Chapter 68: Scrubbing, Is the Equipment Broken?

**Chapter 68: Is the Scrubbing Equipment Broken?**

Song Fenglan noticed Granny Fang’s evasiveness and asked, “Who’s that?”

Following her mother’s gaze, Song Fenglan spotted Granny Fang. No matter how much she tried to hide, her presence was unmistakable.

“That’s Auntie Fang—she lives next to Auntie Fatty,” Song Fenglan explained.

“If she’s a neighbor, why is she sneaking around like that?” Mrs. Song frowned at Granny Fang’s behavior, sensing something off.

“Don’t mind her,” Song Fenglan said. “She used to comment on me having a child late, saying I was healthy enough for a second one. There were other issues too—our family and Auntie Fatty’s both had unpleasant run-ins with hers. Nowadays, we barely speak, and when we see each other, we pretend not to.”

At least that was the case with Granny Fang. Song Fenglan and the others avoided tempting fate. Granny Fang was a stubborn rural woman, set in her ways, convinced her opinions were right and everyone else’s were wrong.

She often caused trouble but never admitted fault, blaming others for being too sensitive. She felt some guilt toward her eldest granddaughter, though not much—just slightly more than she did for the second.

“She’s still pressuring her daughter-in-law to have another child. Both of her son’s children are girls,” Song Fenglan added. “She’s desperate for a boy.”

“It’s good you don’t live under the same roof,” Mrs. Song remarked. “Many people are like that—obsessed with having sons, refusing to stop until they get one. When your father and I were at the rural farm, we saw families with seven or eight kids, all because they kept trying for a boy. Some even gave their daughters away. Girls weren’t in high demand.”

The way those families treated their daughters made Mrs. Song’s heart ache—they treated them like servants, burdening them with endless chores. No one dared speak up, or they’d be met with: *If they don’t work, will you? Will you feed them?*

What could you even say to that? Some argued that the boys in the family should share the labor, or that sisters should sacrifice for their brothers, who would supposedly protect them after marriage.

After witnessing so much, Mrs. Song grew numb. The Song family had been sent to the countryside for re-education during the Cultural Revolution, so they couldn’t criticize others. Even when people confided in them, they kept quiet—speaking out risked being denounced again.

“If a family can afford more children, fine, let them have as many as they want,” Mrs. Song said, turning to her daughter. “You’re not planning on more, are you?”

“No, Zi Hang is enough,” Song Fenglan replied. “I have work and other responsibilities—no time for another child. Pregnancy takes a toll, and raising kids is exhausting.”

“True, Zi Hang is a good boy,” her mother agreed. “Just raise him well.”

Relieved that the Song family didn’t approach her, Granny Fang bought a few things and hurried home.

There, she found Gao Xiuxiu and complained about the Song family’s extravagance.

“Several of them, carrying multiple baskets, stuffed with groceries,” Granny Fang grumbled. “They must be rich, buying so much at once. Can they even finish it all?”

“Probably,” Gao Xiuxiu said. “A few extra bites per person, and it’ll be gone. Did you talk to them?”

“Why would I?” Granny Fang scoffed. “Song Fenglan isn’t exactly friendly. She and our family… She never steps forward herself—Auntie Fatty has spoken up for her multiple times.”

Granny Fang thought Song Fenglan was cunning, hiding behind Auntie Fatty, who was foolish enough to shield her. She doubted Song Fenglan even appreciated it—Auntie Fatty was probably just after handouts.

As if Auntie Fatty’s family was starving.

Secretly, Granny Fang envied the Song family’s things but, unable to get any, complained to Gao Xiuxiu about it instead.

Gao Xiuxiu saw through her mother-in-law but didn’t call her out.

“You’ve been taking the medicine long enough now,” Granny Fang urged. “You and Xu Dong should try harder for a third child. While I’m here, I can help take care of it.”

“Mm,” Gao Xiuxiu said quietly, thinking of her two daughters. If only the second had been a son.

“And you—last time, you went around telling anyone who’d listen the second would be a boy,” Granny Fang scolded. “People back home are still laughing at you. Must you blab beforehand? Don’t boast before the baby’s even born.”

“I was so sure it would be a boy,” Gao Xiuxiu defended herself. She’d wanted everyone to believe she’d have a son—it would’ve restored her pride.

