Arc of Fire

Two days later, in the early morning.

The moment Wang Zhong stepped off the Stiponk car, he smelled a familiar scent in the air.

It was the aroma of Cantonese fried dough sticks. He immediately turned his head toward the direction of the fragrance and indeed saw a tea house on the first floor selling fried dough sticks, where a bare-chested chef with a cigarette between his lips was busy frying.

It seemed like the chef got splashed with hot oil, as he suddenly cursed loudly, "Damn it all!"

Wang Zhong felt a deep sense of nostalgia as he watched.

He had thought he was probably an Antean by now, but only now did he suddenly realize that everything from his homeland was still in his heart, even the sizzling sound of fried dough sticks in the oil was so familiar.

The people in Chinatown probably hadn’t seen someone with as many medals on his chest as Wang Zhong; anyone who wasn’t busy was watching him.

But Wang Zhong paid no attention to their gazes, walking instead toward a roadside stall selling breakfast, looking at the food laid out on a large bamboo platter.

He had never known what this kind of breakfast was called since he was young, just that it was a whole platter of something like rice cakes, cut into many tiny squares, ready to be eaten with just some soy sauce poured over.

As a child, Wang Zhong had not liked this simple breakfast; he had preferred pulled noodles and pig offal noodles.

But now, his mouth was watering uncontrollably, all swirling inside his mouth.

He swallowed a large gulp of saliva, almost letting his native accent slip out.

However, the translator provided by the Federation, stepping in first, said in Cantonese, "Get a serving, how much?"

Wang Zhong could only say to Yakov in Antenese, "It looks very delicious."

Yakov hesitated, looking at the humble breakfast, "Is it really?"

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The vendor displayed practiced skill as he cut the whole block of white rice cake, poured soy sauce over it, and then stuck a bamboo skewer into it before handing it to Wang Zhong.

The translator seemed about to explain how to eat it, but before he could start, he saw Wang Zhong grab the plate, use the skewer to pick up a piece and throw it into his mouth, then another piece.

Wang Zhong ate with such expertise, as if he had been eating this for more than twenty years.

The translator looked doubtfully at Wang Zhong, then at Yakov, before digging out 20 cents in coins and tossing them to the vendor, "Keep the change."

The vendor, moved to tears, said, "Thank you so much!"

After finishing eating, Wang Zhong wiped the corner of his mouth and was about to walk down the street when the translator stopped him, "Hold on, General! The tea house we booked is right here! This is the headquarters of the **Hall."

Wang Zhong guessed the translator had turned the term for local chapter into "headquarters." He looked up at the signboard of the tea house and waved his hand, "Alright, lead the way."

Wang Zhong nodded and followed the translator into the tea house, then stopped at a place collecting donations for the national cause.

He understood each character, but he had to ask the translator, "What is this for?"

In a very adaptable reply, the translator answered, "This is a stall selling Ceres War Bonds."

Wang Zhong pulled out his wallet, took out all his Rubles, and slapped them on the table, "I’m donating."

The person guarding the stall was shocked, eyes wide open. He couldn’t understand Antenese, and could only ask in a higher language, "What? You want to donate?"

The translator hastily said, "Yes, yes, the General wants to donate. He is an Antean war hero, willing to support the global fight against evil. Please accept it."

The stall guard thanked him continuously, but then stopped to ask, "Um, whose name should I write?"

Wang Zhong, in Antenese, said, "Wang Zhong, write this."

The translator was shocked, "Ah? General? Are you..."

Wang Zhong replied, "It’s like this—I had a Khitan horse riding coach when I was young, and he gave me a Ceres name."

The translator frowned, "Why didn’t your Khitan riding coach give you a Khitan name?"

"I wanted him to give me one; I like ’The Art of War by Sun Tzu.’ Plus, I know Wang represents the King, and Zhong means loyalty and honor; it implies loyalty to the king. Let him write that." Wang Zhong decided to bluff.

Translator blinked, "Okay, then, let’s do that. I’ll go tell the stall owner."

The vendor asked softly, "Exactly which Wang and which Zhong, though?"

After a simple explanation by the translator, finally, Wang Zhong’s name appeared on the donation list.

Seeing his own name, which he hadn’t seen for a long time, Wang Zhong nodded and headed towards the stairs.

Translator hurriedly followed up, "This way, please! To the hall—I mean, the BOSS is already waiting for you."

Unexpectedly, just as the translator finished speaking, an elderly man dressed in traditional Chinese clothes came down from upstairs and, seeing Wang Zhong, bowed with clasped hands, "General, it was my neglect that delayed you, please forgive me."

Confirming that his native language skills hadn’t regressed, Wang Zhong instinctively wanted to respond, but the translator started translating already, so he just had to close his mouth and wait for the translation to finish.

Behind the elder stood a young man who looked like he had just run up to the third floor, still catching his breath. It was probably he who had informed the elder about Wang Zhong’s donation.

After the interpreter finished speaking, Wang Zhong immediately bowed and said, "Mr. Zhang, sorry for disturbing you."

"Not at all, we are comrades battling against the evil Axis, please!" Having said that, he stepped aside to make way for the stairs and gestured for Wang Zhong to proceed.

