Chen Mianmian had just stepped into the living room when Zhao Lingcheng brushed past her and went straight into the bedroom.
She only caught sight of his green jacket and white shirt, both colors especially vivid.
Now she finally understood why the female supporting character didn’t like him and instead preferred Wei Section Chief.
The supporting character was a country girl who’d spent her childhood toiling under the blazing sun, working the fields, and often crawling around digging for voles.
If she happened upon a wild boar or a rabbit, that was meat—either they died, or she did.
She lost her father early on, and watching the strong laborers in other families had made her eyes red with envy.
The man of her dreams had to have tanned skin and a burly build capable of carrying buckets of manure.
But the Zhao Lingcheng in her memory was pale and gloomy, completely lacking in masculinity.
She didn’t like him either; she only agreed to marry him to save up a bride price for her younger brother.
For her brother’s sake, she married a man she didn’t like—a delicate and refined one.
The one she truly liked was someone like Wei Section Chief: dark-skinned, tall, and powerfully built.
But in Chen Mianmian’s opinion, Zhao Lingcheng’s complexion wasn’t that pale.
After all, this was the Northwest Great Desert—how pale could he possibly get?
And although she only got a quick glance, with her sharp eyes honed by thirty years of life, Zhao Lingcheng wasn’t as feeble as the supporting character imagined.
He just looked a bit more refined compared to Wei Section Chief, who had returned from the battlefield, rugged and imposing.
She didn’t catch his features clearly, but as they brushed past each other, she noticed he didn’t smell of sweat.
Whether she could deliver naturally and the upcoming negotiation both weighed on her mind, making her nervous—and when she was nervous, her belly would harden and tighten.
That was called a contraction.
The attending doctor said it could cause fetal hypoxia.
Bracing herself against the wall, she took deep breaths to relax her belly and said, “Lingcheng, there are documents on the desk, you can take a look first.”
To avoid unnecessary disputes, she had drafted a Re-marriage Contract last night.
She put it together with the Debt Note and left them on Zhao Lingcheng’s desk for him to see at any time.
Since he closed the bedroom door, out of respect, Chen Mianmian decided not to disturb him for now.
All her requests were written clearly in the contract.
He could review what he accepted and what he couldn’t before they discussed further.
After deep breathing for a long while, her belly finally softened and even gave a gentle squirm.
That was Niuniu signaling to her mother, letting her know she was healthy.
Chen Mianmian was starving, and Niuniu needed food too.
Since things had come to this, she might as well cook first.
Relying on memory, she used coal briquettes to boil half a pot of water, added half a pot of cool boiled water, adjusted the temperature, then mixed in some yeast, pouring it all into the gray-green buckwheat flour, stirring it into a thin batter and putting it in the pot to ferment.
Huang Lin had given her two potatoes—old with long sprouts and wrinkled skin.
Chen Mianmian peeled and shredded them, soaking them in cold water, changing the water repeatedly in fear of getting poisoned.
There were two rows of scallions and a patch of chives by the wall outside—planted by the supporting character last year.
She pulled them up for cooking, and as she turned around, she ran into Sun Bingyu.
Sun Bingyu held a rice bowl and asked with a smile, “Want to try some of the meat I cooked? It smells amazing.”
Chen Mianmian started drooling, “You actually have white rice to eat?”
She’d been here several days, and not to mention wheat flour, it was her first time seeing rice.
Sun Bingyu admitted, “We only had one bowl of rice left at home. I cooked it with the meat. I’ll get you a bowl too.”
Most people at the Base were from the south and used to eating rice, but the Northwest didn’t produce rice.
And it was 1965, a time when the whole country was starving.
Even the Base’s grains were finer than outside, but the sorghum outside was only roughly hulled—a bowl of white rice was precious beyond words.
Chen Mianmian smiled and declined, about to head back inside, when Sun Bingyu said, “Keep it down.”
She glanced at the neighboring unit, “We’re all familiar here. If Jiang Xia and the others hear, they’ll gossip about you again.”
The reason Chen Mianmian was determined to take Niuniu away was to avoid her becoming the subject of gossip.
Just like Jiang Xia, who had just targeted her—her family was related to Zhao Lingcheng’s, and her sister Jiang Yao was the original female lead.
She was also the person at the Base who disliked the supporting character most, often pointing at her nose and scolding her.
Just now, she’d nearly said outright that Niuniu wasn’t Zhao Lingcheng’s child.
If she left the child here alone, wouldn’t Niuniu drown in Jiang Xia’s spit from a young age?
But no matter what, delivering Niuniu safely was most important.
Chen Mianmian nodded, “Don’t worry, I won’t.”
Sun Bingyu added, “There’s no big conflict. Just coax him well. For the child’s sake, he’ll give in.”
There really wasn’t any conflict between the supporting character and Zhao Lingcheng, but there was no affection either.
They were from two different worlds—neither understood nor wanted to understand each other.
