Zhong Jianguo took the stairs three at a time and disappeared in an instant.
Zhong Dawa rubbed his eyes hard. His dad didn’t have wings—how did he run so fast? Never mind, he needed to pick up the vegetables.
In tough times, children didn’t need adults to tell them not to waste food. Song Zhaodi had also instructed them never to waste food, and Dawa was afraid she’d be angry. He picked up the basin, bent down, and carefully gathered the scattered vegetables. Seeing that some leaves had dirt on them, he set the basin by the hand pump and was about to turn back inside.
Glancing up at the second floor, he remembered that his stepmother was so sick she couldn’t get out of bed, looking pale—just like his biological mother before. She couldn’t be allowed to overwork herself anymore.
After thinking for a moment, Dawa pumped a full basin of water. Noticing some rotten vegetable leaves near the pump—likely ones his father had plucked—he picked them up and threw them into the duck pen.
Song Zhaodi suddenly felt herself being lifted into the air. When she opened her eyes, she found herself in Zhong Jianguo’s arms. She frowned slightly. “What are you doing?”
Zhong Jianguo paused mid-step. When his eyes met hers, he froze.
Song Zhaodi instinctively touched her face. Did she have too much eye gunk and scare him? She patted his arm to snap him out of it. “What’s wrong with you?”
“You’re okay?” Zhong Jianguo asked softly, as if afraid speaking too loudly might frighten her.
Seeing his cautious expression, Song Zhaodi had no idea what he was up to. Surely he wasn’t carrying her downstairs to cook? “I feel dizzy. Put me down now. Cough, cough…”
Zhong Jianguo quickly laid her back on the bed, touched her forehead, and gasped. “Why are you so hot? You have a fever? No, wait, yes—you’re sick. No, that’s right. But Dawa said you were dying!”
“What are you talking about?” His words came out too fast, making her head spin even more. “What does this have to do with Dawa?”
Zhong Jianguo didn’t answer. He turned, rummaged through a drawer, and found the fever medicine he had bought back when Bai Hua was still alive. Not caring whether it had expired, he handed it to Song Zhaodi, then went to find the thermos, poured a cup of water, and urged, “Take the medicine now,” bringing the ceramic mug to her lips.
Seeing his fingers trembling—something he himself hadn’t even noticed—and the nervous look in his eyes, barely concealed by his forced composure, Song Zhaodi felt a small stir in her heart. Could it be that Zhong Jianguo…? The thought made her sigh softly. “The water’s too hot. I’ll wait a bit before taking it.” After a pause, she added, “Give me the cup.”
“Oh, okay.” Zhong Jianguo handed her the mug without thinking. Seeing that she could hold it just fine and didn’t seem on the verge of death, his racing heart finally settled. He plopped down on the bed, took a deep breath, and said, “I—I walked in with the vegetables, and Dawa told me you weren’t going to make it. I thought you—you…”
“You thought I was dying?” Song Zhaodi, feeling the heat from the mug, set it aside. “Dawa probably meant I was seriously ill but got flustered and blurted out the wrong words.”
Zhong Jianguo, now calmer, realised that must have been the case. But just remembering how panicked he had been, heart pounding as if it would leap out of his chest, made him want to grab that little brat and give him a beating. Still, the most pressing concern was understanding the situation. “Last night, you had plenty of energy arguing with me. How did you suddenly fall sick overnight? Did Sanwa kick off the blanket in his sleep?”
Song Zhaodi didn’t feel like talking and simply shook her head. “I caught a chill after my bath.”
“Then just rest.” Zhong Jianguo said. “I’ll go to school later to request a leave of absence for you.”
Song Zhaodi shook her head again. “No need. Let me sleep a bit, and I’ll be fine.”
“You really don’t need to go to the hospital?” Zhong Jianguo had known Song Zhaodi for five months, and she had always been lively and full of energy—especially when arguing with him, her voice not loud but exuding dominance. He had always thought she was tougher than most men, never expected her to get sick.
In the past, he believed minor illnesses like headaches and fevers didn’t require medication—just drink half a bottle of hot water, and they’d go away on their own. But seeing her pale face now, he hesitated. “If you don’t want to go out, should I bring a doctor here?”
“Absolutely not.” Song Zhaodi waved him off. “Just go make some food and let me have some peace. Oh, and if Sanwa wakes up, take him outside to pee.”
Zhong Jianguo nodded, scooped up the sleeping Sanwa, grabbed his clothes, and headed for the door. Before leaving, he couldn’t help but pause and say, “If you feel worse, call me.”
