Zhong Jianguo had already expected their reaction, so he remained unfazed and continued, “It’s not that I don’t trust Song Zhaodi.”
“Then why are you asking me to investigate her?” Commander Liu was confused. “Is there something wrong with her? By all logic, her family has been farmers for generations. Producing a university student would be harder than reaching the heavens.”
“Commander, how can you look down on our farmer brothers like that?” Political Commissar Zhang was displeased. “There’s a saying: ‘A bad bamboo can still produce good shoots.’ Why can’t the Song family produce a golden phoenix?”
Commander Liu raised his voice, “That’s not what I meant, don’t put words in my mouth. I personally recruited Xiao Zhong when he enlisted and I still remember his family background. His stepmother’s family is from a remote mountain village where few people are literate. Who taught Song Zhaodi?”
Zhong Jianguo explained, “Commander, Xiao Song Village is backed by mountains and faces the sea, but the mountains didn’t block the villagers’ progress. As far as I know, that place was once a base for the anti-Japanese resistance. The villagers there have a higher level of awareness than ordinary farmers and many of them are literate. Song Zhaodi’s father is a farmer, but he’s also a literate barefoot doctor.”
“That makes sense.” Commander Liu nodded, then paused. “Since you know so much about her, why do you still want to investigate? She’s your wife now.”
Zhong Jianguo replied, “She’s fine for now. But in her three years at university in Binhai, she learned a lot. I’m just worried that she picked up something bad and might teach it to the children in the future.”
“Three years?” Political Commissar Zhang was puzzled. “I thought university wasn’t a three-year program. Did she not graduate?”
Zhong Jianguo explained, “Last year, during the revolution, students weren’t attending classes and the school was forced to shut down. Song Zhaodi returned home to help with farm work, got tanned and thin and my stepmother thought she was just a village girl who had never left Hongya Town—so she introduced her to me.”
“You really lucked out,” Commander Liu interjected. Then he scrutinised Zhong Jianguo and couldn’t help but say, “Opportunities like this always seem to land on your lap. Xiao Zhong, are you heaven’s favoured child?”
Political Commissar Zhang wanted to be jealous, but Zhong Jianguo’s ridiculous luck made him too tired to bother. “And yet, you still want to investigate Song Zhaodi? Comrade Song Zhaodi must be blind—to be a perfectly fine university student and still choose to marry you.”
Zhong Jianguo thought to himself, Song Zhaodi isn’t blind. In fact, because she sees clearly, I suspect she has other motives for marrying me. “She’s too smart. If I don’t check with Binhai Normal University, I won’t feel at ease.”
“Does Xiao Song know about this?” Commander Liu asked, then answered his own question. “There’s no such thing as an impenetrable secret. Even if I send my most trusted men, I can’t guarantee she won’t find out in the future. If she does, Comrade Zhong Jianguo, she will be very hurt.”
Zhong Jianguo thought, That’s because you don’t know how thick-skinned my new wife is. At most, she’ll be mad for two days. “I’ll explain it to her and say it’s for political review purposes.”
“Who investigates what their wife learned in school before marrying her?” Commander Liu pointed at him. “I swear, only you, Zhong Jianguo, would do something like this.”
Zhong Jianguo said seriously, “Commander, I’m not doing this for myself. Our military’s primary and secondary schools have a total of eight classes and over a dozen teachers. Who among them has a higher education level than Song Zhaodi? No one. If Comrade Song Zhaodi is completely clean, I suggest letting her be a middle school teacher.”
“You make a good point.” Commander Liu suddenly thought of something. “Binhai Normal University may sound like it was established by Binhai City, but it was actually founded during the Republican era. Many of its teachers studied abroad.”
Political Commissar Zhang was sceptical. “Is it really that prestigious?”
“If you don’t believe me, why don’t you go check it out yourself?” Commander Liu suggested.
Political Commissar Zhang considered it seriously. “That works. Commander, I’ll leave the regiment affairs to you.”
Zhong Jianguo had known his political commissar for six or seven years and trusted him completely. He had no concerns about leaving Song Zhaodi’s matter in his hands. “No problem. Commander, are we heading out to sea in a few days?”
