Chapter 73: Radish Dumpling Soup, Time to Go Home!

Soon, they arrived at the worksite. The snowfall had made construction much more difficult; everyone hunched their shoulders and trembled as they shoveled earth in the snow. Each spadeful brought up half earth and half snow, which quickly mixed together, turning into mud.

Madam Huang braved the wind and snow, struggling to make out the figures, and finally spotted the people from Willow Bay.

“Head of the house! Head of the house! Stop working, everyone come have something hot!”

Willow Laifu was staggering with his load, nearly slipping with every step. In a daze, he thought he heard his wife’s voice. Looking around, he saw, indeed, a group of four coming against the snow-laden wind.

“Lianhua’s here! My Lianhua’s here! Stop working! She’s brought us hot tea!”

At this, the Willow Bay folks immediately put down their tools and gathered around.

Madam Huang’s anger flared as she saw her husband, his hair dusted white with snow.

“You fool! Where’s your hat? In this cold, you’ll freeze your head off! Do you want it to fall off, you blockhead?”

Willow Laifu shrank beneath her scolding. “Well, that new comrade, Cai, you know, the one they just sent—his ears and face got frostbitten. Looked real pitiful.”

Madam Huang saw Cai Mingcheng in the crowd, wearing her husband’s sheepskin hat.

Hearing this, Cai Mingcheng immediately apologized. “I’m sorry, sister-in-law. I’ll give it back to big brother right now!”

Madam Huang glanced at his red, frozen nose and pale face, and with a sigh, held his hands down as he tried to remove the hat. “No, don’t take it off. You’ll catch a cold going from warm to cold like that.”

Held in place, Cai Mingcheng nodded, his eyes reddening.

Willow Guoqiang organized everyone into a line to receive ginger tea.

Mingdai had Zhou Sinian set the earthenware pot over the charcoal brazier. Lifting the lid, a billow of steam rose like a white mist, quickly dissolving in the frigid air.

As each person wrapped their hands around a steaming bowl of ginger tea, even before drinking, they couldn’t help but sigh in relief—it was so comforting! Lifting the bowl to their lips, the hot, spicy liquid burned down to their stomachs, warming their entire bodies.

What could be better than a bowl of hot ginger tea in the freezing snow?

Soon, the pot of tea was gone, and Willow Bay’s revolutionary warriors, grasping their tools, plunged back into battle with the wind and snow.

Amidst the envy of the others, the four carried the empty pot back.

Returning to the shack, Madam Huang pulled a red spare kerchief from her bundle and dashed back out toward the worksite with urgency.

Before long, the second man from Willow Bay appeared on site wearing a red kerchief.

Thinking of the weather outside, Mingdai fetched the sun-dried medicinal herbs, measured them out, and set them to simmer anew in the pot.

With Zhou Sinian’s help, she dug open the snow-covered cellar and unearthed the radishes, scrubbing off the dirt with the snow outside, then washing them clean with warm water.

Inside, Madam Huang used the last fragments of rice to make a pot of steamed rice.

Mingdai, meanwhile, used the small stove to fry up the frozen cabbage she’d prepared earlier—three small batches in all, each with a fresh share of the precious oil.

Fortunately, in two days they would return home, so all could be used up just right.

Once the rice was done, it was poured into a large iron basin and covered, the vegetables kept warm on the small stove.

Mingdai began making radish soup.

She shoveled some oil into the pot, heated it, then tossed in chopped peanuts to fry until fragrant, after which she added shredded radish, stir-fried briefly, and poured in water to boil.

When the radish softened, she tore pieces of dough into the pot—a coarse grain dough, their last. Finishing it now was just right.

With the fire roaring, steam billowed, and soon a hearty pot of radish dumpling soup was ready.

Mingdai banked the remaining coals, and with the others, carried firewood to the different shacks.

Each shelter soon had a bonfire blazing, the warmth driving away the cold. In the icy world, these little huts became cozy havens.

The work bell rang. Mingdai brought out the food, and people lined up. She and Madam Huang worked in tandem—one served rice, the other vegetables—ensuring every bowl was steaming before the line moved on.

Once everyone had their meal, they returned to their shacks, only to be greeted by a wave of heat.

