Chapter 13
At Regimental Commander Zhao’s home.
Lin Xixi tentatively said to Sister Yang, “Aunt, how come I heard that Regimental Commander Yan’s wife didn’t go to visit relatives?”
Sister Yang had a large family and many things to attend to; she was busy bustling about. Upon hearing this, she carried a basin and asked curiously, “If she didn’t go to visit relatives, then where did she go?”
Lin Xixi helped her out, lowering her voice, “I heard… she eloped to find some wild man.”
Sister Yang nearly overturned the basin in her hands.
“You can’t just say things like that!” She scolded Lin Xixi, “That ruins someone’s reputation!”
Lin Xixi said, “I just heard it from others too.”
“Which gossip-monger is talking nonsense?”
“I don’t know. It was when I was at the Farmers Market, two older sisters were walking in front of me talking about it. I just caught a snippet, I don’t know who they were. I haven’t even recognized everyone’s faces yet.” Lin Xixi deflected.
Sister Yang glared, “Little Qiao only just came back yesterday. I saw Little Yan, and he seemed fine, not like they had been arguing. And today, you saw how cheerful Little Qiao was. This is impossible! It’s groundless; don’t go spreading rumors!”
“But…”
“But what? With Little Qiao’s temper, if she had really run off and Little Yan had chased her back, she wouldn’t come out to see anyone for ten days or half a month, and her face would be as dark as a widow’s. I don’t see that at all.”
Regimental Commander Yan’s wife looked completely relaxed, truly like someone who had returned from visiting relatives. Sister Yang did not believe she had run off with a wild man.
“Shut your mouth. If your uncle hears you making things up about others, he’ll take the sole of his shoe and beat you!”
Lin Xixi indeed had no evidence, so she could only shut her mouth in frustration.
Walking into the courtyard, there was another large basin of clothes. Her aunt couldn’t bear to let her use soap to wash them; she had to use a laundry bat to beat them, which was exhausting.
In an era without washing machines, it was truly too arduous.
Lin Xixi had originally been determined to establish an image of being hardworking and virtuous, preparing to become the second wife of the promising Yan Lei as soon as possible, but now Qiao Wei was not dead.
She pursed her lips.
No one could ruin her path to wealth and prosperity.
Even if Qiao Wei was also reborn, she was just a young person in her early twenties; how could she compete with her?
Qiao Wei rested for a while, rubbing her sore arms and pounding her aching lower back, then sat down at the desk and pulled open the drawer.
When she took the money in the morning, she had already seen it—there were many opened letters in the drawer, all in a mess.
She casually picked up a stack and unfolded it to look; sure enough, they were letters written by The Technician to Qiao Weiwei.
Reading them slightly, it almost made Qiao Wei’s teeth ache from the cheesiness.
Every other word was “so-and-so-sky says” or “so-and-so-v says.” Although one couldn’t say it was merely pretentious, and university students in this era did have some cultural foundation, it was definitely showing off like a peacock fanning its tail.
And fanning it quite vigorously.
Qiao Wei’s mouth twitched.
Yet the original owner, Qiao Weiwei, was a sucker for this. The memories regarding these letters were painted in such vivid colors, far clearer and stronger than the memories regarding Yan Lei.
They were like a sweet spring nourishing the stagnant pool of the original owner’s life, making her think she had found a soulmate and driving her crazy for love.
Qiao Wei remembered that these letters used to be folded up, stacked neatly, and tied with rubber bands.
Now that they were scattered like this, it went without saying that Yan Lei must have opened and read them all. The mess in the drawer revealed his anger at the time.
Qiao Wei rummaged through the letters, pulling out the letter paper and the envelopes. Convinced there were no omissions, she lifted the lid of the coal ball stove under the eaves outside.
When the lid was on, the coal balls burned extremely slowly inside, in a state of “not extinguishing,” consuming very little.
As soon as the lid was opened, oxygen flooded in, and the flames immediately shot up. It was much more convenient than the earthen stove that required burning firewood on the spot.
Qiao Wei threw the letters in, and immediately the tongues of fire curled up, devouring the paper and words.
