The Spicy Challenge

Xiang Qing felt her nasal passages burning.

‘Was this stuff meant for human consumption?’

‘This had to be a chemical weapon!’

“The rules are simple.”

An Qi wiped her hands with a napkin, resembling a general preparing for battle. “No drinking anything, no sounds of pain, and no expressions on your face other than pure enjoyment. Whoever breaks first, loses.”

She picked up a slice of tripe, swished it seven or eight times in the boiling spicy broth, blew on it, then cast a provocative gaze at Xiang Qing.

“Sister-in-law, you first? Or shall I?”

Xiang Qing remained silent. With an impassive expression, she picked up a slice of fatty beef, placed it into the pot, watched it tumble in the dark red broth, then retrieved it and brought it to her mouth.

The instant it touched her palate, Xiang Qing felt as if her tongue were being simultaneously pierced by ten thousand incandescent steel needles.

A searing burn, a stabbing ache, a paralyzing numbness—three sensations interwoven, exploding within her mouth like a nuclear detonation.

She couldn’t even discern the taste of beef.

There was no flavor, only pain.

Xiang Qing’s facial muscles began to twitch uncontrollably. It took every ounce of her strength to maintain her impassive facade.

Seeing Xiang Qing eat, An Qi, unwilling to show any weakness, likewise stuffed the slice of tripe into her mouth.

Her chewing was remarkably elegant; she even raised an eyebrow at Xiang Qing. Yet, Xiang Qing distinctly observed a vein in An Qi’s neck bulge momentarily.

Thus, the battle began.

****

One minute passed.

Two minutes.

Neither woman spoke, mechanically repeating the actions of picking up food, swishing it, and eating.

Xiang Qing’s mind had gone blank, all her senses utterly consumed by the pervasive spiciness.

Her stomach felt like it held a ball of fire, her internal organs staging a full-blown rebellion.

She felt as though she wasn’t eating, but rather undergoing a trial of tribulation.

An Qi across from her was faring no better.

Her exquisitely made-up face had turned a vivid crimson, fine beads of sweat dotted her forehead, and her lips were so red they looked as if she had just finished drinking blood.

Yet, she continued to smile, a brazen, triumphant grin that seemed to mock, ‘Is that all you’ve got?’

Xiang Qing knew An Qi was holding on by a thread.

‘Fight to the death!’

‘Today, either I perish, or you do!’

The thought of having to call this little girl ‘Mom’ ignited a fierce blaze of fighting spirit within Xiang Qing.

She then picked up a puffed tofu soaked through with broth and ate it without even a blink.

The broth inside the tofu puff burst in her mouth, like a miniature bomb.

‘Argh!’

Xiang Qing felt her soul depart her body for three full seconds.

She dared not breathe, dared not swallow, fearing that if she opened her mouth, everything would erupt.

She could only fix her gaze on An Qi, searching for any crack in her opponent’s facade.

An Qi’s movements began to slow.

The hand holding her chopsticks trembled slightly, and the smile on her face grew increasingly rigid.

Xiang Qing watched as a crystalline droplet slid from the corner of An Qi’s eye, tracing the perfect curve of her face before falling onto the tabletop.

An Qi immediately wiped it away with the back of her hand, feigning nonchalance.

“Oh, the hotpot steam is just too intense; it’s making my eyes water.”

Xiang Qing remained unmoved, continuing to shove a mouthful of enoki mushrooms into her mouth.

Ten minutes elapsed.

Xiang Qing’s consciousness began to blur, feeling as though she were on the verge of ascending to immortality.

Everything before her eyes took on a double image. An Qi’s arrogant face, to Xiang Qing, transformed—first into Gu Wei, then into Shen Lanzhi, and finally, into a colossal hundred-yuan banknote.

‘I must win.’

‘For the money.’

‘For my dignity.’

‘To avoid becoming her daughter!’

An Qi finally buckled.

She picked up a beef ball, and just as she brought it to her lips, she abruptly froze.

Her complexion shifted from red to white, then from white to green, her features contorted in agony.

“Ugh…”

A suppressed gasp, laced with a whimper, escaped through her tightly clenched teeth.

‘Now!’

A flicker of light ignited in Xiang Qing’s eyes.

An Qi had lost.

With a clatter, An Qi dropped her chopsticks, collapsing onto the chair as if her bones had been removed. She snatched the plum juice from the table and gulped it down.

“Ha… ha… I’m burning to death… I can’t take it anymore…”

As she chugged the drink, she desperately fanned her tongue, tears and snot streaming down her face, completely losing any semblance of her former ‘little demoness’ demeanor.

