Big Data Cultivation-Chapter 557 - Legend of the Small Town

Chapter 557 -557 Legend of the Small Town

This chapter is updat𝙚d by freeweɓnovel.cøm.

Feng Jun arrived home at five o’clock in the afternoon that day.

It was already November, and the weather in Zhengyang was clear and fine, with temperatures not too low, but in Yuyuan, it just wasn’t the same.

Continuous rain had been falling for two days, and although it was still further south, there was a bone-chilling coolness.

Li Xiaobin had originally planned to book the presidential suite at the Forestry Guesthouse for Feng Jun, but Feng Jun said, “Today I’m going home to stay.”

“A son doesn’t despise his mother’s ugliness, nor a dog its home’s poverty, ” he thought to himself. Not having properly stayed home during his last two visits was already quite inappropriate.

Feng Jun hadn’t informed anyone of his return. He found a familiar security guard at the Forestry Guesthouse through Gazi and quietly parked his car in the hotel’s parking lot before walking home under an umbrella.

Only after he got home did he call the small grocery store to say he had arrived.

Since starting university, he had been away from home for seven years, and that cramped, seven-square-meter partitioned room was roughly the same as it had been when he left it seven years earlier.

Only now, there were a few cloth-wrapped bundles on the hand-made bed that was one-meter-and-thirty centimeters wide, the kind with knots tied diagonally.

In the big city, such outdated methods of packing were no longer seen. Most people used clothing storage bags or even vacuum-sealed bags, but Feng Jun felt a sudden surge of affection upon seeing these bundles.

Since he could remember, the arrangement at home had been about the same. Back then, his grandparents were still around, the house facing the street hadn’t yet been torn down, and his second uncle also lived nearby.

Before long, having heard the news, Zhang Junyi came back, carrying a fish and a slaughtered chicken in her hands, and said with a smile, “Finally, you know to come home to stay. Your dad is just settling up accounts, he’ll be back in a bit… I’ll go cook for you.”

“Let me do it,” said Feng Jun as he stepped forward with a smile. His mother certainly treated him well, but her cooking skills… it was better left unsaid. The young lady of the Zhang family, a product of a cultured family, handled pickling vegetables and steaming eggs reasonably well; the rest was mediocre.

Most of the time, her duties involved picking, washing, and chopping vegetables. The real frying, boiling, and stir-frying had to be done by Feng Wenhui.

The old courtyard relied on a communal tap, and mother and son busied themselves under it. Neighbors came and went in the courtyard and quickly noticed him, “Oh, Xiao Jun is back?”

The neighbors all knew that the Feng family’s child had made something of himself. There was even talk that he might spend several billion on contracting the forests in the county—Chaoyang was such a tiny place, any small stir would be known throughout the county.

People speculated that the rumor might be true, especially since County Chief Chi had personally visited their small courtyard, and some had seen Chao Ying enter Feng family’s small grocery store.

But when others asked Feng Wenhui and his wife about it, the couple would just smile and say that it was all being handled by Xiao Jun and they weren’t clear on the details.

As for how much it might cost to contract the forests, they answered even more straightforwardly: that was all the child’s doing—we just have our little grocery store, how much could we possibly earn?

So the neighbors understood that the Feng family had gained the county’s esteem because of Feng Jun—the child had always been extraordinary.

There were six families in total in the courtyard, three of the old neighbors had moved into apartment buildings. Two of them had let their relatives stay in their houses, while the other had rented their place out.

So among the courtyard’s residents, Feng Jun was only really familiar with the two remaining old neighbors, as well as the relatives of the other two former neighbors to some extent.

While they were talking, Feng Wenhui came back, his hand holding a plastic bag of vegetables, and he said excitedly, “I told your second uncle about you, and he said he’ll come over for a drink later. He mentioned he’d bring a roast lamb leg from the hotel.”

The Feng couple, working together to cook, were quite quick. Zhang Junyi’s cooking skills might have been lacking, but she had a good hand with the knife—unfortunately, she often cut her fingers. In Feng Jun’s memory, his mother must have cut her fingers at least three or four times.

In just about an hour, a table full of steaming hot dishes was ready. Then, Second Uncle Feng Wencheng also arrived, flanked by his wife and her brother, Ze Ping.

It was fine for two brothers’ families to dine together, but the presence of the second aunt’s brother was a bit awkward.

However, in a small place like Chaoyang, most people were still quite hospitable. You saw the same faces every day, and besides, the visitor was a relative—just an extra set of chopsticks, after all.

No sooner had everyone just sat down than the old neighbor, Uncle Gen, came back home. His family wasn’t well-off, but he was a good man and enjoyed his cheap liquor, so Zhang Junyi stood up and called him over, “Xiao Gen, come join us for a drink.”

Uncle Gen hesitated and then lifted the plastic bag in his hand, “I’ve bought some baked buns.”

His wife and kids were waiting at home with a pot of seaweed and egg soup for his baked buns. It wouldn’t be right for him to eat alone here.

“Ah, take some of our dishes with you, just bring your own plate from home,” Feng Wenhui called out loudly. “You come have a drink… We’re one chair short, bring your own.”

This was how it was with old neighbors: it was normal to share whatever good food you had at home, and sometimes, to avoid the hassle of washing dishes, you would even ask them to bring their own bowls.

