This era, in the South, people survived hunger on cassava and sweet potatoes, but neither could grow well in the Northwest.
The lifeline grain of the Northwest was the potato, and making powdered noodles from it was already considered a luxury.
But powdered noodles were so soft, glutinous, and springy, paired with a mouthful of savory pickled jar meat—delicious beyond compare.
The side dish was the flaky white steamed bun.
Chen Mianmian scooped some powdered noodles onto a slice of steamed bun and handed it to Miaomiao.
The girl eagerly bit off a big mouthful, chewing as the oily juice dribbled out from the corner of her mouth.
Zhao Lingcheng went to get a tissue, but his ex-wife was quicker, tearing off a piece and gently wiping the child’s mouth.
“Eat slower.”
Miaomiao responded and took another big bite of the bun, piling her chopsticks high with powdered noodles, slurping enthusiastically.
A tiny toddler, she finished the entire bowl of fried fensi in no time.
Zhao Lingcheng sat opposite the girl, his shirt pristine white against his jade-like skin, his beautifully curved eyes lowered slightly.
He was sitting, but he neither ate nor looked kindly at the girl in front of him.
He was still very alert, and when the child’s powdered noodles sprang upward, he turned his body just in time so the splatter wouldn’t stain his shirt.
Finally, Miaomiao burped, put down her chopsticks, and Chen Mianmian smiled warmly and asked, “Are you full?”
The girl glanced at the stern-looking uncle, whispering, “I want to go home.”
Then she looked at Chen Mianmian.
“Auntie, I’m afraid of the dark. Take me home.”
Zhao Lingcheng’s voice was gruff, and Chen Mianmian thought he was going to scold the child, but instead, he said gently, “I’ll take you.”
But he frightened Miaomiao, who slipped off the stool like smoke and ran upstairs.
Zhao Lingcheng’s attire, skin, and entire demeanor were starkly different from the desolate and rugged Northwest.
He cupped his ear, listening as the door upstairs opened.
Miaomiao was home.
With a bang, the door shut, and she opened the file bag in her arms.
He first took out a slip of paper and said, “One-week family visit pass. I’ll hand this over to Ma Ji later.”
Then he pulled out two printed contracts, stamped with an official seal.
“Four months is too short. Two years, then. I’ll pay you thirty yuan a month separately as nanny wages. When the contract ends, you get two hundred yuan compensation. For the child’s sake, we’ll endure a bit longer.”
Currently, a waiter’s monthly salary was eight yuan, with a fixed five-yuan ration coupon.
A formal employee like Chen Jinhui earned fifteen yuan, while someone like Wei Section Chief only made eighteen yuan a month.
Thirty yuan could hire a whole football team of nannies.
Chen Mianmian couldn’t find a reason to refuse.
Two years old was a scientifically sound age for a child to be separated from the mother since a two-year-old wouldn’t form lasting memories of their mom, yet wouldn’t necessarily need her.
Zhao Lingcheng’s contract proposal clearly came after much careful thought.
Because he refused to eat, food remained.
But the Northwest night was cold, and food wouldn’t spoil.
Leftovers could be eaten at noon the next day.
Chen Mianmian took the leftovers back to the kitchen.
When she returned, her ex-husband was wiping the table.
He was meticulous, not only wiping the table clean but also scrubbing all four stools.
Chen Mianmian sat down and smiled, “Do you know our little guest’s name?”
Zhao Lingcheng’s face was poker-like.
“Some kind of grass or wood—I don’t remember.”
Chen Mianmian recounted how today Shuai Shuai hit Miaomiao, but Xue Fang chose to endure silently.
Then she said, “If Miaomiao were my daughter, no matter who it was, if they dared touch her, I’d beat them until their guts came out.”
Zhao Lingcheng said, “She can fight back, but why doesn’t she?”
Chen Mianmian explained, “Boys have strength to fight back. Girls don’t. Without a mother to care for them, our baby would be even more pitiful than Miaomiao. You don’t like girls anyway. Miaomiao is the only girl in this building. You don’t even know her.”
Zhao Lingcheng considered it and said, “The Base Kindergarten can take full custody. One pickup per week.”
Chen Mianmian retorted, “So if Niuniu gets hit today, you won’t know until seven days later?”
Then she gently patted her belly and said, “No mother doesn’t love her child. The child needs the mother to avoid being bullied.”
Zhao Lingcheng suddenly smiled wryly, “Just like your mother loved you?”
Actually, his mother was the same.
Mothers might love their children, but often love others more.
Chen Mianmian quickly responded, “Chen Jinhui is my mother’s beloved son, now in detention. He’ll only be released with your consent, and it was I who reported him. You can imagine how furious and upset my mother must be.”
He worried that this “faithful younger sister” might raise the child into a “faithful younger uncle.”
But considering how much she had done before returning to the Base, his prejudice against her should have softened.
Indeed, when talking about Chen Jinhui, Zhao Lingcheng’s expression softened considerably.
Chen Mianmian then said, “I’ll compromise. If it’s a boy, when he’s two, I’ll leave him with you and leave. But if it’s a girl, since you don’t like girls and they need more care, I’ll take her away to raise.”
For some reason, there were far more boys than girls at the Base.
Zhao Lingcheng was annoyed by the boys—shrill voices, wild running, fighting—a bunch of nuisances.
Boys could be fully taken care of by the kindergarten; out of sight, out of mind.
But what if it was a skinny little girl?
She would be scared and cry if she didn’t see her family for a long time.
Remembering the timid look in little Miaomiao’s eyes, he finally spat out, “Fine.”
Thus, using the advantage of foresight, Chen Mianmian perfectly won the round.
It was a bit regretful that she would have to stay at the Base for two years, missing out on work at the steel factory.
But it didn’t matter.
As long as a person had ability, they could shine anywhere.
Taking out 250 yuan, Chen Mianmian prepared to sign the contract.
However, Zhao Lingcheng didn’t give her a pen but rolled up his sleeves and went into the kitchen, taking off his apron to wash his hands.
While washing dishes, he said, “I also drafted a few clauses. Take a look first. If you agree, then sign.”
Chen Mianmian felt a little embarrassed.
“Leave the dishes, I’ll wash them later.”
Zhao Lingcheng frowned, eyes filled with disdain.
“I’m worried you won’t clean up properly.”
Chen Mianmian had perfectly inherited the female supporting character’s cooking skills but not her cleanliness—the kitchen was a pigsty.
Zhao Lingcheng’s revised contract was indeed harsh, almost devilish.
First, Chen Mianmian could only return to her maternal home once a year and could not bring the child.
Second, he wouldn’t ask about how she spent her wages, but she was forbidden from taking anything else.
Also, no wandering around with the child, but hunting wild boar and rabbits was allowed.
For early education, she would have to relearn Russian and English starting now.
If there were thirty yuan a month, why would Chen Mianmian go hunting and gathering to earn extra?