Chapter 7

He Xianqiu spoke as she turned around and ran, clutching the small handful of wild vegetables she had just picked.

Her face was pale with fear as she charged straight ahead, terrified that whatever was in the grass would come after her.

The male educated youth heard her scream and all rushed over to her.

The animal in the grass was also startled by her scream and scurried out of the bushes.

While it ran, it let out loud clucking cries, kicking up its two clawed feet to dash away.

As soon as it emerged from the grass and kept calling, everyone knew what animal it was. A male educated youth shouted excitedly:

“That’s a wild chicken—really fat!”

As he spoke, several of the young men ran in the direction the chicken was escaping and managed to pin it down. They exclaimed happily:

“We caught the wild chicken! We can have a proper meal tonight!”

He Xianqiu, who had run quite far, finally relaxed when she heard it was only a chicken. She let out a relieved breath, quickly smoothed her expression, and smiled.

“Oh, it was a wild chicken. I thought it was a snake.”

Curious, she ran over to see the chicken. The wild chicken kept clucking frantically, its wings flapping hard.

After looking at the bird, He Xianqiu glanced toward the grass and said in delight, “There are some eggs in there.”

A few eggs lay in the dirt, still covered in mud, soft and fresh—clearly just laid.

He Xianqiu jogged over, grabbed a stick, and gently poked the eggs out. Then she found a big leaf nearby and placed the eggs on it.

It could be said that the educated youth group had hit the jackpot today—not only did they catch a wild chicken, they got some eggs too. Everyone was beaming.

He Xianqiu’s smile couldn’t be hidden. Today was fantastic—there would be meat again.

With her fair skin and delicate beauty, when she smiled, it was like fireworks bursting open, roses blooming—stunning beyond words.

The others stared blankly for a moment, dazed by her radiance.

Someone finally reminded them that there was still time, and they should hurry to gather more wild vegetables. The others came back to their senses.

He Xianqiu picked up the vegetables she had dropped and moved to another patch closer to the group to keep picking.

She really had been frightened earlier, and this time she felt safer staying close to everyone.

After about ten more minutes of picking, their “big brother” Song Wenzhong spoke up, indicating that they’d gathered enough to last for days and suggesting they stop and head back to cook the chicken.

The group erupted in cheers.

He Xianqiu heard them and felt just as happy. In her mind, she was already imagining all the ways they could prepare the chicken and eggs.

Even though she didn’t know how to cook them herself, she could offer suggestions—after all, she had watched Aunt Lin for so many years and had learned by osmosis.

She actually knew a lot—though it was scattered knowledge she usually only recalled when she needed it.

The eleven of them set off back to their quarters in high spirits. Before they left the mountains, though, the older youths twisted the chicken’s neck. Even if they could get away with catching larger animals these days, it wouldn’t be good if someone saw them.

Back at the educated youth center, Zhang Zhijuan, who usually cooked, took the chicken to pluck its feathers. He Xianqiu thought of a few recipes they could manage with their supplies and asked everyone what they preferred.

“What do you want to make with the chicken?”

“Roast chicken would be nice.”

“But I think roast chicken is tasty, but a little too plain. What about braised stewed chicken?” He Xianqiu suggested.

“That could work, but we don’t have enough ingredients—and we don’t know how to make it.”

“I know how. I can tell you how to do it, Sister Zhijuan.”

“Alright.”

Seeing everyone agree, He Xianqiu happily took Zhang Zhijuan’s hand and led her toward the kitchen.

Zhang Zhijuan had already finished most of the prep work. He Xianqiu pulled out the spices she had bought last time.

Then she explained, “Sister Zhijuan, first cut the chicken into pieces, then heat the oil. Put in the chopped scallions—since we don’t have ginger, we’ll just use this to get rid of the gamey smell…”

She explained very thoroughly, step by step, exactly how to make braised stewed chicken.

Zhang Zhijuan followed her instructions precisely. Soon, the kitchen was filled with a rich, mouth-watering aroma.

They turned the eggs into egg-drop soup and stir-fried a big bowl of wild greens.

One meat dish, one vegetable, and a soup—this was probably the best meal the educated youth center had ever eaten.

Especially since this time, He Xianqiu told Zhang Zhijuan to use plenty of oil. Usually, the group was very stingy with it—oil was expensive and had to be rendered from pork fat.

He Xianqiu kept telling Zhang Zhijuan to pour more oil. At first, Zhang Zhijuan was reluctant—even though she knew this was He Xianqiu’s own oil, not the shared supply, she still felt it was a waste.

When everything was ready, Zhang Zhijuan started serving the rice. He Xianqiu called for the others to come carry the dishes, and two male educated youths soon came in.

With one hand, He Xianqiu picked up the plate of vegetables. With the other, she pointed to the remaining two dishes and said to He Qiye and Yuan Maoquan:

“He Qiye, Yuan Maoquan, you two take those last two plates.”

“Okay.” The two nodded and carried the food outside.

Staring at the fragrant dishes, they swallowed hard, wishing they could eat right away.

Once He Xianqiu set everything down, Zhang Zhijuan called out from the kitchen:

“Come get your bowls of rice!”

He Xianqiu was about to go in when He Qiye offered, “He Zhiqing, let me get it for you.”

Since it was only one bowl, she nodded.

