However, this state of affairs left the two girls responsible for cooking thoroughly displeased.
“You want white-flour dough-drop soup with eggs and sausage? Then bring your own ingredients! As long as you can hand over the food, I’ll cook it for you. Go get it then!”
“Forget it,” the second girl chimed in. “I haven’t eaten anything like that in ages either.”
The rest of the group fell silent. If anyone actually had those kinds of ingredients, they would have pulled them out to eat long ago; it was pure envy driving the complaints.
Wen Ya and Ling Hao couldn’t care less. If they had to spend their lives walking on eggshells just to satisfy other people’s expectations, they’d be better off dying all over again.
The next morning, Wen Ya cooked dried noodles. Ling Hao supplied the noodles, while Wen Ya brought out some preserved pork. The two of them fried the pork up and enjoyed another delicious, hearty meal together.
After breakfast, they headed out to clear the weeds in their new courtyard. The yard was still wildly overgrown, especially now in the peak of summer, when the weeds seemed to sprout overnight.
When they arrived, the local villagers hired by the old party secretary were already hard at work.
Wen Ya pulled on a pair of heavy gloves, tied a veil around her straw hat, and got to work.
As she cleared weeds, the workers nearby kept stealing quiet glances at her. Even with her face half-shielded, her beauty couldn’t be completely hidden. Since arriving, she had been drinking beauty-enhancing elixirs daily—after all, what girl wouldn’t want to look her best?
She was just waiting until she moved into her own place to start full-on skincare routines. For now, she didn’t dare draw too much attention to herself. In fact, she decided that once her looks peaked, she’d have to start wearing makeup to make herself look a bit uglier when going out. Less trouble was always better.
On his side of the yard, Ling Hao was clearing things out at a blistering speed. As a supernatural ability user, his physical endurance was extraordinary. Combined with his abilities, the heavy labor was a breeze.
Having finished his own yard in record time, he walked over to help her clear hers.
Wen Ya looked up, thoroughly confused, assuming it was already noon. She checked her wristwatch—it was still early. Why was he over here already?
“Do you need something?” she asked.
“No,” Ling Hao replied simply.
He immediately crouched down and began pulling weeds.
Wen Ya stared at him.
“I can handle this myself. Go take care of your own work.”
“I’m done.”
“Ah! Already? That fast?”
“Mm.”
“Well… you’re pretty amazing.”
With Ling Hao’s help, it took no time at all to clear the rest of the yard.
Seeing that they still had plenty of daylight left—and that the workers had already patched up the roof and boarded up the broken window frames—Wen Ya picked up a bucket to go draw water. Seeing this, Ling Hao immediately took the bucket from her hand.
After thanking him, Wen Ya began wiping down the rooms in her unit. Once her side was spotless, she carried a basin over to help clean up Ling Hao’s side.
With the cleaning complete, they set about pasting paper over the window frames. The starch paste had been boiled in a clay pot; since Wen Ya didn’t have a cooking pot of her own yet, she had borrowed the clay pot from the old party secretary’s wife.
Since the old woman was up in years and her sons were already married with their own households, she usually stayed home to watch the grandchildren, only doing farm work during peak harvest seasons.
Ling Hao provided the paper for the windows, while Wen Ya supplied the paste.
Once everything was squared away, Wen Ya made plans to head to town the next day to pick up her mail package—and use it as a cover to pull a proper cooking pot out of her spatial storage.
The following morning, the two went to see the old party secretary and the production team leader. They asked to rent the village’s ox-cart, offering to pay just like anyone else heading to the commune.
Usually, villagers paid two cents per person to take the ox-cart to the commune, which was why most people preferred to walk. The fare went directly into the collective team fund to buy farm tools and supplies.
Hearing that the pair were willing to pay, the secretary and team leader readily agreed, setting a private round-trip rate of fifty cents for the entire cart.
Shortly after, the two walked out to the main intersection. When the cart arrived, they climbed on and handed the driver fifty cents—a cost they split, with Wen Ya giving Ling Hao her twenty-five-cent share beforehand.
