Twilight deepened, the last sliver of daylight swallowed by the distant mountains.
The courtyard lay shrouded in blue-gray shadows.
The kitchen glowed with a dim oil lamp. A clay pot simmered gently over the small fire at the hearth, bubbles rising with a soft gurgle. The rich aroma, a mix of wild mushrooms’ earthy fragrance and the hearty scent of chicken, drifted through the air, making one’s stomach stir.
Li Lanxiang added the last of the cleaned cabbage into the pot.
The sizzling sound rang out as the steam mingled with the fresh green scent of the vegetables.
She flipped and stirred the cabbage skillfully, sprinkled in salt, and soon the bright green leaves turned glossy and tender. She transferred them to a plate.
Just as she placed the plate on the table in the main room, the courtyard gate was pushed open.
Wang Dashan and Wang Tiezhu entered, one after the other, carrying the chill of late-autumn mountain dew. The hems of their clothes were flecked with dried grass and mud.
Both looked tired, but upon seeing the warm light in the main room and the steam rising from the table, their expressions softened.
“Wash your hands—dinner’s ready.”
Li Lanxiang, wiping her own hands, called out from the kitchen.
Wang Dashan grunted and, with Tiezhu, went to the water jar, scooping water and rubbing off the dirt and straw from their hands. The icy water was bracing, waking them up.
By the time they sat down at the table, Li Lanxiang had already brought over the wild chicken and mushroom stew, the chicken slow-cooked until tender and the broth rich and fragrant.
The soup was a mellow light brown, topped with golden oil droplets. Chunks of chicken soaked in the broth, and mushrooms of various shapes floated and sank, releasing an intoxicating aroma.
Beside it lay the glossy green cabbage and a stack of freshly cooked coarse-grain pancakes, their bottoms browned.
“Chicken for dinner!”
Wang Shizhu cheered, eyes glued to the steaming pot.
Wang Dashan didn’t rush to eat. His gaze lingered first on the generous portion of stew, clearly made with good mushrooms, then swept over the shiny stir-fried cabbage, and finally rested on Li Lanxiang’s face.
The oil lamp’s glow softened her features as she ladled soup into Liu Xinghua’s bowl, deliberately scooping two extra chunks of mushroom and tender meat from near the chicken wings.
His brows twitched ever so slightly. A fleeting, almost imperceptible doubt flickered in his eyes.
This… was not how his wife normally behaved.
In his memory, Li Lanxiang had been nearly frugal to the point of austerity.
The best of the hunt would first be sold to exchange for grain or salt; occasionally, some meat might be kept for the hardworking men and boys, while she only nibbled bones or drank the broth.
Good mushrooms would always be dried and sold; the family would eat only scraps.
Eggs were precious; except for the postpartum Xinghua, she would rarely touch them, saving them for sewing supplies or emergencies.
Yet today, she had used an entire wild chicken with plenty of good mushrooms to cook for the family, and she’d been generous with oil in the cabbage.
The sun… seemed to rise from the west.
Had she softened after bowing her head in humility? Or had a brush with death at the “door of the underworld” changed her perspective?
Wang Dashan’s thoughts turned over silently, but his face betrayed nothing.
He asked nothing. He silently picked up his spoon, served himself a full bowl of stew, and took a large chunk of chicken still on the bone.
The warm, rich taste spread immediately across his tongue.
The mushrooms’ full flavor released, blended with the chicken’s natural fat, seasoned just right—so comforting that his pores seemed to open.
The chicken was perfectly tender; the meat fell from the bone with a light bite, firm but not dry, carrying the chew and aroma unique to mountain game.
Indeed, it was excellent cooking, using ingredients more generously than usual, and the taste… was even better.
Wang Tiezhu and Wang Shizhu had already buried themselves in their bowls. Slurping soup, gnawing bones, crunching mushrooms—the sounds filled the small main room.
Liu Xinghua sipped gently, color returning to her cheeks.
Li Lanxiang ate sparingly herself, mostly tending to others—serving Shizhu, reminding Tiezhu to slow down, topping up Xinghua’s bowl.
She noticed Wang Dashan’s occasional glances—calm, but observant.
She understood that her actions these past few days differed from the original Li Lanxiang. A person who had lived with her husband for over twenty years would notice such deviations.
But he asked nothing.
He silently accepted, silently ate this meal—far more “luxurious” than usual.
His silence was perhaps approval, perhaps cautious observation.
Li Lanxiang felt a small tension in her chest ease.
She took a bite of the cabbage, chewing slowly. Crisp, slightly sweet, with a hint of pork fat.
Life went on, and some changes were inevitable.
She could not entirely revert to the frugal, self-denying Li Lanxiang of the past.
Having waited too long and deprived herself in her former life, she now lived again. In this life of toil, at least when it came to food, within her means, she would no longer treat herself and her family so harshly.
The body is the foundation. Eat well, and you will have the strength to face the mountains’ cold and heat, and the uncertainties ahead.
After finishing his bowl, Wang Dashan reached for a pancake, tore it open, and dipped it in the leftover oil from the cabbage.
His eating remained hearty, but under the warmth of the food and dim light, the deep, life-worn lines on his face seemed softened.
The meal ended amid satisfied chewing and the gentle clatter of bowls and chopsticks.
Wang Dashan put down his bowl, wiped his mouth, and finally spoke—about something else:
“Tomorrow Tiezhu and I will check over near the western mountains. Someone said they saw signs of wild pigs. We might be back late.”
Li Lanxiang paused in clearing the dishes.
Wild pigs were dangerous, but if hunted, their skin, meat, and fat were valuable, exchangeable for food and money—though the risk was high.
“Be careful,” she said simply, her voice calm.
“Mm.”
Wang Dashan nodded and helped stack the empty bowls.
The oil lamp flickered, casting the family’s shadows against the mud walls—shaking, blending together in the warm light.