After her first child was a daughter, she’d claimed gender didn’t matter. But by the second pregnancy, she’d been desperate for a son, telling anyone who’d listen. Now, people mocked her behind her back, saying she was obsessed. They saw right through her—they knew what she really was. She and Granny Fang were cut from the same cloth, though Granny Fang’s cruelty was far less subtle.

Qin Zihang saw others carrying bamboo baskets and wanted one too.

"Is it heavy?" Song Fenglan asked. Since her son was determined, she let him carry a basket.

"Not heavy." Qin Zihang could feel the weight inside but still insisted it wasn't, determined to bring it home.

Song Fenglan saw Qin Zihang’s strained expression and thought he looked like he was struggling.

"Let me take it," Grandma Song said. She couldn’t stand seeing her grandson struggle.

"No, he can handle it himself. He wanted to carry it, no one forced him," Song Fenglan replied. "If it’s too heavy and he can’t manage, he’ll put it down himself. Mom, you weren’t this gentle with me back then. They say grandparents spoil their grandchildren—looks like you’re extra soft on Zihang."

"Well, isn’t it because he's your child?" Grandma Song replied. "If Hangbao weren’t your child, do you think we'd love him this much?"

"True enough," Song Fenglan nodded.

"Yu Fei—when she brings her child over, I can’t be bothered to talk to her," Grandma Song said. "I don’t even look twice at her kid."

She knew Jiang Yufei was trying to soften their hearts, hoping to gain favor from the Song family. Grandma Song refused to give Jiang Yufei any special treatment, not even red envelopes for her child. Just letting Jiang Yufei stay for dinner when relatives came over was already generous.

Jiang Yufei had made things hard for Song Fenglan, so naturally, the Song family couldn’t treat her well. As for Jiang Yufei causing Eldest Brother Qin and Tian Keshu’s divorce, it wasn’t entirely her fault—the Tian family had their own issues. Eldest Brother Qin was all about saving face and might have initially refused to divorce, but later, fearing Tian Keshu would drag him down, he gave in.

Jiang Yufei never boasted to Grandma Song about Eldest Brother Qin and Sister-in-law Qin’s divorce because she knew the Song family would see through it. Unlike the Jiangs, who were easily fooled by Jiang Yufei, the Songs weren’t pushovers. Since Jiang Yufei couldn’t get much from them, she rarely visited.

"She…" Song Fenglan hadn’t thought of Jiang Yufei in a long time, but something suddenly occurred to her. "Third Aunt’s daughter is around here."

"Really close?" Grandma Song asked.

"Very close," Song Fenglan confirmed.

"She’s training to be a pilot here," Grandma Song said. The Tang family had mentioned it, and Tang Lu had told Third Aunt Song as well.

The Song family had nothing to say about Tang Lu becoming a pilot. She was a Tang, not a Song—they couldn’t take credit for her just because the Songs had produced pilots before. That kind of showing off would only upset the Tangs. Besides, the two families had already fallen out during those difficult years.

Third Aunt Song and Tang Lu’s father divorced, and within a month, he remarried. He never tried to protect or support Third Aunt Song—the Tangs couldn’t cut ties fast enough.

This was one reason Grandma Song liked Aunt Yu. At least the Jiang family had been decent. Back then, people showed their true colors.

"Yes, she’s nearby. There’s a training base around here—everyone knows, it’s no secret. But ordinary people can’t go in," Song Fenglan explained.

"Of course not," Grandma Song agreed. "Before we came, we asked your Third Aunt. She said to leave Tang Lu alone—she’s a Tang now."

"Third Aunt hasn’t changed—still knows who’s worth her time," Song Fenglan remarked.

"You’ve got to toughen up," Grandma Song said. "No use dwelling on the past, on hardships, or feeling like you owe everyone something. Even family isn’t always worth it."

She didn’t go into detail about Third Aunt Song’s situation, but they both knew the Tangs and Third Aunt Song were on terrible terms. If the Tangs were sniffing around now, it was only because they wanted something from her. If she had nothing to offer, they’d pretend she didn’t exist.

Grandma Song had seen Third Aunt Song a few times and noticed how lonely she looked, but she couldn’t advise her to forgive those kids. Nor did she encourage her to remarry—remarrying just meant waiting on another man again, so what was the point?