“You just got back and you have a new wife at home. I’ll send another regiment instead,” Commander Liu said. “Besides, there’s no guarantee we’ll encounter Old Jiang’s men.”
Zhong Jianguo cautioned, “It’s better to be careful.”
“I know,” Commander Liu nodded. “I won’t send your regiment on a sea patrol, but training must not stop.”
Zhong Jianguo agreed, “I understand. We’ll start this afternoon.”
When Song Zhaodi returned home and saw that the duck was still alive, she felt a headache coming on. “Xiao Li, do you know how to slaughter a duck?”
“No,” Xiao Li answered honestly. “Saozi, I only managed to buy ten hatching eggs, forty eggs in total—including both chicken and duck eggs.”
Song Zhaodi frowned. “Only ten eggs combined?”
“Yes,” Xiao Li replied. “Villagers can buy more, but they have to give a portion of their poultry to the production team. Military families don’t have to pay that quota, but they’re only allowed to raise a limited number.”
Song Zhaodi asked, “So we only get ten per year?”
“No, ten per half year,” Xiao Li corrected. “If you want to raise more chickens and ducks, you’ll have to wait until next spring.”
Song Zhaodi sighed. “Got it. Keep an eye on Sanwa for me while I cook. Xiao Li, do you want some noodles?”
“Ah?” Xiao Li was taken aback. “Saozi, I have to head back. I’m the commander’s guard; I can’t stay away too long.”
Song Zhaodi thought for a moment. “That makes sense. Go back then.”
“Saozi, the wooden planks are under the eaves.” Xiao Li pointed them out to her. “If the commander doesn’t go out this afternoon, I’ll come back and help you nail them.”
Song Zhaodi smiled and said, “No need. Sanwa didn’t nap all morning, so he’ll sleep for a while in the afternoon. I can manage on my own.” After Xiao Li left, she asked, “Dawa, Erwa, can you play with your little brother?”
“Where?” Zhong Dawa asked. Back in Binhai, he used to help Zhong dasao take care of Sanwa every day, so when Song Zhaodi asked him to watch the child, he didn’t feel like she was bossing him around.
“Wait a moment.” Song Zhaodi went upstairs, opened a cabinet and picked out two brightly coloured shirts with sleeves that were already frayed beyond repair. She took them apart and sewed them together into a cloth mat, which she then spread under the eaves. “Sit here, I’ll go knead the dough.”
“Not making the duck?” Zhong Dawa asked eagerly.
Song Zhaodi was quite surprised. Ever since Zhong Jianguo left for the camp, her cheap eldest son had never spoken to her voluntarily, yet now he was speaking up for the sake of food. “Killing the duck means plucking the feathers too. There’s not enough time before lunch, so I’ll make it later in the afternoon.”
“Okay, go ahead then.” Zhong Dawa waved his small hand.
Song Zhaodi smiled, went upstairs to grab two White Rabbit candies and a big bowl of malted milk, then handed him a spoon and the candy. “Give one to your little brother. If you get thirsty, drink the malted milk.”
Zhong Dawa’s eyes lit up as he quickly grabbed them. After hesitating for a moment, he mumbled a soft ‘thank you’.
Song Zhaodi was just stepping out the door when she faintly heard him. Looking back, she saw Dawa lowering his head, peeling the candy wrapper. Shaking her head with a smile, she went to the kitchen to knead the dough.
Liu Ling only knew how to eat, not how to cook. The original host, however, could cook. Now, with a soul that truly appreciated good food, the simple ‘garlic stir-fried lettuce’ that had once captivated Zhong Jianguo’s appetite had become just another homestyle dish under Song Zhaodi’s hands.
Since her cheap son was a little foodie, Song Zhaodi finely chopped the leafy greens Zhong Jianguo had bought, mashed them into juice with a rolling pin and kneaded the dough with both the juice and the vegetable bits.
The dough needed time to rest, so she went outside to level the uneven courtyard.
