Zhong Dawa’s mouth fell open. “Earth-shattering? Mom, don’t make such a complicated dish.”
“It’s not complicated.” Song Zhaodi scooped out a bowl, placed eight dumplings inside, and handed it to Dawa. “You and Erwa can eat these. Don’t give any to Sanwa—the steamed dumplings are too hard for him.”
Dawa took the bowl, tore off a tiny piece of dumpling skin, and handed it to Sanwa to keep him occupied. Then, he and Erwa started eating. But before they could finish their fourth dumpling, Zhong Jianguo walked in.
As soon as Erwa saw his father enter, he instinctively stuffed an entire dumpling into his mouth.
Zhong Jianguo was both amused and exasperated. “You are really my good son.”
Erwa covered his mouth, his cheeks bulging as he chewed, looking just like a little hamster caught sneaking food.
Zhong Jianguo pinched his cheek. “Where’s your mom?”
“Inside,” Dawa pointed toward the kitchen while stuffing the last dumpling into his mouth.
Zhong Jianguo cleared his throat to announce his arrival.
Silence from inside.
He cleared his throat again. Still no response.
Left with no choice, he stepped into the kitchen. “I’m back.”
“Mm.” Song Zhaodi acknowledged him with a sound, placing the wrapped dumplings into the steamer. Then, she lifted the lid of the stove pot.
“Need me to light the fire?” Zhong Jianguo sat down in front of the stove. “I’ll do it.”
Expressionless, Song Zhaodi glanced at him, poured two ladles of water into the pot, and left to wash her hands.
Zhong Jianguo lit the fire and then beckoned Dawa over. “Come here. I need to ask you something.”
“What is it?” Dawa saw how secretive his father was acting. “Mom can’t know?”
Zhong Jianguo glanced outside and saw Song Zhaodi still by the well. “Did you guys make your mom mad today? Or did someone else come asking her to make clothes?”
“No,” Dawa said. “Lin Zhong’s mom talked to Mom for a long time, but all I understood was ‘thank you.’ Ma Zhenxing’s mom gave us a bunch of cucumbers. Dad, Mom said she’s making something ‘earth-shattering’ later. What is that?”
Zhong Jianguo looked at the cucumbers under the chopping board. “Smashed cucumbers.”
“Huh?” Dawa was stunned. “‘Earth-shattering’ is just smashed cucumbers?” His excitement immediately deflated. “I don’t want to eat that.”
Zhong Jianguo quickly covered his mouth. “If you don’t like it, you don’t have to eat it. But don’t say it out loud. Your mom worked hard making dumplings and preparing the cucumbers. If she hears you say that, she’ll feel bad.”
“Okay, I won’t say it then.” Dawa turned around and grabbed two dumplings. “Dad, these have vermicelli, eggs, and chives—they’re delicious! Try one.”
Zhong Jianguo opened his mouth, but as soon as he saw Song Zhaodi returning, he quickly waved Dawa away. “Go wash your hands before dinner.”
“I already washed them,” Dawa said, popping a dumpling into his mouth and reaching for another.
Song Zhaodi grabbed his hand. “They’ve gotten a bit cold. Wait for the fresh ones from the pot.”
“Okay.” Dawa glanced between his parents, his eyes shifting mischievously. Then, he led his two younger brothers away to wash their hands.
Zhong Jianguo peeked outside at their retreating figures and couldn’t help but smile. Then he turned to Song Zhaodi and said, “By the way, no one will be coming to ask you to make clothes anymore.”
“Why?” Song Zhaodi asked, feigning ignorance.
Zhong Jianguo looked a little awkward as he recalled what he had done. “Old Ma can’t stand seeing me do well, so I used him to spread the rumour that you’re too busy preparing lessons to have time for sewing. Even if someone does come, all you have to say is you’re busy, and they’ll assume it’s because you’re swamped with work and won’t bother you.”
“What if Ma Zhenxing’s mother hadn’t brought me fabric and asked me to sew?” Song Zhaodi asked.
Zhong Jianguo hesitated. “That rascal Dawa promised Ma Zhenxing you’d make him clothes. If it weren’t for Ma’s son, I wouldn’t have thought to tell Lin Zhong to fetch fabric from home. And I wouldn’t have had to sleep on the bench for more than a week.” He paused. “Now that I’ve solved the problem, can I sleep in the bed tonight?”