If they allowed hired help again, things might improve. Third Aunt Song could hire someone to cook and clean, making life easier. But even then, it was unclear whether she’d want another person in the house.

"Who’s Third Aunt?" Qin Zihang asked, confused.

He’d never even met Third Aunt Song. Song Fenglan had mentioned her once or twice, but children forget easily. Someone he’d never seen or spoken to—he wouldn’t remember.

"She’s your great-aunt, my third aunt," Song Fenglan explained.

"Oh." Qin Zihang still didn't quite understand. "Is she like Great-aunt and Auntie-in-law?"

"Yes, they're of the same generation," Song Fenglan nodded. "Just their temperaments are quite different."

"Is she coming to eat at our house?" Qin Zihang asked. "Will she stay with us?"

"She hasn’t come. She’s in the capital," Song Mother said. "Later, you’ll have a chance to meet your third great-aunt."

"Why haven’t I met her before?" Qin Zihang asked.

"There were some things, so it wasn’t possible to meet right away. There’ll be chances later," Song Fenglan said. "Enough talking now. Can you carry the groceries home?"

"Yes, I can. I can carry them home," Qin Zihang said. To show his strength, he even took a few exaggerated steps.

Song Fenglan gestured to Qin Yizhou to keep an eye on Qin Zihang so he wouldn’t fall. If Qin Zihang fell, the Song family would fuss over him. Watching his slightly unsteady steps, Song Fenglan wondered if she should take something out of the bamboo basket—she thought better of it and decided to let him try. *She thought to herself.*

After a few steps, Qin Zihang plopped the basket down, preparing to use his other hand to lift it. Song Mother reached out to help, but Song Fenglan stopped her.

"Let him carry it," Song Fenglan insisted.

"We still have to wash the vegetables when we get back," Song Mother said. "At this pace, when will we ever get home?"

Without hesitation, Second Brother Song reached over and took a few taro roots from Qin Zihang’s basket—these were heavier and could be placed in his own basket. After all, the vegetables would need washing anyway, so it didn’t matter how they were arranged. Lightening Qin Zihang’s load was the most important thing.

"Second Uncle," Qin Zihang looked at his uncle.

"Later, you and I will wash the taro together," Second Brother Song said.

"Okay!" Qin Zihang said. "I can use a brush to scrub them. I’ll make sure they’re spotless."

"Don’t use the dog brush," Song Fenglan reminded him. Qin Zihang had confused them before.

"I know," Qin Zihang said. "The dog brush has fur on it. You can’t use it for food. Mom, I’m grown up now. I understand."

"..." Song Fenglan was speechless. Her son always said he understood, but when it came to actually doing things, whether he truly did was another matter.

"Second Uncle is here. He can see," Qin Zihang said. "Second Uncle can see the fur on the brush. He isn’t blind."

"I’ll keep an eye on him," Second Brother Song said, looking at his nephew, who never seemed to run out of words.

"You're all spoiling him," Song Fenglan said.

"We’re only here for a short time. If we spoil him, it’s just for these few days," Second Brother Song replied.

"Even when he’s not with you, you still send him plenty of things," Song Fenglan said. "Isn’t that showing your care too?"

"True, but it's not the same as being with him in person," Second Brother Song said. "Even Mom and Dad hardly ever get to see Hangbao."

"You've got an answer for everything," Song Fenglan sighed, feeling she had nothing left to add.

The Song family wanted to make it up to Song Fenglan, but being her age, she didn’t need much, so they focused on showing their care. Others might assume children in the city had life easy, but the Song family knew Song Fenglan had seen her share of hardship.

By the time the Song family returned to the city, Song Fenglan was already married with a child.

With Second Brother Song helping Qin Zihang by lightening his load, Qin Zihang made quick work of getting everything home.

Song Mother had a lot of cooking to do—chickens and ducks needed to be prepared. She planned to make smoked duck, chicken soup, and some taro-stuffed dumplings.

With the whole family working together, they could get everything done quicker, without too much dawdling.

Qin Zihang didn’t use the scrubbing brush—he grabbed the clothes brush to clean the taro, but fortunately Song Fenglan noticed in time. She quickly handed him another one, since Qin Zihang wouldn’t budge unless someone pointed out the right brush and placed it directly in his hand.