Song Zhaodi waved him away impatiently.
Zhong Jianguo gently closed the door. Seeing that Erwa was still asleep in the west room, he left him alone. Taking Sanwa outside, he frowned when he didn’t see Dawa around. Had that little rascal run off to hide after realising he had misspoken?
“Dad, we’re out of matches.”
Dawa’s voice came from inside. Zhong Jianguo turned back to see him holding up an empty matchbox. “And?”
“I need to light the stove.” Dawa looked at him as if he were an idiot.
Zhong Jianguo felt his head throb. “Just play with your brother. I’ll handle the cooking.”
“Fine.” Dawa shot him a look of disdain. He couldn’t even cut vegetables properly—what a temper for someone so useless!
Zhong Jianguo understood the meaning behind that glance and immediately felt stifled. But he still needed Dawa to watch Sanwa, so even though he wanted to smack the kid, he had to hold back.
Around eight o’clock, Zhong Jianguo dropped the older boys at school, arranged for Song Zhaodi’s morning English class to be rescheduled for the afternoon, and then swung by the hospital to get her some cold medicine.
Song Zhaodi took the medicine and slept. When she woke up, the house was unusually quiet. She glanced at the wall clock—8:30. No wonder her stomach was growling.
She went to the kitchen and saw that the porridge on the stove was so thick it was almost solid. She rubbed her temples, added some water, and continued cooking it.
Zhong Jianguo returned home, walked into the living room, and immediately spotted her lying on the couch, frowning. “Why are you lying there? I moved your class to the afternoon. Go back upstairs and sleep some more.”
“I’m hungry.” In her past life, when she was busy with work and caught a cold, she always pushed through without showing any signs of weakness. If she didn’t say anything, no one would even notice she was sick. Her ability to fake wellness was top-notch.
Now, with Zhong Jianguo in the picture, she had someone to share responsibilities with. She didn’t need to push herself—she could just relax. Because of that, she now felt completely drained, even too lazy to eat the porridge sitting right in front of her.
Zhong Jianguo noticed and quickly asked, “Does it taste bad? I tried it—it’s cooked.”
“It’s too hot.” Song Zhaodi looked up and saw Zhong Jianguo setting Sanwa down, seemingly intending to feed her porridge himself. She quickly sat up and took the bowl. “You should head back to the camp.”
Zhong Jianguo helped Sanwa sit beside her and, upon seeing the porridge in the bowl, furrowed his brows. “You made this yourself again?”
“I added more water,” Song Zhaodi explained. “My throat feels a little uncomfortable, so I wanted to have some thin porridge.” After a brief pause, she added, “I’m fine. You should go.”
Like a tiger turned house cat, Zhong Jianguo was still worried. “I’ll ask Aunt Liu to come over.”
“No need!” In this era, people would only take medicine if they were too sick to get up. If she called someone to help just for a mild cold, even if Duan dasao was willing, others in the Liu family would say she was being too delicate. “Hurry up and go. Stop making me talk.”
Zhong Jianguo responded with a “fine,” then turned to Sanwa. “Your mother isn’t feeling well. Don’t bother her, got it? If you misbehave, I’ll deal with you when I get back.”
A thought suddenly struck Song Zhaodi. “Will I infect him?”
“You two slept head-to-head all night. If he was going to catch it, it would’ve happened already,” Zhong Jianguo replied. “Separating you now won’t help. Oh, and don’t cook in the morning. I’ll do it when I get back.”
Song Zhaodi nodded. After finishing her porridge, Zhong Jianguo took her bowl to the kitchen. When he returned, he said, “Don’t go upstairs.” Then he ran up himself, grabbed a pillow and blanket, and brought them down. After taking off Sanwa’s shoes, he moved another chair over. “Let him play by himself. You should rest.”
At first, Song Zhaodi was touched, but seeing that he had no intention of leaving, she got annoyed. “Hurry up and go.”
“If anything happens, call me at Aunt Liu’s house.” Zhong Jianguo had reached the door but couldn’t help turning back to remind her.
Song Zhaodi sighed in exhaustion. “Got it.” Then, unable to help herself, she muttered to Sanwa, “Your dad just won’t stop nagging. If I die, it’ll be because he nagged me to death.”
Just as he reached the front gate, Zhong Jianguo suddenly remembered the thermometre and medicine he had borrowed from the hospital. Before he could remind her, he turned back and overheard Song Zhaodi’s words. He pressed his lips together and left without saying a word.