Wang Zhong then stepped forward.

Moments later, everyone was seated around the carved round table on the third floor.

Mr. Zhang picked up the teapot and filled Wang Zhong’s teacup.

Instinctively, Wang Zhong tapped his fingers on the table surface, having gotten used to drinking morning tea over many years.

Seeing this, Mr. Zhang exclaimed, "The General has learned about our customs! Unfortunately, we really can’t help you much now. To be frank, all the young people in Chinatown have gone back home to join the war, even our enforcers are mostly over 40.

"As for money, to tell you the truth..."

Wang Zhong interjected, "No, I’m just here to visit the homeland of ’The Art of War by Sun Tzu,’ which helped me overcome my enemies. Just look at this ’Mystic Crossing Chencang,’ last year I used this tactic to steal a car from Prosen, drove through the night with the headlights on, and managed to escape the enemy’s encirclement."

The Ceresians present all looked embarrassed until the interpreter whispered gently, "That’s from the ’Thirty-Six Stratagems,’ not from ’The Art of War by Sun Tzu.’"

Wang Zhong burst into laughter, "Is that so? Well, it doesn’t matter. Ceres’s ancient wisdom helped me escape anyway! To me, Ceres is like a second homeland."

After finishing, Wang Zhong paused, giving the interpreter time to translate.

After hearing the translation, Mr. Zhang laughed heartily and then regretfully said, "It’s a shame we don’t drink alcohol in the morning; otherwise, I would definitely drink with the General until dawn. Come, let’s drink tea instead of wine! Cheers!"

Wang Zhong lifted his teacup and downed it as if it were a shot of liquor.

Though it was only tea, he felt slightly intoxicated.

Mr. Zhang clapped his hands, and then various snacks were brought in.

There were phoenix claws, pig stomachs, siu mai, har gow, and more.

Looking at these dishes that he hadn’t eaten in over a year, Wang Zhong felt as if he were gazing upon the mountains and rivers of his motherland, the giant desert smoke and sun setting over the long river.

At that moment, he felt as if the black soil of Kazarlia at his waist was trembling, as if the homeland of this era and the homeland of another time were in dissonant resonance.

Feeling his tear ducts as if they were broken and ready to "leak" once again, he picked up the chopsticks, not caring that he, as an Antean, was supposed to be unfamiliar with using them, and directly grabbed a piping hot lion’s head meatball and bit into it.

The rich flavor of the pork and the crispness of the water chestnuts burst into his mouth, tears shamelessly rolled down, but Wang Zhong pretended he was scalded, and the tears were from the heat.

Mr. Zhang immediately scolded, "How could you serve something so hot? Look, our esteemed guest is scalded!"

Wang Zhong quickly waved his hands and nearly slipped into Cantonese before switching back in time, "It’s alright, this is just too delicious, I was too eager. You know, at the front, I often only get to eat dry food, having some sour cream and pickles is already good enough. This is simply too tasty."

After the interpreter relayed the words, Mr. Zhang laughed, "If you like it, I can send a team of chefs to Ante! We can still support you this way!"

Really? That’s great!

Wang Zhong truly wanted to cheer! He could now eat authentic Ceres cuisine at the camp!

Completely overtaking his homesickness, he momentarily forgot what Anteans were supposed to say in such situations, and in his excitement, he exclaimed in Carolingian, "Boraboir (good)!"

Mr. Zhang also laughed heartily, "Boraboir!"

After finishing the lion’s head, Wang Zhong reached for the shrimp dumplings with his chopsticks.

At this moment, Yakov finally gave up struggling with the chopsticks and picked up a fork to spear a lion’s head meatball, cautiously bringing it near his lips to test the temperature.

Then he asked confusingly, "This doesn’t seem too hot... Ow!"

Wang Zhong withdrew his foot from kicking Yakov’s shin, delightfully savoring the shrimp dumplings, praising as he ate, "Good! Really good!"

Yakov stared at Wang Zhong in confusion for a few seconds before hesitantly biting into the lion’s head.

Then a mixture of confusion and admiration for the deliciousness twisted together on his face.

The pleasant dim sum breakfast continued all the way until noon.

Once he was full, Wang Zhong remembered, "Wait, wasn’t I supposed to give a speech?"

The interpreter awkwardly replied, "Uh, we haven’t arranged for a speech as, even if there was one, we genuinely can’t buy any more war bonds now. Every issue here is already oversubscribed. We really hope the Federation Navy can quickly destroy the Empire of Fusang’s joint fleet."

After thinking it over, Wang Zhong said, "I suppose, me being an Antean general and giving a speech here does seem a bit odd. But I really love Ceres cuisine, please send the chefs as promised!"

"Of course, of course," Mr. Zhang said. "My word is my bond, the chefs will definitely travel with you when you return to Ante."

Wang Zhong nodded and then asked Yakov, "What’s the plan for this afternoon?"

Yakov replied, "This afternoon you are participating in a congressional consultation session, focusing on the next stage of support for Ante."

Wang Zhong said,, "Alright, let’s head there now."

The morning dim sum was just to satisfy Wang Zhong’s personal desire, the afternoon session was crucial for Ante.

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