Today’s meal was certainly lavish enough. There was no way everyone present could finish it, so sharing a bit with the neighbors wouldn’t make a difference.

However, to naturally get people to bring their own bowls, chopsticks, and chairs, it would take Feng Wenhui to step up—Feng Jun could do it too, but his mother simply couldn’t manage.

Coming from a family of scholars, they just couldn’t learn the common touch of the city streets. Over time, everyone realized she was just not adept at cozying up to people; knowing her heart wouldn’t mind, they didn’t care either.

However, Zhang Junyi had a little scheme today. Her initiative to invite the neighbors for drinks wasn’t because there were too few people drinking. She just didn’t want to listen to Zhang Zeping, the uninvited guest, prattling on about certain matters.

The dishes were homemade, and the Fen liquor brought by Feng Jun was thirty years old. People in Chaoyang were more accustomed to drinking distilled spirits, but this liquor was tasty, not too pricey, and didn’t stick out like Moutai or foreign alcohol.

At first, everyone was concerned about Feng Jun’s business, and Feng Jun didn’t want to say much, giving vague answers like “business is alright, I guess.”

Then the conversation gradually shifted to reality, talking about the demolition plans.

The street where Feng Jun’s home was finally going to be widened. This had been talked about for seven or eight years, and two different administrations hadn’t managed to tackle it, mainly because it used to be the main street of the county town, and the cost of renovating the old street was too high.

Uncle Gen even joked, “Everyone says it’s all thanks to Xiao Jun for contracting the mountain land; otherwise, it still wouldn’t have happened.”

“What can my little money do?” Feng Jun laughed, “I heard it’s the provincial government’s intention; they want to vigorously support tourism. Our street here is a little detrimental to the county’s image.”

“Hey, you call that a little money?” Uncle Wencheng gave him a look, “Paying the contract fee in one lump sum, only you could come up with that. With that amount of money, why not do something else?”

“The value of money is dropping by the day; it’s better to pay upfront,” Feng Jun laughed, “By planting trees, they grow every day, but money just depreciates when sitting idle.”

“Right, how much are you planning to spend anyway?” Uncle Gen, a bit tipsy and talkative, asked, “Some say 1.5 billion, others say 2 billion. Can you give me a solid number?”

“Where would I get so much money? It’s all exaggerations and exaggerations,” Feng Jun replied with a smile, “Just a few billion, the exact amount is undecided.”

In fact, the number was already set; he had come back to sign the contract, but… was this the right occasion to say so?

“A few billion is not a small amount,” Uncle Gen slurred, “You’ve made it big, even helping Gazi out. When will you give Uncle Gen a hand, huh?”

Laughing, Feng Jun replied, “Gazi at my place just earns a basic salary; it’s mainly because he’s from out of town. Using people from home feels more reliable and trustworthy.”

“Gazi is indeed pretty decent,” Wencheng chimed in, “Otherwise, I wouldn’t have brought him into the guesthouse. It’s just too bad about his epilepsy; couldn’t find a more suitable job for him… I heard he’s doing better now?”

“He hasn’t had an episode in a long time,” Feng Jun answered carefully, “As for recurrence… who can say for sure?”

“Oh dear, then don’t let him drive,” the aunt spoke up, “If he has an episode while driving your car, regardless of the vehicle getting damaged, what if he hits someone or gets hurt himself? That would all be trouble for you.”

The aunt’s words were reasonable, but her brother Zhang Zeping, slightly influenced by alcohol, spoke rather brashly, “Xiao Jun, to be honest, you taking Gazi along was less sensible than taking me.”

Feng Jun just smiled, raised his glass, clinked it with his, not uttering a word, and downed it.

If I take Gazi with me, I call the shots. If I take you, should I listen to you calling me “Xiao Jun” every sentence?

To those in the know, I’m your boss, but to those who aren’t, they’d think you’re my big shot.

Feng Jun had some understanding of Zhang Zeping; he wasn’t a bad person, just a bit reckless and unreliable. Occasionally he could endure hardship, but most of the time, he was idle.

As the youngest in the family and the only boy, he had tried his hand at many businesses but never stuck with any, especially not the difficult ones—and he certainly couldn’t look up to the hard work involved in a husband-and-wife business like Feng Wenhui and Zhang Junyi’s.

This year, Zhang Zeping was thirty-six or thirty-seven. He divorced his wife five years ago, and his life became even more unbridled. Often, his daughter’s support payments came from his parents—after all, with three older sisters, the old couple had some spare cash.

“I just don’t get what you saw in him,” Zhang Zeping, seeing him stay silent, downed his glass of alcohol, exhaled a breath laced with alcohol, and was about to continue when a raucous noise came from the courtyard, someone yelled, “Liu Laogen, where are you? Get out here!”

Uncle Gen’s real name was Liu Gen, but ever since a TV drama made a hit about a decade ago, he was nicknamed Liu Laogen.

The Feng family’s meal was happening behind a door left ajar, and someone pointed at their house saying, “Over there.”

Next, the door was flung open, and three men walked in.

In this persistently drizzly weather, they were actually wearing just shirts with rolled-up sleeves.

The man leading the way sneered as he spoke, “Dammit, we’ve been running around, and here you are drinking?”