“Do you know what it means to be stubborn, Lin?” her mother asked, her eyes scanning the bustling streets below with indifference. Lin could see the grey strands of her mother’s hair catching the light, a testament to the years of battles fought alone.

“It’s like the 坚固的beef you try so hard to perfect,” her mother continued, “tough to chew, but digestible… eventually.”

Lin couldn’t help but chuckle at her mother’s analogy. “I suppose that’s one way to look at it. But don’t you believe that being steadfast has its virtues?”

Her mother shrugged, her gaze never leaving the window. “In this world, virtues are only as good as the price they fetch.”

The air in their tiny apartment was thick with the aroma of ginger and scallions, a tantalizing contrast to their conversation. Lin moved to stir the pot, her thoughts drifting to the upcoming promotion at the restaurant where she toiled as a chef. Promotions came rarely, as rare as an honest cup of coffee in their part of the city, but she dared to hope.

“You’re dreaming again,” her mother noted, her voice cutting through Lin’s reveries. “Dreams are costly, Lin.”

Lin set the spoon down, meeting her mother’s gaze with unwavering resolve. “I don’t want this life, Ma. I want more than enduring days over an open flame, waiting for someone to notice my skills.”

Her mother sighed, a weariness settling over her features. “Your father… he was stubborn too. But fate has its ways.”

Lin’s father had been a waiter who dreamt of owning his own restaurant. Chang, a man defined by his ambitions, who was so engrossed in his desires that he ignored the frailty of dreams when pitted against the unyielding nature of reality. He had collapsed on his weekly race to save weeks’ worth of tips, a heart too tender to race fate.

Their stories were eerily alike, Lin thought, as she walked to work the next morning. The city was vibrant yet indifferent, the towering skyscrapers looming like judgmental elders over its inhabitants.

At the restaurant, Mr. Wei, the irritable head chef, beckoned her over. His demeanor was a wall of stoic disappointment. “Lin, you have potential, but you lack respect for the process.”

Lin felt her chest constrict. Respect for the process, he meant hours of sweeping floors, of slicing endless onions, of waiting in line because life deemed it so.

She glanced out the large window toward the street, the bustling crowd seemed to move in rhythm to a song she couldn’t hear. “I respect the process, sir. But isn’t there room for those who dream beyond it?”

Mr. Wei considered her, an unreadable expression on his face. “Dreams are costly, young Lin. Sometimes they require a price you’re unwilling to pay.”

His words sunk in, echoing her mother’s insights. She hadn’t noticed, but the restaurant had steadily filled with patrons. She was serving plates with movements almost mechanical, lost in a web of recollections and realizations.

That night, Lin walked home under a canopy of stars. The clinking of plates and distant voices echoed in her mind juxtaposed with her father’s unfulfilled ambitions and the stone-cold lessons her mother imparted.

In the silence of their home, her mother was waiting. “Did you learn something about stubborn beef today?” she asked, her eyes reflecting a pool of unspoken wisdom and loss.

Lin nodded slowly. The steadfastness she cherished was a tightrope between dreams and disillusionment. But sometimes, that line snapped under the strain.

Firm, like the 坚固的beef, she thought, as she placed a hand over her heart—a heart resolved, a heart too tender.