As soon as Chen Mianmian stepped into the living room, Zhao Lingcheng walked past her and went straight into the bedroom.
She only caught a glimpse of his green coat and white shirt—both unusually bright in color.
Now she could understand why the female supporting character didn’t like him, but instead liked Section Chief Wei.
The supporting character was a countryside girl. Since childhood, she had worked under the scorching sun every day, doing farm labor, often lying on the ground digging rat holes.
If she happened to run into a wild boar or a rabbit, that meant meat—but either it died, or she did.
She had lost her father early on. Watching the strong laborers in other families made her eyes burn with envy.
The man of her dreams had to have dark skin and a strong body capable of hauling buckets of manure.
But in her memory, Zhao Lingcheng had pale skin and a gloomy expression—nothing masculine about him.
She didn’t like him either. She only agreed to marry him to save up a bride price for her younger brother.
For her brother’s sake, she married a man she didn’t love—a refined, delicate-looking man.
The kind of man she truly liked was someone like Section Chief Wei: dark-skinned, tall, and powerfully built.
But in Chen Mianmian’s eyes, Zhao Lingcheng’s complexion wasn’t that pale.
After all, this was the vast northwestern desert—how pale could anyone really stay?
And although she had only glanced at him, with her sharp judgment from being over thirty, Zhao Lingcheng wasn’t as weak as the supporting character imagined. Compared to the rugged Section Chief Wei, who had returned from the battlefield, he just seemed a bit more refined.
She hadn’t seen his features clearly, but when they brushed past each other, she noticed he didn’t smell of sweat.
This negotiation concerned whether she could have a natural delivery, so she couldn’t help feeling nervous. And when she got nervous, her abdomen would tighten and harden.
That was called uterine contractions. The doctor had said it could likely lead to fetal oxygen deprivation.
Leaning against the wall, she took deep breaths to relax her stomach and said,
“Lingcheng, there are some documents on the desk. You can take a look first.”
To avoid unnecessary conflict, she had specially drafted a remarriage contract the night before.
Together with an IOU, she had placed them on Zhao Lingcheng’s desk so he could see them anytime.
Since he had closed the bedroom door, she didn’t disturb him out of respect.
All her demands were clearly written in the contract.
What he could accept and what he couldn’t—he could read it first, then they would talk.
After a long time of deep breathing, her stomach finally softened and even moved slightly.
That was Niuniu signaling her mother, telling her she was healthy.
Chen Mianmian was starving, and Niuniu needed food too. At this point, cooking came first.
Following her memory, she used coal briquettes to boil half a pot of water, then added cool boiled water to make it warm. She mixed in yeast and poured everything into gray-green tartary buckwheat flour. After stirring it into a thin batter, she left it in the pot to ferment.
Huang Lin had given her two old potatoes with long sprouts and wrinkled skins.
Chen Mianmian peeled them, shredded them, and soaked them in cold water—changing the water repeatedly, afraid of poisoning.
By the wall across the yard were two rows of scallions and a patch of chives planted by the supporting character last year.
She pulled them up to use for cooking, and when she turned back, she ran into Sun Bingyu.
Holding a bowl, Sun Bingyu smiled and asked,
“Want to try some of the meat I cooked? It smells amazing.”
Chen Mianmian immediately started drooling.
“You actually have white rice to eat?”
After being here for several days, she hadn’t even seen rice until now.
Sun Bingyu said frankly,
“There’s only one bowl of rice left at home. I cooked it with meat. I can serve you a bowl too.”
Most people in the base were from the south and used to eating rice, but rice wasn’t grown in the northwest.
And this was 1965—a time when people across the country were going hungry.
Even coarse grains were rationed carefully. Outside, sorghum was only roughly husked. A bowl of white rice was incredibly precious.
Chen Mianmian smiled and declined. Just as she was about to go back inside, Sun Bingyu said,
“Don’t make noise.”
She glanced toward the neighboring unit.
“Everyone knows each other here. If Jiang Xia hears it, she’ll start gossiping about you again.”
The reason Chen Mianmian had decided to take Niuniu away was precisely to avoid such gossip.
Take Jiang Xia, for example—the one who had just targeted her earlier. Her family was related to Zhao Lingcheng’s, and her younger sister Jiang Yao was the heroine of the original story. She hated the supporting character the most and used to scold her openly.
Just now, she had practically implied that Niuniu wasn’t Zhao Lingcheng’s child.
If the child were left here alone, she would grow up being drowned in Jiang Xia’s gossip.
But no matter what, giving birth safely was the most important thing.
Chen Mianmian nodded.
“Don’t worry, I won’t.”
Sun Bingyu added,
“There’s no major conflict. Just coax him a bit. For the child’s sake, he’ll give in.”
There really was no major conflict between the supporting character and Zhao Lingcheng—but there was no affection either.
They were from two different worlds. They neither understood nor wanted to understand each other.
The supporting character thought Zhao Lingcheng was too delicate—he even used expensive toilet paper and acted shy like a woman.
Zhao Lingcheng, on the other hand, thought she had only one flaw: stupidity.
…
While the dough was fermenting, Chen Mianmian stir-fried the meat first.
A small piece of meat produced half a bowl of oil. She scooped some out and used the remaining oil to fry the shredded potatoes.
When it was time to make pancakes, she poured the batter along the edge of the pan and cooked it slowly over low heat.
Suddenly, she heard the door bang open and turned around immediately.
“You’ve read the documents, right? What do you think?”
Seeing Zhao Lingcheng standing at the door, she added,
“Don’t go out yet. I’m cooking—wait and eat.”
