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“It’s my name on the line.”
Jin Ling looks up at his jiujiu and barely suppresses an eye roll. “And?”
“And, brat, I’m not gonna let you take it.” Jiang Cheng grins at his nephew. “Not without a fight.”
“A-Cheng, we really don’t have time—“
“The reservation’s in forty minutes, Huaisang, and it’ll take me five to knock my darling nephew down a peg. Relax.”
“It’ll take me three to take the top spot, Uncle Huaisang,” Jin Ling counters.
“But you’ll get all sweaty,” Sizhui pipes up. He shrinks under the twin glares of Jiang Cheng and Jin Ling. “My bad. I’m sure it will be fine.”
The duo turns their backs on Huaisang and Sizhui. Jiang Cheng drops a coin in the slot.
“Ready? Fight!”
Sizhui and Huaisang sigh.
“It’s my fault, Uncle,” Sizhui says as Jiang Cheng and Jin Ling slap the controls of the vintage Street Fighter arcade game and trade trash talk. “I shouldn’t have taken us past the arcade.”
“No, no,” Huaisang says, patting Sizhui’s shoulder, “this is on them. If it wasn’t this it’d be whose hot pot is spicier.”
They wait patiently as the barbs grow more pointed. Jin Ling takes an early lead (probably), but Jiang Cheng quickly closes the gap (maybe? Huaisang and Sizhui are too bored to care).
Five minutes stretches to ten, then to twenty. As they approach the thirty minute mark, Huaisang snaps his fan shut and stands.
“Come on,” he says to Sizhui. “I’ve been looking forward to that hot pot all week. They know where the restaurant is. They can call a car.”
“Oh, are you sure?” Sizhui glances over at his cousin and uncle.
Jin Ling’s head is thrown back in laughter. Jiang Cheng takes advantage of his distraction to get in a kick or something, and Jin Ling’s laughter turns to cursing.
“Let’s get the less-spicy broth and eat all the shrimp before they show up.”
“That’s my smart boy.”
When Jiang Cheng and Jin Ling show up half an hour past the reservation time, they slip into the booth, make their apologies, and don’t complain once about the mildness of the broth or the lack of shrimp.
“You really want your ass handed to you again, old man?”
Jiang Cheng snorts. “I let you win last time. I didn’t want to see you cry.”
Jin Ling rolls his eyes. “You’re a sad, delusional old—what the fuck?”
“Language, brat,” Jiang Cheng says as he swats the back of Jin Ling’s head. “I’m still your — what the fuck?”
They gape at the screen and the three letters flashing in the top score position. Indeed, all ten slots are filled with the same three letters.
N-H-S.
Uncle and nephew turn and gape at Huaisang. He lets his eyes go wide as he flutters his fan in front of his face.
“You—“ Uncle and nephew sputter in unison.
“How?”
“When?”
“What?!”
“I guess we know who’s really the best. Now, what are we getting for dinner?”