Chapter 14 – Hoping Northeasterners Abroad Will Return Home

This time, Wang Yi returned with a lot on her mind. She remembered that when she was a child, there were many kids her age in her village—ten or more if you counted the neighbors on both sides, not even including the ones at the east and west ends. When holidays came, the noise was unbearable.

Now, returning home, Wang Yi truly saw the scene of a village in its later years.

The people wandering outside were mostly the older generation. They were the only ones who remained in the village, their only attachment. After all, what if those working away returned?

But year after year, the number of people who stayed behind dwindled. Some grew too old, some were taken to the city by their children, and some stayed in the city to look after their grandchildren.

In reality, there were fewer and fewer to hope for.

Everyone in the Northeast knows the saying about “Northern Granary”—the region is vast and rich in resources. Yet now, a visible reality is that young people are no longer farming.

The elders can’t farm, the young don’t know how or don’t want to.

Why not just work in town? No worries, no concern whether the harvest is good or bad.

She remembered that as a child, although there were no streetlights at night, countless household lights shone, and the stars were clearly visible in the sky.

Now, at night, many homes were dark. During the day, the abandoned, dilapidated houses were clear for anyone to see.

Back then, roads were just dirt paths. In winter, the ground froze; in spring, it thawed, leaving muddy, almost impassable paths everywhere.

Now the roads were cemented, flanked with ornamental trees, bright solar streetlights, and trash bins. It looked wonderful.

But there were no longer people to appreciate it.

Wang Yi wanted to make an effort—so young people could return and still earn a living.

Thinking this, she knew the path would be difficult, but someone had to take it, right?

Her thoughts were interrupted by her father returning.

He came in looking for her mother, not noticing their eldest daughter.

Seeing everyone in the house trying to console her mother, Wang Yi couldn’t do much either. She decided to make something delicious instead.

She went to her older brother’s house in the village, where he sold fish, to buy some small fish and some flat cornbread (made from cornmeal). That was truly a treasure.

Her village had a “pao” (a water body connected to Chagan Lake), making access to fish extremely convenient. The fish were all wild-caught—extremely fresh.

She bought crucian carp, catfish, gaxi fish, wheat-ear fish, and chicken-gou fish. They were all small, the largest only the size of her palm.

At home, Wang Yi first prepared the cornmeal dough.

She poured hot water over half the cornmeal, mixed with warm water, added some yeast, and let it rest for half an hour. Before making the flatbreads, she added baking soda and kneaded it evenly.

While the dough rested, she prepared the fish. It took at least half an hour to clean them.

These small fish were delicious but tedious to handle, cleaned one by one.

After cleaning, she set them aside. She chopped green onions, dried chili, ginger slices, and smashed garlic, keeping them ready. Then she went to the sauce jar for some soy paste.

She heated oil in a wok, fried the paste until cooked, added thirteen-spice powder, soy sauce, green onions, ginger, garlic, and chili, stir-fried briefly, then added water. After boiling, she added the live fish—they jumped instantly upon hitting the hot water.

The wok was large, so she didn’t worry about them jumping out. The fish splashed the soup everywhere. She covered the wok and simmered for ten minutes before placing the flatbreads.

When the time was up, she dipped her hands in cold water to prevent sticking, shaped a handful of cornmeal dough, and placed it in the wok. She heard a “pop” sound as it stuck perfectly. She repeated this until all the dough was placed.

At the bottom of the wok were the small fish, and around the edge were the flatbreads.

Zi, his is the famous “one-pot meal” of Northeast China.

As the name suggests, everything—rice and dishes—is cooked together in one pot.

After covering the pot, it only takes fifteen minutes to be ready to eat.

Wang Yi sat by the stove and thought back to the first time she made a big flatbread. She was only 13 or 14. She didn’t know how to stick the dough, and her hands weren’t moistened. She flung it all the way from the front door to the stove—cornmeal scattered everywhere.

Her mother said, “From the front door, you can already tell what kind of cook my daughter is.”

Wang Yi chuckled at the memory of her childhood mishap.

“My daughter, why are you laughing so foolishly? Tell your dad too, so he can be happy,” her father’s voice called.

“Who’s laughing foolishly? Saying my daughter’s foolish—what benefit do you get from that?” She knew he was teasing her.

“What is my daughter making? Smells so good. Oh my, if we eat this, it’ll be heavenly!” Her father quickly tried to make up for his teasing.

“Mixed fish all in one pot, and the flatbreads my daughter made—she’s amazing,” Wang Yi said proudly.

Her father immediately gave a thumbs-up.
“Impressive.”

“Dad, help move the table; the meal’s ready,” Wang Yi said, not wanting to banter further.

Wang Yi carefully used a spatula to lift the flatbreads one by one and plated the mixed fish, garnishing it with some coriander.

The family gathered around the table. Wang Yi picked up a piece of fish and tasted it—tender, smooth, and fragrant with spices.

“Mmm, home-cooked food is always the best,” her father mumbled with a mouthful of flatbread.

Her mother nodded, smiling, “Yes, no restaurant outside can match this taste.”

Her grandparents felt hopeful about life again. They didn’t know what the mother-in-law thought, but oh well, it was best not to dwell on it.

The eldest aunt, eating and chatting, said, “Ever since Yiyi came back, life’s been easier. We don’t have to cook much anymore.”

Just then, a dog barked at the door.

Curious, Wang Yi ran to check. It was Aunt Zhang from the village, visiting with her little grandson.

Aunt Zhang knew about her grandmother’s earlier fuss and worried her mother might feel uneasy.

“Oh, I could smell the aroma from afar,” Aunt Zhang joked. Wang Yi quickly invited them in to eat.

Aunt Zhang didn’t hesitate—they said in Northeast China, whenever someone invites you to eat, refusing would be disrespectful. Eating more or less is just for fun.

Aunt Zhang sat down and took a bite of the fish, praising it non-stop.

Her little grandson’s face was covered in crumbs, making everyone laugh heartily.

After the meal, Wang Yi packed some leftover mixed fish and flatbreads for her grandparents to take home. The eldest uncle and aunt also left.

After sending off Aunt Zhang and her grandson, Wang Yi’s family sat in the yard, basking in the sun to digest.

Her father patted his stomach contentedly: “Today’s meal was truly satisfying. Our little life is so enjoyable.”

Wang Yi leaned back in her chair, gazing at the sky, filled with happiness.

“Yes! Truly happy. Dad, I want to attract young people back home. They go elsewhere because they can’t earn money here, so we’ll create opportunities for them to make money,” Wang Yi said loudly, boosting her own confidence as well.

Her father looked at Wang Yi seriously and after a moment said, “Daughter, that’s a big goal—it won’t be easy to achieve.”

Wang Yi removed her usual playful expression. “I know, Dad, but I want to try. What if it works?”

“Then go for it. Your mom and I support you. Whenever you need help from your parents, just ask. Your grandparents, the eldest uncle and aunt—they’ll all support you too,” her mother encouraged.

Wang Yi knew her family would always be this way—never discouraging. She felt incredibly lucky to have them.