In the old-style apartment building, the balcony also served as the kitchen.
Chen Mianmian stood at the cutting board, with the window glass right in front of her.
Even though she couldn’t see him, she could already feel his cold, piercing gaze.
It was Zhao Lingcheng—standing outside the window.
Forcing herself to stay calm, Chen Mianmian took a sip of milk powder, set the bowl down, and blurted out, “I came back to rest and take care of the pregnancy.”
She stood on tiptoe, letting her entire belly show. “Last November, you made me so angry I nearly miscarried. I bled a lot. Luckily, our baby is strong. Look—just two more months, and she’ll be able to meet you.”
She knew Zhao Lingcheng would definitely be suspicious and bring up her menstrual cycle.
So she spoke first, bringing up the threatened miscarriage to shut him down.
She also pinned the blame on him, saying it was his fault she almost lost the baby—just to see if he’d feel guilty.
Sure enough, Zhao Lingcheng was stunned. He said nothing and didn’t dare argue.
Chen Mianmian took another sip of milk powder and smiled. “Come inside. I’ll cook for us.”
At that moment, the baby kicked again—strongly, like a full-body turn.
Her belly visibly shifted and moved.
Taking advantage of it, she pushed her stomach forward, searching for Zhao Lingcheng’s figure. “Look—the baby is saying hello to Daddy.”
Zhao Lingcheng finally spoke again. “I’m working overtime.”
In fact, he hadn’t even looked at the window, nor had he seen her swollen belly.
He was staring at the pitch-black night sky, wondering if this was all just a nightmare and wishing he could wake up.
Chen Mianmian pressed, “Then when will you come home?”
She added, “I have something very important to discuss. We need to sit down and talk.”
Zhao Lingcheng’s voice was cold. “I don’t know.”
Then he said, “Goodbye.”
Chen Mianmian chased out into the hallway. “Then I’ll get breakfast ready tomorrow morning and wait for you?”
But when she reached outside, she only saw a tall figure in the distance disappearing around the corner.
…
At the gate of the family compound, the guard on duty saluted. “Hello, Engineer Zhao.”
Zhao Lingcheng snapped out of it, finally realizing this wasn’t a dream—his ex-wife had truly come back.
Memories he wished were buried surged up, making it impossible for him to focus on work or figure out how to handle the situation.
Thinking back, although the marriage had been accidental, he had once looked forward to love.
Seeing the girl’s highland-red cheeks, he had thought appearance didn’t matter—as long as her soul was interesting.
The first time she caught one of those creatures, he had secretly admired her and thought she was capable.
But it didn’t take long before he couldn’t take it anymore.
To save money, she replaced all the toilet paper with old newspapers.
She even used his treasured vinyl records as scraping tools to butcher animals—because they were more convenient.
All the eggs, fine flour, rice, and oil issued by his workplace—she took them back to her parents’ home, leaving him to eat coarse cornmeal and wild vegetables.
At first, she pitifully asked if she could give extra clothes to her younger brother.
Later, she got used to taking things—like raiders entering a village, grabbing anything she saw.
The worst was the Angong Niuhuang pill his mentor had personally given him—a life-saving medicine.
After learning about it, and seeing it locked in a drawer, she pried open his beloved desk to take it and offered it to her mother.
But they were still husband and wife, and he hadn’t restrained himself—so what was raw rice became cooked rice.
So when she stormed back to her parents’ home, he even took leave to go coax her.
But he personally witnessed Wei Cuiyun riding a motorcycle, chatting and laughing as he escorted her back.
After the divorce, he once ran into her at Quancheng Hospital—she was washing clothes, while Wei Cuiyun sat nearby, legs crossed, smiling as he watched.
Everything had clearly ended—there had been a full stop.
So how had things turned out like this again?
Only when a child ran into him did Zhao Lingcheng come back to his senses. “Zhanzhan?”
Little Zhanzhan held up a piece of animal fur. “Blindie skin! I showed it to my dad, and he said it’s really good!”
Zhao Lingcheng turned to leave, but Zhanzhan chased after him. “Uncle, didn’t Blindie give you one?”
Zhao Lingcheng had never been patient with children. He said coldly, “No. Go home!”
He needed to finish the report first—the headquarters was waiting for it.
Then he would look into the threatened miscarriage.
If the child was his, he would take responsibility—but he would never remarry. Never.
…
After using dry latrines, having a flush squat toilet made Chen Mianmian feel incredibly grateful.
And while most people still used newspaper as toilet paper, Zhao Lingcheng’s home actually had real toilet paper!
When she saw it, she was overjoyed.
Wandering into his bedroom, she was surprised to find that both his desk and bed were made of rosewood.
His mattress was thick wool felt—she tried it, and it was incredibly comfortable.
On the wall hung a piece of calligraphy that read: “Willing to bow one’s head and serve like an ox for the people,” signed by Zhao Jun.
Zhao Jun was the old patriarch—one of the first-generation air force members in the 1920s who went abroad to study aviation.
After looking around, Chen Mianmian thought to herself that the baby’s father really knew how to enjoy life.
Not daring to sleep on Zhao Lingcheng’s comfortable bed, she slept in the small, narrow bed in the spare room.
Early the next morning, she went to the canteen.
Outside, people were eating coarse buns, but here there were white steamed buns—she wanted those.