Just as she was hoeing the ground, Duan dasao arrived at the Zhong family’s doorstep and saw her working. “It’s so hot, why not wait until the afternoon to till the soil?”
“I want to get it done before it rains. If the rain soaks the ground, it’ll be just right for planting tomorrow.” Around eleven o’clock, the temperature outside was about 27 or 28 degrees. If it had been Liu Ling herself, she wouldn’t have been able to stand it. But the original host was used to farm work and without direct sunlight, this temperature wasn’t too hot for her. As she spoke, Song Zhaodi caught sight of what Duan was holding and was quite surprised. “Saozi, what’s this for?”
Duan dasao said, “There are too few people in my family to eat all of these and if we don’t, the cucumbers will just grow old.” She paused before asking, “Should I put them inside?”
“Just leave them by the water pump. I’ll wash them later.” Song Zhaodi glanced at Duan’s hands and couldn’t help but suggest, “If your family grows too many vegetables and you’re worried about them over-ripening, why not pickle them? Pickled cucumbers, pickled long beans, pickled cabbage—you can save them for winter.”
Duan dasao paused in her steps, then smiled. “Old Liu and the two children don’t like pickles. In winter, they’d rather gnaw on garlic and eat plain rice. We only pickle a small jar of each, just enough to last us until spring.”
Seeing this, Song Zhaodi was reassured. “Next time you pickle vegetables, call me over. Share some with me—I love eating them.”
“Sure.” Duan dasao’s daily routine consisted of washing clothes, cooking and tending to her vegetable garden. She used to visit the Zhong family occasionally to chat with Dawa’s biological mother, but she had found her conversations too scholarly and had gradually stopped visiting.
When she later learned from her husband, Commander Liu, that Song Zhaodi was a rural woman like herself, she was delighted. Hearing Song Zhaodi ask for vegetables didn’t offend her—instead, she felt that it showed they were on friendly terms. “If you ever want some vegetables, just come pick them from my garden.”
Song Zhaodi smiled. “Thank you, saozi.”
“Doesn’t matter when you fix the yard, just don’t get heatstroke,” Duan dasao nagged when she noticed how red Song Zhaodi’s face was. “If you’re worried about delaying the planting, let Xiao Zhong take care of it when he gets back.”
“I understand. Saozi, I won’t see you out.”
“No need, no need.” Duan dasao left, unable to help but marvel—Zhong Jianguo’s wife was really good at managing a household.
Song Zhaodi looked at the cucumbers and tomatoes by the water pump, then turned to her cheap son. “Dawa, has your Duan dasao always been this nice?”
“Yeah,” Zhong Dawa said, his eyes fixed on the tomatoes. “I’m hungry.”
Song Zhaodi followed his gaze. “I’ll make fried eggs later.” She paused before asking, “Do you want a tomato or a cucumber? I’ll wash it for you.”
“No.” The child blurted out.
Song Zhaodi almost laughed out loud. Holding back her amusement, she finished levelling the ground and went to the kitchen to roll out the dough. Once the water in the pot boiled, she tossed in the noodles. As the aroma filled the air, she took a deep breath—finally, it was ready.
“Is it done?” Zhong Dawa’s voice came from the doorway.
Stretching lazily, Song Zhaodi said, “Yes, wait outside.”
“Green noodles?” Zhong Erwa, sitting on a small stool, lowered his head and stared in surprise. “The noodles are green!”
While feeding Sanwa his egg custard, Song Zhaodi said, “Yes, they’re green noodles. They’re still hot, so blow on them before eating.”
“Can green noodles be eaten?” Zhong Dawa asked curiously, tilting his head.
“The green colour comes from vegetable juice. Do they taste good? Zhong Dawa, tell me the truth. Once I finish feeding Sanwa, I’m going to kill the duck.”
Zhong Dawa pretended not to hear and took a big bite of his fried egg.
“I never lie,” Song Zhaodi reminded him. “Once Sanwa finishes his egg custard, I want to hear your answer.”
Dawa looked up and glared at her. Evil woman. “It’s delicious!”
