Since they had found the Chen Family Medical Notes, Su Ci couldn’t sit still for a moment.
This wasn’t just a notebook—it was Lu Si’s legs, the guarantee of her future comfort, her personal cash machine on legs!
Early the next morning, just as dawn was breaking, Su Ci got up.
If they were going to beg for help, she couldn’t go empty-handed.
In this era, nothing worked better than giving food.
She busied herself in the kitchen—kneading dough, rolling noodles, and making scallion oil.
She sliced onions, frying them slowly over low heat until the pieces turned golden brown and crisp, letting the aroma dominate every corner of the room.
Then she added soy sauce and a pinch of sugar to enhance the flavor. With a sizzle, the secret scallion oil sauce was ready.
The noodles were cooked, rinsed in cold water, and scooped into bowls. Two spoonfuls of glossy black scallion oil, a sprinkle of white sesame seeds, a scattering of chopped scallions, and a quick mix—the aroma was enough to make anyone’s soul sway.
Lu Si was awakened by the scent.
He opened his eyes, disoriented.
In the army, waking up meant smelling sweat or gunpowder; at home, it was medicine or mildew.
Never had he woken up to the smell of scallion oil.
“Awake?” Su Ci carried two large bowls in, her cheeks flushed from the stove fire. “Get up and eat! Once you’re full, we’ve got big things to do.”
Lu Si looked at the glossy noodles, his Adam’s apple moving, but he didn’t touch the chopsticks. “Where to?”
“To the cattle shed at Red Star Commune,” Su Ci said, handing him the chopsticks. “I’ve heard several ‘old intellectuals’ were sent there. One of them is an old man surnamed Chen, used to be a doctor, and has a very strange temper. I want to try our luck.”
Lu Si’s hand tightened around the chopsticks.
The cattle shed—that was the most looked-down-upon place in this era.
“I’m not going,” Lu Si refused coldly. “I don’t want to be a laughingstock.”
A former regiment commander, now stooping to beg for medical help in a cattle shed?
If it didn’t work, he’d be even more humiliated.
Su Ci had already anticipated his objection.
She slurped a generous mouthful of noodles, sighed contentedly, wiped her mouth, and crouched in front of Lu Si, holding his face in her hands to make him look at her.
“Old Lu, listen to me.”
Her eyes were clear and serious, reflecting his flustered expression.
“Face, reputation—they’re the cheapest things in the world. Only your legs belong to you. Think about it: when your legs are healed, standing there in uniform, who would dare laugh at you? Then, it’s you giving face to others, not the other way around.”
She paused, then added mischievously: “Besides, if you’re stuck in a wheelchair, later when we… cough cough… well, won’t that be inconvenient?”
Lu Si’s face turned crimson, and he swatted her hands away. “Su Ci! Can a girl like you show any shame?!”
“Does shame fill your stomach?” Su Ci rolled her eyes. “Eat your noodles! If they clump, they’ll be ruined. Afterward, I’ll push you there. Anyone who laughs at you, I’ll smash with the leftover agarwood from yesterday!”
Looking at this spirited little woman, Lu Si felt his gloom and wounded pride miraculously lift.
Half an hour later, Su Ci pushed Lu Si, notebook tucked in her arms, an aluminum lunchbox hanging from the wheelchair handle containing leftover scallion noodles, heading several kilometers toward Red Star Commune.
The roads were rough dirt paths, full of potholes.
Lu Si sat in the wheelchair, brow furrowed from the bumps—not just physical discomfort, but mental strain.
He watched Su Ci, slender arms and legs, pushing him over the uneven road, sweat streaming down her face, dampening stray strands of hair.
“Su Ci, let’s rest a bit,” Lu Si finally said, his voice dry.
“I’m fine,” she panted, smiling brightly. “Think of it as morning exercise. Old Lu, haven’t you gained weight recently? You feel heavier than when you first came.”
Lu Si pressed his lips together, saying nothing, quietly placing his hands on the wheelchair wheels, turning them to lighten her burden.
When they reached the Red Star Commune cattle shed, the scene was even more dilapidated than Su Ci had imagined.
Several leaky straw huts, the air thick with cow dung and rot.
A few emaciated old men in tattered clothes were laboriously handling cow dung and chopping feed.
Su Ci’s gaze swept the area and landed on an old man napping against a haystack.
His hair was white and messy like a bird’s nest, his cotton coat torn to reveal darkened stuffing, his face so grimy it was unrecognizable. He held a cracked gourd to his mouth, probably filled with water.
“Sir?” Su Ci stepped forward cautiously.
The old man didn’t lift an eyelid. He rolled over, presenting his backside to her. “Still alive. Stop your wailing.”
As expected, a strange temper.
Su Ci wasn’t fazed and signaled Lu Si with her eyes.
Lu Si pushed forward, maintaining his soldierly courtesy even in this environment. “Old sir, are you Mr. Chen Qinghe?”
The old man stiffened, then sneered. “Chen Qinghe’s long dead. Now there’s only Old Chen, the dung-scooper. You’ve got the wrong person—scram.”
Lu Si was about to speak further, but Su Ci stopped him.
Without a word, she opened the aluminum lunchbox.
The rich aroma of scallion oil exploded into the air, cutting through the stench of cow dung.
The old man twitched his nose twice.
“Ah, what a pity,” Su Ci said loudly, feigning disappointment. “I specially made these scallion noodles with the best pork fat—crispy and aromatic. I wanted to offer them to a divine doctor. Since the doctor’s dead, these noodles…”
She motioned to close the lid. “Old Lu, shall we feed them to the dogs?”
“Don’t dare!”
The half-dead old man suddenly sat up with the agility of a monkey.
His previously cloudy eyes locked onto the lunchbox, his throat making audible swallowing noises.
“Who said feed the dogs? That’s a waste!” the old man said, abandoning pretense. “Give it to me! I am Chen Qinghe! I’m a divine doctor!”
Su Ci pulled the box away, letting him grab nothing.
She smiled at the unkempt old man. “Didn’t you just say Chen Qinghe was dead?”
“Playing dead, alright?!” the old man panicked, tugging at his hair. “Little girl, stop babbling—take a bite! I haven’t smelled fatty oil in three months!”
Su Ci handed him the box.
The old man grabbed it, not caring about the dirt, shoving the noodles into his mouth with his hands, eating like a starving wolf.
Lu Si watched the scene, emotions tangled.
This was the famed Chen, once known throughout Beijing, now reduced to this.
After licking the lunchbox clean and belching loudly, he lazily glanced at the two.
“Fine, the noodles are eaten. So, what is it you came for? Medical treatment?”
Before Lu Si could speak, the old man waved him off, looking rogue-like. “No more treatments. I quit long ago. You two can leave.”
Classic: take everything and deny any debt.
Lu Si’s face darkened, anger flickering in his eyes.
Su Ci held his hand and pulled out the yellowed Chen Family Medical Notes, waving it in front of him.
“Not treating patients? Then what about this book—do you want it or not?”
The old man’s indifferent gaze froze the moment he saw the cover.
The next second, he lunged forward like a madman, his voice trembling:
“My book… how did it get here?!”