Song Qinghuan felt a wave of relief and delight.
To the right of the stove stood a brand new, square, solid cabinet.
Her eyes lit up—she recognized it almost instantly.
It was a refrigerator!
Just like the gas stove, refrigerators were rare luxuries; a family like hers could never afford one. In her past life, at this very age, she had only ever seen one from a distance, at the wealthy Uncle Liu’s home down their alley. Even his was small, only half a person’s height, with two compartments top and bottom. Later, when she married Lu Qiming, the new refrigerator they bought was hardly any bigger than Uncle Liu’s.
But this one before her now stood taller than she was, much wider than Uncle Liu’s, with three tiers: top, middle, and bottom.
The moment she opened it, a rush of cold air hit her face, and the built-in light switched on.
The upper shelf held two neat stacks of eggs, and the middle section was lined with glass bottles of milk, perfectly arranged. The middle and lower sections were freezers—one filled with all kinds of common fish and seafood, the other packed with chicken, duck, beef, and lamb, stocked to the brim.
On the inside of every door, just like labels on a bookshelf, was a detailed list noting exactly what meats, vegetables, and other supplies were stored there, and how much of each.
Stuck to the very top was a soft pink note, reading:
All food stored here stays fresh forever. No matter how much you take, it will be replenished instantly. If you require additional cuts or types of meat, write the name in the notes section below. Return to the refrigerator after three seconds to collect what you requested.
So she could eat and take whatever she wanted, whenever she wanted—and the supply would never run out? What was this, if not the legendary treasure bowl that never emptied?
From now on, she could have anything she craved, as much as she wanted?
Overcome with emotion, Song Qinghuan’s throat tightened and her eyes stung.
For as long as she could remember, every meal—anything nice, anything with meat—was always placed closer to her brother. At first, she had thought it was just a coincidence when the dishes were set down. But when the little, innocent girl had tentatively reached out with her chopsticks to take a bite of meat, Zhao Yufang had struck her hand away without hesitation.
Her father glared at her, and her mother poked her hard between the brows.
“Eat what? Do you think you deserve this? This is for your brother! Stealing from your own brother—were you born a glutton in your past life?”
“Shameless! How did I raise such a greedy thing? Touch those chopsticks one more time, and you’ll go hungry tomorrow and the day after!”
From that day on, an unspoken rule ruled their dining table: all the good food, all the tasty dishes, belonged to her brother—no exceptions. Even glancing at them too long earned her a scolding.
If there were four eggs on the table, her parents would take one each, her brother two, and she would get none. Even rice or steamed buns: she was only ever allowed half a bun, or half a bowl of rice.
It had been bearable when she was younger, but when she hit her growth spurt, that meager portion was nowhere near enough. With barely any fat or protein in her diet, she grew pale and thin at school, with hardly an ounce of flesh on her bones. She dreaded physical education class most of all—more than once, she’d been running when her vision blurred and she blacked out.
It wasn’t until she was old enough for marriage that Zhao Yufang and her husband grudgingly gave her a little more meat, eggs, and milk. Not because their hearts had softened—they were just afraid she’d look too gaunt and unappealing, ruining their chances of marrying her off to Lu Qiming’s family.
Perhaps because she had been deprived of good food her whole life, Song Qinghuan had always felt a deep, inexplicable hunger for it. At school, she would pore over borrowed books and newspapers, devouring every article about cooking. She memorized the recipes for several dishes, reciting them over and over until she knew them by heart. For a time, her greatest dream was to open a restaurant—so she, and everyone who came through its doors, could eat well every single day.
In her past life, it was only after marrying into Lu Qiming’s family that her meals improved slightly. But “slightly” was all it was. The only real difference was that meat occasionally appeared on her plate, and they used more oil when cooking.
Her mother-in-law Li Qing’e seemed to have eyes on the back of her head. Every meal, she would let Song Qinghuan take one or two pieces of meat—but if she so much as reached for a third, Li Qing’e would snap her head up from her own bowl, her face dark with anger.
“Had enough yet? Do you know what ‘enough is enough’ means?”
It was as if taking one more bite would make her fly into a rage.
Lu Qiming’s family could easily afford all the meat they wanted—his monthly salary was more than enough for them to eat meat at every single meal. At first, Song Qinghuan had naively assumed her mother-in-law was just thrifty, having grown up poor. It wasn’t until one family meal that she realized: Li Qing’e’s rules only applied to her.
Lu Qiming, Wang Siyu, Wang Siyu’s son Wenwen, and her father-in-law Lu Lin were all seated at the table. Song Qinghuan had been woken up at six that morning to prepare lunch. She’d cooked and set out breakfast for her mother-in-law without even taking a bite herself, then rushed straight to work on the midday meal.
Eight dishes in total: three meat dishes, four vegetable dishes, and a warm soup. She had poured every ounce of skill and effort into them, working nonstop from dawn until midday, making sure every dish looked and tasted perfect. She had hoped that if she did well enough, she would win them over and make life easier for herself in this new home.
But the moment she set the steaming dishes on the table, still wearing her apron, her mother-in-law curled her lip in disgust.
“All that time for just a few plates? Everyone’s been seated for minutes, and you only just finish cooking. Is this how a daughter-in-law behaves? Are you deliberately keeping us waiting? You’ve barely married in and you’re already putting on airs?”
Song Qinghuan was stunned. It had only been four or five minutes from when everyone sat down to when she brought out the last dish—surely that was normal?
Before she could speak, her mother-in-law’s scowl deepened.
“Look at this cold dish—so much vinegar! Did you make it that way just so I couldn’t eat it?”
“And these braised ribs—why does there look to be less meat than when I bought them? Did you sneak a bite while you were cooking?”
“This stir-fried pork—who told you to put chili in it? Can’t you see there’s a child at the table who can’t handle spice?”
After picking apart every single dish, she slammed her chopsticks down on the table and let out a sharp huff.
“You didn’t put any heart into this at all. If you’re this careless when the whole family’s here, what will you be like when it’s just you and my son? You’d probably starve him to death!”