“I heard you,” Song Zhaodi said. “Dawa, I like honest kids. Erwa, do you like the egg?”
Erwa pursed his lips and smiled. “Yes, it’s delicious.”
“Such a good boy!” Song Zhaodi praised without hesitation.
After the meal, Song Zhaodi pushed two long benches together in the living room. Then, she took the mat from Zhong Jianguo’s bed and laid it downstairs, letting the three children sit on the benches and play.
Zhong Dawa shook a rattle drum to entertain his younger brother, but his eyes kept drifting toward the kitchen. However, the noodles he had eaten for lunch, along with the sugar and carbohydrates in them, made him drowsy. Before Song Zhaodi even finished kneading the dough for the steamed buns, the three little ones had already dozed off.
Noticing the sudden quiet in the living room, Song Zhaodi stepped out to check. Sure enough, her three cheap sons were sprawled out in different directions, sound asleep.
Looking at their innocent, peaceful faces, Song Zhaodi couldn’t resist pinching Zhong Dawa’s cheek lightly before heading outside to grab some dry clothes to cover their stomachs.
With no need to worry about crying children or unexpected accidents, Song Zhaodi could finally work without distractions. She cleaned the duck and set it on the stove to simmer into a clear broth. By then, it was only three o’clock.
Xiao Li was an honest man. When Song Zhaodi asked for an old duck, he actually bought one that was three to four years old. Afraid that it wouldn’t become tender easily, she filled the pot with water and let it simmer slowly.
While the duck was stewing, she couldn’t steam the buns yet since the dough hadn’t risen. But both the original host of her body and Liu Ling had always been people who couldn’t stay idle. So, she took out the children’s clothes, mending and repairing whatever needed fixing. Before she realised it, it was already five o’clock.
Estimating that the duck was nearly ready, Song Zhaodi started packing up the sewing kit when she heard a voice.
“It smells so good.”
“You’re awake?” Song Zhaodi looked up to see Zhong Dawa standing up, holding onto the back of a chair and looking around.
The curiosity in Zhong Dawa’s eyes quickly faded. He pressed his lips together and gave a small “Mhm.”
Song Zhaodi wanted to laugh. “Wake up your brothers, play in the yard for a bit and then we’ll have dinner.”
“Dad is not back yet,” Zhong Dawa reminded her.
“Then we’ll wait for him to eat together,” Song Zhaodi said as she picked up a pair of scissors and went outside to cut all the blooming chrysanthemums.
Zhong Dawa grew anxious and opened his mouth to call her a ‘bad woman,’ but he suddenly remembered that this ‘bad woman’ had just helped sew his clothes. Swallowing his words, he instead asked, “What are you doing?”
“I’m making food out of chrysanthemums for you,” Song Zhaodi replied. “You’ve never had fried chrysanthemum before, have you?”
Zhong Dawa instinctively shook his head, then thought carefully and asked, “You can eat chrysanthemums?”
“Of course,” Song Zhaodi said as she helped Sanwa relieve himself and then asked Erwa to keep an eye on him. Then, she turned to Dawa. “Want to help me stoke the fire?”
“I don’t know how,” Zhong Dawa said.
“I’ll teach you,” Song Zhaodi said, lighting the firewood and handing him a fire poker. “When the firewood starts falling out, use the stick to push it back in. If there’s no more firewood, add two more pieces. Got it?”
Zhong Dawa nodded. “I got it.”
Liu Ling had never been a patient person, but she had chosen these children herself, so when speaking to Zhong Dawa, she was particularly gentle. Because of that, even if he had wanted to pretend that he hadn’t learned, he couldn’t bring himself to say so.
Busy kneading dough for the steamed buns, Song Zhaodi didn’t notice Zhong Dawa alternating between watching the fire and sneaking glances at her.
As the aroma of freshly steamed buns wafted from the large pot, Song Zhaodi started heating oil in a small pan to fry the chrysanthemum flowers coated in egg batter.
Zhong Dawa’s calm expression vanished. His eyes widened, his mouth fell open and he stood on tiptoes to peek into the pot. “You can really eat them?”