Zhao Lingcheng was opening the door because someone had arrived—Sun Bingyu’s husband, Ma Ji, the head of the security department.
He smiled and said,
“The leader asked me to stop by. I forgot earlier while eating.”
Wiping grease from his mouth, he added,
“The cured meat Xiao Chen made was so fragrant I almost lost myself eating it.”
Chen Mianmian had only cut a small piece to save the rest for selling, and she had already eaten quite a bit herself.
She lifted a freshly made buckwheat pancake from the pan and asked,
“Director Ma, want to try one?”
Ma Ji had come on Political Commissar Qi’s orders to remind Zhao Lingcheng to be more considerate—like washing the dishes at night.
But seeing the soft, springy pancake, he asked,
“What kind of flour is this? It’s so chewy.”
Chen Mianmian replied,
“Tartary buckwheat flour. I added sugar—makes great pancakes. Try one.”
She rolled one with potatoes and a few slices of meat and handed it to him.
Buckwheat wasn’t usually chewy—it was sticky and bitter as noodles—but somehow she had made it soft and elastic, paired with crisp potatoes and fragrant cured meat.
Ma Ji had already eaten, but he devoured the pancake in two bites, eyes wide.
“Delicious!”
Then he said,
“No, this doesn’t taste raw—it shouldn’t be buckwheat.”
But seeing Zhao Lingcheng glaring impatiently, he quickly added,
“You two eat slowly. I’ll head back first.”
Chen Mianmian had made four pancakes and already eaten one.
With the last ladle of batter, she poured it into the pan on the lowest heat.
She dipped her fingers in cold water to lift the pancake, but it was too hot. She flung her hand—and splashed water onto Zhao Lingcheng’s face as he walked up behind her.
Dropping the pancake, she hopped around, sucking her fingers.
“Hot! So hot!”
With water dripping from his hair, Zhao Lingcheng went back to the living room and sat at the table.
He had been one of the first to arrive at the base and had chosen this apartment.
He picked the first floor because all the furniture had been carried from the capital by himself.
The furniture was too big to move upstairs, so he settled there.
There were marks on the wall where calligraphy had once hung—his father’s work.
But like the radio on the table, it had all been taken away by Chen Mianmian.
Looking at the cabinet, the Russian nesting dolls and scenic postcards were also gone.
When Zhao Lingcheng returned earlier, he had gone straight to the bedroom because half a year’s salary was stored there.
He had expected it to be gone—but it was still in the drawer.
Strange. This time, she hadn’t looted anything. Instead, she had drafted a marriage contract.
Of the thirty-six stratagems, Zhao Lingcheng had no idea which one she was playing now.
…
The meal was served: half a plate of shredded potatoes, three pancakes, and a few slices of wild boar meat.
After setting the table and taking off her coat, she sat across from him.
Only then did Zhao Lingcheng notice that the purple-red patches on her face had faded, leaving only a light blush.
The “plateau red” was caused by harsh sun and cold wind.
She hadn’t used sun protection before, but after half a year of divorce, she had become fairer—probably because she hadn’t been in the sun much.
He also noticed her belly—round and protruding.
She picked up a pancake, filled it with potatoes, and added the last four golden slices of meat.
Holding it out to him, she said nothing.
“I’m not eating, thanks,” he said coldly, not looking at her.
Then he said,
“I told you before—there were others by the shore. That person wasn’t trying to assault you. He was trying to kill you.”
According to the police report, Xu Cigang had been exposed by her.
Zhao Lingcheng was upset because he had suspected murder at the time and repeatedly asked if she had enemies.
The canal was deep—up to sixty meters—with collapsing loess soil and three meters of sludge. The water came from snowmelt—freezing cold.
If someone fell in, they would either freeze to death or suffocate in the mud.
He had nearly died saving her.
But no matter how he explained, she insisted he had pushed her in to assault her.
…
Chen Mianmian apologized sincerely,
“I’m sorry. I was foolish and wrongly accused you.”
Then she added,
“I already reported it. Xu Cigang has been arrested.”
He said nothing.
After a while, he asked,
“Where’s your coat? Why are you wearing mine?”
She realized the coat was indeed his.
Thinking quickly, she lied,
“They took it from me.”
He loosened his collar and asked,
“The police said you were beaten and forced to take abortion medicine?”
She finished eating and said proudly,
“Our baby is very strong.”
She lifted her belly.
“Even after all that, she’s still holding on.”
…
Zhao Lingcheng had already decided—no remarriage.
If the child was his, he would take responsibility. But remarriage was out of the question.
Chen Mianmian, however, had prepared medical records and ultrasound reports to persuade him.
The negotiation officially began, tension filling the air.
But just as it was about to start, something unexpected happened.
There was a knock.
“Report!”
A guard said,
“Engineer Zhao, you have a call. It’s the old commander—urgent.”
Zhao Lingcheng glanced at her. She shook her head.
“I don’t have your grandfather’s contact information.”
He grabbed his coat and left.
…
At the guard station, Zhao Lingcheng took the call.
The old commander was in a good mood, talking about military matters—U-2 reconnaissance planes and defense systems.
Then suddenly, he asked,
“When you divorced Xiao Chen… was it really her idea?”
Zhao Lingcheng paused.
“You read the report.”
The old commander exploded in anger, accusing him of abandoning his wife and child.
Just then, Chen Mianmian arrived.
She didn’t know what had happened, but she knew Zhao Lingcheng had already taken enough blame.
So she shouted into the receiver:
“Grandpa, I’m fine! And Lingcheng is not that kind of man!”