Translator:	Author:	Original Source:
MJCross	Cat’s Glasses	SFACG

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Neither Old Feng nor anyone else expected me to ask such a question.

For a moment, they all stared at me in surprise.

Especially Haitang—her glare was practically laced with venom, as if scolding me for reopening Old Feng’s wounds.

Old Feng himself was stunned at first, but then, as if making up his mind, he took a deep drag of his cigarette, burning it down to the filter in one breath before stomping it out underfoot.

He shifted his chair slightly, turning his left side away from us so we couldn’t see the burn scars covering half his face.

“My past, huh?” His voice, rough with age, carried a calm, measured tone as he slowly began.

“Once, I was a top-tier chef—until one fateful accident…”

A top-tier chef?

Instinctively, I glanced at the right sleeve of his chef’s uniform.

No white armband—good, he wasn’t about to say “I used to be a chef, until I lost my arm.”

“I used to be the head chef at a five-star hotel. Had a wife, a daughter… my life was pretty much perfect.

I thought I’d live out my days in peaceful happiness. But then, there was a mass food poisoning incident.

The hotel took responsibility publicly, but in the end, the kitchen was at fault.”

“Just food poisoning? That doesn’t sound like the whole story.”

“If that were all, it would’ve been just another workplace accident.

But one of the victims didn’t make it. The grieving family, overcome with rage, stormed into the kitchen… and threw an entire pot of scalding oil over me.”

“Ugh!” Tangerine gasped. Even Haitang and Zhao Zhao grimaced.

That kind of scene was just too brutal.

“So, the scars on your face… that’s how you got them?”

“Yeah. As the head chef, I had to step forward to handle the situation when they barged in.

I was closest when they grabbed the oil pot—I couldn’t dodge in time. Lost half my face, lost my left eye.

After that, the hotel higher-ups needed a scapegoat, so of course, I was fired.

Blind in one eye, face ruined, no job. The savings dwindled fast, and eventually, my wife left me too—took my daughter with her.

My life shattered like a broken mirror, and I could never piece it back together.

No matter how hard I tried to pull myself back up, reality was relentless.

No one wants a burned-out, half-blind, scarred-up, socially inept man. All I knew was cooking—nothing else.

So I got this little food cart and started up a street stall. Hopped from place to place, and eventually settled here.”

He kept it short, but the bleakness of his story was clear.

A man who once had everything—family, career, stability—suddenly losing his sight, his face, his job, his wife, his child… falling from the peak of life straight into the abyss.

If he weren’t strong-willed, he probably would’ve ended it all.

Then again… maybe Old Feng had always been this socially withdrawn.

Even with those scars, surely he could’ve found another kitchen job through family or friends?

After all, his skills were still top-notch, and cooking doesn’t exactly require a pretty face.

Yet here he was, reduced to running a barely profitable food stall.

Haitang, ever the investigator, pressed on.

“Uncle Feng, what was the actual cause of the food poisoning?”

“The police found that the salt in the kitchen had been contaminated with sodium nitrite. That’s what poisoned the guests.”

“Was it a mistake? Or was someone trying to frame you?”

“Who knows? It’s all in the past. Digging it up won’t change anything now.”

Haitang wanted to probe further, but it was obvious Old Feng didn’t want to dwell on it.

“I’ve made my peace with it. These days, I just want my customers to enjoy their meals. That’s enough for me.”

His words sounded resigned—less like acceptance, more like forced surrender.

People who have truly let go of the past don’t settle for scraps of happiness; they move forward because they see a future worth chasing.

As he reached for a second cigarette, a group of middle-aged men in tank tops arrived.

They greeted Old Feng casually before sitting down, laughing as they started filling out their own order slips.

They were clearly regulars. If my dad didn’t have that crippling fear of women, he’d probably be out here with them, playing chinese chess and shooting the breeze.

Old Feng hesitated, then tucked the cigarette behind his ear and started clearing our plates instead.

“The past doesn’t matter that much,” he murmured, more to himself than to us.

