The heated kang bed made the quilt extremely warm, dispelling the chill from his body. However, he couldn’t fall asleep at all at this moment. Having slept for a while in that eerie place earlier, combined with the fright, he was still wide awake. His mind was preoccupied with thoughts of what had just happened. Was it really a ghost? But his stomach, which wasn’t hungry at all, and the eggs and noodles he had brought back earlier, all indicated that everything had been real. Why had he gone there? And how had he returned? Was that place really decades in the future? All these questions lingered in his mind, refusing to fade away. In a daze, he slowly drifted off to sleep.

…

In his dream, Wang Qingsong was surrounded by evil spirits trying to drag him back. No matter how hard he ran, it felt like he was stuck in quicksand, moving far too slowly. Just as they were about to catch him, he jolted awake, sitting up abruptly.

“Whew~~”

Drenched in sweat, he glanced around. The kerosene lamp had already been lit, casting a dim glow in the darkness. Xiao Zao was nowhere to be seen. Widow Feng, noticing his state, comforted him, “What’s wrong? Did you have a nightmare? Don’t worry, dreams are the opposite of reality.”

Wang Qingsong nodded and looked around, asking, “Where’s Xiao Zao?”

“Oh, she’s making breakfast. Didn’t you say we should eat before leaving?”

Hearing this, Wang Qingsong nodded slightly. Seeing his younger sister still asleep, he quickly got dressed and climbed down from the kang. Widow Feng didn’t say anything about his actions, as there wasn’t much time left to sleep anyway.

After getting up, he went to the main room, where Xiao Zao was tending to the fire under the stove. The pot was already boiling. Xiao Zao smiled at him, “Why don’t you sleep a bit more?”

Wang Qingsong smiled back, “I’m awake now and can’t sleep.”

Hearing this, Xiao Zao stood up and said with a smile, “Come, warm yourself by the fire. The food will be ready soon.”

After getting up, she lifted the lid of the clay pot and stirred its contents with a spoon. The iron wok had been smashed during the steel-making campaign, and after the natural disasters, there was no way to recover enough to afford a new one. They had to make do with the clay pot. It wasn’t just their family—out of the thirty or forty households in the production team, only a few had iron woks.

Wang Qingsong glanced inside: cornmeal porridge, slightly thicker than what he had eaten at Sun Xiuhe’s house, but still quite watery. Even this was considered good. Seeing this, he didn’t sit by the fire but instead returned to the room. He opened the bag of flour he had brought back the day before and took out a dried steamed bun made of white flour. After a moment’s thought, he gritted his teeth and took out another one, along with a cornbread bun. Back in the main room, he crumbled all three and tossed them into the pot.

“Wow, Brother Qingsong, are you throwing away your future? Putting in so much?” Xiao Zao exclaimed in alarm. Men just don’t know how to manage a household. How are they supposed to last until the summer harvest this way? There are still several months to go!

Wang Qingsong smiled nonchalantly as he added the food, “It’s fine. It’s not like we eat like this every day.”

Though he acted indifferent, his heart ached. This was nearly a day’s worth of food for two people! Then he gently took two eggs from his pocket, washed them by the water, and prepared to add them to the pot.

Xiao Zao, seeing him wash the eggs, thought he was planning to sell them in the city later. But when she saw him toss the eggs directly into the pot, she was shocked, “Are you crazy? Are you really giving up on life? Do you know how much these eggs could sell for in the city?”

Wang Qingsong nodded, “I know. About one yuan each, right?”

“You know, and yet you’re eating them?”

Since they were in the pot, it was clear they were meant to be eaten. Wang Qingsong explained, “I know, but we don’t have rations. Even if we exchanged them for one or two yuan, what difference would it make? That’s only half a pound of cornmeal—what good would that do?”

The two eggs were close to two taels in weight. Exchanging them for cornmeal would yield less than half a pound, so the difference wasn’t significant. Hearing this, Xiao Zao did the math and realized he was right. Besides, he had added two eggs, clearly meant for him and his sister. Why was she worrying so much? Moreover, there was wheat flour in the pot—something usually eaten only during the New Year. She would get to enjoy it too. So she didn’t say anything more.

Xiao Zao sat down and poked at the fire with a fork. Wang Qingsong observed her. She had inherited her mother’s good looks—double eyelids, big eyes—but her skin was somewhat sallow and dark. Her ears and hands were covered with chilblains. Widow Feng was famously beautiful in the surrounding villages. Part of the reason they were bullied was that they were outsiders, but another reason was Widow Feng’s striking appearance.

After a moment’s thought, Wang Qingsong said to Xiao Zao, “Xiao Zao, you can’t come with us to the city later.”

There was no other way. His second brother had given him five yuan this month, which he hadn’t spent. But the round trip to the city cost 0.28 yuan per person. For three people, that would be 1.68 yuan. The registration fee was also a few mao per person. He had to plan carefully and save wherever possible.

He planned to sell the eggs and some of the noodles in the city, but there was a risk. If they got caught, they would lose everything.

Xiao Zao nodded naturally, “I know. The round trip fare costs several mao. My mom already told me. Brother Qingsong, I’ll leave my mom in your care.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll take care of her,” Wang Qingsong replied with a smile.

He looked around and asked her, “By the way, Xiao Zao, do you have a cloth bag? Can I borrow one?”

Xiao Zao asked curiously, “I do. What do you need it for? A big one or a small one?”

“One about this size will do. Not too big.”

Wang Qingsong gestured the size based on the length of the noodles and the size of the egg carton.

“Wait a moment, I’ll get it for you!”

Seeing his gesture, she went into the room and soon returned with a cloth bag, “Will this work?”

Wang Qingsong took it, unfolded it, and saw that it was just the right size, with a strap attached. It must have been Xiao Zao’s school bag.

“This will do. I’ll step out for a bit.”

But then he remembered something and took the matches from beside the stove. “I’ll borrow these.”

With that, he left.

Watching his retreating figure, Xiao Zao called out, “Don’t get the matches wet!”

“Got it,” he replied as he walked away.

Matches were rationed in the countryside too—each household only got one box per month. If you didn’t use them sparingly, it would be a hassle. Each box contained only about forty matches. Once they ran out, you had to “borrow” fire from your neighbors every time you needed to start a fire, which was very inconvenient. This was a common sight in the village—people carefully carrying burning firewood back home. This was what “borrowing” fire meant.