Chapter 23 Zhou Sinian might be late, but the foodie Zhou Sinian will never be late!

Mingdai carried the bundle of branches into the kitchen, then went to her room to fetch a flashlight. She took out two sections of cured sausage from her space, diced them, and washed a large Chinese cabbage, setting aside the tender heart and chopping the rest finely. After pondering a moment, she scooped out two bowls of rice, washed them clean, and set them aside.

She poured oil into the pot, first rendering the fat from the sausage, then added the cabbage, stir-frying a few times before pouring in enough water to cover the ingredients. She sprinkled in her own blend of thirteen-spice powder, salt, and ground Sichuan pepper, stirring it all together. Fat droplets began to float on the surface, and the aroma drifted out of the kitchen.

Zhou Sinian arrived right on time!

Zhou Sinian might be late for anything else, but when it came to food, he was never late.

She poured the washed rice atop the simmering dish, used a spoon to make a well in the middle, then covered the pot, sealing in the fragrance.

“Let’s finish our work first. When you’re done, you can eat,” she said.

Zhou Sinian inhaled deeply, reluctant to leave, but finally tore himself away.

Given his good performance today, when the time came to open the pot, Mingdai cracked two eggs into it.

The scent of food grew stronger and richer, making Zhou Sinian, busy unloading firewood outside, increasingly impatient. Yet his ingrained seriousness kept him focused, only prompting him to work faster.

At last, the entire cart of firewood was neatly stacked in the corner against the wall, sorted into wet and dry piles. The larger, damp pile consisted of the wood Zhou Sinian had chopped, while the smaller dry pile was made up of branches Mingdai had gathered and the deadwood Zhou Sinian had carried down.

Everything was tidy and orderly, and Mingdai was very satisfied—those eggs had not been added in vain.

At this point, Zhou Sinian was practically hovering by the stove.

Mingdai lifted the lid for him to see. “The rice isn’t quite done yet. Just wait a little longer.”

Zhou Sinian took a deep breath, content, and squatted in front of the stove to watch the fire.

Seeing him so engrossed, Mingdai picked up a bucket and went to fetch water. Tonight, she wanted to soak her feet.

After lugging a half-bucket of water to the kitchen and pouring it into the vat, she stepped out again, with Zhou Sinian following close behind. Watching her struggle, he snatched the bucket from her hands the next time she returned with water and headed outside.

Was he offering to help?

Mingdai was in high spirits. Here it was: the reserve labor force coming online, ready to chop wood and fetch water.

Who needed a bicycle with help like this!

Soon enough, the water vat was filled after a few more trips.

Mingdai took out a large clay jar, set it firmly on a smaller stove, and added water. She pulled some firewood from the main stove, stuffed it into the smaller one, added a few more pieces, and pumped the bellows until the fire caught.

By now, Zhou Sinian was already holding his bowl, waiting.

Mingdai lifted the lid: a pot of savory rice glistened with oil, the aroma so intoxicating that Zhou Sinian was practically dazed.

Eagerly, he thrust his bowl forward. Mingdai didn’t tease him, but filled it generously, adding both poached eggs to his bowl.

“Go eat at the counter,” she told him, slipping a spoon into his bowl.

Zhou Sinian cradled his bowl as if holding his own child.

Mingdai served herself a bowl as well.

Savory, fragrant, and satisfying! Cantonese-style sausage paired with sweet, crisp Chinese cabbage—delicious without being greasy. Coupled with steaming rice, even her eyebrows seemed to tingle with delight!

Zhou Sinian clearly agreed, especially since he had both eggs, while Mingdai’s bowl had none—only he did!

He was inexplicably happy.

Though there were no chairs, standing to eat was just as satisfying. Their empty, chilled stomachs were finally soothed by warmth and fullness.

Comfort at last!

As usual, Mingdai was full after just one bowl. She set down her bowl, squatted by the small stove, and boiled water in the clay jar.

Zhou Sinian, having finished his first serving, hurried over for seconds.

Mingdai wasn’t worried about him overeating—she’d gauged the amount precisely.

In the end, Zhou Sinian finished all the rice. Mingdai scraped the crispy layer from the bottom of the pot for him to gnaw on, then washed the dishes and pots, making sure he noticed.

Zhou Sinian squatted nearby, crunching on the pot’s crust, watching Mingdai’s movements with thoughtful eyes.

She did it on purpose. Once he learned, she’d have him do the washing in the future.

When the water boiled, she poured it into a hot water bottle, then added more water to the clay jar to warm.

After thinking a moment, she went to her room, fetched two padlocks, and called Zhou Sinian over.

She first locked the front door from the inside, beside the shadow wall.

“We won’t use this door anymore, so the people in the front yard can’t come and steal our food.”

Zhou Sinian’s eyes grew cold as he glared fiercely toward the front yard, clearly recalling the shameful things those people had done before.

They moved to the back door, pushed the flat cart inside, closed and locked the door.

“From now on, we’ll use this door. Do you want a key?”

Since she’d never heard the door open before, and knowing his agility, Mingdai guessed he’d probably been coming and going over the wall.

As expected, Zhou Sinian shook his head.

So she tucked a spare key into a crack in the wall, telling him where to find it if needed.