Yan Xiang stood to the side, “Are you going to boil water?”
This reminded Qiao Wei. Drinking boiled water was troublesome; one had to boil it first and then let it cool. When she woke up in the morning, there were several mugs of boiled water on the table, more than last night, so Yan Lei must have boiled the water and left it to cool before he left early in the morning.
She went to fill a kettle with water and put it on the stove, carefully instructing Yan Xiang, “Don’t touch it. The stove and the kettle are very hot; don’t get burned.”
Yan Xiang obediently agreed.
Qiao Wei returned to the study and glanced at Yan Xiang playing outside. This kind of house with a courtyard was great; once the gate was closed, the child could play in the courtyard, and adults could see outside from the window. There was no danger, and no fear of him getting lost.
Qiao Wei rummaged through the drawer and found a stack of blank letter paper, the kind with the Military Unit header. She poked her cheek with her fountain pen, thought for a while, and started scribbling.
She organized some matters that needed to be considered for her new life.
After she finished scribbling, she looked up at the outside of the window.
It was so quiet; only the cicadas were chirping in the distance, with no roar of cars.
Yan Xiang was a very quiet child. When he squatted on the ground playing by himself, he wouldn’t mutter to himself like other children. He would just quietly move a pile of small stones back and forth on the stone floor.
Time had a slow, flowing feeling, as if there was no need to rush for anything.
Perhaps this era should be like this—
A few black-tiled bungalows, a small child in the courtyard.
The clothes on the clothesline fluttered in the breeze.
She still had a young and healthy body.
At this moment, Qiao Wei felt extremely satisfied with the life before her—no rushing around for a few pieces of silver, no illness tormenting her day and night, no counting the footsteps of nurses in the corridor late at night, estimating when her life would end.
Yan Xiang looked up at the sun, stood up, ran to the base of the window, stood on tiptoe, and grabbed the windowsill: “Mom, what are we having for lunch?”
“Oh? What time is it?” Qiao Wei trotted to the living room and took a look at the “Three-Five” brand table clock on the table, “It’s already past eleven.”
The water outside had also boiled, bubbling away. Qiao Wei used a rag to protect her hand and carried the kettle to the space under the small table to cool, then blocked it with a wooden stool to prevent the child from bumping into it and getting burned while running.
She covered the iron stove to keep the fire smoldering, and Qiao Wei rolled up her sleeves, tied on an apron, and prepared to cook.
The rice cooker was a small, round aluminum pot. After washing the rice, without the markings or measuring cups of an electric rice cooker, Qiao Wei used the world-famous Chinese “finger method”—as long as the water covered one knuckle, it was enough.
Come to think of it, she had learned this from a foreign talk show. After all, as far as she could remember, her family had always used electric rice cookers.
The rice pot was placed on the cast-iron stove.
She carried the vegetables in a large aluminum basin to the hand pump well to wash them.
Beside the well platform, two low walls had been built with bricks to make a counter. She brought the cutting board over and placed it on top; it was perfect. It was meant for exactly this purpose.
At this time, transportation was not developed, logistics were not convenient, and the vegetables sold at the Farmers Market were all grown locally and sold locally. Their appearance was not as good-looking as in later generations, but they were exceptionally fresh. She scooped the washed vegetables out of the basin and threw them onto the cutting board to cut directly.
She cut one-third of the meat bought today.
She carried the vegetables to the kitchen and began to encounter even more inconvenient things—the earthen stove in the kitchen was wood-burning.
In the Military Unit’s benefits, besides grain, oil, and daily necessities, there was also a “fuel” item; firewood and coal were distributed in a set ratio every month.
Because she had the memories, theoretically Qiao Wei knew how to operate it, but in practice, she was extremely clumsy when she started.
It was only after a frantic scramble that she managed to ignite the firewood.
Yan Xiang was a bit puzzled as to why Mom was having such a hard time starting a fire today. Once the fire caught, without Qiao Wei having to say anything, he went over and pulled the bellows.
The little child was only a bit taller than the bellows. Adults could just bend and extend their arms to pull the bellows, but Yan Xiang had to hug the handle and rely on the strength of his body to push it in and pull it out.