“Instead of always looking back, it’s better to keep moving forward.”

And just like that, he returned to being the quiet, tight-lipped chef behind the grill.

That conversation alone contained more words than he’d spoken to us in months.

After settling the bill, we left.

But I mentally reserved a spot for Old Feng in my Bishoujo Notebook.

“Want to hang out at my place for a bit?”

I asked as we walked past my house.

Zhao Zhao and Haitang both lived on the far side of the village.

My house was the closest, so back in the day, they’d sometimes drop by after school to play games.

Zhao Zhao agreed immediately.

“Hell yeah!”

Ever since finals ended, he’d mentally checked out and gone full summer break mode, spending his days binging eroge and gaming.

“Yeah, I could use a break. That whole thing with Old Feng was kinda heavy,” he added.

Though… knowing Zhao Zhao, gaming probably wasn’t his main goal here.

“I’ll pass.” Haitang folded her arms, hesitating before glancing toward my house.

“Your dad’s home already.”

“Huh? How do you know?”

Tangerine and Zhao Zhao also looked at her in confusion.

“It’s the door,” she explained.

“Your house has a new door. You sure as hell didn’t fix it yourself this afternoon, so obviously, your dad got it done. And since your key won’t work anymore, he’s probably inside waiting for you.”

That’s when I finally noticed—the broken door had been replaced with a brand-new one.

It was the same model, so I hadn’t realized it at first.

“Which means,” she continued, “Tangerine and I should probably head home instead of barging in and giving your dad a heart attack.”

With that, she took Tangerine’s hand and started walking toward the Chen’s house.

“Onii-chan~ See you next time!” Tangerine called over her shoulder, reluctantly waving goodbye.

Watching her leave, I considered picking up a part-time job over the summer to buy her a phone.

Having to go through Haitang just to contact her was way too much hassle.

As expected, my old key no longer worked. I rang the doorbell, and my dad answered.

“Hey, son. Took you long enough. Have you eaten yet?” He was leaning against the doorway in his usual tank top and shorts.

Zhao Zhao followed me in. “Evening, Uncle!”

“Oh hi, Zhao kiddo. Here to play again?”

“We already ate,” I answered. “We had a—uh, a farewell dinner for Tangerine.”

Dad still refused to believe in “cat spirits” or any of that supernatural nonsense.

He assumed Tangerine had just been taken in by the Chen family.

With a sigh, he muttered, “I see… Well, in that case, take the litter box and leftover cat food over to their place sometime.”

“She, uh… doesn’t need those anymore.”

“Anyway, how come you’re home early?”

“A coworker got a new car and gave me a ride. Even helped me install the new door. Since he drives me now, my commute’s been a lot easier.”

That coworker was probably the same galgame enthusiast he’d mentioned before—the legendary wage-slave otaku.

Feeling unusually upbeat, Dad plopped onto the couch with his laptop and resumed his “psychotherapy” session—AKA drowning himself in dating sims.

Embarrassed, I hurriedly dragged Zhao Zhao upstairs before he could see too much.

As soon as we entered my room, I tossed my backpack onto the desk and pulled out two PS4 controllers.

“So,” I asked, tossing one to him, “what are we playing today? A Way Out? We still haven’t finished it.”

It was one of the games that had me stuck, due to it needing two people together.

But Zhao Zhao wasn’t interested in gaming today, and put away the controller.

Rubbing his hands together like a sleazy salesman, he leaned in with a smirk.

“Come on, commander, you know exactly what I want.”

“Nope. Not a clue,” I deadpanned.

“Quit playing dumb~ I did promise you some fanservice, remember? I can show you everything~”

Hearing that, I nearly threw up.

Watching a six-foot-three gorilla of a man fidget bashfully while trying to act seductive felt like taking a Lucha Libre wrestler’s flying elbow straight to the gut, stirring all the gastric fluids uncontrollably.

“Gah—bro, I’m begging you, don’t say that crap in that tone! I swear, I feel like I’m gonna taste last year’s New Year’s dinner coming back up!”

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