“Go on, scrub away,” Song Fenglan said.

“Is this the right brush?” Qin Zihang asked doubtfully.

“The one you’re holding is for clothes, not taro,” Song Fenglan explained. “Taro’s for eating. Even if you peel it, you shouldn’t use that brush. If you scrub taro with it and then wear the clothes, won’t you itch?”

Some folks get itchy from taro hairs. Song Fenglan figured she and Qin Yizhou were fine, but Qin Zihang was just a kid—his resistance wasn’t strong enough. They couldn’t let him use brushes carelessly.

“Second Brother, see? This kid’s impossible to keep tabs on,” Song Fenglan said.

“You rarely cook taro, don’t you?” Second Brother Song asked.

“Rarely,” Song Fenglan nodded. “But we wash sweet potatoes a lot—we steam or roast them for him sometimes. Roasted ones taste fine dirt or no dirt, but steamed ones have to be cleaned properly.”

Her point was that Qin Zihang wasn’t clueless about which brush to use—he was just being a kid, couldn’t be bothered. She had to remind him a few times so he’d form good habits.

At moments like this, Song Fenglan could understand how tough her mother must’ve found it to keep reminding her when she was young. Kids forget easily, and even if they remember, they think it doesn’t matter.

“Zi Hang, kiddo,” Zhang Xiaohu limped over on his crutch to find Qin Zihang. He’d wanted to play earlier, but Qin Zihang was either eating or out. Finally catching him at home, Zhang Xiaohu didn’t care whether his mom allowed it—he was coming over anyway.

“Xiao Hu! Bro!” Qin Zihang brightened, remembering the toys in his room. “My grandpa and grandma on Mom’s side, plus my Second Uncle, gave me new toys and stuff. Later, I’ll show you. Right now, I need to scrub taro.”

“You cooking taro?” Zhang Xiaohu asked.

“Yeah, boiling it,” Qin Zihang replied. “My grandma’s making it. I’ll save some for you.”

“Taro’s gross—some bits won’t soften!” Zhang Xiaohu wasn’t a fan. Auntie Fatty’s taro always stayed rock-hard no matter what. He hated that.

“My grandma *always* makes it delicious,” Qin Zihang insisted. “Just wait till you try it!”

“No way!” Zhang Xiaohu sounded doubtful.

“Way!” Qin Zihang dragged a small bamboo chair over for Zhang Xiaohu to sit.

Qin Yizhou spent a lot of time at home and had woven many bamboo chairs. With so many people around now, there were plenty to go around.

Since Zhang Xiaohu’s leg hadn’t healed yet, Qin Zihang didn’t let him help scrub taro—just sit and watch me scrub.

“My grandma picked these,” Qin Zihang said proudly. “She said Mom picks bad ones.”

He remembered watching Grandma and Song Fenglan choosing taro at the store. Song Fenglan thought some looked okay, but Grandma disagreed and set them aside. The clerk didn’t want them picking through the taro at first, but seeing their large group, he didn’t stop them. He even said, “Taro’s tricky—some just stay tough no matter how long you cook. Better pick carefully.”

“Grandma says taro can make dumplings, or cook with greens. Greens get all silky and yummy,” Qin Zihang added.

“My mom cooked greens with taro once—it was nasty,” Zhang Xiaohu said, certain Qin Zihang wouldn’t like it either. “She even sliced it and boiled forever, still hard.”

Another day, another dig at Mom’s cooking. Luckily, Auntie Fatty wasn’t here, or she’d have yanked his ear to hush him.

Second Brother Song listened to the two boys chat, noticing how close they were. Just now, Zhang Xiaohu followed Qin Zihang’s lead and called him “Second Uncle,” and he had responded.

The two kids talked nonstop about taro—the hairs, the dirt, the taste… One taro, so much to say. Second Brother Song couldn’t figure out why they found it so interesting, but they kept going at it happily.

Auntie Fatty knew Zhang Xiaohu went next door but didn’t drag him back. Once he made up his mind, stopping him was pointless. If adults tried, he’d throw a fit loud enough for the neighbors—Song Fenglan and her husband—to hear.

Eh, let him be. So what if folks think he’s greedy? At least he rushed over eagerly.

Auntie Fatty was getting a headache, but at least her eldest son was more sensible—he didn’t constantly think about running next door like his younger brother.

