casually picked up the last two pieces of braised tofu that had hardened a bit on the cutting board.

Instead of using a knife, he used his hands to break it into irregular pieces and threw them into the boiling soup.

The rough surface of tofu allows it to absorb the oil and umami flavor from the broth to the maximum extent.

"Alright, eat up."

Lin Mo pulled out a large, rough porcelain bowl from under the stove, filled it to the brim, and handed it to Wang Cunzhu, who was sitting next to him, swallowing hard.

Wang Cunzun didn't bother with formalities at all.

He didn't even have time to drink water in the morning because he was rushing to explore the ruins of a late Qing Dynasty prince's mansion.

Having spent half a day in the cold wind and then done half an hour of physical labor, I was now completely soaked.

He took the slightly rough-looking large bowl with both hands.

The scalding heat penetrated the porcelain wall and reached his frozen palms, making him shiver comfortably.

Before Wang Cunzhen could even hold his chopsticks properly, he eagerly lowered his head and slurped a mouthful of the milky white hot soup along the rim of the bowl.

The moment the broth touches your mouth.

The Tsinghua professor was jolted, as if struck by an electric current.

The rich and powerful aroma of lard explodes on the tip of your tongue first.

Next comes the fresh, sweet taste of cabbage, full of moisture, which cleverly neutralizes the greasiness of the oil.

Finally, there was that piece of old tofu that had soaked up all the broth.

Even though it was so hot it made my tongue numb, just a gentle sip and the aroma of beans and meat would melt completely in my mouth.

That warm and comforting feeling slid down my esophagus into my stomach, instantly dispelling all the chill and fatigue.

"Hiss—"

Wang Cunzhuan let out a long sigh of relief, his thick glasses instantly fogged up by the heat.

He didn't even bother to take off his glasses to wipe them.

He grabbed his chopsticks, picked up a large piece of pork cracklings and shredded cabbage, stuffed it into his mouth, and began to chew it without any regard for his image.

"I've lived almost fifty years (48 years old)... and spent my whole life in academia..."

Wang Cunchu chewed with his cheeks bulging, his voice surprisingly trembling.

"I have attended so many high-level forums and eaten so many delicacies in star-rated hotels."

"So... the most amazing thing in the world is actually this cabbage and tofu soup?"

He suddenly looked up and stared intently at Lin Mo, who was leisurely sipping his tea, through his blurry glasses.

At that moment, Lin Mo in Wang Cun's eyes had undergone a qualitative transformation.

This is no longer some ancient architecture master, this is simply a culinary god descending to earth, a dimensional attack!

"Master! I'm impressed not only by the mortise and tenon joints, but also by your craftsmanship... I'm completely convinced!"

Wang Cunzhu slurped up another mouthful of hot soup, sweating profusely as he ate.

"I'm not leaving! As long as you provide me with one meal a day, I'll do anything, even take care of washing cabbages or emptying chamber pots at the alley entrance!"

He loudly swore allegiance while sweeping away the rough porcelain bowl, which was bigger than his face, with great speed and efficiency.

Forget about the reserve of experts and scholars, forget about the face of university professors.

At that moment, he chewed it all up and swallowed it.

I've completely degenerated into a lowly foodie who would abandon all principles for a bowl of hot soup.

"Uncle, please don't call me Master anymore. My name is Lin Mo, you can just call me Little Lin."

"That won't do. I'll still call you Teacher Lin. My name is Wang Cuncun. It's a bit common, but that doesn't matter."

"Wang... savings?? Hahaha, then I'll call you Uncle Wang."

This name does not quite match the person.

Just as Wang Cuncun was licking the last drop of soup from the bottom of the bowl, practically wanting to bury his face in it, he was...

The old, heavily peeling black lacquered gate of the courtyard house creaked softly.

The door was gently pushed open a crack.

Immediately afterwards, a small head peeked in.

Jiang Ruoyun was wearing a minimalist beige trench coat today, with the belt casually tied around her waist, outlining her slender and graceful figure.

She was carefully carrying two steaming cups of milk tea.

This is the trendy item that she bought after queuing for a full forty minutes, walking around two streets.

He even specifically instructed the staff that Lin Mo's drink must be slightly sweet, without ice, and with double taro balls.

Jiang Ruoyun originally planned to sneak in quietly and give that guy who always had a calm expression a surprise.

She even mentally prepared her remarks, planning to haughtily complain about how slow the repairs on this dilapidated courtyard were.

However, as she lightly stepped across the threshold, her gaze passed over the dilapidated screen wall.

When it landed in the corner of the backyard where there was a pile of wood.

Jiang Ruoyun froze on the spot.

There it was, by the pool covered in mud and vegetable leaves.

A middle-aged man wearing a white shirt, but covered in black mud and oil stains.

He was squatting on a piece of broken wood, completely lacking any decorum.

He hugged a large bowl bigger than his head with extremely wild movements, and licked the bottom of the bowl until it was shiny.

The middle-aged man wore thick-rimmed black glasses, and his expression was one of blissful ecstasy, as if he had just eaten some kind of heavenly elixir.

Behind him, on the muddy ground, lay a suit jacket that looked quite expensive.

The image is so impactful; it looks like a seasoned homeless person who has gone insane due to bankruptcy and is now living on the streets.

Jiang Ruoyun turned her neck somewhat stiffly.

She looked at Lin Mo, who was leaning against the door frame, looking calm as if nothing had happened.

"Lin Mo..."

Jiang Ruoyun's voice was filled with a deep sense of existential doubt, and her fingertips trembled slightly.

She pointed to the uncle who was still intently scrubbing an empty bowl, even considering washing the bottom of the pot, and hesitated before speaking.

"Who...who is this beggar uncle?"