Shen Qiao took a small bite of her own egg and said, “I’ll just eat one.”

She looked content, as if she had just devoured a whole basket of them, her eyes smiling brightly, still recalling the wish she made yesterday.

For a moment, Zheng Zhong thought to himself. He had just counted his eggs in the morning, and he still had thirty-two left. He could give them all to her.

Author's Note:

The second update is being worked on, should be ready by about 8:30. As a compensation, here's a little matchmaking story from today.

Auntie said, "They're all kids raised by the Party, quite honest and well-behaved."

I thought that description was a bit cute, and couldn't help but chuckle to myself.

One egg really doesn't mean much to an empty stomach, but Shen Qiao still felt quite satisfied, skipping back to the commune with visible joy.

When she arrived, Wang Yong, who was in charge of cooking, was setting the table. Seeing her, he said, "Didn't you leave early today?"

"How come you're back later than everyone else? Did something happen?"

Shen Qiao casually made up an excuse, "Ran into Aunt Chong and chatted for a bit."

The brigade leader's wife was always polite when meeting people from the commune, and Wang Yong, being a simple-minded person, didn't think much of it and said, "Alright, good timing. It's almost time for dinner."

There were always two dishes, and it was good if they could get eight-tenths full.

Without any fat in their bellies, no one had the energy to do anything.

Having had the egg today, Shen Qiao absentmindedly licked her lips, thinking how pitiful that was.

She mocked herself a bit before entering the room, shutting the door behind her, and taking out the piece of cloth she had just bought.

She wrapped it around her waist. It was a lot larger than she expected, whether she placed it horizontally or vertically. If it were for Zheng Zhong, it was only enough to make a pair of pants.

She tried to recall his build and cut out a pattern, then went to find a needle and thread to sew.

If there was a sewing machine, it would be a lot easier. After all, hand-sewing always takes so long.

She carefully moved the candle closer, worried her eyes might be damaged by the light. If she ended up needing glasses, it would be tough for her to afford them right now.

On the other side, Zheng Zhong was once again trying to sew his own pants.

His movements weren’t entirely clumsy; he pulled the thread tightly, feeling that after tugging this much, there was no way it would come apart.

When he finished, he looked at the uneven stitches, tugging at both sides of the pants. With his strength, the thread looked like it might snap at any moment.

He sighed, changing into another pair of pants, thinking that these were the only two pairs he had, so he'd have to make do.

His eyes shifted to the side where Shen Qiao’s coat was.

She always wore this black coat when working; it was more durable and dirt-resistant. But it hadn’t always been like this. At least before this year, he had seen her wear pink clothes twice.

This color was quite rare in the commune, even though it was practical to wear. Only those who didn't need to work much could afford to wear such things.

Out of place, Zheng Zhong thought she looked better in pink.

He had always been someone who got by with the bare minimum. He didn’t really pay attention to these things, but the thought passed through his mind, and he decided to wash the coat anyway.

When it came to washing, though, he ran into some trouble.

As far as he knew, Shen Qiao had laundry soap.

That stuff was more expensive than regular soap, with a faint scent.

Zheng Zhong didn’t have any. He used the cheapest kind, a bar that cost a dime without a ticket.

Now, there was only a corner left, and it wouldn’t last much longer. He considered buying a new one—it wouldn’t cost much anyway.

As for savings, Zheng Zhong was quite wealthy.

He moved a big stone mill out of the way in the warehouse. This two-hundred-pound thing was probably something only he could move, so no one knew about the hole and the iron box underneath, which contained money.

After deducting grain costs, he could earn around eighty work points a year, and raising two pigs made some extra money. On top of that, selling eggs and such—there weren’t many things he needed to spend money on. He could save up about two hundred each year.

Over the years, that had added up to over a thousand.

This was quite a large sum in the commune, so he took out thirty yuan and went out.

The distance from home to the commune was only a twenty-minute walk. If he went there and back, he would miss the afternoon work hours, but he rarely took time off, so no one would mind.

Anyway, Zheng Mingguang didn’t want to team up with him anymore, so there was no one else to pull the cart with him for now.

His brief absence didn’t raise any suspicions, except with Shen Qiao.

That morning, Zheng Zhong had been near where she worked, pulling the cart back and forth. In the afternoon, he suddenly disappeared.

She thought, "Could his pants not be repaired, and now he can't go out?"

Such situations weren’t rare in the commune. Many families only had three pairs of pants to share between two people. If something urgent came up, they'd have to stay in bed for a while.

Shen Qiao felt quite worried, picturing him alone and pitiful under the blanket, which made her laugh a bit.

She picked up the pace, absentmindedly glancing towards the place where Zheng Zhong might appear.

Naturally, he wouldn’t be there.

He was still on his way back from the commune, hesitating with each step.

At the supply and marketing cooperative, he must have had some strange impulse, or else why would he suddenly buy those crackers that didn’t need tickets and get two pounds of them at once?

Everyone knew that although these things were filling, they weren’t the first choice for food. After all, coarse and fine grains were priced differently.

Even during the autumn harvest, the more thrifty families would exchange their fine grains for coarse grains, as it could feed more children.

Zheng Zhong, like most people, ate mostly coarse grains. Though the taste wasn’t as good, the result was the same once it was in the stomach.

Having survived through the famine years, who would still complain about such things?

Zheng Zhong was still trying to figure out his feelings. He wasn’t a particularly clever person. He had been a bit slow-witted growing up, not very good at sensing others’ emotions.

Even now, he clearly felt something different towards Shen Qiao, but these subtle differences hadn’t yet formed a clear concept in his mind.