"This little brother of yours—no matter how many times I tell him not to go over, to wait another day, he refuses to listen," Auntie Fatty said.

"Mom, you told him yesterday he could go today," Zhang Wen replied.

"He was playing with Zi Hang all day yesterday," Auntie Fatty said.

"Usually, they hang out in the evenings too," Zhang Wen said, thinking that Zhang Xiaohu wouldn’t be able to resist. Not just Zhang Xiaohu—even he was curious about who had come next door and what they were like.

"Alright, let him go," Auntie Fatty relented. "Later, I’ll go bring him back."

She thought to herself that she couldn’t really let Zhang Xiaohu stay for dinner next door. The family rarely gathered together, and Zhang Xiaohu crashing their dinner would be awkward.

Before Song Fenglan and the others went out to buy groceries, Song’s mom had already prepped the dough.

By now, she had prepared the filling and was wrapping the buns, each one perfectly uniform, like they were stamped out. Song’s mom believed their homemade buns tasted better than store-bought ones—even the flour choice mattered. Fortunately, Song Fenglan usually paid attention to ingredients when cooking, and her mom approved of the flour she had on hand.

Besides buns, Song’s mom also made brown sugar steamed buns and plain steamed buns.

She could even shape the buns into different patterns, but this time she didn’t bother. Fancy buns would need veggie dyes, and they had too much to do today to spend extra time on decorations.

"You have quite a few tools here," Song’s mother remarked. "Steamers and everything."

"I’m no good at cooking, so I mostly make snacks for Zi Hang," Song Fenglan said. "Making pastries at home means we don’t have to buy them outside. Store-bought ones are expensive and hardly worth the price."

"True, homemade tastes better, and there’s more of it," Song’s mom agreed. "They’ll be ready to steam soon."

"Mm," Song Fenglan nodded.

"Will you give any away?" Song’s mom asked.

"Not too many," Song Fenglan said. "I can’t keep handing them out every time. I just sent some last weekend, so this time I won’t. At most, I’ll let the neighbor’s kids have a few, and maybe Uncle and Aunt can take some back with them."

Song Fenglan didn’t plan on giving away too much food. Doing so multiple times a month would require an impractical amount of supplies. With the rationing system now in place, exceeding limits meant paying high prices.

Though Song Fenglan’s status was different—relevant authorities even delivered monthly food supplies so she didn’t have to buy extra at high prices—she still knew her limits. Qin Yizhou and Qin Zihang were both men with hearty appetites, so they needed more food.

"Mom, don’t worry about us running out of food. We have enough," Song Fenglan assured her. "You’ve seen the rice and flour in the storage room—our unit sent them over just a couple days ago."

The research institute knew Song Fenglan’s family was visiting and that she’d need extra supplies, so they sent extra. The relevant personnel had everything prepared, so she didn’t have to stress over food. Her time shouldn’t be wasted on such trivial matters.

"If we run low, there’s still more," Song Fenglan added.

"They really look out for you," Song’s mom said, thinking her daughter must've really impressed them.

She didn’t know just how capable her daughter was, but the fact that others held her in such high regard had to mean something. Watching her daughter deftly wrap the buns, Song’s mom wondered how she had reached this point. She didn’t know, and she wouldn’t ask. All that mattered was that the woman in front of her was her daughter.

"Before we leave, I’ll make more and store them in your freezer," Song’s mom said.

"Sounds good," Song Fenglan nodded. "Freezing them means I can savor your buns later. Mom, your buns are delicious—the flavor is amazing."

"They’re passable," Song’s mom said, her hands never pausing.

Song’s mom wasn’t big on sightseeing in Nan City. They’d explore on their own once Song Fenglan was back at work.

After a while, Song’s mom finished steaming a batch of buns. While Zhang Xiaohu ate at Song Fenglan’s place, his older brother Zhang Wen was still at home. Not waiting for Song Fenglan, Song’s mom carried the bowl over to the neighbors herself.

"I’m Feng Lan’s mother. Since she’s here, we’ve caused you some trouble," Song’s mom said, handing the bowl of buns to Auntie Fatty. "Just a small token—please accept it."

"Don’t mention it!" Auntie Fatty quickly took the items. "Come on in for a bit?"

"No, I still need to head back," Feng Lan’s mom replied.

