After Old Master Liu left, Li Luoyu went back to her room to wash her face. Once she switched back to her usual appearance, she headed downstairs to help Old Master Li in the kitchen.
At noon, the old man had only eaten a few casual bites. Dinner, however, had to be something proper—he needed to replenish his strength.
Li Luoyu’s plan was to spend three months fattening the old man up—fair, plump, and full of energy—so that when he chased her around to beat her, he wouldn’t even be out of breath after running two li.
She pretended to pull a large pork knuckle and a big slab of pork from her basket, then went out to the yard and picked a few heads of baby bok choy.
Alright—tonight she’d stew soybean pork trotters with spiritual spring water, stir-fry some bok choy, and add the braised pork and meat buns she’d bought earlier. That would make a complete meal.
As she washed the vegetables, she asked, “Old man, when did Grandpa Liu say we’re leaving?”
Old Master Li replied irritably, “Early tomorrow morning. Train.”
“Oh.” Li Luoyu set a pot of water to boil, preparing to blanch the pork trotters. “Alright then—help me mince the meat. Let’s steam some buns and mantou for the trip.”
The old man wordlessly took the meat and knife and started chopping. After a long while, as if he had finally made up his mind, he said, “Luoluo, once you take this on, you won’t be able to act freely anymore. Have you really thought it through?”
Li Luoyu placed the blanched trotters into a clay pot, added ginger slices, scallion segments, and soybeans, then secretly poured in a generous amount of spiritual spring water before setting it to simmer.
“Wasn’t it you who got pushed onto the bandit mountain?” she said lightly. “How could I just watch an old man like you suffer? If my dad knew, he’d probably climb out of his coffin just to scold me for being unfilial. Besides, whether I’m free or not depends on me. As long as I want to be free, no one can stop me. You should have more faith in your granddaughter—I’m not like ordinary people.”
Old Master Li twitched at her shameless boasting but continued working without a word.
Li Luoyu understood her grandfather’s concerns and worries, so she smiled and added, “Don’t worry. Herding one sheep or a whole flock—it’s all the same to me. It’s no trouble at all.”
The old man grabbed a rolling pin and swung at her. “You’re the sheep! Your whole family are sheep!—No, wait, you little brat, even dragging your grandfather into it. What an unfilial descendant!”
Li Luoyu slipped away nimbly, dodging the blow, and muttered in a muffled tone, “I asked you to tell me who our enemies are, but you refuse. If I knew, even if I couldn’t take revenge, I could at least stir up the muddy waters a bit, right? Look at you…”
Something unidentified flew past her cheek.
“You? They’d chew your bones to bits and feed them to the dogs!” Old Master Li’s cloudy eyes burned with anger. “Even I ended up fallen in battle—what chance does a half-grown brat like you have?”
Li Luoyu dodged again, unwilling to back down. “You always call me a brat—but even a brat has claws!”
Looking at his granddaughter baring her teeth and claws, the anger in Old Master Li’s heart suddenly dissipated. He cursed with a smile, “Alright, alright. When it’s time for you to know, you’ll know.”
Li Luoyu pouted. She knew his temper—once he decided not to speak, his mouth was harder than a stone in a latrine. Fine. She’d just investigate it herself. With that, she returned to her usual carefree demeanor and began kneading the dough.
For steamed buns, the dough had to be soft and fluffy. In those days, there was no yeast powder. Glancing at her grandfather, who was loudly chopping meat, she avoided his line of sight and quickly pulled out a small plastic packet from her space, mixing it into the flour while scooping it.
She added warm water and kneaded until the dough was smooth, then covered it and left it near the stove to proof.
The filling was seasoned by the old man. When he wasn’t paying attention, Li Luoyu secretly dripped in two drops of sesame oil. As she mixed the filling, she asked, “Old man, do you know the people who are being sent down with us?”
“Grandpa Cui was your father’s first mentor in military engineering research… these past years…” Old Master Li paused, gripping his chopsticks, then sighed heavily. “Back in the ordnance factory, when your father was barely in his teens, he could assemble firearms with his eyes closed under Cui’s guidance. Not long ago, he was labeled a ‘reactionary technical authority.’ That’s when his thumb bone was broken.”
In those years, being branded a “reactionary technical authority” was like being stamped with a mark of shame—classified among the “black five categories.” Overnight, titles, reputation, even the right to live could be crushed to dust. They were the ones most viciously struggled against in denunciation meetings, the ones drowned in spit during public humiliations, and the ones made to wear the heaviest shackles during forced labor.
Li Luoyu’s eyes darkened, a violent rage surging in her chest. Old Master Li sighed and patted her shoulder before continuing.
“Your Grandpa Pei is a master of traditional Chinese medicine. If it weren’t for him, you wouldn’t have lived past the age of three.” He sprinkled a handful of salt into the filling. “That year, during the snow disaster, you contracted pneumonic plague. He used silver needles all over your acupuncture points and even risked his life to trade for half a liang of rhinoceros horn powder on the black market…”
“Yang Zhibin is from the Agricultural Science Institute. I heard… I heard the cold-resistant wheat strain he developed can survive winter in the black soil, and its yield per mu is double that of the old varieties.”
Li Luoyu was shocked. “Then shouldn’t his research have been put into trials immediately? Why was he sent down?”
Old Master Li’s brows knitted into a deep frown as he stirred the filling hard with his chopsticks. “Because people got jealous! That cold-resistant wheat could double the harvest in places like ours that rely on the weather. But those fools, full of twisted logic, insisted it was ‘capitalist-style high yield,’ saying it was for hoarding grain for ‘reactionary forces.’ Last month, someone even slipped laxatives into his food. It was your Grandpa Liu who arranged for someone to pose as a cook and retrieve half a pill residue from the slop bucket.”
Li Luoyu: The words “speechless” were nowhere near enough to describe her anger and sense of absurdity.
As they talked, the dough had finished proofing and the filling was ready. Steam rose as plump, white buns were arranged in the steamer. The stifling mood gradually lifted.
The rich aroma of soybean pork trotter soup filled the kitchen, making Old Master Li’s appetite stir. “Mm, this smells good. Even better than Zhang Ma’s cooking.”
“Right? Then eat more tonight.”
Li Luoyu skimmed off the oil, served the soup, and handed it to him to bring to the table. She quickly washed the wok, added a bit of lard, and stir-fried the bok choy until it turned a vibrant green. Then she reheated the braised pork and meat buns she had bought earlier. Dinner was ready.
“Heh! Even during New Year, we wouldn’t dare eat like this.”
Li Luoyu placed a bun in the old man’s bowl. “These buns and the braised pork were packed from a state-run restaurant on my way back. If we can’t finish them, we’ll eat the rest tomorrow morning. Who knows how those people will treat us.”
Thinking it made sense, Old Master Li said nothing more and focused on eating—one sip of soup, one bite of bun.
Li Luoyu grabbed a few buns and brought them out to the young soldier in the yard. “Have a bite. We’re leaving tomorrow—you won’t get to eat these anymore.”
After dinner, Li Luoyu steamed another large batch of buns before finally stopping. The two batches totaled about thirty buns—enough to get them through the journey in a pinch.