“I’ll observe for a month first,” Song Zhaodi said. “If no one comes to me within that time, then it’s over.”
Zhong Jianguo rubbed his forehead. “So if someone does come, I have to sleep on the bench for three more months?”
“What do you think?” Song Zhaodi retorted. “You’re thirty years old—yet you act without thinking. If I weren’t relying on you to protect our country, I’d make you sleep on that bench until autumn.”
Zhong Jianguo knew she was angry. Even if he had the guts, he wouldn’t dare add to her troubles on purpose. “When Dawa’s mom was here, no one asked her to make clothes, so I never thought of it.”
“When Dawa’s mom was here, she also didn’t dare bother you with household matters. Even if someone asked, you wouldn’t have known,” Song Zhaodi said, turning to look at him. “Am I right?”
Zhong Jianguo coughed. “I was busier back then. Those years, Old Jiang’s men would show up every few days. I was away for weeks at a time—it wasn’t that I didn’t care about household affairs.”
“Sigh, Shanghai is such a big city. There are so many good men. Why on earth did Bai Hua choose to marry you?” Song Zhaodi muttered as she checked the boiling water and placed the dumplings inside.
Zhong Jianguo chuckled. “Then why did you choose me?”
“You already had three kids, so I didn’t have to give birth,” Song Zhaodi said bluntly. “That was the main reason.”
Zhong Jianguo froze. Even though he’d heard her say this before—multiple times—he still found it suffocating. “Three little rascals—isn’t that a headache? Teacher Xiao Song, how about we have a daughter?”
“Are you the one giving birth?” Song Zhaodi shot back.
Zhong Jianguo was immediately at a loss for words.
“Talking is easy, but what if we have another son? Then I’d have to keep giving birth until we get a daughter?” Song Zhaodi continued. “You can’t guarantee it, and you’re not lacking sons. So, drop the topic of having kids. Otherwise—”
“I know, I know,” Zhong Jianguo interrupted. “I won’t get to sleep in your bed.”
“It’s good that you know.” The dumplings were almost ready. Song Zhaodi washed two cucumbers and made a plate of cold cucumber salad.
Erwa’s eyes widened when he saw the dumplings and cucumbers on the table. “Mom, what about the ‘earth-shattering’ dish?”
“You fool. It’s just smashed cucumbers.” Dawa slapped his hand on the table. “See? Earth-shattering, isn’t it?”
Zhong Erwa couldn’t believe it. He turned to Song Zhaodi, eyes full of hope, wishing she’d deny it. “Mom, is that true?”
“It is.” Song Zhaodi patted his head. “Erwa, what do you think something earth-shattering should be?”
The best food Zhong Erwa had ever eaten in his life was all made by Song Zhaodi. He thought carefully about the dishes she had cooked before shaking his head. “I don’t know, I can’t think of anything.”
“I thought it was chopped chicken.” Zhong Dawa said.
Song Zhaodi replied, “We’ll kill the rooster in a few days.”
“You’ve said that so many times, stepmom.” Every time Zhong Dawa fed the chickens, he thought about slaughtering the little rooster to eat. He’d asked Song Zhaodi multiple times, and each time, she said they’d do it in a few days. “I can’t even count how many times you’ve said that.”
Song Zhaodi said, “I think if we let the rooster grow a little bigger before we kill it, you’ll get a big drumstick to eat. If we kill it now, the drumstick will be too small and not satisfying.”
“Then let’s let the little rooster live a few more days.” Zhong Dawa stuffed a dumpling into his mouth. “Mom, when will the tomatoes you planted be ready to eat? I want to eat those sweet and sour tomatoes.”
Song Zhaodi sighed. “You haven’t even swallowed your food yet.” Then she said, “When your dad goes back to sleeping in bed, the tomatoes will be ready to eat.”
Zhong Dawa and Zhong Erwa turned to look at Zhong Jianguo in unison.
Being stared at by his two sons made Zhong Jianguo’s scalp tingle. “On International Labor Day.”
“That long?” Zhong Dawa sighed and pushed his bowl toward Zhong Jianguo. “I don’t want to eat anymore.”
