Chapter 12

Song Yitao nearly passed out from the stench while fertilizing the fields with manure. The scorekeeper, a strict middle-aged woman, scolded her repeatedly:

“Comrade Song, one must be diligent and down-to-earth. You can’t be lazy! You’ve been dawdling for half the morning, swinging that bucket around without pouring out even a few scoops.”

Song Yitao felt utterly wronged. The stench of the manure was unbearable—she wasn’t trying to slack off; the smell just made her nauseous.

She was just about to explain when the woman raised her voice again, “Don’t make excuses. I saw it with my own eyes!”

Fuming with resentment, Song Yitao wanted to kick the woman, but under someone else’s roof, she had no choice but to endure it—for the sake of earning work points.

So, she obediently continued scooping and pouring manure, one ladle at a time.

…

Back at the warehouse, Deng Zhilán checked the time. The sun was getting higher, and no one else came by to collect tools.

She finally locked up and headed home.

That morning, Luo Yisen had distributed two sacks of grain to the Wei family: 50 catties of white flour, 30 catties of rice, and 20 catties of cornmeal. These were rations for the reallocated households, distributed by headcount. Since the Wei family had many members, they received quite a bit.

Now, their once-dilapidated kitchen was stacked with sacks of grains and a small bundle of greens.

The formerly abandoned house had been refreshed.

The roof had been repaired, the furniture inside wiped clean, and the windows now sparkled. It finally looked like a place people could live in.

Only the walls were still thin and poorly insulated. There was even a hole in the middle between rooms. Qin Ping had cut up an old curtain to hang there as a makeshift divider.

There were only three rooms in the house. Wei Yanzhen and Deng Zhilán shared one. On the east side, the neighbors were the Luo family. On the west, Wei Jinyue had a room to herself. Their parents occupied the third room.

At this moment, Deng Zhilán returned home and quietly swapped all the grain with food from her space.

She had bought these things earlier at a vegetable market in Guangdong Province. Thanks to the special preservation properties of her space, they were now even fresher than when she bought them.

The rice grains gleamed, and the once slightly grayish flour now looked snowy white.

As for the few wilted vegetables in the kitchen, she also replaced them with fresh ones from her space.

Then she headed into the room to sort out some clothes.

She couldn’t take out everything from the Wei family’s possessions stored in her space, but clothes were fine.

While Deng Zhilán was tidying up, on the vast land of Dongfeng Production Brigade, Wei Yanzhen was hard at work.

His assigned task was to help reclaim wasteland.

Once the work began, he rolled up his sleeves, bent down, and gripped his hoe tightly. He raised it high and brought it down hard on the hardened soil.

With a loud clang, a large hole was smashed into the ground, raising a cloud of dust.

The men working nearby were astonished by his strength and speed.

“Good heavens, youth is something else—he’s really strong!”

Sweat trickled down his forehead. Wei Yanzhen wiped it off with a towel and smiled at the villagers before continuing his work.

His muscles were taut, veins bulging. Under the scorching sun, he looked incredibly fit and masculine.

The women and aunties from the production team—most of whom didn’t know him—were resting by the ridges, chatting among themselves:

“Who’s that young man? He’s really handsome! I don’t recall seeing him before.”

An older auntie chimed in with a laugh, “That’s the new guy who moved in next to the Luo family. I think his surname’s Wei.”

“They made quite a ruckus yesterday—took that run-down house and had it fixed up in just one afternoon!”

The younger women’s eyes lit up. One girl, blushing, said:

“He’s so capable. If my future husband were even half as strong as him, I’d be happy.”

Another auntie teased, “Stop dreaming! He’s already married—and his wife’s a real beauty too.”

Meanwhile, Wei Yanzhen was focused on his task, unaware of the discussion.

Not far away, Song Yitao, who had been pouring manure, was also resting on the ridge. Hearing the conversation, she looked up and saw his tall, striking figure.

But she had no interest in Wei Yanzhen.

Any man touched by Deng Zhilán was automatically off-putting to her.

In fact, Deng Zhilán had secretly told her once—Wei Yanzhen was no good in bed…

The sun climbed higher, and the heat intensified. Wei Yanzhen’s shirt was soaked in sweat, clinging to his back.

Through sheer persistence, the once barren land now bore neat, furrowed rows. His morning’s work equaled several days’ worth of others’.

After finishing, he packed up his hoe and spoke with the scorekeeper briefly.

Then he turned and left—he still had to go home and cook lunch for his wife!

Back home, Deng Zhilán had just finished organizing clothes and was placing them into the wardrobe.

Seeing him return, she smiled and greeted him, “Done so early today?”

“Yeah, got most of it done this morning.” Wei Yanzhen wiped off his sweat. “I’ll cook. You rest.”

In the kitchen, he skillfully washed rice and vegetables.

There were a few potatoes, some greens, eggs, and even a small piece of pork lard in the kitchen. Something about it felt like… too much food?

Still, cooking came first. He couldn’t let his wife go hungry. Without overthinking it, he peeled the potatoes, washed the greens, lit the firewood, and set the rice to steam.

Just then, Song Yitao finished work and, hungry, was heading home when the smell of cooking caught her attention.

Her stomach growled at the aroma. Following it, she realized it came from the Wei household.

She sneered, but her feet unconsciously drifted toward the house.

Standing at the door, she deliberately coughed loudly.

Deng Zhilán looked outside and saw Song Yitao, frowning slightly.

“Well, well, what’s that smell? You guys hoarding some fancy food in there, eating in secret?” Song Yitao mocked sarcastically.

Deng Zhilán coolly replied, “Even if you drool to death, you’re not getting a bite. Dream on and eat dirt.”

Song Yitao was furious. She scoffed, “Tch! Who wants your food anyway!”

She spat on the ground, stomped her foot, and stormed off.

Behind her, Deng Zhilán called out, “Hey! Make sure to wash off the stink from the manure, or you’ll start fermenting!”

Song Yitao nearly slipped and fell flat.

Fuming, she returned to her room and stormed toward the bed, punching the blanket hard. Her luggage fell to the floor, spilling a wrapped paper package of cold steamed buns.

Her eyes welled up with tears.

Why was Deng Zhilán so lucky?

Unlike her—forced to take her brother’s place for relocation. And her mother had packed nothing for her but a few cold buns!

There was nothing else edible in sight.

She had no choice but to gnaw on those cold buns, her teeth grinding in frustration.