In these tough times, eating meant closing the door and keeping it private. Even eating in one’s home required discretion.

Instant noodles, on their own, don’t have much of an aroma. But once the seasoning packets are added, the smell becomes irresistible. For example, on a train, the aroma of a single instant noodle cup could fill the entire carriage.

Now imagine boiling a large pot of water with the seasoning packets added. The aroma wouldn’t just linger—it would permeate every corner, pulling hungry noses from far and wide.

At Qin Lan’s house, they had just managed to borrow some cornmeal from her cousin in the city. Feeling slightly relieved, they decided to use the few seasoning packets to make a rare treat.

Even with only half a block of instant noodles, it was still refined food. They thought, “At least we can enjoy the flavor, even if we mostly drink the broth.” The main goal was to drink as much water as possible to feel full, even if the effect would fade in a few hours.

But once the pot of water started boiling and the seasoning packets were added, the aroma was overwhelming. It filled the kitchen and spilled into the courtyard. Neighbors, also starving, couldn’t ignore the tantalizing scent.

For adults, the temptation was painful but manageable. However, children couldn’t hold back their tears. Their stomachs grumbled, and the scent tormented them.

In a time when even coarse grains were a luxury, the scent from Qin Lan’s kitchen sparked curiosity. A few neighbors, desperate to know what was being cooked, came knocking. It wasn’t uncommon for neighbors to check in on each other in these times—it was a sign of community and care.

The pot itself wasn’t much: a large amount of water, a handful of noodle fragments, and three small packets of seasoning. Yet the aroma was intoxicating.

To someone like Luo Cheng, used to modern food, this might have seemed bland. But for those living in extreme scarcity, the seasoning’s salt content alone was a luxury.

Salt was an essential resource, but most people could only afford to use a tiny pinch of coarse salt when cooking. Meals often tasted like nothing more than boiled water. Even the faintest hint of salt could feel indulgent to these people.

The seasoning packets also included other rare ingredients: MSG, pepper, and artificial flavorings. Many villagers had never even heard of MSG, and pepper was a rarity. Combined with synthetic flavors, these elements created a powerful and irresistible aroma.

The vegetable packet contained a few dehydrated bits of vegetables and tiny specks of beef—so small they were barely noticeable. Yet, even the tiniest morsel of meat was a treasure. Some villagers hadn’t tasted meat in years.

Finally, the oil packet added richness. Oil, in any form, was almost sacred. The sight of oil floating on top of the broth was enough to shock everyone in the Qin household.

In better times, people would add just a drop of oil to dishes before serving. Boiled meals were the norm since frying required more oil than most families could afford. But now, a whole layer of oil in a pot? It felt like pure extravagance.

The aroma soon spread, and curious neighbors came knocking. Qin Lan’s family, knowing how hard life was for everyone, generously shared bowls of soup with their closest relatives and neighbors. If the pot ran low, they’d simply add more water.

Even a simple broth, with just a hint of oil, was a rare treat for people who hadn’t tasted anything like it in ages. Sharing this meal wasn’t just practical—it strengthened bonds in a struggling community.

Qin Lan’s parents couldn’t help but wonder about the soldier who had sent their daughter home with such a valuable gift. “Could he be interested in our daughter?” they thought.

At fifteen, Qin Lan was of marriageable age by rural standards, where girls often married by sixteen. The parents couldn’t help but entertain the idea, even though they found it unlikely.

When Luo Cheng dropped off their daughter, they had seen him briefly. His demeanor and appearance were far above what they’d expect for someone interested in their family. “He’s too clean, too well-groomed—clearly not a villager,” they thought. As a retired soldier, he carried an air of discipline and authority, something entirely out of their league.

Still, the thought lingered, even if they dismissed it as unrealistic.

Meanwhile, back at the Luo household, Luo Cheng had finally managed to rest. By the time he woke up, it was nearly dusk, and the family was preparing for dinner.

Dinner, however, was a challenge. There was no cornmeal left, only a few small sweet potatoes. In normal times, a single sweet potato would be chopped into tiny pieces and mixed with wild greens or even tree bark to make a meager soup.

But today, Luo Cheng’s sister Shishi had unexpectedly demanded steamed buns. Her father, Luo Wen, almost lost his temper, ready to discipline her. It was their mother who stopped him, reminding him that it was a special occasion.

Steamed buns, made from refined flour, were an unimaginable luxury. One bun alone could be considered a meal.

Luo Cheng, noticing the tension, quickly intervened. He suggested they make a light sweet potato soup and accompany it with the steamed buns he had brought. Everyone would get one bun—a feast by their standards.

If the family had known Luo Cheng’s thoughts, they’d have been shocked. To him, the buns were a simple, makeshift dinner. To them, it was an extraordinary indulgence.

The peanuts Luo Cheng had shared earlier had already been “confiscated” by his mother. Luo Wen decided to use them as a treat for his brothers and sisters when they visited tomorrow. The peanuts were so precious that even if shared, they’d be rationed by count—perhaps two or three peanuts per person.

Luo Wen also planned to invite extended family for a meal after they bought grain tomorrow. It wouldn’t be a grand feast; just slightly thicker porridge than usual. Dry rice was out of the question—such extravagance could jeopardize their survival in the coming months.

Grain would also be distributed sparingly to relatives as a gesture of support. As the family’s eldest, Luo Wen felt responsible for helping his siblings, even if only a little.

This generosity, however, was also strategic. By sharing the grain brought by Luo Cheng, they hoped to remind everyone of the soldier’s contribution, ensuring he remained respected and remembered by the family.