“Of course,” Song Zhaodi said. Liu Ling had travelled all over the world. Forget fried chrysanthemums—she had eaten honeycombs and silkworm pupae before. “I also want to make braised eggplant, but we don’t have fermented bean paste. Dawa, can you go to Uncle Liu’s house next door and borrow some?”
Zhong Dawa nodded.
Song Zhaodi smiled. “Dawa is such a good boy.” She handed him a small bowl. “Tell your aunt just half a bowl is enough for cooking.”
“Got it,” Zhong Dawa said, clutching the bowl and running out.
Just as he reached the doorway, he bumped into Zhong Jianguo, who was drenched in sweat. Eager to get back to the fried chrysanthemums, he shoved the bowl into Zhong Jianguo’s hands. “She wants fermented bean paste. Dad, go borrow some from Uncle Liu.”
Zhong Jianguo froze for a moment, unable to believe that his eldest son was actually helping Song Zhaodi. He deliberately asked, “Who is ‘she’?”
“My stepmother,” Dawa answered before bolting back inside. Afraid that Song Zhaodi would think he hadn’t listened to her, he immediately explained when he reached the kitchen, “My dad went instead.”
Song Zhaodi faintly heard Zhong Jianguo’s voice outside. She smiled. “Then we’ll eat once he gets back.”
“No more stoking the fire?” the child asked eagerly.
Song Zhaodi chuckled. “No need. Go play with your brothers.”
“Okay!” Zhong Dawa ran back to the living room, but instead of playing with his brothers, he dragged the small dining table and stools into the centre of the room, getting everything ready for dinner.
When Zhong Jianguo returned, he was stunned to see his eldest son carrying a plate of steamed buns outside. He rushed over to Song Zhaodi and asked in disbelief, “What kind of bewitching soup did you give my son?”
“Can you speak like a normal person?” Song Zhaodi retorted.
Zhong Jianguo choked for a moment. “Back when his mother was around, even asking him to pick up his chopsticks wouldn’t make him budge. Calling him to eat was like asking for his life. How did you train him?”
“My mother told me that to win a man’s heart, you have to win his stomach first,” Song Zhaodi glanced outside. “Your son may still be young, but you can’t deny that he’s a male.”
Zhong Jianguo rolled his eyes at her. “You’re just spouting nonsense. Your mother—my mother-in-law—cooked worse than the big pot meals at the cafeteria.”
“Believe it or not,” Song Zhaodi said as she added some fermented bean paste to the pot. “Comrade Zhong Jianguo, think about it—have I ever lied to you?”
Zhong Jianguo opened his mouth but then suddenly realised that Song Zhaodi had never actually lied to him. It was he who assumed she was honest, he who thought she had only graduated high school. “You’ve never lied to me, but you’ve misled me plenty.”
“So, you admit I never told a lie,” Song Zhaodi said, catching a glimpse of Zhong Dawa standing at the doorway. “Dawa, Duan dasao gave us a lot of vegetables today and lent us some fermented bean paste. What do you think we should give her in return?”
Zhong Dawa frowned and thought carefully. “Hmm… steamed buns?”
“I want to give her eight flowers,” Song Zhaodi said as she plated nineteen fried golden chrysanthemums, deliberately splitting them onto two plates. “If you disagree, we’ll give her steamed buns. But I think Duan dasao really likes flowers.”
Zhong Jianguo was utterly confused. “What flowers? What steamed buns?”
“Aunt Duan likes flowers,” Zhong Dawa said. He gazed longingly at the golden-fried chrysanthemums on the cutting board. But remembering how kind Duan dasao had been to him, he licked his lips and pointed to the plate with eight flowers. “Give her these. But not those.”
Song Zhaodi beamed. “Great! Dawa, you’re such a good boy. I’ll put them in a small basket and you can carry them over.”
“What is this?” Zhong Jianguo, feeling ignored by both his new wife and eldest son, walked over himself and reached out to grab one.
Smack!
Zhong Dawa slapped the back of his father’s hand. “No touching!”
Leave a Reply