In the earthen stove of the Su family kitchen, the firewood crackled and popped.
Li Xiulan rolled her sleeves up to her elbows and deftly cut the two pounds of high-quality pork belly into cubes the size of mahjong tiles. The red-and-white meat chunks fell into the coarse porcelain basin, a substantial amount. She then picked up the kitchen knife, raising and lowering it with swift, rhythmic chops that clattered loudly.
Su Nianqiu leaned against the doorframe, holding an enamel mug filled halfway with warm boiled water. Taking advantage of the moment Li Xiulan turned to fetch star anise and cinnamon, she lowered her head, allowing a few drops of clear Spirit Spring Water to seep from her fingertips, silently blending into the enamel mug in her hand.
“Qiu’er, go rest inside. The kitchen is smoky—don’t let it choke you,” Li Xiulan said, pouring rapeseed oil into the large iron wok while shooing her away.
“Mom, I’ll stay here and keep you company. Add more winter melon to the pork rib soup—it helps cut the greasiness,” Su Nianqiu replied, taking a sip of warm water.
Hot oil sizzled in the wok as scallions, ginger, and garlic were stir-fried until fragrant. Li Xiulan added the pork belly cubes, stirring them vigorously. The skin contracted from the heat, emitting a sizzling sound as the fat rendered out, filling the kitchen with the rich aroma of oil. She splashed in some soy sauce for color, tossed in two handfuls of rock sugar, then ladled in two scoops of water to cover the meat, finally placing a heavy wooden lid on top.
The small side stove wasn’t idle either—a clay pot simmered with pork ribs. Once the water boiled, Li Xiulan carefully skimmed off the foam, covered the pot, and reduced the heat to a gentle simmer.
In less than half an hour, the rich aroma of meat seeped through the door cracks, wafting across the entire courtyard and even drifting over the wall to the roadside. Neighbors from several nearby households caught the scent, swallowing hard, while their children cried from craving.
As darkness fully descended, Su Jianguo pushed open the courtyard gate, carrying half a bag of dried sweet potatoes and smelling of earth and sweat. The moment he stepped into the yard, he halted.
Su Jianguo sniffed the air, confirming that the meaty fragrance was indeed coming from his own kitchen.
He hurried into the main room. The square table was already set with dishes: a large bowl of braised pork belly, glistening temptingly; a clay pot of milky-white winter melon and pork rib soup, garnished with a few chopped scallions; a plate of stir-fried greens on the side; and a large basin of mixed-grain steamed buns as the staple.
Su Jianguo stared in disbelief. Turning to his wife, who was bringing out bowls and chopsticks, he asked in a tense voice, “Xiulan, what’s going on? It’s not a holiday or festival—where did this meat come from?”
Li Xiulan beamed with joy, handing him the chopsticks. “Sit down first and let Qiu’er explain. Our daughter had a stroke of great luck today.”
Su Jianguo sat down, his gaze shifting to Su Nianqiu.
Su Nianqiu repeated the story she had told Li Xiulan earlier that day: she had rescued an elderly man who had fainted, taken him to the hospital, and his family, out of gratitude, had insisted on giving her eight hundred yuan along with a stack of ration coupons.
After hearing this, Su Jianguo paused, his tobacco pipe held mid-air. Eight hundred yuan—a sum that would overwhelm any ordinary farming family.
“Is the old man alright?” Su Jianguo asked.
“The doctor said he was brought in time and saved,” Su Nianqiu replied without batting an eye.
Su Jianguo let out a long sigh, placing his tobacco pipe beside the table. “This money feels heavy to accept, but since they insisted, it’s out of gratitude for your life-saving act. Keep it safe—there will be many expenses after the child is born.”
He didn’t ask his daughter to hand over the money to the family. A warm feeling spread through Su Nianqiu’s heart.
“Dad, have some meat. Mom stewed it all afternoon, it’s fall-apart tender.” Su Nianqiu picked up a piece of braised pork and placed it in Su Jianguo’s bowl.
The family began their meal. The braised pork melted in the mouth, fatty but not greasy. The infusion of Spirit Spring Water had elevated the quality of the meat by a whole level, making even the ordinary plate of stir-fried greens exceptionally fresh and sweet. After just a few bites of meat, Su Jianguo, whose body had been depleted from years of hard labor, felt a comfortable warmth spreading through his limbs, the fatigue of the day completely washed away.
The pork rib soup was incredibly delicious. Su Nianqiu drank two large bowls in a row, her stomach feeling warm and cozy, with none of the morning sickness typical of pregnancy.
It was a truly satisfying meal. Over half of the large bowl of braised pork was gone, and the three adults ate until they were sweating.
After dinner, Li Xiulan went to wash the dishes. Su Nianqiu returned to the east wing room and closed the door and windows tightly.
She took off her shoes and climbed onto the kang bed, letting her consciousness sink into the Spatial Dimension.
The changes within the Spatial Dimension invigorated her spirit. On the half-acre of black soil, the wild vegetables that had just sprouted yesterday were already a palm’s height tall. The rice seedlings in the small paddy field had grown even more wildly, a lush green expanse that was even beginning to head.
At this rate, the first batch of rice could be harvested in another week.
She walked to the hidden compartment in the bamboo building, took out a new ginseng root hair, and tossed it into the clay pot filled with Spirit Spring Water to continue steeping. The black market route was now open; as long as she could sell one ginseng root hair each month, she could secure her livelihood.
Su Nianqiu sat cross-legged on the kang bed and spread out the ration coupons she had brought back today.
Fifty jin of grain coupons, twenty jin of meat coupons. These would solve the family’s short-term food supply problem.
The most eye-catching item was the Flying Pigeon brand bicycle coupon.
In these times, a bicycle was like a luxury car from later generations. When the director of the town’s machinery factory rode a 28-inch bicycle down to the village, it could draw a crowd of onlookers, young and old. As the production team leader, Su Jianguo had to rely on his own two legs or borrow the village’s old ox cart to attend meetings at the commune, which was extremely inconvenient.
She had to buy the bicycle. With it, Su Jianguo’s prestige in the village would rise, and handling affairs would become easier. More importantly, with this bicycle, she would have a legitimate means of transportation for future trips to the town or county seat, without always having to beg the mute old cart driver.
Besides the bicycle, the two pieces of Dacron fabric needed to be quickly made into new clothes for her parents. In her previous life, Su Nianqiu had been a top fashion designer; tailoring clothes from the 1970s was practically overkill. She already had the pattern in mind—one that fit the aesthetic of this era while still being well-fitted and flattering.
Putting away the coupons, Su Nianqiu gently touched her still-flat abdomen.
“Baby, our life will get better and better,” she whispered.
The night was deep and quiet, with only the occasional bark of a dog from Hongqi Production Brigade. Nourished by the Spirit Spring Water, Su Nianqiu slept exceptionally soundly.
Life seemed to be getting on track. She had money, food, and the Spatial Dimension. No scumbag husband, no mother-in-law conflicts. As long as she gave birth safely and waited for the college entrance exams to resume at the end of next year, she would have her ticket to a new world.
This was the first good night’s sleep she’d had since transmigrating into this book.