"Alright, alright, I’ll get this bowl washed for you," Auntie Fatty said.

Feng Lan’s mom lingered at the doorway, eyeing Auntie Fatty’s yard. The vegetables here looked better—clearly someone had been tending them carefully. Auntie Fatty was round and cheerful. On the other side of Feng Lan’s house was a small hillside; there weren’t any homes nearby.

Feng Lan’s mom just wanted to size up the neighbors—say a few words, nothing too long. She fretted Feng Lan might struggle with neighborly bonds, worried her daughter might be taken advantage of.

"Xiao Hu’s still over there—I’ll bring him back," Auntie Fatty said, stepping out with an empty bowl.

"Nah, let him eat with us," Feng Lan’s mom smiled. "Zi Hang really likes him. He insisted they eat together. Xiao Hu’s fine with it, and it makes Zi Hang’s day."

"How could he mind? Feng Lan’s the reason Xiao Hu’s so chubby and thriving," Auntie Fatty said. "That boy eats so much over there, and Zi Hang gave him tons of toys—hand-me-downs, but near-new! They’re great!"

Auntie Fatty flushed a little, not having done much in return. "Don’t worry, Auntie—if anyone dares give Feng Lan trouble, I’ll speak up."

She knew exactly what Feng Lan’s mom was thinking. As a mother herself, she understood that worry all too well—moms just want their kids safe and happy.

"Thanks for your help," Feng Lan’s mom said.

"No trouble at all!" Auntie Fatty quickly replied. Watching Feng Lan’s mom take the empty bowl back, she thought: *What a graceful woman.*

Auntie Fatty saw years of wisdom and quiet elegance in Feng Lan’s mom. No surprise Feng Lan grew up so sweet—her mother was already beautiful inside and out. She didn’t act fancy or talk down to people. Her voice was warm, like kin—like family.

Since Feng Lan’s mom had said so, Auntie Fatty left Xiao Hu next door. If he didn’t want to stay, he’d come back on his own.

She set the buns and rolls in front of her older boy. "Eat up—it’s still hot."

"Auntie brought over more food?" Zhang Wen asked.

"It’s from her mom," Auntie Fatty said. "They’re good people. Your little bro’s eating over there—Zi Hang invited him. You eat here."

She didn’t want to push it by sending Zhang Wen too. After all, Zi Hang was close with Xiao Hu, not him. It was plenty nice of them to share, and Zhang Wen got to enjoy some too.

This time, Feng Lan didn’t send anything to Fan Yani—she did that last weekend, which was enough. She took a bite of the bun. Tasted great.

"Mom, your buns are way better than mine. I could never get it like this," Feng Lan said.

"You can make them—you're just missing me," her mom teased. A daughter always thinks her mom’s cooking is best. It’s not just about taste—it’s about love.

"Of course I’m missing you," Feng Lan smiled. "I’m so glad you’re here."

"Eat then," her mom said. "But save your appetite—we’ve got dinner later."

"Mm-hmm." Feng Lan nodded.

"Mommy, sooo good!" Qin Zihang said to her.

"Huh?" Feng Lan looked at her son. Was he copying her? "Tell Grandma."

"Grandma, your buns are sooo good!" Zihang told her.

"Grandma, sooo good!" Zhang Xiaohu chimed in.

"Alright, alright," Feng Lan’s mom laughed. "You two dig in—try everything!"

"Thanks, Grandma," Zhang Xiaohu said sweetly.

When Professor Su and his wife arrived, the meal was almost ready. Mrs. Song invited them to the table. Upon seeing the dishes she had prepared, Mrs. Su was amazed at how rich and plentiful everything looked.

"So many dishes?" Mrs. Su exclaimed. "Fenglan mentioned learning pastries from you and said you're a great cook. Now I see it for myself—it really is impressive."

"Just everyday dishes," Mrs. Song said humbly.

Some of the dishes were ones she had learned after being sent to the farm, watching how locals cooked. She picked up what worked and made it her own. These days, in both cooking and conversation, Mrs. Song seemed quite ordinary—but there was still something about her that set her apart.

"These are real comfort food," Mrs. Su said.

Mr. Song poured wine for Professor Su, who took only a small sip—no more than that. Mr. Song didn’t press him, but simply raised his glass in gratitude.

