The bowls used in this era weren’t small. Luo Cheng, observing his family members eating, couldn’t help but feel amazed. His youngest cousin, an eight-year-old girl, was using the same large bowls as the adults and managed to finish two servings. Although her stomach was noticeably bloated, she still polished off two bowls of sweet potato porridge.

The others were just as voracious. Everyone was eager to eat, unlike children in the modern era who are picky eaters, leave food on their plates, or are distracted by television or phones during meals. Here, everyone ate quietly, their bowls scraped clean.

The steaming sweet potato porridge was hot, but they simply blew on it briefly, then took big gulps as if impervious to the heat. Luo Cheng was particularly struck by his female cousins—he’d initially thought they were quiet and reserved based on their earlier conversation, even if somewhat uneducated. But watching them eat with such enthusiasm, any notions of “refinement” were quickly dispelled.

After finishing two bowls, Luo Cheng was full. These bowls were indeed large, and even though others around him ate more, he attributed it to their lack of access to rich or oily foods. Unlike them, he’d eaten three stuffed buns that morning and didn’t have the same hunger. Meals were served early today since many of the visitors hadn’t had breakfast.

When everyone finished, their bowls were spotless—so clean that Luo Cheng felt out of place for not licking his own bowl clean.

After the meal, the group chatted for a while. Having eaten so quickly, their stomachs needed time to catch up. Once they rested, everyone appeared more comfortable, their hunger finally sated.

The highlight of the gathering was food distribution. That morning, Luo Cheng’s father, Luo Wen, hadn’t just asked for leave—he’d borrowed a scale from the brigade. Scales were rare in this era since private commerce was restricted, so the brigade’s scale was a precious communal resource.

The process was straightforward: the ten pounds of cornmeal were easy to measure, but the sweet potatoes required careful sorting due to their varying sizes. While precision wasn’t strictly necessary, there were rules for distribution. If there was a slight surplus—say an extra one or two ounces—it would go to Luo Cheng’s uncles. As close male relatives, they had a higher priority. Conversely, any shortfalls would affect his aunts because daughters, once married, weren’t entitled to the same claim on their natal family’s resources.

Even if the uncles didn’t care about these minor discrepancies, tradition dictated that distribution followed these rules. First, elders would take their share, followed by the family’s men, and lastly, the married daughters.

After dividing the food, Luo Cheng’s aunts borrowed cloth sacks to carry their sweet potatoes. Though twenty pounds of sweet potatoes weren’t too heavy, they were bulky. Larger ones weighed one or two pounds each, while smaller ones were about half a pound. Transporting them openly could attract trouble, so using bags was safer. Borrowing these bags was necessary because even simple items like this were precious in this era.

Luo Cheng’s uncles, who lived in town, didn’t need such precautions. Towns were safer, with better-regulated public order, unlike rural villages where local leaders had to handle security. Most brigades had militia teams, and while there were occasional issues at the borders of jurisdictions, safety was generally acceptable.

After eating and distributing the food, the family lingered. Luo Cheng’s uncles and aunts chatted with his grandmother, then shifted their focus to him. As a recently discharged soldier, his future was a subject of interest.

“So, what are your plans now? Are you staying in town, or do you have something else in mind?” someone asked.

“I’m not entirely sure yet,” Luo Cheng replied. “I have a recommendation letter from the military, so the organization will likely arrange something for me. I plan to visit the town committee this afternoon to inquire about job placements. But since you’re all here, I thought it’d be rude to leave before spending time with you.”

“Ah, you silly child! Why didn’t you mention this earlier?” his eldest uncle, Luo Wu, exclaimed. “Finding a job is far more important than sitting here chatting with us. Your father should have sent you off right away. Big Brother, this isn’t right—we may want to catch up with your son, but we can’t delay such an important matter!”

Luo Cheng’s father was equally taken aback. His son hadn’t mentioned this earlier. If he had known, the food distribution would have been seen as a trivial matter, and he would have prioritized Luo Cheng’s job search.

“Chengzi, why didn’t you tell me earlier? This is serious business! Go now and take care of it!” his father urged, his tone tinged with urgency.

Seeing the reaction, Luo Cheng felt a bit overwhelmed. In his mind, the job inquiry wasn’t a big deal. He’d simply decided that afternoon would be a good time since there wasn’t much else to do. The town committee would tell him if they handled his placement or direct him to the correct department. It was a straightforward matter to him.

But he hadn’t accounted for the mindset of the time. In this era, people were wary of authority and government officials. Many avoided dealing with them unless absolutely necessary. Even routine visits to government offices made people nervous. This cultural difference explained why, despite their concern for him, none of his relatives offered to accompany Luo Cheng to the committee. They saw it as a daunting task best handled alone.

Under their encouragement, Luo Cheng returned to his room to retrieve his recommendation letter. His discharge papers were already in his bag.