Let’s start with Chen Mianmian.
Just looking at the meat made her mouth water.
Sun Bingyu said, “Supplies have been so tight lately, Zhan Zhan hasn’t had meat for half a month.”
Chen Mianmian simply scooped out another big piece for her, but made sure to warn, “If you’re worried about an upset stomach, maybe don’t eat it. This is Pickled Jar Meat. In theory, it shouldn’t go bad for years, but you never know if it might spoil.”
Sun Bingyu didn’t answer, just dashed home to grab a bowl, her mouth already watering.
“It smells amazing,” she couldn’t help but say.
She added, “This is from that wild boar you hunted last October, right? It was so fatty.”
When the original owner hunted that wild boar, she was already pregnant with Niuniu.
She’d planned to take all the meat back to her mother’s house, but after the divorce, she left it behind.
Chen Mianmian remembered the original owner’s advice: never let the ladle touch water when scooping this meat.
That’s right, after scooping, you have to re-coat the meat in oil to keep it longer.
Let’s try it first—if it tastes good, she’d keep some and sell the rest.
Sun Bingyu was curious about something else: “Don’t you always dry Xiaxia and make Meat Dry? Where’s the meat?”
The original owner was odd—always catching Xiaxia to make Meat Dry, but never eating it.
Sun Bingyu, Xue Fang, and Huang Lin from the third floor would gossip behind her back, saying she was crazy.
And, to be fair, she was a little unwell—she’d lived through several famines.
Even when there was enough food, Wang Ximei would make her daughters save grain and never let them eat their fill.
So, the original owner was always hungry, and even when her belly was full, her heart felt empty.
To fill that emptiness, she hoarded everything, developing a severe hoarding habit.
Smelling the meat, Xue Fang from the second floor came over to join the fun.
“What are you two up to?”
In response, Chen Mianmian lifted the brick blocking the kang’s opening and reached inside.
Sun Bingyu was a little nervous.
“Careful, there might be snakes in there.”
There was only a jar and a kang in the room, and the Xiaxia Meat was actually hidden in the kang’s hole.
Chen Mianmian reached in and pulled out a dirt-yellow, shell-like object.
Sun Bingyu, who’d already backed up to the door in fear, took a closer look.
“Wow, Xiaxia!”
Xue Fang mustered her courage and came in too.
“Xiaxia Meat Dry!”
Sun Bingyu peered into the kang’s hole.
“There’s dirt inside—did you bury the Meat Dry in the soil?”
Sometimes, the family members would go to Shen Cheng, and of course, they’d visit the Black Market.
Xue Fang said, “I’ve seen these at the Black Market—people say they’re especially good as a snack with alcohol.”
Sun Bingyu took the Meat Dry and said, “My husband bought some once. He steamed it over a fierce fire—delicious.”
But they were puzzled.
“Burying meat in dirt—won’t it go bad?”
Actually, it wouldn’t.
The Gobi is dry and gets little rain.
Even Loulan’s female mummies haven’t decayed in thousands of years.
The kang had been fired at high temperatures over and over—any bacteria were long gone.
The dirt used to bury the Xiaxia was also high-temperature roasted Guanyin Soil, basically dead soil.
As long as the Xiaxia Meat was completely dehydrated, it could be stored for years without spoiling.
On the Black Market, a single Xiaxia sold for fifty cents—people would fight to buy it.
Chen Mianmian did a rough count—there were about two hundred Xiaxia, which meant another hundred yuan.
Time to go out and explore the third room.
Sun Bingyu, meanwhile, soaked the Xiaxia she’d gotten in water.
Xiaxia, also called Ground Sheep, was something she’d tasted before.
The meat was even tastier than beef or lamb.
But Xiaxia were hard to catch and rarely sold in the market—she’d only had it once, and she had to try this one.
Not just Xue Fang and Sun Bingyu, but other family members were watching Chen Mianmian too.
When she opened the third room, Huang Lin, who was with Zeng Yunrui’s family on the fifth floor, asked, “Xiao Chen, are you selling your medicinal herbs?”
To most people, the Gobi Desert was a barren wasteland, devoid of life.
But locals knew the Gobi Desert was full of hidden treasures.
The third room had the least in it—just two bundles of Lock Yang and a basket of Rou Congrong, both medicinal herbs.
Xue Fang looked up and asked, “Huang Lin, in this day and age, you still have mutton to eat?”
Lock Yang and Rou Congrong were great for stewing with mutton—they not only tasted good, but were very nourishing.
At the Base, people only sought them out when they were having mutton.
Huang Lin laughed, “The unit doesn’t distribute meat, so where would I get mutton? My family in Shen Cheng wants some, so I’m sending it as a gift.”
Her family was from Shen Cheng—sending medicinal herbs home was a good idea.
Chen Mianmian picked out a bundle of Lock Yang and half a basket of Rou Congrong, smiling.
“Shall I bring them up to you?”
Huang Lin was already coming downstairs.
“You’re so pregnant, I’ll take them myself.”
She added, “These are everywhere outside, but since you went through the trouble of digging them up, I’ll pay you, okay?”
It was true—there were plenty outside, but the family members were afraid of wolves, bears, snakes, and wild boars.
Who dared to dig them up?
Besides, as the saying goes: “Yinchen in March, Artemisia in April, by May and June, use as firewood.”
If you wanted effective herbs, you couldn’t just pick them at random. Would the family members understand that?
