Chapter 7: Sheng Family Life
Something must have gone wrong. Someone had definitely whispered in Sheng Wanyan’s ear to snap her out of her usual compliance.
“Yan’er, look, I actually have some urgent things to do back at the village…” Sheng Xiuying stammered, looking for an escape.
Sheng Wanyan clamped a firm hand onto her arm. “Take off the sweater and give it back to me. If you won’t give it to me now, I’ll have my grandmother go down to your village and ask your parents for it.”
Sheng Wanyan was done wasting her breath. At the entrance of the Supply and Marketing Cooperative, people were constantly coming and going, and a small crowd had already gathered, pointing and whispering at Sheng Xiuying.
“Look at that girl, taking advantage of her own relative like that.”
“Exactly. Whose family does she belong to? I need to make sure my son stays far away from her.”
“How shameless. She clearly has bad intentions.”
As the crowd’s critical murmurs grew louder, Sheng Xiuying realized she had no choice. Flushed with humiliation, she reluctantly pulled off the wool sweater and shoved it into Sheng Wanyan’s hands.
Without the sweater, Sheng Xiuying immediately began to shiver in the biting wind. Beneath it, she wore only a thin, patched undershirt and an old cotton jacket. The cotton inside had hardened into stiff lumps over the years, losing all its insulating warmth.
Sheng Xiuying gave her a venomous look and turned to leave, but Sheng Wanyan instantly stepped into her path.
“You still owe me fifteen yuan.”
Sheng Wanyan had no intention of letting her walk away. If she let her go now, she would have to endure a bumpy, hours-long oxcart ride to the village just to track her down later.
“I… I don’t have any money!” Sheng Xiuying hissed.
Sheng Wanyan scoffed. “Don’t lie to me. You swiped five yuan from my dresser last time, too. Adding that to the ten yuan for the socks and food, you owe me fifteen. Pay up, or I’ll yell your name and tell everyone exactly which village you live in.”
The threat hit its mark. Sheng Xiuying was currently looking for a husband; she couldn’t afford to let her reputation be ruined in the city. Her entire plan was to find a decent partner with a city registration to escape her miserable life at home.
Her face turning dangerously dark, Sheng Xiuying reached deep into the hidden inner pocket of her cotton jacket. She pulled out fifteen yuan and aggressively slapped the bills into Sheng Wanyan’s hand.
“Take it!”
This was the private stash Sheng Xiuying had meticulously hoarded over the years, which included the five yuan she had stolen from the original owner. Now, Sheng Wanyan had clawed every single cent back.
Sheng Wanyan counted the money, looking her dead in the eye. “From now on, we stay out of each other’s way.”
“Fine! Don’t you dare come begging for my help when you’re crying in the countryside!” Sheng Xiuying spat before turning on her heel and storming off.
In her mind, she was convinced Sheng Wanyan would regret this. In the past, whenever they had a disagreement, Sheng Wanyan would always lose her nerve within two days and buy gifts to coax her back into a good mood. She wanted to see if anyone else in the city would be foolish enough to be friends with an idiot like Sheng Wanyan.
With the money and the sweater secured, Sheng Wanyan walked back home. When Grandpa and Grandma Sheng saw the wool sweater in her arms, they exchanged a knowing, silent look.
Their granddaughter had always been overly attached to Sheng Xiuying, but the elders had long seen through that village girl’s calculating nature. She was entirely driven by schemes, constantly manipulating their naive, soft-hearted granddaughter into giving her food and clothes out of pity. The family had warned Sheng Wanyan multiple times, but the girl had always defended her cousin.
Eventually, the elders decided to step back and let her learn the hard way. They figured that once she suffered enough losses, she would naturally wake up. However, this sudden, fierce awakening was completely beyond their expectations.
Sheng Wanyan fetched some traditional soap nuts, scrubbed the wool sweater thoroughly until it was spotless, and hung it out on the balcony to dry. Once her chores were done, she brought the fresh osmanthus cakes over to her grandparents, encouraging them to enjoy the treat while they rested in the living room.
“Save it for yourself, child,” Grandma Sheng said, her hands busy operating the heavy foot-pedal sewing machine. “Our old teeth can’t handle sweet, sticky things anyway.”
The sewing machine had a history; it was part of the betrothal gifts Father Sheng had prepared decades ago. When Mother Sheng married him, it hadn’t just been out of love—it had been a desperate bid to escape the harsh emotional abuse of her own parents’ home. At the time, Mother Sheng’s family had tried to illegally withhold the betrothal gifts. Infuriated, Mother Sheng had marched straight back to her parents’ house, threw a massive scene, and somehow dragged the heavy sewing machine back by herself.
