Nan Sheng smiled and said, "I'd love to eat meat every day, but where would I get so many ration coupons? Since I’m not working in the fields, the villagers asked me to help out, so this is all pooled together by everyone."
She then bought the household items they were missing, filling a large bundle and spending nearly twenty yuan—quite extravagant by their standards.
Nan Sheng didn’t notice her son’s scrutinizing gaze. "What should we do? It’ll be hard to ride the bike now. We’ll have to push it back."
Though the items weren’t heavy, they took up space, leaving only enough room for her daughter to sit. Taking turns pushing the bike, both mother and son were exhausted by the time they reached the village.
Aunt Zhao spotted the family of three and greeted them cheerfully, "Lin Han’s wife, you went to town? How come you bought so much?"
"Aunt Zhao, I visited my parents. These are all gifts from my mother. I’ll head home now—come visit when you have time."
Back home, Nan Sheng began organizing the items. She washed the pork fat and meat, letting them dry, bought two umbrellas, fabric for Sizhe’s clothes and backpacks for both children, twenty pounds of coarse cornmeal, and miscellaneous things like a bike lock.
At noon, she reheated some dumplings while Sizhe cooked porridge. Nan Sheng ate little before going to nap.
Unsure how to render the pork fat, Sizhe followed his stepmother’s example and picked beans, red peppers, and eggplants to dry for winter sustenance.
He called his sister over. "You go rest too. I’ll head to the mountains to gather wild greens. If she asks, don’t forget to tell her."
Sizhe had learned his lesson—now he always informed someone before leaving.
When Nan Sheng woke, neither child was indoors. She went to the yard and found Siqi bent over, turning the drying vegetables. "Qiqi, where’s your brother?"
"He went to pick wild greens!"
Nan Sheng suddenly remembered what Nan's Father had said and thought, My son really acts fast. Not wanting to idle, she decided to render the pork fat.
She had bought ten pounds of fat. The new oil jar needed scrubbing, so she placed it outside to sterilize in the sun before tightly shutting the kitchen door to begin.
First, she cut the fat into small pieces, blanched them in hot water to remove impurities, then started the rendering process with fresh water.
Once the fat was mostly rendered, she set the crispy bits aside and cut the pork belly and shoulder into large cubes, frying them in the oil.
After the surface moisture evaporated, she stored the meat in the jar with the oil—it would keep for months. Whenever they wanted some, they could just scoop it out.
Sweating profusely, Nan Sheng kept the kitchen door closed to contain the aroma. She filled a small bowl with crispy bits, sprinkled sugar, and took it to Siqi.
Siqi wasn’t possessive—she fed her stepmother first before eating herself. With no rush to cook, Nan Sheng sat in the shade, feeling like she might melt.
Once the heat subsided, she boiled the coarse cornmeal porridge. It required patience—simmering slowly over low heat to soften properly.
She skipped cooking a side dish, opting for a simple cucumber salad to pair with the porridge.
When Sizhe returned, his basket overflowed with wild greens. The recent rains had made them tender and fresh. But when Nan Sheng reached for the basket, he pulled it back slightly.
Softly, he said, "There’s something inside."
Digging through the greens, he revealed a ginseng root—though sadly, its roots and body were damaged during digging.
Nan Sheng whispered, "Judging by its thickness, it must be decades old. If it hadn’t been damaged, it could’ve sold for a lot."
But with its appearance ruined, its value plummeted.
Sizhe looked regretful. "Should we still sell it?"
Thinking of Lin Han and Nan's Father, Nan Sheng shook her head. "I’ve heard ginseng-infused liquor is nourishing. Let’s keep it for ourselves."
Sizhe agreed, remembering his father’s old injuries. After steeping for months, Lin Han could have a small sip daily when he returned for the New Year—and take a few pounds when he left again.
"Good!"
At dinner, Nan Sheng served the crispy pork bits with sugar, letting the children sweeten their porridge.
But the fabric troubled her—she didn’t know how to sew.
"Sizhe, how’s your grandmother’s needlework? I’d like her help making clothes."
Sizhe considered it a small favor and answered for Mother Lin, "Grandma can do it. I’ll take the fabric to her later."
Since their mother’s passing, their grandmother had made all their clothes. He realized their mother’s death anniversary was approaching.
His birth mother, Bai Xiu, was from Xiahe Village. Fair-skinned and gentle, she had been too timid to defy her parents.
During Siqi’s birth, Bai Xiu hemorrhaged badly. Mother Lin insisted she rest, but her own mother, who came to help, skimped on meals and hoarded the precious brown sugar.
Bai Xiu’s health deteriorated until she passed when Siqi was three.
Every time Sizhe thought of her, his resentment toward his maternal grandparents grew. Yet they shamelessly showed up every anniversary, hoping for handouts.
He needed to warn his stepmother soon.
For once, he wished she’d be even fiercer—enough to scare them off for good.
After dinner, while daylight lingered, Nan Sheng measured the fabric, planning outfits and backpacks for the children.
"Take your sister to Grandma’s. Have her measure you both for clothes and sew two backpacks."
When they arrived, their grandparents and uncle’s family had already eaten. Sicheng spotted them first. "Sizhe, Qiqi, I heard you went to your stepmother’s family? How were they?"
Sizhe sent Siqi to deliver the fabric to their grandmother while he stayed to chat.
"They were kind. They stewed chicken for us and gave us many things."
Just then, Zhou Wei stepped out, her tone sharp. "Oh? Then why didn’t your mother bring anything for the elders? Always keeping the good stuff for yourselves."
Sizhe bit back a retort. His uncle and cousins treated him well, so for their sake, he wouldn’t argue with his aunt.
He simply greeted her and headed to his grandmother’s room.
Zhou Wei muttered "ungrateful wretch" and asked her son, "Did they bring anything when they came?"
Sicheng sighed. "Mom, drop it. I saw Sizhe carrying fabric—probably for Grandma to sew."
Hearing this, Zhou Wei’s eyes lit up. If there was extra, maybe she could get a shirt for her eldest son.
Realizing he’d spoken too much, Sicheng hurried to fetch his father, knowing his mother’s habit of claiming things for their household.
His step-aunt had a temper—if she found out, a fight was inevitable.
