Content or discontent, much like the act of drinking water, one knows for oneself if it's cold or warm. To say I'm content would be too phony, after all. Having served for decades, I've seen a stall smaller than Cheng Su's little eatery grow into one of Qing City's top restaurants. It's like watching a child grow up and then, just because of one mistake, being dismissed, leaving it all behind.
How could I possibly be content?
Yet, if discontent, what can be done? Out of sight, out of mind. Ever since Old Liao left, I've predicted that this day would come; I just didn't expect it to come so swiftly.
"I've worked for decades now, can't I take a rest? You little brat, can't you let your old man enjoy a bit of happiness?" Mr. Song gave Song Xiaojang a knock on the head.
Covering his head, Song Xiaojang winced and said, "Dad, there are outsiders here!"