To Sweep Across Like Wildfire - Chapter 13

Chapter 13

Seeing the smile on Shen Qingruo’s face, Meng Chi knew she was being teased again.

This woman was cynical by nature; how much of what she said was true and how much was false, only she knew.

Only after Shen Qingruo had fully straightened her clothes did Meng Chi roll down the window. The outside wind blew in noisily, and the scent of a summer night filled the car.

Shen Qingruo said, “I have no strength left. You go up front and drive; just follow the navigation.”

She saw the person beside her shift slightly but fail to make any further move. After two seconds of suspicion, she stared blankly at Meng Chi and blurted out, “You don’t know how to drive?”

Meng Chi’s face heated up. Is it really worth such a fuss? she thought. She said, “My studies are usually quite heavy; I haven’t had time to get a license.”

“What about summer and winter breaks?”

“Part-time jobs.”

Shen Qingruo clicked her tongue. “When I was your age, I was already the ‘God of Racing’ at Mount Akina.”

She paused for half a second and added, “Mount Akina is from Initial D. You know who Jay Chou is, right?”

Time flies. She didn’t expect that she had aged to the point where her speech was like Classical Chinese, requiring “modern translation” for others to understand.

“I know that.” Facing the translation, the Gen Z girl wore the complex “Does this really need translating? Who doesn’t know that?” expression of a young person.

Only the young don’t need to understand hot memes to still be young. The young say: I am the world.

Shen Qingruo thought: Fine, I’m so old I don’t even know which buzzwords are still ‘current’ for the youth.

Meng Chi said, “Jiang Sitian used to love sending memes related to that in high school.”

Actually, Meng Chi didn’t feel like a typical Gen Zer; she didn’t know much about internet slang. She continued, “What you mean is, you’re very good at ‘driving’.”

Shen Qingruo: “…”

Why did she detect a hint of sarcasm? Especially with Meng Chi’s calm face—it made the words feel even more biting.

But Meng Chi might not have meant it that way. Shen Qingruo decided not to overthink it. With a proud curl of her lip, she said, “When I was nineteen, I followed a motorcade and traveled to over a dozen major cities in China.”

Meng Chi caught the trace of delight on her face. Through her seductive, mature features, she saw the youthful spirit of her nineteen-year-old self.

Meng Chi couldn’t help but say, “When you were nineteen, many people must have pursued you.”

Shen Qingruo’s expression didn’t change, but the words pulled her back to her nineteenth year. Disdainful faces and vicious curses swarmed her memory. Back then, every day was a cycle of studying and working, walking through the campus alone.

That summer break “freedom trip” was actually just work—driving and hauling equipment for a photography company wandering across the country.

If she were younger, such a romanticized guess from a “kid” would have drowned her in a tide of pain. But not now. She had long since settled into this dark, deep sea.

Shen Qingruo tilted her lips in a smile, her eyes showing no abnormality. “Plenty of people pursue me now, too.”

She teased Meng Chi, “Kid, that’s a prejudice. Who says you have to be very young to be attractive?”

Before she spoke, Meng Chi had already realized her mistake. This woman had mentioned “starting her career” at eighteen. Meng Chi felt she had misspoken.

Shen Qingruo pushed open the door and stepped out. “My body is jelly; I can’t drive.” Standing by the door, she leaned back in and said, “Come on, kid, let’s take a cab to dinner.”

…

Red Chili Hotpot

The restaurant was named “Peppers are Red,” and festive strings of peppers—it was hard to tell if they were real or fake—hung on both sides of the entrance.

Two or three enthusiastic servers greeted them, gushing, “Little sisters, you’re so beautiful! You must be celebrities!”

North City was a hub for influencers from all over. Since this shop had recently trended on review sites, it attracted many bloggers. They assumed these two were here to “check in” for social media.

Shen Qingruo laughed. “Not yet. North City is too big; it’s hard to make it. Small fry like us don’t have the connections.”

She could chatter with anyone. She glanced inside. “Any seats left?”

“Two tables just opened up. The aunties are cleaning now. Can you wait a bit?” The server liked talking to her. Since it was late and there weren’t many new customers, she continued, “There are girl group auditions going on; I think you’d be perfect! You have idol faces. If you go, I’ll get the whole staff to vote for you!”

“Definitely!” someone nearby with a Northeast accent chimed in.

“Auditions? I’ll pass. I’m older than some of the judges. I’d be ‘retiring on stage,'” Shen Qingruo looked at the girl beside her and smiled. “My kid here could do it, though. Maybe Big Sis will take you to sign up tomorrow.”

Meng Chi remained silent, head down in thought. Idol face? C-position debut? What do those mean?

