Destined person

Half an hour later, we finally arrived in town.

The streets here were vastly different from the countryside, brightly lit and bustling with noise.

Even though we were wearing the green uniforms of the Klunbang border guards and had two AK-47s, we didn't dare to swagger into various places.

We feared being noticed by anyone significant, which might draw unwanted attention from the higher-ups in the district and cause trouble.

"Let's get something to eat first. I want Chinese food," I said, rubbing my growling stomach and thinking of finding a Chinese restaurant for dinner.

"We can try our luck at the outskirts of the casino area; there aren't many Chinese shops around here," Abu said, leading us towards a less crowded area. He explained that there were indeed few Chinese people doing legitimate business here because of the chaos.

After a long walk, we couldn't find a decent Chinese restaurant. Finally, in the old district, we discovered a small fast-food place called "Yunnan Cross-Bridge Rice Noodles."

"Seeing that name makes me angry. Do you know why? It was after eating a bowl of cross-bridge rice noodles in Kunming that I ended up here in Kokang..." I stood outside the shop, feeling like it was a lifetime ago.

Screwdriver chuckled and pulled me inside, saying, "Let's go in and take a look; maybe we'll get lucky."

The noodle shop was about ten square meters, a bit old, but still clean. There were six long tables along the walls, each with Chinese chili sauce, peanut sauce, and Shanxi aged vinegar on top.

Looking at it, I felt an inexplicable sense of familiarity.

It was exactly eight o'clock in the evening.

As soon as we entered, we checked the clock on the wall.

"Welcome to our shop. What would you gentlemen like to eat?" The owner, a dark, thin man in his fifties, greeted us warmly in a Yunnan accent.

Oddly enough, despite it being dinner time, the shop was unusually quiet. The owner and his two employees were sitting around playing cards and chatting. 

When they saw us enter, they immediately put away the cards and stood aside, smiling and welcoming us.

This shouldn't be another shady establishment, right? I thought, but it didn't seem likely. Who could they scam next to a wolf's den? Are there any rabbits here? Ha, Screwdriver and I counted as two.

"Stir-fried beef, spicy pork, steamed bass, and a three-delicacy soup. Let's start with a bowl of cross-bridge rice noodles. Can you make these?" Abu asked in broken Mandarin after we sat at the innermost table.

The four dishes he ordered were ones Screwdriver and I had discussed earlier.

"Yes, of course. Please wait a moment. The noodles will be served shortly," the owner responded quickly, and his two male employees immediately went to the kitchen. The owner stayed, smiling as he served us tea and cigarettes.

The tea was a mediocre Pu'er from Yunnan. The cigarettes were Yuxi, a reasonably priced Yunnan brand. 

For Screwdriver and me, the quality didn't matter; what we cared about was the taste of China.

Abu, being a local, wouldn't have tasted authentic Chinese food if he hadn't been with us. Luckily, he also loved spicy food, which solved everything easily. 

In provinces of China that can eat spicy food, no meal is complete without chili. Without chili, the chef can't cook. 

The same was true for this Yunnan-owned shop. Stir-fried dishes without chili had no soul!

As we enjoyed the mild and delicious cross-bridge rice noodles, the pungent smell of chili wafted from the nearby kitchen.

Given the poor conditions here, don't even think about installing a Chinese brand range hood.

Open doors for ventilation, practical and affordable.

"Boss, are these chili peppers from Dehong? Just the smell is filling me up!" I asked in a Chongqing accent, putting down my chopsticks.

In a foreign country, a soldier who doesn't know multiple dialects isn't a good "soldier."

"Wow, you guessed it right. By the way, do you drink alcohol? I can offer you Heqing Dry Wine. It's rare to meet fellow countrymen." The owner took a bottle of wine from behind the cash register and walked over.

I raised an eyebrow, "Are there many Chinese people here?"

"There are, but Chinese people as distinct and low-key as you are rare!" he replied.

"Oh?"

That was interesting. Was he complimenting us on our looks?

Abu smiled and said, "Sorry, we can't drink on duty. The captain would kill us."

The owner's face changed briefly, then he smiled again, saying, "Then I'll leave it here. Drink it whenever you want."

"Beef is ready!" 

As we spoke, a male employee brought over a plate of spicy stir-fried beef.

Next came the spicy pork, and the so-called steamed bass was actually poached grass carp.

Finally, the three-delicacy soup turned out to be a simple broth with Yunnan mushrooms, egg dumplings, and cabbage.

The taste was good, and I was happy to eat dishes with the flavor of China. After finishing the noodles, I ate two more bowls of rice.

In the district, I didn't dare to eat meat. It felt fresh and reassuring to eat meat from a small outside shop.

Even if it was "zombie meat" imported from China, it felt safer than the "meat" in KK District.

Screwdriver, who probably hadn't had a decent meal since arriving in the district, kept stuffing himself with meat until he was full.

Abu, being a local and free to come and go from the district, ate much more civilly. Seeing us eat like starved ghosts, he put down his chopsticks after one bowl of rice.

"Boss, your cooking is good. I'll come back next time," Screwdriver said, his mouth full.

"Glad you like it," the owner said, sitting on a stool next to me, smoking and sizing me up.

I put down my chopsticks and couldn't help but ask, "Boss, why are you staring at me?"

The owner looked around and then lowered his voice, "Young man, you look familiar. Do you have a relative serving in another special zone?"

I was stunned for a moment, not quite understanding his meaning.

To be honest, there are indeed Chinese people working as mercenaries or soldiers here.

It shouldn't be hard to find a few people who look like me.

Seeing my daze, he took out a pack of Furongwang cigarettes from his pocket and said in a Hunan accent, "I'm from Hunan."

"!!!"

I was utterly speechless. It turns out you need skills to run a business abroad.

"You..." Screwdriver, a foodie, suddenly lost his appetite.

He dropped his chopsticks and immediately got into a fighting stance.

The two male employees, however, were still smoking by the door, acting normal.

The owner looked at me, calmly asking in our hometown dialect, "Is the food too salty?"

"Not at all. I think the three-delicacy soup doesn't even have salt..." I began, then suddenly realized.

Salt, the same as the word for "speak" in Chinese, could it be that he was a spy for Yan Yun?

"What's going on?" Screwdriver didn't understand our "code," loosening his grip on the trigger.

"I recognized you as soon as you walked in. You're very distinctive, easy to recognize," the owner laughed, taking out a jade pendant from his pocket. "The young master specifically instructed that if someone finds this shop by chance, fulfill any request they have!"