The supporting character thought Zhao Lingcheng was too pampered, even needing expensive toilet paper to wipe, acting more delicate than a woman.
Zhao Lingcheng, on the other hand, thought she had no other flaws except being stupid!
The dough was still fermenting, so Chen Mianmian stir-fried the meat first.
A small piece of meat yielded half a bowl of oil; she scooped out some and used the rest to fry the shredded potatoes.
Time to make pancakes—she poured the batter around the edge of the pan, cooking it slowly over a low flame, just as she remembered.
Suddenly, there was a loud bang at the door.
She turned at once, “Did you read all those documents? Any thoughts?”
Seeing Zhao Lingcheng standing at the door, she added, “Don’t go out, I’m cooking. Wait and eat.”
But it was Ma Ji, Sun Bingyu’s husband, and the Section Chief of the Security Section, who entered.
He grinned, “The leadership asked me to drop by, but I was so busy eating I forgot.”
Wiping the oil from his mouth, he said, “That jar of bacon Little Chen cured is really something. I ate so much I lost track of time.”
To save money, Chen Mianmian had only cut a small piece, stir-frying just half a bowl.
Unable to resist temptation, she had already eaten quite a bit.
She pulled a fresh buckwheat pancake from the pan and asked, “Section Chief Ma, want to try one of my pancakes?”
Ma Ji had been sent by Qi Political Commissar to give Zhao Lingcheng a subtle warning.
He originally wanted to tell Zhao Lingcheng to be more considerate to the pregnant woman and wash the dishes at night.
But seeing Chen Mianmian pull a soft, bouncy pancake from the pan, he asked, “What flour is this? It’s so chewy.”
Chen Mianmian replied, “Buckwheat flour, with sugar added. These pancakes are delicious, try one!”
She picked up a cooled pancake, stuffed it with shredded potatoes and two pieces of meat, and handed it over.
Buckwheat flour usually wasn’t chewy; made into noodles, it’d be sticky and bitter.
But somehow, she made it taste like sweet potato starch sheets—chewy and smooth, with crispy potatoes and savory bacon.
Ma Ji had already eaten, but still wolfed down a pancake in two bites, his eyes going round, “Delicious!”
He added, “Wait, this doesn’t taste raw or bitter, it can’t be just buckwheat.”
But seeing Zhao Lingcheng glaring impatiently at him, he quickly said, “You two eat, I’ll head back.”
Chen Mianmian made four pancakes in total, and, being so hungry, had already eaten one.
Only a spoonful of batter was left; she poured it into the pan on the lowest heat, waiting for it to cook.
She tried to lift the pancake with wet fingers, but it was so hot she flung it away, splashing water droplets all over Zhao Lingcheng, who’d just walked up behind her.
Dropping the pancake, she hopped around sucking her fingers, “Hot, so hot!”
With water all over his head, Zhao Lingcheng had no choice but to return to the living room and sit at the dining table.
He was among the first to arrive at the Base and picked this apartment as his home.
The reason he chose the first floor was because all his furniture had been carried from the Capital by himself.
The furniture was too big to move upstairs, so he settled on the first floor.
There were traces of paintings that used to hang on the wall—his father’s calligraphy and paintings.
But like the radio on the table, they had all been taken by Chen Mianmian.
Even the cabinet, once full of Russian nesting dolls and scenic postcards, had been cleaned out by her.
When Zhao Lingcheng came home earlier, he went straight to the bedroom because his half-year salary was there.
He thought his ex-wife had already taken it all, but surprisingly, the money was still quietly in the drawer.
Strange—this time she neither looted nor ransacked, but drafted a marriage contract.
Zhao Lingcheng couldn’t tell what new trick his ex-wife was playing.
The meal was served: just half a plate of shredded potatoes and three pancakes, plus a few small pieces of wild boar meat.
After setting the table and taking off her coat, she sat across from him.
Only then did Zhao Lingcheng notice that the two purplish-red patches on her face had faded, leaving only a faint blush.
“Highland red” was the most direct sign of sun and wind damage to the skin.
His ex-wife had never used sunscreen before, but after half a year divorced, she had lightened up—probably hadn’t seen much sun.
He also noticed her belly—it wasn’t huge, but it was definitely round and full.
She picked up a pancake, added potatoes, and wrapped the last four golden pieces of meat inside.
Seeing her hand him the pancake, he said, “No, thanks!”
He didn’t look at her, his eyes cold, fixed on the table.
He said bluntly, “I told you before, there were others on the riverbank. That person didn’t want to rape you—he wanted to kill you.”
According to the Public Security’s investigation, Xu Cigang was reported by her.
What angered Zhao Lingcheng was that he had suspected murder at the time and repeatedly asked if she had any enemies.
The Hongqi Canal was built for a hydropower station, with a water depth of up to sixty meters and a silt layer three meters deep due to the loess plateau’s unique soil.