"If Xingyun were still here, we wouldn’t even be needed for this," Professor Su said. "He was far better than me."

"You’re too kind," Mr. Song replied, deeply respectful of his elder brother, who had excelled academically and studied abroad. In every way, his brother had been remarkable. Yet fate had been cruel, denying him a long life. "Go ahead, dig in."

In front of Professor Su, Mr. Song acted like a younger brother. After all, Professor Su and Song Xingyun had been good friends, so naturally Mr. Song felt like family too. Though in age, they were close—Professor Su was only slightly older than Song Xingyun.

Song Fenglan called Professor Su "Uncle," which was a common term of respect. Those who knew Song Xingyun understood that Fenglan used the title based on their age difference. Many might not know Mr. Song, but they certainly knew of Song Xingyun.

Zhang Xiaohu had a limp, so Mrs. Song kept an eye on him, serving him extra food so he could eat well. When he saw meat in his bowl, he was clearly happy.

Mrs. Song gave chicken drumsticks to Professor and Mrs. Su, while the smaller chicken wings went to Zhang Xiaohu and Qin Zihang—one each—along with smoked duck and other dishes. Mrs. Song made sure Zhang Xiaohu got plenty, thinking since he was a little older than Qin Zihang, he should have a bit more.

"Thank you," Zhang Xiaohu remembered to say. He was eating happily and telling Qin Zihang how delicious everything was.

"Try these taro dumplings—they’re amazing!" Qin Zihang said, picking one up for Zhang Xiaohu. When the slippery dumpling proved tricky, he speared it with his chopsticks and handed it over. "They’re delicious—I had some already."

"I’ll try," Zhang Xiaohu said, taking a bite. His eyes lit up. "So good!"

"Told you! My grandma’s cooking is the best," Qin Zihang boasted. "Eat up, don’t hold back!"

Qin Zihang kept eating too, never slowing down. The boys ate happily, with Qin Zihang enthusiastically introducing different dishes to Zhang Xiaohu—even though he himself still needed help getting food onto his plate.

After dinner, the boys lounged on the couch digesting, while Song Fenglan turned on the TV for them.

Mrs. Su tried to help clean up, but Mrs. Song waved her off. Since they weren’t needed in the kitchen, Professor and Mrs. Su went out for a walk.

A plate of sliced fruit sat on the coffee table, so the boys could snack a little more.

Kids burn through food fast—they weren’t likely to get overly full, and the portions hadn’t been excessive anyway.

Mrs. Song and Qin Yizhou took care of the dishes while Song Fenglan left for the research institute. She wasn’t scheduled to work late, but since others were staying late, someone must have called or come looking for her.

Mrs. Song had hoped Fenglan wouldn’t keep pulling extra hours, especially today when it was supposed to be her day off. She had rested during the day, yet right after dinner she was back at work.

This made Mrs. Song shoot Qin Yizhou a look or two, but it didn’t matter. Before, when Qin Yizhou was in Nancheng and Song Fenglan in the capital, she had raised their child alone without help. Now it was Qin Yizhou’s turn to step up as a dad.

"Mom, Fenglan will be back soon," Qin Yizhou said. "Things are just hectic right now. Normally, she spends plenty of time at home."

"I’m not bothered, but you..."

"I’m in the service," Qin Yizhou said. He was Song Fenglan’s husband, yes, but also a soldier. His job was to keep her safe and handle things at home so she could focus without worry.

Not sure how to make Mrs. Song understand, he fell silent. That was all he could say.

"Alright." Mother Song understood after hearing these words.

Even if Qin Yizhou was dissatisfied, she wasn't afraid. The worst that could happen was her daughter and son-in-law splitting up. No matter how strong their past affection had been, or how much help Qin Yizhou had given them, when things reached that point, separation was inevitable.

"I'd liked Feng Lan long before we got married," Qin Yizhou thought while washing dishes. Reflecting on the past, he felt fortunate that he and Song Fenglan were together and married. He had appeared just in time when she was being set up—"This feeling will only grow deeper."

At the research institute, an issue arose with the experimental data, so Song Fenglan came to take a look. Others had examined it but couldn't identify the problem, so they needed her input. If they waited until she returned to work, it would cause further delays.

The graduate students under other professors eyed Song Fenglan nervously. "Could it be that the equipment is broken?"