Song Zhaodi quickly said, “Give it to your dad. Your little brother is done eating too—take him outside to play for a while and come back later.”
“Okay.” Dawa led Sanwa outside. He couldn’t go wherever he wanted, but he was used to it and didn’t find taking care of Sanwa troublesome. Besides, Erwa was there to help him.
Once the three children were out the door, Zhong Jianguo couldn’t wait to say, “You shouldn’t spoil the kids like this. Every time they can’t finish their food, they give it to me. What if I’m not home? Are you going to eat it yourself?”
“Kids eating too many leeks at night will make them uncomfortable in their sleep,” Song Zhaodi said. “If you don’t want it, just feed it to the ducks.”
Zhong Jianguo immediately recalled people saying that leeks caused heartburn. He cleared his throat. “Sorry.”
“I hope you use this more often before you speak or act.” Song Zhaodi tapped her head. “If this happens again, I can guarantee you’ll need to find a new mother for the kids.”
Zhong Jianguo’s head snapped up. Seeing her dead-serious expression, he immediately replied, “I’ll remember that.” After a pause, he asked, “So I really can’t sleep in the bed tonight?”
“If you don’t want to sleep on the bench, you can sleep in the guest room,” Song Zhaodi reminded him.
Zhong Jianguo swallowed. “The guest room key was thrown into the sea. I’ve told you many times.”
Song Zhaodi snorted. “Yeah, right. And eat less—half a basket of dumplings, and you ate half of them. Be careful you won’t be able to sleep at night.” Saying that, she got up to check on the kids.
Zhong Jianguo patted his stomach, glanced at the remaining dumplings in the basket, thought for a moment, and picked up his bowl to drink some soup.
Song Zhaodi made a large bowl of dumpling dough, thinking it would last until the next night. But by the next morning, the basket was almost empty.
Zhong Jianguo finished the last sip of porridge and let out a burp.
Song Zhaodi couldn’t help but ask, “Zhong Jianguo, are you stupid?”
“The food you cook is delicious. It’s not my fault I eat a lot.” Zhong Jianguo said. “If you don’t believe me, ask Dawa.”
Zhong Dawa nodded. “I can eat a full bowl of Mom’s cooking.”
“See?” Zhong Jianguo said. “You can’t blame me for eating too much.”
Song Zhaodi lifted her foot and stepped on his. “So it’s my fault?”
“No, no, it’s my fault.” Zhong Jianguo gasped, not daring to provoke Song Zhaodi any further. He quickly got up to clear the dishes.
Seeing this, Song Zhaodi called, “Dawa, Erwa, help your dad take the chopsticks and bowls to the kitchen.”
Zhong Jianguo wanted to say there was no need, but before the words left his mouth, he deliberately left Dawa and Erwa’s bowls and chopsticks behind, making them take them to the kitchen themselves. However, even though he cooperated so well, Song Zhaodi didn’t show him any mercy.
On the evening of May 1st, International Labor Day, Zhong Jianguo stood at the bedroom door, clutching his blanket. He was ready to turn back to the living room and continue sleeping on the bench if Song Zhaodi refused him.
Seeing his pitiful expression—knowing full well he was faking it—Song Zhaodi still couldn’t help but soften. “Not sleepy?”
“Sleepy, sleepy!” Zhong Jianguo was delighted. He stuffed his blanket into the cabinet, took off his shoes, and climbed into bed. As soon as he lifted the covers, his hand touched something soft. Looking down, he saw it was Sanwa’s tiny hand. His joy instantly vanished. “Zhaodi, I think Sanwa is big enough to sleep on his own.”
Song Zhaodi hummed. “You want him to sleep in his little bed?”
“This kid is growing too fast. That bed is a bit small now.” Zhong Jianguo wanted to nod but was afraid she’d accuse him of being careless. He thought it over carefully and realised she was right. “I’ll make him a new bed soon.”
“Make it a bunk bed,” Song Zhaodi suggested. “Dawa and Erwa’s current bed is only 1.2 metres wide. When they grow up, squeezing together will be uncomfortable. By then, you’ll have to make another bed anyway.”
Zhong Jianguo thought, It’ll be at least ten years before they feel cramped. The words almost left his mouth before he realised—Song Zhaodi was planning for the long term because she intended to stay with him for life. His heart warmed. “When I have some free time in a few days, I’ll find some wood. How do I make a double bed?”
