Lu Minggui didn’t dare sprinkle too much sugar—how could she waste it?
She returned the white sugar to the white room and, at the same time, took out the five meat buns.
To her surprise, the buns were almost exactly like when she had placed them inside—still warm.
She marveled: could it be that whatever was placed in the white room retained its original state? If she cooked a pot of porridge in the morning, would it still be warm at night?
The white room was truly strange!
Yet this convenience delighted her—no need to reheat buns, they could be eaten immediately.
Thinking of Shen Juye, who shouldn’t leave her bed, Lu Minggui carefully carried a ceramic basin of mixed-grain porridge to her room.
The room was just like hers—dark despite it being daytime. But in rural households, no one wanted to light oil lamps during the day.
It reminded her of that vegetable market: the building had a high ceiling, countless glowing lights, brighter than the sun. She still wondered what kind of place it was.
Lost in thought, she was interrupted by Manman’s cautious voice: “Grandma, what’s this?”
Looking down, Lu Minggui saw Manman pointing at the bag of meat buns.
She smiled: “Silly girl, these are buns—big meat buns! Take a bite, the juices flow in your mouth, so fragrant!”
“Are you hungry, Manman?”
Manman swallowed, shook her head, and poked the soft plastic bag.
“Grandma, what’s this? It feels soft… is it cloth?”
“But it’s even thinner than the cloth that eldest brother’s wife weaves… so thin you can see light through it.”
Lu Minggui’s heart skipped a beat, a cold sweat breaking out across her back.
She had almost revealed the secret of the white hairpin that let her enter the white room, and the mysterious vegetable market—all her private treasures.
This secret could not be exposed—not even in death. If anyone discovered it, they might think she was some old witch, and who knew what trouble would follow?
She had survived once; she wouldn’t die easily.
Her carelessness had nearly betrayed her!
The bag was from that kind-hearted big guy, unlike local oil-paper or lotus-leaf wrappings. Just looking at it, one could tell it wasn’t from here.
Fortunately, it was Manman who noticed first—she was young and naive. But if Shen Juye or someone else saw it and commented, who knew what trouble it could cause?
Lu Minggui scolded herself silently. She would have to be more careful in the future, and the remaining half bag of white sugar must not be shown to anyone either.
Luckily, the room was dim, and both Manman and Lu Minggui had their backs to Shen Juye.
Quickly, she hid the bag of buns.
“This is just like a type of cloth, Manman. Grandma forgot the chopsticks—go get them.”
“Okay!” Manman agreed, not asking further about the plastic bag.
Lu Minggui exhaled and swiftly poured five buns into bowls, tucking the plastic bag into her sleeve.
Shen Juye remained unaware, sipping her medicinal soup carefully.
After finishing a bowl, she frowned—the medicine was bitter beyond belief.
Lu Minggui hurriedly brought a bowl of brown rice porridge: “Here, drink some porridge. Sweetens the mouth a bit.”
“Thank you, Mother.”
Shen Juye felt touched—she knew brown rice porridge wasn’t really sweet, but being cared for like this warmed her heart.
Lu Minggui served two more bowls: one for herself, one for Manman.
Manman soon returned with chopsticks. “Grandma, let’s eat.”
“Mm, start with the porridge,” Lu Minggui instructed, pointing to the large bowl. “See if it tastes different.”
Curious, Manman and Shen Juye exchanged glances. How could brown rice porridge taste different?
Though coarse and rough, at least it wasn’t mixed with wild vegetables. It was filling and satisfying.
Under Grandma’s gaze, Manman took a big sip. Her eyes lit up, then she couldn’t believe her taste buds, and drank another large mouthful.
“Grandma! Grandma! It’s so good!”
She had never tasted porridge like this. Her instincts knew it was delicious, and she loved it.
Shen Juye also tasted a spoonful—the aroma and sweetness instantly filled her mouth.
There was sugar? Sweet porridge?
She couldn’t believe it. Sugar was precious. She remembered when Dahe had made her a bowl of brown sugar egg soup while pregnant with Manman—the sweetness unforgettable.
Now the unexpected sweetness brought tears to her eyes.
Seeing her daughter’s wide-eyed delight, her heart ached even more, and her own eyes grew red.
Manman, feeling unsure, whispered: “Mother, don’t cry…”
Lu Minggui sighed but quickly straightened her face.
“Enough! Don’t cry just because of a little good food! Life has many more good days ahead!”
“Drink your porridge fast. We still have buns to eat.”
She picked up two plump buns, handing one to each of them.
Then she took one herself, biting hard. Juices ran down her chin, which she quickly wiped—not wasting a drop.
The soft, elastic dough carried the fragrance of flour. Inside, the tender, juicy meat exploded with flavor on her tongue.
Lu Minggui thought, after over forty years of life, she had never tasted anything so good!
She barely swallowed before taking a second bite, then a third. One bun vanished quickly.
Shen Juye ate cautiously, savoring each bite.
Manman held a bun nearly the size of her face, devouring it greedily.
“Slow down! Don’t choke, there’s more!” Lu Minggui warned.
“I can’t help it, Grandma! These buns are so fragrant and delicious!”
Shen Juye looked amazed: “Mother, where did you get these buns? The dough is so white… like snow, so beautiful!”
Lu Minggui couldn’t help smiling but didn’t answer directly. “Just eat—they taste better than looking.”
No matter what, she wanted both of them to eat their fill.