Chapter 130: The Rough Man Was Really Heavy  

The shredded potato pancakes were so crispy that they crumbled easily. When gently broken apart, a crisp cracking sound could be heard.  

The mashed potatoes were exceptionally soft, and with the addition of egg yolk, the texture became even more delicate and glutinous. However, the mixture also contained finely diced carrots and cucumbers, which added a crunchy texture.  

This contrast made the overall mouthfeel even richer.  

Jiang Rou split a steamed bun in half, used a small spoon to spread the mashed potatoes onto one side, and then pressed the two halves together.  

Song Qingqian watched from the side, surprised.  

“You even know how to do this?”  

This method of eating resembled a Western-style sandwich. How could Jiang Rou, a young girl from the countryside, be familiar with it?  

Jiang Rou played dumb.  

“What do you mean, ‘this and that’? I just think it tastes good this way. In Shandong, they even eat steamed buns with green onions.”  

Hearing this, Song Qingqian let out a sigh of relief.  

There was no such thing as strictly Chinese or Western styles—whatever tasted good was the best way to eat.  

She had been overthinking it.  

Jiang Rou handed the steamed bun, now spread with mashed potatoes, to Zhou Xiaohua, allowing the little girl to hold it with both hands and eat.  

Song Qingqian imitated Jiang Rou’s actions, also spreading mashed potatoes onto a steamed bun slice.

At this moment—  

It felt as if she were holding a slice of bread, spreading imported jam over it.  

The scene before her, the surrounding environment, everything seemed to change.  

Yet, Song Qingqian’s mood was even happier than it had been back then.  

She took a bite of the steamed bun and turned her gaze to the fragrant pan-fried cumin potatoes.  

Strictly speaking, she had made them herself.  

Song Qingqian was the first to pick up a small cumin potato and take a bite.  

The texture—  

It was as if the crispy shredded potato pancake and the soft mashed potatoes had been combined into one.  

The outer layer of the cumin potatoes was crisp, while the inside remained soft.  

And the rich aroma of cumin filled every bite.  

It was just like eating Xinjiang-style barbecue.  

The flavor was bold.  

Satisfying!  

Who would have thought that something as simple as potatoes could be turned into such a rich and delicious dish?  

This time, Song Qingqian was truly amazed.  

When she looked at Jiang Rou, there was now a touch of admiration in her gaze.  

—  

After lunch, they rested for a while before Jiang Rou resumed her sewing lessons with Song Qingqian.  

At the same time, she stepped into Song Qingqian’s bedroom, which was, as always, neat and tidy.  

What surprised Jiang Rou, however—  

Was that she actually saw a sewing machine and a radio.  

Song Qingqian never flaunted anything, yet their family owned two of the so-called “Three Rounds and One Sound” items!  

She was really keeping a low profile!  

Jiang Rou looked at the sewing machine, which was clean and well-maintained, and said happily,  

“Qingqian, I didn’t expect you to be hiding such a treasure. With a sewing machine, making clothes will be so much easier. … And you even have a radio! Is there a broadcasting station on the island? You probably can’t pick up any signals, right? But just having this thing sitting here is enough to make someone happy.”

Jiang Rou reached out and gently stroked the sewing machine.  

There wasn’t a speck of dust on it, which showed how much Song Qingqian cherished it—she must have cleaned it every day.  

Song Qingqian’s gaze also fell on the sewing machine.  

Unlike Jiang Rou’s excitement, she seemed a bit lost in thought.  

In a soft voice, Song Qingqian said: “These were all bought by He Donglai.”  

He Donglai somehow had his own connections. Whenever the supply ship docked, he would bring back a few things for the household.  

In the past, Song Qingqian had never thought much about it.  

But today—  

Jiang Rou looked up at her, smiled knowingly, and said with a sigh,  

“Qingqian, Company Commander He treats you so well.”  

Treats her… well?  

Song Qingqian hesitated and asked: “Jiang Rou, doesn’t your family have one?”  

“No, of course not. Not only does my family not have one, but I doubt there’s a second sewing machine in the entire compound.”  

