Ruan Qingzhi stood in front of the locker, frowning with worry.  

Shen Zhanwu’s clothes…  

Were way too big on her!!  

The sleeves and pant legs were so long that they made her look like she was dressed for an opera.  

How could she possibly wear this outside?  

With a resigned sigh, Ruan Qingzhi glanced at the clothes she had taken off—  

Dusty.  

Tattered.  

…Never mind. Big was fine—at least they were clean.  

What’s more, the clothes had been softened and dried by the sun, making them incredibly comfortable to wear. They even carried a faint, fresh scent of soap, somewhat similar to the smell that lingered around Shen Zhanwu.  

Pursing her lips, Ruan Qingzhi allowed a small smile to tug at the corners of her mouth.  

She lowered her gaze and rolled up the sleeves, folding them five or six times before her wrists were finally exposed. Then, she bent down to adjust the pant legs before tucking the hem of the shirt into the waistband. The belt that had once hugged Shen Zhanwu’s waist was now wrapped snugly around hers.  

Gathering her long hair, she tied it up into a messy bun.  

Once everything was settled, she grabbed her personal belongings and stepped out of the bathhouse, feeling refreshed from head to toe.  

Outside, the sun was blazing.  

Ruan Qingzhi raised a hand to shield her forehead as she walked forward, squinting slightly against the light.  

While crossing the street, she spotted a newsstand by the roadside.  

She walked over and spent ten cents to buy a copy of the Shengyang Daily.  

Standing in the shade of the newsstand, she unfolded the newspaper and quickly skimmed through its contents.  

The Daily covered a wide range of topics—speeches from leaders about the nation’s future direction, remarks from esteemed comrades, the discovery of an oil field in Jiaotai District the previous day, the upcoming official operation of the East District Power Station by the end of the month, and the 20th anniversary of Shengyang Steel Mill.  

With summer break just beginning, Songshan Scenic Area had already seen a small surge in tourism. Below the article was a black-and-white photo of the scenic area’s entrance, crowded with visitors.  

In a narrow column wedged between other sections, there was also a wanted notice.  

Her gaze lingered on the scenic area report for a few seconds before she turned back to the newsstand and bought a magazine introducing Shengyang’s geographical environment.  

One yuan and twenty cents—quite expensive.  

As she walked, Ruan Qingzhi flipped through the magazine.  

After a quick read, every street in Shengyang was already imprinted in her mind.  

Shen Zhanwu hadn’t been wrong!  

Shengyang had indeed developed much faster in recent years compared to her hometown.  

Especially before the two coastal cities received national support for economic development, the heavy industry in the north had been like a steam engine burning with unstoppable momentum, charging forward with a triumphant whistle.  

Heavy industry was the backbone that allowed the people to stand tall.  

…  

Shengyang was known as the “Eye of the North.”  

The city covered a vast area and was home to two prestigious universities: Shengyang University and Northern Academy of Fine Arts. It also housed the country’s largest steel mill.  

In addition, there were hundreds of state-owned factories, big and small, as well as the famous Songshan Scenic Area, renowned for its thousand-year-old pine trees.  

Everywhere you looked, the city was brimming with vitality.  

But how could she earn her first bucket of gold in such an environment?  

Lost in thought, Ruan Qingzhi made her way to the farmers’ market.  

It was very close to the municipal hospital—just a ten-minute walk.  

The heat kept most shoppers away, and many vendors were dozing off at their stalls.  

She stopped at a meat stall and pulled out the only two-liang meat coupon she had. “I’d like lean meat, from here,” she said, pointing to the tenderloin.  

The butcher paused, knife in hand, and glanced up at the skinny girl in front of him. With a look that clearly said you don’t know how to pick good meat, he sliced off two liang of tenderloin and handed it to her.

Ruan Qingzhi felt a bit embarrassed under his scrutinizing gaze.  

In the future, pork tenderloin prices would skyrocket.  

It would be used in countless dishes—from the region’s famous guobaorou (crispy fried pork in sauce) to crispy fried pork strips, deep-fried tenderloin, stir-fried pork slices, sweet and sour pork with pineapple, and more.  

But this was the 1980s, an era when people’s stomachs were filled with water rather than oil.  

Buying lean meat did seem a little… unwise.  

Taking the meat, Ruan Qingzhi walked a few steps and spotted a stall selling salted duck eggs.  

Fifty cents for three.  

No egg coupons needed.  

She paid for three salted duck eggs and was about to buy some greens when the vendor, without even asking for money, simply tossed her a bundle of bok choy.  

Ruan Qingzhi froze for a moment: “…”

She had always heard about the bold and hospitable nature of northerners, but she only needed a little bit of greens for Shen Zhanwu’s porridge…  

Seeing the girl hesitate, the vendor grew impatient and raised his voice, “If it’s given to you, just take it. Are you silly or what? Free stuff and you’re still hesitating? If it were me, I’d grab it and run!”  

“It’s hot, and the veggies won’t sell anyway—they’ll just wilt. It’s just a bundle of bok choy, not worth much. Take it, go home, and dip it in some soybean paste.”  

Ruan Qingzhi pursed her lips awkwardly: “…”

Since he insisted, she could only thank him repeatedly before leaving the market with the meat, greens, and the rice she had bought.  

… 

Ruan Qingzhi found a state-run restaurant.  

She walked in and explained her situation to a female staff member: “Hello, my family member is hospitalized and just woke up today. He can’t eat boxed meals, so I was wondering if I could borrow your stove to cook some porridge for him?”  

“I can pay rent for using the stove,” she added.  

The staff member gave her a once-over. “Wait here a moment, I’ll ask the head chef.”  

“Okay, thank you.”  

The woman went to the kitchen and returned less than two minutes later with a smile. “Comrade, follow me.”  

Relieved, Ruan Qingzhi quickly stood up and followed her.  

The lunch rush was over, and there weren’t many customers left.  

In the kitchen, only a man in his thirties was stir-frying a dish.  

In the corner stood a small table with a thermos and a large bowl of tea. Next to it sat a bald man in his fifties—short, stout, with a thick layer of fat around his waist.  

Such a physique was rare in this era.  

The man glanced at the girl and, without expression, pointed to a stove in the backyard. “Use that one.”  

Ruan Qingzhi hurriedly thanked him.  

The bald man sipped his tea, not even sparing her a look.  

Taking the hint, Ruan Qingzhi stopped talking and got to work.  

She set down her things, rolled up her sleeves, and washed the rice in a basin before soaking it in water.  

Then she cleaned the tenderloin, sliced it into thin strips, and set it aside.  

The stove burned firewood.  

She grabbed some straw from the corner and deftly lit the fire.  

Once the flames were steady, she scrubbed the pot clean, then tossed in the peeled salted duck eggs, mashing them with a spatula.  

Golden oil sizzled from the eggs.  

Soon, a rich, savory aroma filled the air.  

When the fragrance was at its peak, Ruan Qingzhi added the pork strips and stir-fried them together.  

Finally, she poured in the rice and covered the pot.  

With that done, she squatted in front of the stove under the scorching sun, keeping watch.  

The heat control was crucial—if the fire was too weak or too strong, the porridge wouldn’t develop its signature creamy texture.  

Inside the kitchen, the bald man sipped his tea, observing the girl’s quick and efficient movements with a faint smirk.  

Setting down his tea bowl, he suddenly asked, “How old are you, girl?”