Sanwa was too young to fully understand, but he could sense that today’s Song Zhaodi was different from yesterday’s. His instinct told him not to make a fuss, or he might get spanked. And what was a spanking? A sore bottom.
Seeing Song Zhaodi lying down, the little boy quietly played with his cloth tiger. When he got too bored, he lay beside her but didn’t dare ask to go outside.
When Zhong Jianguo brought Dawa and Erwa home, the older child saw his mother still wrapped in a blanket and sleeping soundly.
Dawa instinctively lowered his voice. “Mom isn’t better yet?”
“She’s exhausted,” Zhong Jianguo said. “You two need to help your mom more and stop making her angry. That way, she won’t get so sick in the future.”
Song Zhaodi could sew clothes and shoes, grow vegetables, raise chickens and ducks, and even speak fluent English. Most importantly, her cooking was incredible.
Back when Zhong Dawa was deeply disappointed in Bai Hua, he had imagined that his ideal mother would be just like Song Zhaodi. Even though he’d been dreading his father’s cooking on the way home, after hearing what Zhong Jianguo said, he hesitated to wake her up. “Should we take Mom to the hospital? She’ll get better faster.”
“No need!” Zhong Jianguo said. “She’s mainly just tired. She’ll be fine after resting for a couple of days. I’ll cook. What do you want to eat?”
Dawa thought, I want to eat a lot of things. But since his father couldn’t even stir-fry lettuce properly, he had no other choice. “Rice and vegetables.”
“Son, are you feeling okay?” Zhong Jianguo touched his forehead. “Are you sick? No appetite?”
Song Zhaodi sat up. “Other than stir-frying vegetables, do you know how to cook anything else?” Without waiting for a response, she continued, “I woke up because of all the noise. Dawa chose vegetables to be considerate of you. Go wash the rice and prep the vegetables. I’ll cook.”
She still had the energy to tease him? Zhong Jianguo quickly asked, “You’re feeling better?”
“My fever’s gone,” Song Zhaodi said. “I’m still weak, but I can handle stir-frying some vegetables.”
Dawa raised his hand. “I’ll go pick vegetables. Erwa, get the basket.”
Erwa dashed off to the kitchen, afraid that if he was too slow, Song Zhaodi would change her mind.
Seeing his sons’ reactions, Zhong Jianguo felt deeply wronged. “Is my cooking really that bad?”
“You overcooked the lettuce until it was too tough to eat,” Song Zhaodi said. “You should’ve taken it out of the pan the moment it wilted. I didn’t even see you cook it, but I can guess that you let it change color completely before stir-frying it for a bit longer.”
Zhong Jianguo didn’t want to admit it, but he muttered, “You’re right.” Clearing his throat, he said, “I’ll wake up Sanwa. Otherwise, he won’t sleep tonight.”
“Wash the vegetables and rinse the rice first,” Song Zhaodi reminded him.
Zhong Jianguo’s breath hitched. “I should never have gone to get you medicine.”
“So, do you want me to die?” Song Zhaodi shot back.
Zhong Jianguo’s face darkened instantly. “Don’t talk nonsense.” He turned and went to the kitchen.
Erwa came running with the vegetable basket but shrank back in fear when he saw his father’s expression. He hurried to Song Zhaodi’s side and whispered, “Mom, what’s wrong with Dad? He looks scary.”
“He’s probably just hungry,” Song Zhaodi said casually. “When people are hungry, their mood gets worse. Stay away from him.”
Erwa nodded quickly and passed the message on to Dawa outside.
Dawa sometimes got so hungry that he felt like yelling, so he believed Erwa without question. Throughout the entire meal, he avoided his father.
Zhong Jianguo felt suffocated. “Song Zhaodi, what nonsense have you been telling the kids?”
“I have a headache,” Song Zhaodi said, rubbing her temple.
Zhong Jianguo’s breathing hitched. “You—” He knew she was faking it, but he still couldn’t bring himself to argue. “Just rest properly.”
Song Zhaodi chuckled. This man was truly adorable. “Alright. Once I’m better, I’ll make you all bone broth noodles and steamed sauerkraut buns.”
“Mom will be better tomorrow,” Dawa said immediately.
Song Zhaodi rolled her eyes. “If I recover tomorrow, I’ll just get sick again from exhaustion.”
“Then… Then get better on Saturday.” Dawa thought for a moment. “You don’t have to teach on Saturdays, so you won’t be tired.”