The entire world fell silent.

Xiang Qing remained seated, utterly motionless.

She had won.

Her stomach churned violently, her tongue had lost all sensation, and her lips were swollen beyond recognition.

But she had won.

Slowly, with every ounce of her strength, she raised her hand, picked up the untouched cup of plum juice before her, and then looked at the disheveled An Qi across the table.

She didn’t speak, merely gestured with her eyes.

An Qi’s movements froze. Holding her cup, she stared at Xiang Qing, her face flushed crimson, her eyes brimming with humiliation, indignation, and shock.

Xiang Qing’s face remained impassive. With lips swollen like sausages, she painstakingly exhaled a soft sound.

“Hm?”

An Qi glared at Xiang Qing.

She neither cried nor overturned the table. Instead, with a swift motion, she pulled a stack of something from her bag.

Slap.

A stack of crimson banknotes was slapped onto the greasy hotpot table, glowing in stark contrast to the dish of blood-red chili powder.

“Name your price.”

An Qi swallowed the last mouthful of plum juice, finally reclaiming a semblance of her voice. “Ransom. Let’s just pretend today never happened.”

Xiang Qing’s pupils dilated.

‘Money!’

‘So much money!’

‘By its thickness, there must be at least ten thousand!’

Her heart, which beat solely for money, began to pound frantically, bringing a faint warmth back to her hands and feet, chilled from the excessive spice.

A voice screamed wildly in her head: ‘Take the money! Grab it quickly!’

‘This is money! Ten thousand yuan!’

But another voice, accompanied by the churning, burning agony in her stomach, softly echoed:

“You… you’ll just suffer tonight’s torment for nothing? Your tongue, your lips, your stomach—do they agree? Have you forgotten how that little demoness just played you? If that madwoman Gu Wei finds out you caved for this paltry sum, won’t she just pin you to the ground and mock you endlessly?”

‘No!’

‘Money might be the world’s truth, but today’s suffering is equally real!’

Xiang Qing felt two tiny figures battling within her, one clutching a gold ingot, the other wielding a spiked club.

In the end, the spiked club prevailed.

Xiang Qing’s gaze drifted from the enticing stack of banknotes, settling once more on An Qi’s flushed and swollen face.

She remained silent, simply using a finger, adorned with nude-pink nail polish, to slowly push the stack of money back.

Her movement was resolute, devoid of any lingering attachment.

An Qi’s expression froze.

“What do you mean?” she asked, disbelieving. “Not enough? Fine, I’ll transfer it to you. Fifty thousand—is that enough?”

As she spoke, she reached for her phone.

‘Fifty thousand!’

Xiang Qing’s mind buzzed.

The tiny figure clutching the gold ingot instantly revived, kicking over the one with the spiked club, and began to disco dance inside her skull.

‘Fifty thousand!’

‘Just for a bit of lip service!’

‘But…’

Her stomach, at that precise moment, gave an utterly ill-timed, agonizing lurch.

The fierce pain, like a bolt of lightning, instantly incinerated the ‘tiny figure’ clutching the gold ingot.

Xiang Qing’s face blanched.

‘To hell with fifty thousand!’

‘Today, I demand satisfaction!’

She raised a hand, halting An Qi’s movement to retrieve her phone.

Then, she pointed to An Qi’s mouth, then to her own ear, concluding with an exaggerated ‘please’ gesture.

Translation: ‘Enough with the useless theatrics; honor the wager.’

An Qi’s movements ceased entirely.

The gazes from the surrounding tables drifted subtly towards them.

Humiliation, fury, and indignation flickered across her face in swift succession.

Xiang Qing watched her calmly, her swollen lips lending an impassive air to her face, yet at this moment, that very impassivity was her most potent weapon.

Time ticked by, second by agonizing second.

The hotpot continued to bubble and boil, emitting a deceptively alluring aroma.

Finally, An Qi seemed to deflate like a punctured balloon, her entire demeanor collapsing.

She lowered her head, her long eyelashes trembling, concealing all emotion in her eyes.

A sound barely louder than a mosquito’s hum squeezed through her clenched teeth.

“…Mom.”

Xiang Qing’s ears twitched.

She had heard it.

‘But such a faint sound—how could it possibly compensate for her internal organs, which felt on the verge of spontaneous combustion?’

Without a change in her expression, she leaned forward, cupping her ear, adopting the posture of someone elderly and hard of hearing.

An Qi abruptly lifted her head, her eyes brimming with moisture—half from the spice, half from sheer fury.

“Don’t push your luck!”