“I’ll draw the plans,” Song Zhaodi said.
Zhong Jianguo was curious. “You never married or had kids in your past life. How do you know so much about children’s things?” Afraid she’d get mad, he quickly added, “I don’t mean anything by it. I’m just curious.”
“There were children’s chairs in both high-end hotels and small restaurants back then. Even if I didn’t want to see them, I saw them plenty of times,” Song Zhaodi explained. “As for bunk beds, I slept in one in middle and high school.”
“You were so young in middle school, and your mom was okay with that?” Zhong Jianguo asked.
Song Zhaodi glanced at him. “Did you think I was lying when I said my parents didn’t love me? My grandparents paid for my schooling. My university tuition was covered by a benefactor, and my living expenses came from my own part-time work.”
“That benefactor is interesting—paying for tuition but not living expenses?”
Song Zhaodi explained, “She donated scholarships to the school, so they waived our tuition directly. But later, when I went abroad for further studies, her butler gave me a large sum that covered both tuition and living expenses.”
“A butler?” Zhong Jianguo was stunned. “Sounds like something from the old Shanghai tycoons.”
Song Zhaodi chuckled. “That butler was from her husband’s family. Her in-laws were basically the top tycoons in Shanghai—calling them the richest family wouldn’t be an exaggeration.”
“Then I really have to stay alive,” Zhong Jianguo mused. “You said you couldn’t recall history clearly, but you should at least remember the big events of the past few years?”
Song Zhaodi nodded. “In a few years, China will open up to the world. I forgot the exact date, but by the end of this century, aside from Old Jiang’s side, everything else will be reclaimed. Let me think, what else—”
“Wait a minute. Didn’t you study history in school?” Zhong Jianguo stared at her face. Seeing that she didn’t seem to be joking made him even more suspicious.
Song Zhaodi replied, “I studied it in middle school. But in high school, I chose the science track. After that, I was flying all over the world, and I spent many Spring Festivals with foreigners. When I was busy rushing design drafts, I wouldn’t leave my room for ten days or even half a month. By the time I remembered, events commemorating national milestones had already ended. But forget about me—can you still recall everything you learned in middle school?”
Zhong Jianguo thought hard but couldn’t remember anything specific. “So, you know even less about military affairs?”
“I’ve watched a few military programs, but I’m not a military enthusiast. I just watch occasionally when I’m in the mood—”
Zhong Jianguo cut her off. “Enough, stop talking.”
“What’s wrong?” Song Zhaodi asked.
Zhong Jianguo sighed. “You make the future sound so perfect—like we’ll have everything we want. But if I go to the training grounds tomorrow and find out that we have nothing, I think I might just vomit blood.”
“You’re overthinking it,” Song Zhaodi said. “Other than a few things that are easy to remember, like aircraft carriers, nuclear submarines and amphibious assault ships, I can’t list much else. But honestly, it’s better that you don’t know. That way, you won’t accidentally blurt something out and make people think you’ve lost your mind.”
Zhong Jianguo chuckled. “You’re right about that. But wait, Song Zhaodi—are you being so honest with me because you think that in this era of ‘overthrowing all demons and monsters,’ even if I told people you were a ghost, no one would dare believe it?”
“You’re such a cynic,” Song Zhaodi said. “I’m telling you because you’re brave. From the start, you knew I wasn’t ordinary, yet you still let me stay. Later, when you realised I wasn’t actually Song Zhaodi, you kept your cool. That’s when I decided to be upfront with you.”
Zhong Jianguo nodded. “Yeah, I’m not easily scared. But if you hadn’t meddled in things, I wouldn’t have been so quick to confirm that you were harmless.”
“I know. I should really thank myself,” Song Zhaodi yawned. “I’ve decided to take a day off tomorrow.”
Zhong Jianguo suddenly had a bad feeling. “For example?”
“You’ll be handling all three meals tomorrow,” Song Zhaodi said, hugging Sanwa in her arms. Before Zhong Jianguo could protest, she added, “Turn off the light.”
Zhong Jianguo instinctively reached out and switched off the light. As the room plunged into darkness, he nearly fainted from frustration.