With the doors locked, Mingdai returned to her room and brought out several saline bottles.

Her father had worked in a hospital, so even the brigade leader knew about these; taking them out now wouldn’t seem strange.

She filled them with water, checked the seals carefully to ensure they didn’t leak, and handed two to Zhou Sinian.

“Put these in your bed—they’ll keep you warm. Don’t break them or burn yourself.”

Zhou Sinian took them, surprised by their heat, turning them over and over, wanting to clink them together until Mingdai scolded him. Crestfallen, he carried the bottles back to his room.

Zhou Sinian’s room was cold and bare.

He’d been in the countryside for three years; at first, he’d brought plenty of things, but as his mental state deteriorated, many were lost or stolen by others. By the time he reached Liujiawan, all he had left was an army blanket, a cotton jacket, and a pair of military boots—he didn’t even own a change of clothes.

As for pots and pans, they were all gone.

He couldn’t even remember where his cooking pot and spoon had come from—he was destitute.

He shook out his damp blanket, tucked the hot bottles inside, and reluctantly patted them before getting up again.

In the kitchen, Mingdai had already filled two basins with hot water.

“Come wash your face. From now on, the red one is yours, the green one is mine. Remember that.”

Zhou Sinian looked curiously at the steaming basin.

Mingdai demonstrated: wrapping a towel around her chest, she scooped up water to wash her face, rubbed some soap in her hands until it frothed, massaged it over her face, rinsed clean, then dried her face with the towel.

She looked at Zhou Sinian.

He understood and copied her, except his movements were so large he splashed water everywhere.

He dried his face, staring at the big red peony blossoms on the towel, absentmindedly picking at them.

Mingdai produced a tin of anti-chapping balm, scooped some out, and said, “Give me your hand.”

Zhou Sinian put down the towel and, imitating Mingdai, hung it on the rope she’d just strung up, obediently holding out his hand.

His palm was rough and calloused. Zhou Sinian eyed the creamy balm, tempted to eat it.

“No, you can’t eat this. Watch me.”

He didn’t look pleased, but watched her closely.

Mingdai used her rose face cream, spreading it evenly on her palms before massaging it onto her face, neck, and ears.

“Just like me, put it on your face.”

Zhou Sinian wrinkled his nose, watching Mingdai, but did nothing.

She rolled her eyes, squeezed a blob of her own cream into his palm.

He sniffed it, finally satisfied, and gently rubbed it over his face, neck, and ears as she’d shown.

This was Mingdai’s own recipe for anti-chapping balm, very effective.

Given Zhou Sinian’s stubbornness, she planned to add a few drops of rose oil to his balm later, so he’d stop coveting her face cream.

Her cream was expensive!

She poured out the used water, refilled a big basin with warm water from the clay jar.

Zhou Sinian followed her example, filling his own large basin with water.

They took off their shoes and soaked their feet. Mingdai sighed with contentment.

“Ah!”

All the day’s fatigue seemed to melt away.

Zhou Sinian copied her, pulling his big feet out of his black cotton shoes and lowering them into the warm water.

Mingdai watched until he let out his own “Ah!” before looking away, thinking about the sound she’d just heard.

So he wasn’t mute after all.

Zhou Sinian, meanwhile, was curiously splashing the water.

When his shoes were about to get wet, Mingdai warned, “If you get your shoes or clothes wet again, I won’t feed you!”

Zhou Sinian immediately behaved, sitting quietly with lowered head, feet soaking.

After fifteen minutes, Mingdai handed him a red towel with double-happiness characters—it had been little Mingdai’s face towel.

“Use this for your feet. The peony one is for your face—don’t mix them up.”

Zhou Sinian said nothing, taking the towel and picking at the double-happiness characters.

Mingdai didn’t say any more. She’d warned him—if he mixed them up, he couldn’t blame her.

She took out a new green-striped towel for her feet, slipped into her cotton slippers, and stood up.

These, too, had been little Mingdai’s; she wore them herself for now.

Zhou Sinian dried his feet and looked around for slippers. When he didn’t find any, his eyebrows knitted together.

Mingdai, amused, said, “You don’t have slippers. Wear your black cotton shoes.”

He looked at his shoes, then at Mingdai’s little floral slippers and was displeased.

In the end, Mingdai, too tired to argue, promised to make him a pair in the future. Only then did he reluctantly put on his shoes and carry his footbath away.

He poured out the water, rinsed the basin, and set it aside.

Mingdai handed him a toothbrush and cup, squeezed some toothpaste, and began brushing her teeth.

Soon, Zhou Sinian had learned as well.

“Brush once in the morning and once at night. After you brush at night, you can’t eat anything. Understand?”

Zhou Sinian paused mid-brush, pulled out the toothbrush, swallowed the toothpaste with a gulp, and glared at her in protest.

Mingdai, now in a much better mood, ignored him, put away her things, and cheerfully went to bed.

Zhou Sinian stood in the courtyard for a long time before putting the toothbrush back in his mouth.

That night, lying in his damp bedding, Zhou Sinian felt a warmth he hadn’t known in ages.

Just two bottles of saline, and he was so much more comfortable.

“Ah!”

A deep, drawn-out sigh slowly faded into the night.