Sweet Soup
It wasn’t that Chen Mianmian insisted on being so particular; Zhao Lingcheng was the one who started it, provoking her.
He clearly didn’t love Niuniu, yet schemed constantly, always trying to take the child away.
Before becoming pregnant, Chen Mianmian hadn’t realized just how hard pregnancy would be.
Just walking a few extra steps would make her waist ache; she got tired easily and was always hungry.
But none of that was the worst.
According to the doctor, in the later stages of pregnancy, she would develop stretch marks, and her belly would erupt like a flower.
Maternal love was nothing but hormones manipulating her, yet women endured so much to nurture their children—what right did men have to casually snatch away the fruit of that labor?
Besides, she used to be a well-known lawyer.
Couldn’t she fight for her child?
Putting that aside for the moment, when she reached the entrance of the Reception Guesthouse, Chen Mianmian happened to run into Qiu Director—the one who had helped her contact Yan General and secure work.
Qiu Director was chatting with a group of women, a gauze bandage wrapped around her forehead.
Chen Mianmian squeezed into the crowd and asked, “Sister Qiu, how did you get hurt?”
The women answered in unison, “The Red Guards did it.”
Another woman added, “Qiu Director is just too kindhearted, wants to help everyone, so look, she got beaten for it.”
Unlike the future, where every women’s director in the units would become a leader’s wife and collect money without working, these days they were genuinely hardworking and truly conscious.
Qiu Director explained to everyone, “Even if Xu Xiaomei has other problems, the matter with the men was definitely initiated by Director Jiang. Even if it wasn’t rape, it was at least seduction. So she’s not the ‘loose woman’ they say, and she shouldn’t be criticized.”
She didn’t want Xu Xiaomei to be criticized under the label of ‘loose woman.’
When she tried to reason with the Red Guards, she got beaten instead.
What Qiu Director did was actually right, because rape is rape.
You can’t let a woman’s other faults whitewash a man’s rape as mere adultery or promiscuity—that only encourages men’s wickedness.
But most Red Guards were boys.
Trying to talk sense to them usually meant getting whipped.
Chen Mianmian did have an idea.
She said, “Director Qiu, maybe you can persuade Xu Xiaomei to expose her brothers, say it was her brothers who caused Director Jiang to rape her. Xu Dagang and Director Jiang are accomplices.”
Since the family had landlord status and were corrupt, the Xu siblings were all destined for labor reform.
But without the adultery charge, they could suffer less, and Xu Xiaomei should expose her brothers to save herself.
Though that would take a cruel heart, because she was a hardcore ‘support your brother’ type.
Qiu Director thought it over and said, “The only reason Xu Xiaomei was with Director Jiang was to support her three brothers. I’ll go to the detention center early tomorrow and try to persuade her to expose those bastards.”
Chen Mianmian had another very important matter to discuss with Qiu Director.
Wu Jingjing was also there, quietly waiting.
Chen Mianmian pulled Qiu Director aside.
Actually, Wu Jingjing’s transfer had been approved today, but when Qiu Director saw her, she remembered something.
“The State Guesthouse director and accountant have both been arrested. Especially the director’s position—I can recommend someone.”
Wu Jingjing was a bit stunned.
“Director is a cadre position. I’m afraid I can’t get it, right?”
Most women’s problem was timidity, a lack of courage, especially unwilling to touch power.
Chen Mianmian said, “You’re a martyr’s child, both Red and Specialized. What’s stopping you from being director?”
Qiu Director added, “The director earns 15 yuan a month plus 12 yuan in ration coupons. As long as you dare, I’ll fight for you.”
Wu Jingjing finally responded with a bow, “Thank you, Director Qiu.”
Qiu Director was quick-witted and said, “Go back and perform well so I have something to say for you tomorrow.”
With all the Xu brothers arrested, she was safe.
Going back was no problem.
But Chen Mianmian had one more thing.
She took something from her schoolbag.
“This is Sweet Fermented Grain I made for you. Remember to eat it.”
Seeing Qiu Director licking her lips, she added, “Find a bowl—I’ll give you some too.”
Unlike the base which guaranteed steamed buns and oats, the Steel Plant had been eating sorghum for months.
Seeing the Sweet Fermented Grain, Qiu Director’s mouth watered.
She immediately went back to the dorm and brought out a rice jar, scooped out half.
Chen Mianmian tasted a bit herself.
This was her first time making Sweet Fermented Grain and first time eating it.
After fermentation, the oats had a slight wine aroma but a sweet flavor like barley.
Biting into it, it burst in the mouth—it was truly delicious.
Zhao Lingcheng had already checked into the room and returned inside.
Qiu Director saw Chen Mianmian to the door, wanting to ask something.
Chen Mianmian loudly said, “Sister Qiu, my man is fine, no domestic violence, really.”
Qiu Director didn’t know Zhao Lingcheng personally but guessed his rank was not low.
Because this room was personally arranged by Yan General, it was the best cadre room in the Guesthouse.
If the man was a cadre and didn’t abuse her, she felt reassured.
She had something for Chen Mianmian too, pulling out a package wrapped in oiled paper.