The next morning, after breakfast, Zhong Jianguo announced that he was too busy to come home for lunch. But before he could finish speaking, Dawa let out a cheer, which made Zhong Jianguo so angry that he smacked him on the butt.
He miscalculated the strength of the slap and ended up making Dawa cry.
Seeing this, Zhong Jianguo quickly grabbed his coat and ran out, afraid that Song Zhaodi would scold him.
Song Zhaodi was exhausted.
That night, when Zhong Jianguo came home, Song Zhaodi didn’t argue with him. However, when it was time for bed, she kicked him back to the bench again.
After sleeping in the bench so often, Zhong Jianguo got used to it and stopped sneaking into bed in the middle of the night.
On the second Sunday of May, Zhong Jianguo borrowed a military truck to bring home two new beds. Once they were assembled, Dawa and Erwa were so excited that they didn’t even want to go outside, climbing up and down nonstop as if glued to the beds.
When it was time to sleep, the two boys abandoned their old beds and chose the new ones instead.
At this time of year, they didn’t need heavy blankets—just a light towel blanket was enough. Song Zhaodi tied a towel blanket around Sanwa’s belly and placed him on the bottom bunk.
Erwa protested. “Mom, this is my bed.”
“Isn’t this little kid your brother?” Song Zhaodi asked. “You used to sleep with your older brother. Now you can’t sleep with your younger brother?”
Erwa hesitated. “Then why doesn’t he sleep with Big Brother instead?”
“The top bunk is too high. If he rolls off, he could get hurt,” Song Zhaodi explained. “The bottom bunk is lower, so if he rolls off, he won’t get injured.” Worried that the kids might move around in their sleep, she placed an old cotton blanket on the floor beside the bed. “You two can sleep sideways. Once your little brother grows up, I’ll let him sleep on his own. Okay?”
Zhong Jianguo was waiting to sleep when he saw Erwa frowning and hesitating. “You won’t let your brother sleep there? Fine, I’ll build another bunk bed just for him. Then he can sleep wherever he wants—top or bottom.”
“Fine, fine,” Erwa muttered, glaring at his little brother, who was already sound asleep. He couldn’t help but grumble, “I really want to hit him.”
Zhong Jianguo quickly warned, “If your brother cries, you have to comfort him.”
“Dad!” Erwa raised his voice. “Then I’m going to cry right now!”
Zhong Jianguo laughed. “Want me to give you a slap so you can cry faster?”
“Dad, we’re going to sleep now,” Dawa interrupted. “You and Mom should go to bed too.”
Zhong Jianguo gave his eldest son a thumbs-up, then called out, “Zhaodi, let’s go.”
“Dawa, if you wake up at night to use the bathroom, check to make sure your little brother is still on the bed,” Song Zhaodi instructed. Then, a thought struck her. “Dawa, come down and sleep on the bottom bunk.”
Dawa was confused. “Why?”
“In case you’re too groggy at night,” Zhong Jianguo realised her concern and walked over to carry Dawa down. “Sleep with your brother.”
Dawa thought about it and hesitated. He didn’t want to leave the new top bunk he had just claimed. “Dad, if I don’t wake up at night, can I sleep on the top bunk?”
“Yes,” Zhong Jianguo promised. “If you can go a whole month without waking up at night, I’ll let you sleep up there.” He draped the towel blanket over the kids. “I’m turning off the light now.”
Dawa nodded.
Zhong Jianguo pulled Song Zhaodi back to their room and locked the door from the inside.
Song Zhaodi laughed. “Zhong Jianguo, you already have three kids.”
“This has nothing to do with how many kids we have,” Zhong Jianguo said, pushing her onto the bed. He glanced at the light, then back at Song Zhaodi, cleared his throat, and hesitated. “Can we leave the light on?”
Song Zhaodi chuckled. “I don’t mind. Whatever you want, I’ll cooperate.”
Zhong Jianguo’s breath hitched. “Song Zhaodi! Be honest—how many boyfriends did you have in your past life?”
“Not too many, but definitely more than you,” Song Zhaodi said as she tugged at his belt. “If you keep wasting time, the sun will be up soon.”
By morning, Zhong Jianguo saw the red stain on the white bedsheet and was completely stunned. When he snapped out of it, he smacked Song Zhaodi’s arm. “You f***ing lied to me again?!”
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