Gathered around the fires, eating rice and cabbage, everyone felt deeply satisfied.

A dark, lean man mused, “I can’t recall the year, but when we dug the reservoir, the snow was this thick. We ate outside, snowflakes falling right into our bowls, and before we could bring a bite to our mouths, the rice turned to ice. We had to melt it with our breath just to swallow. Who could've imagined, one day, we’d sit by the fire eating hot food like this?”

(These are experiences the author’s grandmother recounted from their days digging the canal—so hard to imagine now. The canal that can carry cargo ships in my hometown was dug by hand. Life back then was very hard; grandma said they often went hungry, sneaking into the bean fields at night to eat raw beans since they didn’t dare cook.)

Those who lived through those years chimed in, expressing gratitude to the four who had cooked.

Mingdai, seeing everyone had eaten their fill, ladled the radish soup into a bucket and went around, serving each shack a bowl.

After finishing their meal and another bowl of dumpling soup, the Willow Bay people felt ready to work another two hours!

Just before returning to the site, Mingdai served each person a bowl of medicinal soup, warming their bodies.

By day’s end, people from other villages either collapsed from exhaustion or fell ill from the cold. Only the Willow Bay group, gathered by their warm fires with bean sprout soup, could still laugh cheerfully.

That night, Mingdai took stock of the remaining public rations, discussed with Madam Huang plans to provide breakfast for the next two days.

Madam Huang was surprised by how much grain was left and agreed readily—they would never allow themselves to pocket public grain.

So, the next morning, everyone from Willow Bay enjoyed a thick bowl of multigrain porridge, accompanied by Mingdai’s pickled garlic. After slurping it down, they marched off to work, full of vigor.

People from other villages could only look on in disbelief—these folks were unbelievable!

Mingdai managed everything perfectly—in the last two days, all the grain was used up, as were the radishes, cabbage, pork fat, and salt—nothing went to waste.

The dried field mouse, which worried everyone most, was not eaten; instead, it was divided up for everyone to take home.

With sixty people in Willow Bay, each got two; the two remaining were given to Zhou Sinian at Willow Guoqiang’s discretion, and no one objected.

After verifying everything, Willow Guoqiang entered it into the records, and Mingdai’s work was done.

The next morning, everyone began packing. Mingdai had the most—several sacks of dried medicinal herbs alone, not to mention a good amount of homemade charcoal.

The familiar sound of hooves approached: Third Master Willow, bundled up like a bear, reappeared before them.

He’d been worried before coming—another year of snow, what would this lot from Willow Bay look like? How many would be unable to walk? Would his cart even be enough?

But when he saw everyone at the camp, he rubbed his eyes in disbelief.

Why were they all smiling? In past years, when the carts arrived to take them home, people would first break down in tears!

Just as he wondered, wails erupted from the neighboring village’s shacks.

Third Master Willow thought, “Ah, this is the normal routine. What on earth happened to you all?”

But no one had time to explain; everyone was eager to get home.

Everyone pitched in, loading up the carts. Willow Guoqiang, seeing Third Master Willow dazed, called out, “Third Uncle, let’s go!”

Only then did he snap out of it, instinctively leading his horse to turn, then exclaiming at the loaded cart, “So frugal this year? There’s still stuff left?”

Willow Guoqiang smiled. “That’s not leftover grain—it’s medicinal herbs that Comrade Xiaoming collected.”

Third Master Willow peered into the cart. “Wow! Sack after sack? Wait—a city youth, collecting herbs?”

Willow Guoqiang patiently explained, with Third Master Willow gasping in surprise from time to time.

Finally, rubbing his drafty teeth, Third Master Willow grinned, “Say, do you think Comrade Xiaoming knows how to fix teeth?”

Willow Guoqiang laughed. “You’ll have to ask her once she starts practicing medicine. But Third Uncle, your missing front teeth don’t affect your eating or drinking—why fix them?”

Third Master Willow shot him a glare—wasn’t it because people in the village stopped calling him Old Bachelor Uncle and started calling him Gappy Tooth Uncle or Grandpa? How awful was that?

He still wished to be called Old Bachelor.