“For you to eat.”
Chen Mianmian opened it, feeling both sad and bitter.
“Wheat flour?”
Just a few taels at most.
Qiu Director smiled, “I’ve been saving it. You can make yourself a bowl of sweet soup.”
Nowadays, it was one favor for another: you gave me a bowl of Sweet Fermented Grain, and I’d give you two taels of wheat flour.
Qiu Director pushed open the door and smiled, “This room even has bedding.”
Then quickly added, “That must be your man, huh? How could you be so clueless letting him make the bed? No wonder he’d hit you. Go make the bed now.”
In today’s Northwest, even the most enlightened women’s directors accepted the idea of men working outside and women staying inside.
Chen Mianmian was pushed into the room by Qiu Director and saw Zhao Lingcheng making the bed, so she asked, “Want me to help?”
Zhao Lingcheng paused but said, “No, I don’t like the way you make beds.”
Qiu Director quietly closed the door and left.
Chen Mianmian touched the bed and was surprised: “Is this a wool mattress?”
Cadre rooms really were different—luxurious indeed.
Zhao Lingcheng was used to the outdoors; making beds took just a few swift moves, neat and tidy.
But he only brought one set of bedding; this was a standard room with two beds.
Chen Mianmian, a late-stage pregnant woman, wasn’t worried he would misbehave.
But she didn’t feel comfortable sleeping on one bed alone, so she sat on the made bed and asked, “Niuniu wants to sleep here, is that okay?”
She figured Zhao Lingcheng would agree since he needed something from her.
But he didn’t. He stiffened, dead serious, “Did my daughter say that? I didn’t hear a word.”
Suddenly, Chen Mianmian kicked her leg and said, “Ah, my leg cramped.”
She kicked toward Zhao Lingcheng; the cramp was just an excuse.
She thought he looked so annoyingly smug she wanted to kick him.
But he dodged quickly, spinning away.
She missed.
He took her seriously, coming over to ask, “How does it feel? Leg hurts? Need to go to the hospital?!”
Chen Mianmian was too tired to argue.
She just asked, “The grain—you don’t want it?”
Zhao Lingcheng turned and went to the window, unzipped his jacket, and put his hands on his hips, looking out.
Grain or daughter, which one to choose?
That was a tough choice.
Fortunately, someone came to his rescue at that moment—the door was kicked open with a bang.
Zhao Lingcheng, an expert who always carried a gun due to real spies and assassination threats, immediately drew his pistol, aiming at the door.
Chen Mianmian was startled, sitting upright on the bed.
It was Yan General, carrying a tray.
Seeing the gun barrel, Yan General thought, “Oops, I forgot to knock.”
Used to being a leader, he just pushed doors open everywhere, almost getting shot.
In wartime, if the security forces accidentally shot someone, the army wouldn’t investigate as long as there was a reasonable explanation.
Zhao Lingcheng was annoyed by Yan General’s carelessness but held back: “It’s fine.”
Chen Mianmian caught a rich aroma and smiled, “Wow, is that rice?”
Having been here nearly a month, she had forgotten the taste of rice.
The Steel Plant had private plots and grew some vegetables—the first to ripen were small rapeseed greens, plus a plate of cold radish salad, potatoes and cabbage, and a few bowls of white rice.
Yan General lifted a bowl and said, “An old leader was sent down from the south, gave this to me.”
Chen Mianmian didn’t hesitate and ate, asking, “Where was your leader sent to?”
Yan General sighed, “He has serious problems, at Red Flag Reform Farm.”
But he immediately laughed, “If he has problems, he can reform properly. Let’s eat our own and not talk about him.”
Eating coarse grains every day, only then could one appreciate how precious rice was.
In the future, Chen Mianmian would go on a diet cutting carbs, but rice became a staple because of its fragrance and sweetness.
Even if the vegetables were rough, as long as the rice smelled good, just plain rice felt delicious.
Pregnant women had good appetites, and soon her bowl was empty.
Zhao Lingcheng still had over half a bowl.
Seeing her eyes on it, he pushed half over.
But of course, rice was never eaten for free, and this was an era where, as long as one didn’t starve, they worked to exhaustion.
So after the meal, Yan General enthusiastically invited Zhao Lingcheng to discuss solving problems.
Chen Mianmian also couldn’t just rest.
Yan General had a Russian document she needed to help translate.
It wasn’t difficult; it was a list of items that required unit conversions.
For example, converting Russian pounds and poods into Chinese jin and kilograms.
Chen Mianmian glanced over it and felt confident, so she took the job.
It was especially hot today; she had run around all day and had to first find the Steel Plant’s bathhouse for a shower before working.
There wasn’t much work, but it required calculations, so she kept at it until eleven before going to bed.
Looking out the window, the factory lights blazed; workers must still be working overtime.
Zhao Lingcheng hadn’t returned either.
Grain or daughter—she still hadn’t gotten an answer.
At two in the morning, under a bright, sparse moon, Yan General was ready to escort Zhao Lingcheng back to his room.
Walking, he asked a private question, “Chief Engineer Zhao, in your analysis, will there be a fight over Zhenbao Island?”
