In previous years, the “Remembering Bitterness, Thinking of Sweetness” meals had been prepared by people from Qingnan Village.

They made rich, oily meals for their own villagers but mistreated those from Xiaoba Village. They deliberately mixed sand into the sorghum and corn grits. The cakes made from rice bran were already rough on the throat, yet they purposely let them spoil before serving. It was supposed to be an ideological education session, but it felt more like torture.

Since last year, Su Rui had led the women in a firm resistance, and in the end, the task of preparing the meals for Xiaoba Village fell into her hands.

Using the mandated ingredients—rice bran, tofu residue, rotten vegetable leaves, taro flowers, pumpkin flowers, and wild vegetables—Su Rui worked her magic. With the same materials, she could create something actually edible.

With her assurance, the villagers no longer felt as dreadful about the event. They spent the mornings at home making handicrafts like baskets and winnowing trays, and in the afternoons, they gathered for study sessions, followed by lining up for communal meals.

Meanwhile, Fang Chiye returned from the embankment, his military boots covered in mud.

He had barely set down the design plans in his hands when the telephone on his desk rang.

Hearing his mother, Mu Yan, on the other end, Fang Chiye bent down, took off his muddy boots, and changed into his military shoes.

“Why aren’t you saying anything? You know I’m about to get angry, don’t you?” Mu Yan’s voice carried the static of a long-distance military call from the northwest, devoid of any warmth.

As a child, Fang Chiye’s only impression of his mother came from her stern reprimands over the phone. As he grew up and was stationed elsewhere, their family saw each other even less. His memories of home were nothing but cold and empty.

“Why would you be angry?” Fang Chiye scoffed, tapping his fingers on the table. “What can I possibly do from nearly two thousand miles away to make you angry?”

Mu Yan’s voice remained stern, treating him no differently than a subordinate.

She got straight to the point. “Once I finish here, you’ll return to Beijing to meet Comrade Zhao Feijing again. I’ve invited her parents as well. You can all spend the New Year together.”

Fang Chiye had already anticipated this. He reached into his desk drawer, pulled out a newspaper, and lazily traced a finger along its edge.

“If I want to return to Beijing, I need an official transfer order. Unless it’s for something urgent, I’m not allowed to leave. You can ask the top brass for a directive. If they approve, I’ll pack my bags right now, head to the military airport, and you’ll see me in Beijing tonight.”

“I really have no control over you anymore.” Mu Yan saw through his evasion and said sharply, “You won’t even come home for New Year’s?”

Fang Chiye replied calmly, “In all those years, I’ve never seen you or my father return home for the New Year either. Do unto others as you would have them do unto you. Besides, I really can’t leave.”

He placed the newspaper on his lap and, gazing at a bright, apple-cheeked face on the page, said with composure, “If there’s nothing else, I’m hanging up.”

Mu Yan said, “Comrade Zhao Feijing has already told me everything.”

Fang Chiye responded indifferently, “Unless I say it myself, no one in this world can know what I’m thinking.”

Mu Yan had heard Zhao Feijing mention a certain charming female comrade’s photo, but she didn’t take it seriously. Too many people had tried to introduce women to Fang Chiye. Who knew if the photo was just stashed away in a drawer somewhere?

She didn’t believe it, and Fang Chiye had no interest in explaining.

A cold silence stretched over the phone for half a minute before Mu Yan finally hung up.

Qin Shan was sitting in the office, across from Fang Chiye.

After Zhao Feijing left, Fang Chiye had moved out of the communal office and into a newly built single-story workspace.

Behind him, they were constructing a residential area for staff and their families. Even after the hydropower station was completed, it would require long-term personnel for maintenance and protection. Soldiers, military families, and civilian employees would all need a place to settle.

Seeing him hang up, Qin Shan handed him a handful of hawthorns. “Wild hawthorns are incredibly sour. Brew them into tea later to stimulate your appetite, so you don’t skip lunch.”

Fang Chiye flicked the hawthorn in his hand and remained silent.

Before he could let out a breath, the phone rang again.

Qin Shan walked over to answer it, covering the receiver as he said, “Speak of the devil, it’s Comrade Zhao Feijing.”

Fang Chiye asked, “Work-related?”

Qin Shan replied, “Doesn’t seem like it.”

“Hang up.”

Qin Shan knew that aside from work, Fang Chiye never contacted female comrades in private. Even if Zhao Feijing was earnestly saying over the phone that she wanted to apologize to Fang Chiye, claiming she had misunderstood that female comrade, he didn’t buy it.

Qin Shan wasn’t stupid—he figured the apology was just an excuse. She was really trying to probe for information.

So he casually said, “Misunderstanding or not, our military district’s key office phone line isn’t for personal calls. This is the first time, but if there’s a next, I’ll contact your unit on behalf of the military to ask if your department regularly misuses state resources for personal matters.”