The elderly driver tucked the money into his pocket and whipped the ox forward.
Finally able to ride instead of trek on foot, Wen Ya happily swung her legs back and forth over the edge of the cart.
Meanwhile, Ling Hao kept his spiritual perception fixed on her, the sight making him fond of her by the second. Though they were physically close now, their relationship hadn’t made any real breakthroughs, and it was driving him crazy.
If only this were still the apocalypse, he thought. Back then, strength ruled everything, and he could have pursued her openly and aggressively. But in this era, even married couples couldn’t show too much affection in public without being accused of hooliganism. In the post-apocalyptic world, if you fancied someone, you could just claim them. Try that here, and you’d end up in prison for breaking the law.
Wen Ya, entirely unaware of his inner monologue, was happily plotting what items she would “retrieve” from her space later, and what delicious meals she would cook once they moved into their own place.
Suddenly, she felt an unsettling sensation, as if someone was staring intently at her.
She scanned her surroundings—front, back, left, right—but saw nothing. The driver and Ling Hao both had their backs turned to her. Where was that feeling coming from?
Could a wolf be tracking us?
Alarmed by the thought, she quickly scanned the dense tree line on both sides of the dirt road. But after searching for a long time, she saw no movement. She began to suspect she was just imaging things.
Watching her dart her eyes back and forth trying to spot her phantom stalker, Ling Hao chuckled internally. My woman is sharp, he thought proudly. She actually felt it.
If Wen Ya knew what he was thinking, she would have spit right in his face: Your woman? In your dreams, you shamelessly shameless man!
And so, with one secretly watching and the other nervously scanning the woods, they arrived at the commune center.
After stepping off the cart, the driver waited by the roadside while the two walked into the Supply and Marketing Cooperative to shop.
Whatever Wen Ya picked out—water jars, pickling crocks, and the like—Ling Hao bought the exact same thing. Cooking oil, salt, soy sauce, vinegar—he mirrored her purchases step-by-step.
Wen Ya also bought two padlocks. After all, she’d need to lock her doors and wooden chests. Most rural locals never locked their doors, but she wasn’t used to leaving things wide open; a lock gave her a sense of security.
She picked up a firewood chopper and some sturdy rope as well. As for an axe, she decided to skip buying one for now; she’d find a chance to pull one out of her spatial storage later.
Once she finished shopping, Wen Ya turned to Ling Hao.
“I need to go to the post office to pick up my packages. Are you coming?”
Ling Hao shook his head. His mail probably hadn’t arrived yet; his mother had said she’d send a parcel, but it couldn’t have arrived this quickly.
Wen Ya looked over at his pile of supplies and asked:
“If you don’t buy a iron cooking pot, how are you going to light a fire and cook?”
Ling Hao suddenly remembered that his house didn’t have a pot built into the stove hearth either.
He rushed back inside the cooperative. Luckily, there was still one iron pot left in stock, but its diameter was slightly larger than a standard stove opening. That was the only reason it hadn’t been bought yet.
Larger is better than nothing, he reasoned. He bought the pot, stepped outside, and stood there staring blankly at her.
Resigned, Wen Ya glanced through his stash of purchases again.
“You still need to buy plates, bowls, chopsticks, and spoons. Plus a kitchen knife, a spatula, a strainer, a water ladle, and a pot lid for cooking.”
Ling Hao promptly turned around and marched back into the store. When he emerged a second time, his kitchen inventory was finally complete.
The two then boarded the ox-cart and rode over to the post office. Inside, Wen Ya showed her identification papers and claimed her packages.
It turned out to be four massive, heavy parcels.
Ling Hao stared at the stack, secretly wondering if she had managed to ship her entire home over. The elderly driver was equally astonished by the pile, assuming the mountain of luggage belonged to both of them.
Ling Hao naturally took charge of loading everything onto the cart, refusing to let Wen Ya lift any of the heavy items. Together, they rode back to the village and unloaded the haul right at their doorstep.