While Chen Mianmian was thinking about a fair price, she entered Huang Lin’s home and saw a small baby crib in the living room.
Just then, a chubby little boy rode his wooden horse past her.
Seeing the crib, she pictured how, if Niuniu cried at night, she wouldn’t have to get up to hold her—she could just rock the crib and Niuniu would fall right back asleep.
A warm, loving scene of mother and daughter.
She asked, “That’s a nice crib. Where did you get it?”
Huang Lin said with some pride, “You northerners are so clueless—you could never make something this nice. I brought it all the way from Shen Cheng by train. Everyone is so jealous.”
The crib was in the living room, piled with random stuff—clearly, it wasn’t being used.
Chen Mianmian had an idea.
Instead of talking about the herbs, she asked, “Sister Huang, do you want some meat?”
The unit hadn’t distributed meat for over a month—how could Huang Lin not crave some?
But she was a Shen Cheng woman, very shrewd.
She brought out a Sea Bowl from the kitchen, filled to the brim with gray-green flour.
“I’ll trade this bowl of flour for a bowl of meat, and for the herbs, I’ll give you one yuan and a special grain coupon.”
She added, “The crib’s not up for grabs—I’ll need it when I have a second child.”
This gray-green flour was Kuqiao Noodles, the worst-tasting of all the coarse grains.
Even the Base only distributed it in times of extreme shortages.
Huang Lin was sharp—
Chen Mianmian wanted the crib, but Huang Lin tried to fob her off with a bowl of Kuqiao Noodles.
But in the original owner’s memory, Kuqiao Noodles could be made delicious.
Why not try?
She’d have to eat these things often in the future—better to make them tasty.
Since the crib wasn’t on offer, she let it go.
Instead, she said, “You have White Sugar and Fermentation Powder, right? Give me two jin of White Sugar and a bag of Fermentation Powder.”
Fermentation Powder wasn’t worth much, but two jin of White Sugar was no cheaper than two jin of meat.
Huang Lin didn’t want to agree, but her son Kang Kang kept shouting, “Mom, meat, meat!”
She had no choice but to grit her teeth.
“Go get the meat, I’ll go to the store for sugar.”
Chen Mianmian quickly added, “And bring me two Potatoes.”
Huang Lin carried her son downstairs, muttering, “Wasn’t Xiao Chen a big fool? How did she suddenly get so clever?”
Someone chimed in, “She really messed with Zhao Gong before—how dare she come back, hmph!”
Chen Mianmian put away the flour, washed the Sea Bowl, and filled it with a big heap of meat.
By the time she came out, the kids were back from school. Xiao Zhanzhan came running over.
“Wow, meat!”
He shouted, “Mom, I want Pickled Jar Meat.”
Jiang Xia, Sister Jiang from the next unit, came over too, praising, “This meat is really well pickled.”
But then she changed the subject, “Xiao Chen, that belly of yours can’t be more than five months, right?”
If her belly was only five months along, wouldn’t that mean she got pregnant after the divorce?
Chen Mianmian immediately said, “No, it’s already seven months.”
Sister Jiang laughed sharply, “Seven months? What are you carrying, a little pea?”
It was just after work, and people from all three units were watching.
Chen Mianmian recalled something and replied with an equally sharp laugh, “Oh, Sister Jiang, when you were pregnant with Shuai Shuai, your belly looked like a little mountain, but Shuai Shuai weighed less than five jin. What were you carrying, pure fat?”
The original owner was a loner, not fond of socializing—she just liked working alone.
The family members were gossipy and always mocked her, but she never responded.
But Chen Mianmian wasn’t one to take things lying down.
If someone dared to make a comment about her belly, she’d give it right back.
Sister Jiang raised an eyebrow.
“You’ve been here two days, and Lingcheng still hasn’t come home. Hmph, I heard…”
Chen Mianmian smiled, “I heard that Lingcheng is so busy, but he’s even more excited for the baby than I am.”
Sister Jiang was speechless.
“Your belly isn’t even as big as mine.”
Chen Mianmian put her hands on her hips, stuck out her belly, and raised her voice, “How could I compare to you, Sister Jiang? You’re our canteen director—look at those three layers of fat! Forget me, who else in this courtyard has a belly as big as yours?”
Sister Jiang snapped, “Chen Mianmian, are you calling me greedy? Slandering me?”
Chen Mianmian shrugged, “You said it yourself, I didn’t say a thing.”
Just then, Huang Lin came back and happened to glance over.
“Zhao Gong, are you cooking yourself?”
Chen Mianmian was in the middle of her verbal sparring and looked back, startled.
Standing in the kitchen was a tall, broad-shouldered man—none other than Niuniu’s father, Zhao Lingcheng.
He was already home! When had he come back?
She’d been blabbing non-stop—he must have heard everything.
What would he think?
The family members were dying of curiosity, wishing they could plant an ear in Zhao Lingcheng’s house.
The ex-wife had returned, her belly wasn’t big—was the child his?
She’d put him through hell before, and now he wanted to remarry and relive the misery?
Chen Mianmian had to admit, Zhao Lingcheng had remarkable self-control.
He looked out the window at Huang Lin and Sister Jiang but said nothing.
He’d been reading, and with a snap, closed his book, then looked up at the nosy neighbors peeking in.
In an instant, adults and children alike scattered.
In that brief glance, Chen Mianmian was truly surprised.
Because Zhao Lingcheng’s appearance was not quite what she’d imagined!
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