But when she asked, the canteen lady rolled her eyes. “No buns left. Only coarse ones.”
Then seeing she was paying with cash, the woman withdrew even those. “We only accept special ration tickets.”
At some point, Sun Bingyu appeared behind her. “Didn’t Lingcheng leave you any grain tickets?”
Chen Mianmian said, “He’s too busy. He forgot.”
Then she added, “I’ll go to the hospital canteen—it’s open to the public.”
Sun Bingyu handed her a bun. “That’s three kilometers away. Just eat mine for now.”
She then pulled over another woman. “Her frostbite hasn’t healed yet.”
Recognizing her from memory, Chen Mianmian said, “Sister Liu, it’s already April, and you still have frostbite on your feet?”
Sister Liu, whose husband worked in the political department, also gave her a bun. “Your belly doesn’t look that big.”
Then she added, “The hospital can’t cure it, but I heard of a folk remedy—wearing shoes made from that ‘Blindie’ skin can cure it.”
Sun Bingyu chimed in, “She won’t take them for free—she’ll pay you.”
Sister Liu said, “Money is negotiable. Can you sell me two skins?”
Yesterday, Chen Mianmian had deliberately given Sun Bingyu two skins—to spread the word and sell them.
The original owner’s debts would be repaid by her. Selling the skins was the perfect way to do it.
And sure enough, new customers had already arrived.
Not knowing how long she would stay, the faster she sold them, the better.
So she deliberately said, “I was planning to hand all the skins over to the supply and marketing cooperative in a few days to earn some recognition.”
Sister Liu immediately pulled out five yuan. “Save two for me.”
Sun Bingyu added, “Turning them in is honorable, but it doesn’t bring money. Wouldn’t it be better to sell some?”
Chen Mianmian pretended to hesitate. “I have over a hundred skins. Sister Liu can take two. I’ll turn in the rest later. Keeping them is useless—they’ll eventually be eaten by insects. Might as well exchange them for a certificate to hang at home.”
Sun Bingyu slapped her thigh. “I’ll go call people for you!”
Sister Liu also ran off to notify others to come grab the skins.
Back home, Chen Mianmian made herself milk powder again and ate two big steamed buns in one go.
When she stepped out again, seven or eight family members were already waiting outside the small house.
This was hunger marketing—if she said the skins would be gone in a few days, the anxious ones would be the buyers, not her.
Opening the door, she braced herself and went in first. The others followed.
At first, everyone only wanted two skins and picked carefully.
Chen Mianmian added at the right moment, “Using these as mattress padding is very effective for rheumatism. My mother used it.”
Sun Bingyu quickly grabbed three. “I’ll make a mattress for my mother—her arthritis is serious.”
Chen Mianmian deliberately said, “Take fewer—I still want to turn some in for recognition.”
Sister Liu immediately pulled down four. “I’ll make a mattress too, to treat my husband’s chronic leg pain.”
Once she started, everyone else rushed to grab some, afraid of missing out.
Afraid Chen Mianmian might change her mind, they stopped being picky and paid as soon as they grabbed some.
At two yuan per skin, she sold 48 skins in no time, earning 96 yuan.
After everyone left, she counted—56 skins remained, which she could sell slowly.
At noon, while she was cooking noodles, two more women came and bought six skins—another 12 yuan.
Zhao Lingcheng still hadn’t returned home, but Chen Mianmian wasn’t worried.
Based on the timing, the Quancheng Public Security Bureau should soon send a report about Xu Cigang and Chen Jinhui’s case.
He might avoid coming home because he disliked her and doubted the child.
But he would definitely be interested in the case—and willing to talk to her.
After a nap, she planned to go look for the meat from those animals.
It was said to be the real treasure—she would see if she could sell that too.
People with hoarding habits were usually messy and unhygienic.
But not the original owner—her hides were neatly hung, and even the storage room for meat looked clean.
But there was only a large heated bed platform and a big jar on the ground.
Where was the meat?
Just as Chen Mianmian entered, Sun Bingyu followed, smiling. “The meat is probably spoiled already.”
As a neighbor, she often saw Chen Mianmian store meat here.
Meat couldn’t be preserved like hides—she assumed it had long gone bad.
There was a large jar with a lid, weighed down by a stone.
Chen Mianmian couldn’t lift it alone, so she called Sun Bingyu to help.
Together, they removed it.
As she opened the lid, Sun Bingyu exclaimed, “It smells so good!”
Chen Mianmian smelled it too—a rich, savory aroma.
This jar had likely been prepared before the divorce.
And it wasn’t “Blindie” meat—it was wild boar.
Sealed under a thick layer of white fat, she scooped through it and pulled out a fist-sized piece.
The fat was almost translucent, the lean meat pink, wrapped in white grease.
Sun Bingyu drooled. “What beautiful preserved meat!”
At the same time, someone finally knocked on Zhao Lingcheng’s office door.
He had finished working long ago but refused to go home, hiding in his office reading.
Zhao Hui had called more than ten times—he didn’t answer any.
Commissar Qi came looking for him, and he ignored him too.
But this time, he opened the door.
Because a case report from Quancheng Public Security had arrived via the security office.
Along with it was that watch—its Longines interior replaced with a Seagull casing.
Just as Chen Mianmian expected, he skimmed the file and immediately headed for the family compound to find her.