Zhenbao Island was the current flashpoint in Sino-Soviet tensions.
The Soviets kept provoking, wanting war.
Meanwhile, across the strait, Chiang Kai-shek and the Americans were stoking the flames.
Trapped between enemies, leadership’s stance was still unclear.
Zhao Lingcheng was frank: “There will be a fight. It’s necessary.”
Wars needed guns and cannons, and the raw materials for those were steel.
To prepare for war, the Steel Plant was working desperately.
Yan General suddenly perked up, “Good. We’ll keep producing well. You plan, and we’ll crush those donkeys, those damn Russians. We’re from the Eighth Route Army—tell me, who are we afraid of?”
Eighth Route, Local Eighth Route.
Zhao Lingcheng had known since childhood he was a ‘Local Eighth Route.’
But only after coming to the Northwest did he understand why ‘local’ was added—the place was just full of dirt.
He changed the subject, though it was hard to say, “I have two good brothers, both militia, very decent men. You’re their superior in the Militia Detachment, can you help me…transfer them to Red Flag Reform Farm?”
In this era, all soldiers were battle-hardened, stubborn, and disciplined.
If Yan General was clever and smooth, he’d foresee and arrange for a few trusted men to look after his old leader at Red Flag Farm.
But if he was too clever, he wouldn’t be fighting battles or earning merits.
Hearing Zhao Lingcheng wanted to assign his own men, Yan General said, “Don’t get in through backdoors.”
Zhao Lingcheng was learning from Chen Mianmian, “Labor is most honorable. My two brothers are Red and Specialized, and they’re even dung workers.”
Yan General assumed his brothers were like Zhao Lingcheng—delicate, fragrant, girlish men—and was delighted to agree, “That’s doable.”
But he added, “They have to be real reliable, or I can’t guarantee anything with Commander Deng.”
Zhao Lingcheng nodded, “The militia commander is Deng Xiling, right? Same as Wei Cuiyun, your comrade?”
Yan General proudly said, “We’re the He Xi Iron Triangle. Your logistics is guaranteed by us.”
Militia Commander Deng Xiling was Xu Dagang’s superior, in charge of labor reform and educated youth.
Yan General managed the Steel Plant and city, Wei Cuiyun the railway.
Together, the ‘Three-Horse Carriage’ provided military production logistics.
They were comrades and close friends—a true iron triangle.
They arrived at the bathhouse.
Zhao Lingcheng shook his washbag, “I’m going to shower. Want to come?”
Almost three o’clock, still no sleep and off to bathe?
Yan General thought Zhao Lingcheng was a bit bourgeois, and that such behavior would be dangerous outside the army.
But since he had helped him so much, he said nothing, “I can’t. I have to sleep.”
Chen Mianmian slept early and woke early.
When she opened her eyes, the first thing she saw was a face.
Fair-skinned, facing her, sleeping soundly.
It was a twin-bed room; one bed only 1.2 meters wide—a tight squeeze.
Though there was another bed right next to them, he squeezed in with her, a pregnant woman?
Facing him, she raised her knee, preparing to jab him.
But just as she lifted her knee, Zhao Lingcheng rolled over, but didn’t fall off the bed.
There were two stools beside the bed; he rolled onto one.
Rubbing his eyes, he got up, grabbed a tooth cup, and said flatly, “I can’t sleep on a smelly bed.”
He disliked the Guesthouse’s stinky quilt, which was why he squeezed into bed with Chen Mianmian.
He checked the clock on the table and said, “I’m going to get breakfast. We’ll leave at eight sharp.”
Before Chen Mianmian could ask more, he left.
Last night, Chen Mianmian hadn’t taken off her pants, but in late pregnancy, discharge was heavy, so she needed to change underwear.
Just as she was about to pull off her pants, Zhao Lingcheng suddenly pushed the door open.
Seeing her undressing, he apologized, put down her tooth cup, and left again.
Worried someone else might barge in, Chen Mianmian found a stick and propped the door.
Soon after, he returned with breakfast: sorghum grain dumplings and millet porridge.
Without waiting for Chen Mianmian to ask, he said, “Chen Jinhui has already been released this morning.”
Taking a bite of the bread, he explained, “If he wasn’t released soon, even as a landlord relative he would have been beaten.”
Chen Mianmian grabbed some bread to eat and said, “My grain is at my mother’s place. Wang Ximei is going home—how can I get it?”
Sorghum grain dumplings, with saccharin added, tasted pretty good.
Zhao Lingcheng suddenly choked.
He worried that if his brother-in-law was beaten to death, his wife would be furious with him.
But he forgot one thing: her grain was hidden at her mother’s, and with her mother-in-law around, she might never get it.
Gradually, Chen Mianmian found herself liking Zhao Lingcheng more and more, especially when he lost his temper—it was strangely endearing.
Even though Chen Jinhui had been released today, he wouldn’t return home for now.
He was an Iron Pipe Bureau employee, and there was no talk of dismissal yet.
Wei Cuiyun couldn’t fire him but would definitely deal with him.
Premium Chapter
Login to buy access to this Chapter.