“You have no idea how hard it is to buy these things now. Last time I went to the city, the department store had completely sold out of radios—there weren’t any left to buy, even if you had the money.”  

“And this sewing machine… it’s so big and heavy. Just carrying it from the dock to your house would have been quite a journey.”  

“You’re so skilled at making clothes. Company Commander He must have known you’d love it—that’s why he bought it for you.”  

Jiang Rou seemed to be rambling on enviously.  

But in her slightly lowered eyes, there was a flicker of playful cunning.  

Having read hundreds of novels, she considered herself well-versed in these matters.  

Two clueless supporting characters? They were as good as caught.  

Jiang Rou turned back just in time to see Song Qingqian lost in thought, a contemplative expression on her face.  

Song Qingqian’s life had always been too smooth.  

Whatever she wanted, she got. There was never anything she couldn’t buy.  

And there was always a crowd of people scrambling to give her things first.  

Because of this, she had forgotten that, for an ordinary family, a single radio or a sewing machine was enough to bring joy for an entire month.  

Yet she—  

Had never considered the effort He Donglai might have put in behind the scenes.  

She had naively assumed—  

That these were nothing more than everyday household items.

At the time, she had thought that He Donglai bought these things simply because the household lacked them.  

But now… had it all been for her?  

Song Qingqian stood beside the sewing machine, her fingers lowered, lightly tracing its surface.  

The unanswered questions in her heart grew larger and larger, like a snowball rolling downhill.  

—  

That evening.  

Song Qingqian carefully wrote down every step of the recipe Jiang Rou had followed at noon, turning it into a proper cookbook entry so she wouldn’t forget in the future.  

Her handwriting was delicate and elegant, each word written with care and precision.  

At the same time—  

The table still held plenty of the leftover pan-fried cumin potatoes from lunch.  

This was, in a true sense, the first dish Song Qingqian had ever cooked herself.  

The very first dish she had made.  

Perhaps… He Donglai would be willing to take a bite.  

After all, he had accepted the sesame oil duck leg that day.  

Under the night sky—  

The light in the small house stayed on for a long, long time.  

Resting her chin in her palm, Song Qingqian sat under the warm glow, waiting until she fell asleep.  

Yet, she never heard the sound of He Donglai returning and opening the door.  

—  

“You’re back.”  

Jiang Rou spoke softly, looking up to see Zhou Zhongshan just stepping inside.  

The moment Zhou Zhongshan’s gaze landed on Jiang Rou, his eyes instantly softened.  

In a low voice, he said: “Wife, why aren’t you asleep yet?”  

“I was making clothes. I just learned a little from Song Qingqian, but I’m still not very skilled. I thought I’d practice more at night so that when I sew clothes for Xiaohua and Xiaochuan later, they’ll turn out neat and beautiful.”

Jiang Rou’s delicate face was full of lively expression.  

Zhou Zhongshan took a closer look and noticed that the fabric in Jiang Rou’s hands wasn’t newly bought material—it was his old clothes.  

Being tall and strong, he frequently engaged in strength training, which often caused his clothes to tear at the seams.  

Jiang Rou held the garment in one hand and a needle and thread in the other, carefully stitching up the torn areas, one stitch at a time.  

Zhou Zhongshan murmured: “Wife, are you using me as a little white lab rat to practice on?”  

Jiang Rou lifted her head slightly, gazing at the tall, imposing man in front of her.  

Was this… jealousy?  

Even over the children?  

Zhou Zhongshan had changed noticeably after marriage.  

The man who was always cold and silent in front of others turned out to be somewhat… clingy when alone with Jiang Rou.  

Even clingier than Zhou Xiaohua.  

The kind of clinginess where he simply had to hold her tight—where if he didn’t have her in his arms, he felt uncomfortable.  

He had to pull her into a heavy embrace, his strong arms pressing firmly around her waist.  

More than once, Jiang Rou had woken up in the middle of the night feeling as if something heavy was pressing down on her chest, making it hard to breathe.  

But whenever she reached out, all she touched was Zhou Zhongshan’s arm.  

This rough man—he was really heavy.