Sheng Wanyan didn’t buy the excuse about their teeth. She insisted on leaving the pastries on the table, wanting the elderly couple to enjoy the best of what she could provide.
Since her grandparents were technically retired, they never sat idle. They spent their days cleaning the apartment, cooking, and waiting for her parents to return from the factories.
“Grandma, I bought these specifically for you and Grandpa,” Sheng Wanyan said with a smile. “You two eat. I’ll handle dinner tonight.”
Before they could object, she turned and headed into the tiny kitchen. In her previous life, she had taken professional culinary courses—growing up as the sole heiress of a massive corporate empire meant mastering survival and hosting skills was mandatory.
However, cooking in this era required lighting a traditional wood-and-coal stove, which she had never done. Fortunately, drawing on the original owner’s muscle memory, she managed to get a steady fire going after a few clumsy attempts.
She opened the earthenware rice jar. Inside was roughly a pound of white rice and a small cache of coarse cornmeal. A single link of cured sausage and a small piece of smoked bacon hung from a wire on the wall, while a modest pile of seasonal greens and a few potatoes rested in the corner.
Sheng Wanyan opened the overhead kitchen cabinet. In most households during this era, the food cabinets were strictly locked to keep family members from stealing rations. But the Sheng household was small, close-knit, and entirely free of internal strife, so the cabinet doors were left unlocked. Inside sat a pound of white flour, ten fresh eggs, half a pound each of brown and white sugar, and a small earthenware jar filled with rendered lard. There were also bottles of soy sauce and a container of coarse, gray rock salt.
Beneath the counter sat several stoneware crocks containing the pickled radishes and napa cabbage Grandma Sheng had put up for the winter. They were perfectly preserved and ideal for the cold months. Grandma Sheng’s pickling skills were legendary in the neighborhood; the entire family was addicted to them.
While the ingredients were meager by modern standards, compared to the neighbors who went weeks without seeing a drop of oil, the Sheng family’s pantry was luxurious.
Sheng Wanyan decided to make handmade cornmeal noodles. A hot, savory broth would be perfect for keeping the winter chill out of their bones.
She got straight to work, measuring out the cornmeal and adding lukewarm water drop by drop, kneading it steadily until a smooth dough formed. While the dough was resting, she sliced off a small, thin piece of the precious bacon.
She tossed the bacon into the wok to render the fat, creating a fragrant, rich soup base. Glancing over her shoulder at the living room, she confirmed her grandparents were happily distracted by the pastries. Ensuring her movements were completely hidden, she swiftly pulled two concentrated drops of Spirit Spring water from her space and let them dissolve into the bubbling broth.
Once she finished administering the hidden remedy, she checked the living room one more time. Seeing that her grandparents hadn’t noticed a thing, she let out a quiet sigh of relief.
She seasoned the broth with coarse salt, let it boil vigorously to extract the smoky flavor of the bacon, and then scooped the meat slices out to set aside. Next, she blanched a generous handful of green vegetables and divided them equally among five large ceramic bowls.
Once the dough had rested sufficiently, she began pulling and stretching the noodles into remarkably thin strands. Cornmeal noodles were notoriously coarse and difficult to swallow, but stretching them this thin completely altered the texture, making them smooth and easy to eat.
As the noodles plunged into the boiling pot, the front door clicked open. Father and Mother Sheng had returned from work just in time for dinner.
Sheng Wanyan plated two small side dishes of Grandma’s crisp pickled vegetables, and soon the family of five was gathered around the small table, steam rising from their bowls.
“Oh, my girl, your cooking has really improved today!” Father Sheng praised, taking a massive gulp of the savory broth. “I’ve never seen you pull cornmeal noodles this thin before. They’re delicious!”
Before he could finish his compliment, Grandpa Sheng reached over and dealt him a swift smack to the back of the head. “If you don’t know how to speak like a proper father, just keep your mouth shut and eat.”
The old man huffed, hiding his own deep satisfaction. Even a good bowl of noodles couldn’t stop his son from rattling his mouth. What did he expect? Did he think his daughter was supposed to serve him a five-course banquet with fresh meat every single night? The man was getting a bit too big for his boots, acting so picky when his daughter had worked hard over a hot stove.
Father Sheng instantly went quiet, buried his face in his bowl, and dared not speak another word. He held the undisputed lowest position in the family hierarchy. If his wife wasn’t glaring him into submission, his parents were taking turns clipping him over the ear. Even his son, who was away in the military all year, received a shower of warmth and adoration the moment he stepped through the door on leave.
As the primary breadwinner who worked backbreaking shifts at the steel plant, Father Sheng was thoroughly and comically oppressed by his own household.
Watching her father’s instantly deflated, tragic expression, Sheng Wanyan felt a mix of deep affection and amusement wash over her. This was the family life she had sorely missed.