Song Zhaodi laughed. “Fine, I’ll get better on Saturday.”
Thanks to her strong constitution, she felt completely fine by the next morning. But she didn’t rush to buy meat and bones. The family ate light meals for a few more days before she finally asked Zhong Jianguo to go to the food supply store on Sunday.
In the morning, she simmered bones and prepared dough. At noon, they had bone broth noodles. After lunch, she borrowed a head of pickled cabbage from the Liu family to make sauerkraut pork buns.
Around 3 pm, the first batch of buns was ready. Dawa grabbed three, and Erwa took two.
Song Zhaodi nearly passed out from anger. “Who are you taking extra for?!”
When Bai Hua’s body was found, Zhong Jianguo had told the kids that their mother had died of illness. Song Zhaodi had always been healthy, so the two boys had long since forgotten what ‘being sick’ truly meant.
A few days ago, when Song Zhaodi was sick, she looked so pale that Dawa was reminded of his biological mother, who had died of illness. Fearing something might happen to Song Zhaodi, Dawa refrained from making trouble and answered honestly, “Lin Zhong said he hasn’t eaten one before.”
“Lin Zhong wants three?” Song Zhaodi asked.
Erwa raised his hand. “One is for Ma Zhenxing.”
“What did they give you in return?” Song Zhaodi questioned.
Dawa thought for a moment and said, “I’ll go ask,” before setting down the buns and dashing out of the kitchen.
Just as Song Zhaodi was about to say something, the child had already run off.
Moments later, he returned with a handful of hard candies and placed them on the cutting board. “Lin Zhong gave me these.”
Song Zhaodi massaged her forehead. “What did you say to him?”
“I said, ‘Lin Zhong, I’m giving you a meat bun. What are you giving me in return?’” Dawa replied. “Then Lin Zhong gave me a handful of candy.”
Song Zhaodi turned to Erwa. “What did Ma Zhenxing give you?”
“Ma Zhenxing said he’d help us fight,”Erwa recalled carefully. “Yes, he said he’d help us fight, not fight against us.”
Song Zhaodi felt exhausted. “Another fight? I’ll tell your father when he gets back.”
“No fights happened,” Dawa smacked Erwa on the head. “Stop blurting out everything!” Then he added, “I’ll go ask Ma Zhenxing again. If he doesn’t give me anything good, I won’t give him a bun.” Grabbing another bun, he declared, “This one’s for Lin Zhong,” before running out of the kitchen again.
Song Zhaodi sighed. “You kids have way too much energy.” She handed Erwa a large bun. “Eat first. We’ll give some to Ma Zhenxing later.”
“Thanks, Mom,” Erwa said, taking a big bite. “So delicious!”
Song Zhaodi shook her head with a smile.
About ten minutes later, Dawa returned with a bowl. Song Zhaodi peeked inside. “Fermented soybeans?”
“Ma Zhenxing’s mom made them for me,” Dawa said proudly. “Mom, let’s fry them for breakfast tomorrow. I’ll go pick some scallions.”
Song Zhaodi poured out the fermented soybeans, cleaned the bowl, placed two buns inside, and handed another one to Dawa. “Go play. Be home for dinner at six.”
“Okay!” Dawa grinned, hugging the bowl and munching on his bun as he left. At the doorway, he saw Lin Zhong’s mother approaching and didn’t even pause. “My mom’s in the kitchen,” he called as he ran past.
Chen dasao stepped in and saw two baskets of buns on the cutting board—one filled with mixed-grain buns and the other with white flour buns. Seeing that Dawa had given her son Lin Zhong a white flour bun, she was quite pleased. Song Zhaodi was generous.
“Xiao Song, does your family still need old clothes?”
A few days ago, Duan dasao and Chen dasao had gone to Hangcheng to buy fabric and had even helped Song Zhaodi get two lengths of fine cotton cloth—no ration tickets required. Logically, there was enough fabric for winter clothes for the children, so there was no need to collect old clothes.
But Dawa and Erwa wore out their clothes and shoes quickly. In just ten days or half a month, their shoes would have holes in them. Song Zhaodi wanted old clothes to make shoes for the kids. “Do you have any?”
“Not at my house,” Chen dasao said. “A woman at the supply and marketing cooperative told me her relative has a lot of old clothes. You can pick any piece you want for a jin of grain coupons. Most of them are adult clothes, some still in decent condition.”
Song Zhaodi raised an eyebrow. “Such a good deal?”
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