Zhao Feijing was startled and quickly hung up.

Fang Chiye glanced at him. Qin Shan picked up the phone again and called the canteen. “Hey, Old Zhang, what’s for lunch today?”

Fang Chiye chuckled and walked over to the window. Their location was midway up Zhuye Mountain, with the slightly lower Peach Mountain to the north. At the foot of Peach Mountain was Xiaoba Village.

At this moment, he could see wisps of cooking smoke rising from the village, though less than usual.

Qin Shan hung up and, gazing at the smoke, sighed, “Now this is real life.”

Fang Chiye asked, “There’s usually more than this.”

Qin Shan replied, “Didn’t expect you to pay attention. They’ve started eating ‘recalling the hardships and appreciating the blessings’ meals—just one communal meal a day at the village committee.”

Fang Chiye, who had work connections with Sister Zhao, knew that Xiaoba Village now had its own village committee. The thought made him smile faintly.

Qin Shan, dreading the bland lunch of potatoes, sweet potatoes, and carrots, suggested, “Why don’t we go take a look? We need to visit the construction site this afternoon anyway—it’s on the way.”

“On the way to freeload a meal?”

Qin Shan grinned. “I’d rather eat soybeans than that three-piece set again. Might as well see what they’re having so the cooks here can learn a thing or two.”

Seeing that Fang Chiye was already putting on his coat despite his words, Qin Shan quickly followed.

*** 

“Add a little more salt.”

Standing on a small stool, Su Rui stirred the thick batter in the pot with a long wooden spatula. “That’s enough. Lower the fire, or it’ll get overcooked.”

Yan’er, who was picking dried herbs nearby, laughed, “We want it overcooked. Otherwise, Sister Zhao will get scolded like last year.”

Last year, when Su Rui first made the “recalling hardships” meal, she hadn’t controlled it well, and the wild vegetable pancakes turned out so fragrant that the smell traveled two miles. People crowded into line, pushing to get more.

When the commune officials came for inspection, they scolded Sister Zhao. They said this meal was supposed to remind people of hardship, not feel like a feast. People lining up repeatedly for second and third helpings? Unacceptable! The old society wasn’t like this.

So, this year, before Su Rui started cooking, Sister Zhao specifically reminded her—don’t make it too tasty. At the very least, avoid another rush like last year.

After giving those instructions, Sister Zhao herself couldn’t help laughing, and the other comrades clutched their stomachs, laughing too.

Su Rui scratched her head and assured them she understood. Last night, she arrived at the village canteen early and soaked thirty pounds of rice bran.

During the famine years, many people struggled to eat rice bran—it was usually pig feed. Human throats were delicate, so swallowing it would cause a burning pain in the throat.

Su Rui soaked it overnight in advance. In the morning, she had the collective donkey grind it repeatedly using a stone mill. After grinding, she added a bit of aged millet flour and two catties of fragrant sweet potato flour. Once cooked, the mixture was fermented into dough. For the filling, she used fresh and crisp dandelion, also known as popo ding, and made them into vegetable pancakes.

This way, people ate wild greens, old grain flour, and rice bran, perfectly fulfilling the task given by the organization.

To show her enthusiasm for the job, she even asked Yan’er to clean and prepare dried goosefoot greens to make a big pot of goosefoot soup—an authentic famine-era survival dish.

She worked busily, her cheeks flushed pink, a thin layer of sweat on her skin. Su Rui was particular about hygiene—she wore a pink headscarf, colorful sleeves, and a face mask. Even when making communal meals, she aimed to set an example for cleanliness.

When Fang Chiye and Qin Shan arrived, they almost thought they were in the wrong place.

What was with the triple-layered queue? Was the village slaughtering a pig this early?

Qin Shan sniffed the air, then turned to Fang Chiye and said, “Something’s off. It smells good.”

Fang Chiye ignored him. As soon as he got out of the car, Wanzi spotted him and grabbed his hand, pulling him toward the line. “Uncle, hurry! There’s still food left! Sister’s cooking is delicious!”

Qin Shan, feeling left out, complained, “Why aren’t you pulling my hand?”

Wanzi grinned mischievously. “You didn’t give me candy. Right, Uncle?”

Fang Chiye pulled a fruit candy from his pocket and handed it to her. Wanzi accepted it graciously, then whispered, “Sister is getting scolded. Let’s wait a bit before eating.”

Fang Chiye looked toward the canteen entrance. Standing in front of the large communal stove was a familiar, slender figure, her porcelain-white wrist tightly gripping the long spatula.

It was obvious she had completely ignored the commune official’s warnings and was stirring the batter with defiant determination.

Her small stool wobbled under her, and Fang Chiye worried she might topple into the pot.