Moments later, as they walked in, Shen Qingruo reached out and touched the peppers hanging on the wall. She leaned toward Meng Chi and whispered like they were sharing a secret: “These peppers are fake.”

Meng Chi turned and caught the spark of laughter in her eyes. Her heart skipped several beats. She realized Shen Qingruo had noticed her curiosity earlier. Surface-level, however, she remained stoic. “Oh.”

Their table was right in the center. Even though it was past peak dining hours, the shop was still lively.

Shen Qingruo scanned the QR code to order. She skimmed the menu and handed the phone to Meng Chi. “You order first.”

“No, you choose.”

Shen Qingruo didn’t insist. She poked the screen with her pale fingers. “What soup base?”

Images of the boiling, bright red oil pots from Shen Qingruo’s Moments flashed through Meng Chi’s mind.

Her family usually ate light food. In high school, she only ate out with roommates occasionally. In university, her roommates were from spicy regions like Sichuan and Hunan; every meal they had together could be summarized as “Sichuan peppercorns fried with chilies.” Meng Chi didn’t want to be a wet blanket, so she’d eat a little, but at hotpot, she only ever touched the clear broth side of the split pot.

Meng Chi paused, then said, “Red oil pot.”

If her roommates heard this, their jaws would hit the floor.

“Great minds think alike,” Shen Qingruo said. “Since we both eat spicy, let’s skip the clear broth.”

She placed the order, not noticing the fleeting look of dread on Meng Chi’s face. She ordered a dozen dishes with the ease of someone who had done this a thousand times. She handed the phone back. “I’m done. Add whatever you want.”

Meng Chi took the phone. The back was slightly warm from Shen Qingruo’s hand. The case was minimalist but made of high-quality material that felt good to touch. She scrolled through the screen, seeing Shen Qingruo picking at the appetizers.

Shen Qingruo propped her head on one hand, using a toothpick to slowly chew a pickled snack. The image reminded Meng Chi of moments earlier—Shen Qingruo’s soft tongue lightly grazing her fingers.

Meng Chi snapped back to reality, forcing away the “Not Safe For Work” imagery. “That’s enough.”

Seeing Shen Qingruo looking genuinely hungry, Meng Chi asked, “Should I just submit the order?”

Shen Qingruo blinked in agreement. She seemed to sense the chaotic thoughts in Meng Chi’s head. She bit her red lip and hummed, “I’m so hungry.”

The way she said “hungry” seemed to carry a second layer of meaning. She was born with the face of an enchantress, naturally gifted at bewitching hearts.

Though the shop was loud, Meng Chi lacked Shen Qingruo’s nonchalance. She couldn’t flirt so openly in public. She lowered her head to drink water, accidentally gulping down half the glass. “Go make your dipping sauce first.”

Shen Qingruo smoothed her skirt and let her off the hook with a laugh. “Alright. I’ll make one for you too. You have to try my ‘secret recipe’.”

Soon, Shen Qingruo returned with two white bowls of sauce and a plate of fruit. Meng Chi saw that her bowl was mostly sesame paste, cilantro, and green onions. She breathed a sigh of relief; she had expected the spice-addict to bring back a bowl of pure chili paste.

Two minutes later, the waiter brought the fiery red oil pot. Before long, steam rose, carrying a sharp, spicy scent. How spicy is this base? Meng Chi wondered.

The dishes arrived. Shen Qingruo dipped some tender beef into the pot, swirled it, and placed it directly into Meng Chi’s bowl before eating any herself—fully embodying the “Kong Rong giving up the pear” spirit. She felt moved by her own kindness and said in a motherly tone, “Eat more. Kids need it to grow taller.”

Meng Chi: “.”

She knew Shen Qingruo couldn’t say anything truly nice for long. She decided not to argue.

She looked at the beef in her bowl, glistening with red oil and even a few chili seeds. After a moment of hesitation, she gritted her teeth, picked up the meat, and stuffed it into her mouth like she hadn’t eaten in two days. She thought swallowing it whole would minimize the spice, but the heat burned all the way down her throat. Her ears turned beet red, and she felt like smoke was about to pour out of her head.

Because Meng Chi kept her head down and the steam from the pot acted as a veil, Shen Qingruo didn’t see the agony. She only saw her swallowing quickly and assumed she was just as starving as she was. She figured Meng Chi was just too proud to admit she was hungry earlier.

Shen Qingruo laughed, piling more food into her bowl. “Don’t rush, there’s plenty more.”

“Y-you eat some too.”

“It’s fine. Young people go first. For us old folks, eating too much leads to indigestion.”

Five minutes later, Meng Chi stared at her bowl—overflowing with food drenched in red oil: “.”