“Thank you, then.”

Watching all the tempting food—and thinking how much oil must have been wasted—Sun Xiaoyan, who had always been stingy about using oil, lowered her head and timidly mumbled:

“Isn’t this too much oil? Such a waste…”

Next to her, Zhao Yaling quickly chimed in, her voice soft and pitiful:

“Xianqiu, this oil is everyone’s. You used so much—what will we do when it’s gone? How will we cook then?”

When she finished, Zhao Yaling looked so worried, as though she was just innocently concerned.

Yang Shuhua, hearing that there might be no oil left this month, grew angry and shouted:

“All this oil just for one chicken dish? It’s only the start of the month—what are we supposed to do later?”

The other educated youth thought it sounded reasonable and looked at He Xianqiu with some reproach—she really didn’t know how to manage resources.

Just as Zhang Zhijuan was about to defend her, He Xianqiu raised her hand to stop her. Calmly, she said:

“I was just about to explain that I used my own oil to cook this—not the shared oil. The seasonings were also mine. So for today’s meal, the oil and spices all came from me. There’s no need to worry.”

Zhang Zhijuan nodded. “That’s true—it was all Xianqiu’s.”

Hearing this, everyone looked embarrassed. They hadn’t expected that twist—but they did feel relieved that their shared oil supply was safe.

Seeing that her attempt to stir things up had failed, Zhao Yaling wisely shut her mouth.

Song Wenzhong quickly stepped in to ease the tension.

“Come on, let’s eat before everything gets cold. The food smells incredible today. Thank you, He Zhiqing, for the spices.”

Everyone else hurried to echo:

“Yes—thank you, He Zhiqing. And last time you even treated us to hand-pulled noodles.”

He Xianqiu smiled. “No need to thank me. Let’s eat.”

She wasn’t about to pick a fight with the whole group over this—it wasn’t worth it. After all, here, they were all in the same boat. The villagers didn’t like them much, so they had to stick together. Staying united and cordial was essential.

Though Zhao Yaling’s scheming was really something. Since He Xianqiu had arrived, she had never provoked her—but Zhao Yaling simply couldn’t stand seeing her do well.

Seeing He Xianqiu smile, everyone felt reassured and began to eat.

Although He Xianqiu inwardly resented Zhao Yaling’s maliciousness, she didn’t show it. She could understand the others’ reactions—oil was precious, and it was natural they worried about having enough.

In her heart, she wanted to slap Zhao Yaling, but she didn’t let it show. Instead, she calmly picked up a piece of chicken and ate.

Why get angry and refuse to eat? The chicken was delicious—and she’d taught them how to make it.

Besides, she wasn’t that mad—she was just increasingly fed up with Zhao Yaling.

This heroine would probably repay kindness with spite. In the novel, the supporting female character was effectively the one who brought the male and female leads together. She had always been so good to the heroine.

Now that He Xianqiu had transmigrated into this role, she hadn’t done anything to provoke Zhao Yaling—in fact, she’d tried to avoid her. But she couldn’t shake her off, as if she was being dogged relentlessly.

He Xianqiu decided she’d see how the heroine carried on. Some petty squabbles she could ignore—but if she was truly provoked, she’d strike back for real.

Even though the atmosphere was a little awkward, most of the educated youth were experienced enough to keep up casual conversation, laughing and chatting about other topics.

He Xianqiu didn’t say much. She just nodded or smiled occasionally—after all, she barely knew them, having only arrived a few days ago.

Once she’d eaten her fill, she planned to heat some water to wash her hair and bathe. Since she hadn’t eaten much, she stood up and said to the others still eating:

“I’m full—I’ll go back to the dorm.”

The others nodded, though their heads stayed lowered as they kept picking at their food.

He Xianqiu went to the dormitory to fetch a bucket, then carried it to the water jar. When it reached about halfway, she struggled to lift it.

Song Wenzhong, who had just finished eating, walked over to help.

“Here—let me carry it for you, He Zhiqing. You’ll have to fetch water several times anyway, so let’s just fill more now.”

“Thank you, Song Zhiqing,” He Xianqiu said with a nod.

Song Wenzhong had always been good-tempered. She’d heard he’d arrived here in ‘69 or ‘70—he was the real senior here, coming as a young man and now in his twenties.

He Xianqiu estimated he was around twenty-eight or twenty-nine.

Others had gotten married or moved away, but he had always stayed on, convinced that one day he would return to the city—and in the end, he really did.

She followed Song Wenzhong as he carried the bucket to the kitchen. She took out the buns she’d stored in the pot and poured out the old water while Song Wenzhong helped refill the pot.

He Xianqiu thanked him. He smiled and waved it off, saying it was nothing—they were all comrades here. Then he asked if she needed help lighting the stove.

She shook her head, saying she’d used it before and could manage.

Then she picked up the two buns on the table and handed them to him. He waved his hands, indicating he didn’t need them.

He Xianqiu explained, “Song Zhiqing, these buns won’t keep long—especially in this heat. We ate so much today, and I can’t finish them. Please, just take them.”

“Well, alright—thank you, He Zhiqing.” Seeing she really meant it, Song Wenzhong accepted.

She was telling the truth. In this weather, food spoiled quickly. When she’d first arrived, she hadn’t thought about it and bought ten buns—now she realized she’d bought too many.