Over the following days, Lu Jingchen came to the wonton stall every morning to study.
She discovered that this man actually learned quite quickly.
Seasoning the filling, making the dough, rolling the skins, wrapping wontons—these tasks she'd been doing for twenty years, he learned the basic movements in just a week. Although the shape of his wontons wasn't quite right yet, the taste was already seventy to eighty percent there.
"You've got deft hands," she complimented难得.
"Pretty good." He lowered his head, carefully pinching the edges of the wonton. "I used to make models before."
"Models?"
"Planes, ships, those kinds of things." He paused. "When I was young, my family was poor and couldn't afford toys, so I made them with my own hands."
She watched him and suddenly noticed calluses on his hands. Not the kind from writing, but the kind only people who've done real work have.
"You don't look like a poor child now."
"I was when I was young." He looked up at her through his glasses. "Later, not so much."
She didn't probe further. Everyone has their own story; she didn't like to pry.
But she started paying attention to him.
His clothes were different every day, but always dark colors. He ate wontons very attentively, never looking at his phone, never talking. He always paid in cash, saying it was a habit.
Once, she saw him answer a phone call.
He stood with his back to her, voice very low, but she still caught one sentence—
"...Tell him I'm not selling. Tell them to drop it."
Then he hung up and turned around, his expression already restored to calm.
"What are we learning today?" he asked.
"Learning to wrap yuanbao wontons." She收回视线. "This one's harder. Watch closely."
She placed her hands in the center of the dough skin, squeezed with both hands, and a yuanbao-shaped wonton was formed.
He watched beside her, frowning as he tried several times without much success.
"That's not right." She sighed. "Come here, let me show you hand by hand."
She stood behind him, took his hands, and guided him through the motion.
His hands were very cold, fingers distinctive, a man's hands. She could feel the veins on the back of his hand, and those thin calluses.
She suddenly realized how close they were and quickly let go.
"...Practice yourself now." She stepped back, feeling a bit flushed.
He didn't speak, just lowered his head and carefully wrapped wontons.
But she noticed his ear tips were slightly red.