Chapter 31: Chive Pastries

After deciding on Zhou Sinian’s treatment plan, Ming Dai planned to go to sleep. Before leaving, she helped Zhou Sinian make his bed. The military blanket, warmed thoroughly by the heated kang, was laid atop the mattress; the edges were tucked in, and the new army coat was draped over it. She reminded him to fill the saline bottles with water later and not to fiddle with the caps anymore.

Seeing his fondness for the emergency lamp, she let it stay, only teaching him how to use it and telling him not to waste electricity. With a yawn, she picked up her things and left. After a day’s ordeal, she was exhausted.

At night, after washing up, Zhou Sinian placed the saline bottles under the quilt—one at his feet, another beside his pillow. Before getting into bed, he rose and walked to the kang cabinet, gazing at this new contraption and opening the small cabinet meant for food. He stared for a while, but ultimately closed it. He had brushed his teeth; one shouldn’t eat after brushing at night. Unhappy, he undressed, took the underwear and thermal clothes Ming Dai had tucked into his quilt, and put them on. There was no discomfort, only a sense of reassurance.

He wiggled his feet under the covers, savoring the ease of not having to sleep in heavy cotton clothing, feeling warmth from all directions. He gently turned off the emergency lamp, and the entire room sank into slumber.

Ming Dai lay on the kang nearby, stretching her limbs comfortably. This big kang truly was humanity’s greatest invention! Watching moonlight spill through the low window, she chuckled softly. She hadn’t expected to adapt so quickly to life here; it felt as if she had always lived this way.

In just a few days, the poverty and confusion unique to this era had seeped into her. She was grateful for her storage space, that she hadn’t arrived empty-handed.

Before long, her eyes closed, and she was drawn into deep sleep. Through the wall, feeling the steady breathing from the other side, Zhou Sinian blinked and slowly drifted off.

The next morning, Ming Dai woke instinctively. She reached for her phone, but couldn’t find it, and clumsily crawled out of bed. Staring at the pitch-black ceiling, she accepted reality. She touched the warm surface of the kang and fetched her clothes from the headboard, pulling them on. The clothes, dried and warmed overnight, felt comfortable.

Stepping outside, she found the courtyard spotless, the chimney puffing smoke, and Zhou Sinian squatting in the yard, absorbed in something. Ming Dai didn’t call out to him and headed straight for the kitchen.

Having hot water ready first thing in the morning was a rare blessing in winter.

After washing up, Ming Dai rummaged through the two bags brought by Liu Laifu yesterday. One bag held vegetables—mainly cabbage and radish, as nothing else was available at this time of year. Unusually, there was even a small bunch of chives, likely the last batch before winter set in.

She knew what to cook: today would be chive pockets.

She put away the cabbage and radish, thinking she’d need to dig a vegetable cellar, or else they’d freeze and spoil. Hearing her mutter, Zhou Sinian followed her and headed to the back of the kitchen.

The kitchen was spacious, with shelves fixed to the wall behind the stove, previously used for storage but now cleaned by Ming Dai for kitchenware. Behind the shelves was a large empty space that Ming Dai hadn’t noticed before; Zhou Sinian opened it, and they discovered a cellar below.

She stopped Zhou Sinian from climbing down immediately and tossed in a lit wooden stick. Seeing the flame didn’t extinguish, she descended the ladder. Inside, she found an empty cellar, musty from disuse but very practical—no need to dig another vegetable pit.

Moreover, she discovered an ice cellar nested within, small but capable of storing a fair amount of ice—a pleasant surprise.

She opened the cellar hatch for ventilation and had Zhou Sinian unload the other bag onto the table.

It contained half a bag of assorted dried vegetables, a pack of red dates, walnuts, pine nuts, peanuts, and melon seeds. The quantities weren’t large, but each was wrapped carefully in oil paper—a thoughtful gesture.

She put everything away, and made mental note of Liu Laifu’s kindness.

She tasked Zhou Sinian with picking the chives while she made egg flowers on the small stove.

Two eggs cracked into hot oil; Ming Dai tossed the shells into the stove, thinking they could raise two chickens.

With chickens, she’d have an excuse to eat eggs; while she could claim to buy them, it wouldn’t fit her pitiable persona to buy eggs often.

If Zhou Sinian noticed, his muddled memory would likely not recall, or he’d attribute it to another hallucination.

Zhou Sinian soon brought the cleaned chives. Seeing them neatly arranged, Ming Dai praised him—this body wasn’t robust, and it was best not to touch cold water in winter.

She chopped the chives, put them in an enamel bowl, added the fried egg bits, five-spice powder, salt, and sesame oil, and mixed it all together.

She took out the dough she’d prepared yesterday, set it on the board, sprinkled flour, kneaded it a few times to release the air, and cut it into equal-sized pieces, rolling each flat with a rolling pin.

She scooped a spoonful of filling, folded the dough, crimped the edges—a pocket ready. Zhou Sinian watched once and began to imitate her. Ming Dai observed: the first attempt was odd, the second looked passable, and the third was nearly perfect.

She couldn’t compete with him—another day bested by natural talent.

Ming Dai, lamenting the unfairness of creation, rolled out all the dough skins.

She let Zhou Sinian fill them while she increased the stove’s flame, and, using the oil from frying eggs, placed the pockets into the pan, filling the bottom.

While waiting for them to puff up, she took some rice from Zhou Sinian’s supplies, washed it clean, and set it to boil.

She flipped the chive pockets, their golden crust tempting.

Zhou Sinian finished wrapping all the pockets and admired his handiwork. Ming Dai glanced over; his progress was impressive—no traces of beginner’s mistakes.

The first batch of chive pockets was ready; Ming Dai lifted them into a small basket, their plump appearance utterly adorable.

Zhou Sinian put the rest into the pan; seeing his eagerness, Ming Dai handed him the spatula.

She turned to grab a radish, washed off the dirt, and shredded it finely.

She added vinegar, sprinkled salt and sesame oil, mixed it—a simple radish pickle was done.

She lifted the lid off the big stove; the rice was bubbling, the grains blooming.

She ladled out the rice soup and set the radish shreds on the table; Zhou Sinian was finishing the last batch of chive pockets.

A few minutes later, the two ate chive pockets, sipped hot porridge, and enjoyed the crisp radish shreds for breakfast.

Not a single chive pocket remained; the porridge was finished, and Zhou Sinian polished off the radish pickle—another satisfying meal.

As usual, Zhou Sinian washed the dishes, while Ming Dai went to her room to braid her hair into two neat plaits. Only then did she join Zhou Sinian, ready for work after their morning chores.