“Heave-ho,” “heave-ho.”
It was adorable.
You have to say, the bellows were actually really useful. The little man got the fire burning big in just a few strokes.
This was Qiao Wei’s first time using this kind of stove and iron pot, and she was a bit rusty, but she still successfully stir-fried a dish.
She dished it out, placed it on the small kitchen table, and covered it with a mesh cage, then discovered that washing the pot was a troublesome matter.
First, the pot was quite large, and it was a double-eared pot, without the long handle that Qiao Wei was used to holding.
Furthermore, there were no modern faucets or sinks here.
Qiao Wei looked down and saw a bucket with a lid beside the stove. She lifted the lid; inside was clean water and a water ladle.
She had to use the ladle to scoop water into the pot. A nail was driven into the wall beside the stove, from which a short, thick, and sturdy round-headed broom was hanging; this was the brush for cleaning the pot.
Qiao Wei used a rag to protect her hand, pinched one of the pot’s ears, tilted the iron pot, and quickly scrubbed it once with the brush.
Then, using two cloths as padding, she lifted the pot and poured the water into another bucket. So, it made sense that there were so many buckets in the house. A clean water bucket, a slop bucket—not one could be missing!
Qiao Wei scooped two more ladles of water into the pot, waited for it to boil, then cracked an egg into it and stirred it to make egg drop soup.
With just eggs, the soup’s flavor was too bland. Actually, it would have been better if there were preserved mustard greens; Qiao Wei used to like putting preserved mustard greens in egg drop soup, and then she wouldn’t even need to add salt. It was a simple soup that could be made in a very short time.
When her mother passed away, she had instructed her to eat well. Originally, Qiao Wei used to order takeout often, but after living alone, she actually stopped ordering and often cooked for herself.
Life, it moves too fast; it still needs a bit of the warmth of daily life.
There were no preserved mustard greens, but there were salted vegetables in a jar; Qiao Wei picked out a few slices and threw them into the pot, which served as a substitute.
Very quickly, a pot of simple, quick soup was ready.
In the other world, she only made this kind of quick soup when she was busy; when she had proper time, she would carefully simmer soup. But given the material conditions here, an egg drop soup was considered a very proper soup. After all, eggs also required ration coupons.
Because she had spent a little too long at the earthen stove and had forgotten that she wasn’t using an electric rice cooker, the rice was taken off the stove a little late. It was a bit hard to eat, but it was still considered a success.
Qiao Wei could be considered to have adapted to the kitchen of this era.
There were always some middle-aged netizens online who said that the vegetables nowadays didn’t taste as good as the vegetables in the past, which many people questioned as being a nostalgia filter. But Qiao Wei could now prove that it was truly not a nostalgia filter.
In an era without pollution, green vegetables indeed had more of a “vegetable flavor” than in later generations.
Yan Xiang took two bites and praised loudly, “It’s really delicious!”
Qiao Wei smiled and asked, “Wasn’t it delicious before?”
Because in her memories, the original owner had quite high standards for food, so her cooking level should have been decent.
“It was delicious,” Yan Xiang said, “but today’s is especially fragrant.”
He added, “It’s even more delicious than what Aunt Yang and Sister Lin make.”
When he said this, Qiao Wei remembered the meal she had last night; she didn’t know why, but that taste was indeed…
She lowered her head and took two more bites, and suddenly realized!
“It’s the oil,” she said, “I used more oil.”
More than the original owner, more than Sister Yang, and more than Lin Xixi.
No wonder.
Although Lin Xixi was a reborn female lead, counting the time, she probably transmigrated back in the early nineties.
A poor middle-aged woman who had to borrow money from relatives to survive because her whole family had been laid off and her life was so tight she couldn’t make ends meet, likely wouldn’t be very willing to use much oil when cooking.
Thinking about it this way, it was not incomprehensible that Lin Xixi wanted to cling to a powerful figure after being reborn, because she had foreseen Yan Lei’s future prospects.
But, there was only one powerful thigh, and it had already been hugged by Qiao Wei.
How could she hand it over to someone else!