Once inside, they overheard the official, who wasn’t scolding her but trying to reason, “I’ve already seen several old ladies come back for second helpings. And that lady surnamed Sun—she’s not just eating. She’s stuffing wild vegetable pancakes into her pockets. This isn’t how ‘recalling hardships’ meals should be!”

Su Rui stubbornly retorted, “Why can’t it be a little tastier? It’s not like all the cooks died during the famine years. If it can be made delicious, why deliberately make it bad?”

The official, a young cadre, was at a loss for how to handle her. He had tried persuading her at length, but Su Rui refused to budge.

Frustrated, he decided to take matters into his own hands—he grabbed a vinegar bottle, ready to pour it into the pot. If they wouldn’t eat rancid food, they could at least have sour food, right?

Just as he lifted the bottle, a strong grip clamped onto his wrist.

Fang Chiye said, “This already smells off. There’s no way it tastes good. If you add vinegar, the villagers won’t eat it at all. Won’t that just waste the food?”

The comrades at the commune couldn’t understand Su Rui’s ways, let alone Fang Chiye’s.

Qin Shan immediately grabbed a wild vegetable pancake. The fragrant aroma hit his nose, and as he took a bite, he exclaimed, “Oh my! This is too awful! I’ve never eaten such a terrible pancake in my life!”

Wanzi took the opportunity to squeeze in. Qin Shan handed the pancake to her, and she took a big bite, smacking her lips. “It’s bad, so bad!” Then she turned to Aunt Song and asked, “What do you think?”

Aunt Song, who had just taken a bite of the wild vegetable pancake, shouted in her loud voice, “It’s absolutely horrible!”

Su Rui: “…” You all really didn’t have to go this far.

Seeing Su Rui’s face twitch as she lowered her head to look at the pot filled with her ambitious creation, Fang Chiye understood—this little girl was having a crisis of confidence.

Afraid that she might grab the vinegar bottle and pour it in, the commune comrade standing nearby quickly snatched it away. “Don’t! It’s already this bad. If the others refuse to eat, what will we do?!”

“I wasn’t planning to add vinegar,” Su Rui said, utterly heartbroken.

Once Fang Chiye coaxed the commune comrades out of the room, Qin Shan hurried over and said, “Quick, make a special batch for them!”

This was exactly the kind of job for her.

Su Rui immediately stood up. “How should I make it?”

Qin Shan grinned. “Use whatever’s gone sour, rough, or spoiled. Just stuff it into the dough and cook it.”

“Got it!” Su Rui instantly understood. Her small hands worked quickly, pressing two pancakes into the pan.

By the time Fang Chiye came back after sending the comrades outside, Su Rui saw that the commune comrade had finished his cigarette. She picked up the specially made pancake and handed it over. “Comrade, have some. Fill your stomach so we can continue the revolution!”

The commune comrade nodded solemnly, took the pancake, and bit into it. Before he could swallow, he rushed outside and spat it out.

Seeing the women and children around him eating with relish, he refused to believe it was that bad. He took another bite—and spat it out again, tears welling up in his eyes.

No wonder Comrade Su Rui had lost her temper. If even this version of the pancake was already so terrible, yet the villagers were eating it so happily, then Xiaoba Village’s spirit of “recalling hardships and cherishing blessings” was being conveyed perfectly—absolutely perfectly!

Inside the Canteen

“Just an iron pan, yet you made it so crispy?” Qin Shan had already eaten six or seven pancakes. If he wasn’t worried about leaving enough for the villagers, he could have eaten even more.

Fang Chiye, having escorted the commune cadres to Sister Zhao’s place, returned to the canteen and assumed there were no wild vegetable pancakes left.

But then Su Rui mysteriously pulled him aside, walked to the back of the canteen, and brought out two large bowls stacked together. When she uncovered them, a warm and fragrant aroma drifted to his nose.

At that moment, the little girl held the wild vegetable pancakes as if they were the most precious delicacy. Her eyes sparkled as she looked at him and said, “This batch has extra filling. I saved it just for you. Try it! If it’s cold, I’ll reheat it for you.”

Fang Chiye stared at her in a daze, momentarily forgetting how to react.

Su Rui didn’t notice his expression. She stood on tiptoe, looked behind him, and then carefully fished out a pickled cucumber from a small jar by the stove. After thinking for a moment, she added another one. “Here, eat it to cut the greasiness. I wouldn’t give these to just anyone.”

Fang Chiye took a big bite of the pancake, and immediately, the sourness made his eyes water.

Su Rui was still asking, “Is it good?”

Fang Chiye swallowed and replied, “It’s good.”

Su Rui beamed. “Of course, it’s good.”

Seeing her smile, Fang Chiye smiled too.

Taking another bite, he no longer found the pickled cucumber sour. Instead, it tasted rather sweet.