For someone who had almost never experienced hardship like Fang Zichen, it was unimaginable.
Most families in this village were poor, eating meat no more than twice a year. The Ma family would never leave any meat as leftovers.
Poor Zhao Ger and his son.
Zhao Ger said: "I'll take it to the kitchen to heat it up."
"I'll go with you." Fang Zichen followed.
Guaizai also ran over: "Guaizai will go too! Guaizai will help Daddy!"
The two plates were piled high with meat, the three of them definitely couldn't finish it. Zhao Ger hesitated for a moment and said: "There's a lot of meat. I... I was thinking of giving some to Aunt Liu's family."
A few days ago, he had bought some cotton and asked Aunt Liu to help make a quilt. He tried to give her silver, but Aunt Liu refused. Giving them some meat would be returning a favor.
"Do as you see fit!" Fang Zichen didn't mind. He wasn't craving pork anymore. "Just keep enough for the three of us to eat. If you like it, I'll bring more back for you later."
When Zhao Ger arrived, Aunt Liu's family was cooking. Seeing he had brought meat, they hurriedly refused, saying they couldn't accept it.
Zhao Ger said: "My husband brought it back from the restaurant. We didn't spend any silver. He doesn't really like meat much now, and Guaizai and I can't eat that much. It would just go bad if we kept it."
Only then did Aunt Liu and Zhou Ger accept it.
Zhou Ger didn't have much culinary skill, or perhaps their standard of living limited them. Their meals rotated between stir-fried vegetables and boiled vegetables. Occasionally, when they bought meat, it was just boiled together with the vegetables. The vegetables, flavored with the grease, tasted much better.
Most households were like this, without much culinary skill to speak of.
Zhao Ger had brought over more than half of both meat dishes. Zhou Ger heated them all together and served them on one large, heaping plate. The aroma carried far and wide.
The old woman from next door smelled it and came out, leaning on Zhou Ger's courtyard wall, swallowing saliva. She asked: "Zhou Ger, what are you cooking today? It smells so good."
She had just eaten, but smelling this made her feel hungry again.
Zhou Ger replied: "Fang Zichen brought some meat back from the restaurant, and Zhao Ger gave us some."
"Is that so!" The old woman's gaze fell on the nearly overflowing plate of meat in his hand, unconsciously swallowing another mouthful of saliva.
Fang Zichen was really, truly successful. Not only did he earn three taels a month, he could also bring meat back. The old woman felt envious.
There was a whole scallion oil chicken. Zhao Ger had kept half. The pork belly was somewhat fatty. Thinking Fang Zichen didn't like fatty meat, he only kept a few pieces for themselves.
Aunt Liu gave Liuliu a chicken leg and picked a piece of chicken breast for Zhou Ger: "Eat."
"Thank you, Grandma." Liuliu took a big bite and exclaimed how delicious it was.
Uncle Liu ate the pork belly and commented: "It really is food made by a big restaurant. When Zhou Ger was stir-frying it in the kitchen earlier, I could smell it. It's truly delicious."
"If the food wasn't good, would people spend big silver to go there to eat?" Aunt Liu said. "Zhao Ger is someone who knows how to be grateful. When he has something good to eat, he remembers us."
"Yes," Uncle Liu also said. "Who in any household doesn't hide away any food they have? Talking about it going bad? Even if it's bad, isn't it still meat? The nights are cool now. If you're afraid it will spoil, just fetch a bucket of water from the river and let it soak in there. At most, it'll smell a little off by tomorrow morning."
Without refrigerators, their ancestors had plenty of ways to preserve food.
Those with wells at home would lower it into the well.
Putting it in an oil jar or stir-frying it drier, with more salt, could also make it last a long time.
As long as your thinking doesn't slip downhill, there are always more methods than difficulties.
Aunt Liu nodded in agreement: "Zhao Ger has really made it through hard times. Maybe in the future he can even become a scholar's fulang."
Zhou Ger thought so too, but the meat was delicious. Talk could happen anytime; right now, eating the meat was more important.
When Zhao Ger returned home, they started their meal.
One chicken could yield two legs. Zhao Ger wrapped one leg in a vegetable leaf, planning to give it to Xiao Feng tomorrow.
Yesterday morning, Xiao Feng had brought him firewood, wearing only a worn-out, thin garment. His small hands were exposed. He didn't know if it was due to recent overwork, but Xiaofeng had grown noticeably thinner—his face was gaunt and sallow, his frame so emaciated he was little more than skin and bones. His old clothes from two years ago now hung loosely about his frail body.
Guaizai used both hands to grab the chicken leg and gnaw on it. The chicken, stir-fried again, was especially flavorful. It was a free-range village chicken, the meat firm and a bit tough. His strength was small, and his hands weren't even as big as the chicken leg. It was unclear how he was eating it, his little face looked almost ferocious, pulling and tugging. Grease smeared up to his ears and elbows, with a few bits of scallion stuck to his forehead and the tip of his nose, making him resemble a thoroughly messy kitten.
Fang Zichen found it amusing. Putting down his chopsticks, he asked: "Son, is the chicken delicious?"
"Yesh," Guaizai was still struggling with the chicken leg. His little mouth bit into it, and with one strong pull—it was too greasy to hold properly—the chicken leg went whoosh, flying out and landing on the ground with a pat.
Guaizai was utterly stunned.
Fang Zichen laughed again.
Guaizai jumped down from his stool to pick it up. The chicken leg had some dirt on it. He pouted his oily little mouth and blew on it twice, but the leg was oily and wet; blowing didn't remove the dirt. Fang Zichen said: "Throw it away. It's dirty. There's more here."
"Still can eat." Guaizai patted it and said, "There's still meat on it. Can't waste."
Zhao Ger put down his chopsticks and walked over: "Give it to Daddy. Daddy will go wash it."
The washed chicken leg was placed back on the plate, rolled in the sauce, and became delicious again.
Fang Zichen watched the scene, utterly stunned.
As someone raised in privilege, he had never witnessed such a scene. His chest tightened with a complex, indescribable emotion.
Fang Zichen doted on his son. At this moment, he wished he could take a knife to the backyard, slaughter all those chickens, and let his son eat his fill.
After eating his fill of chicken, the next day Guaizai got up, didn't even bother with breakfast, grabbed his bamboo tube and a stick, and rushed out excitedly.
Today he would dig more worms, feed the chickens until they were full, so they would grow up big and could be killed!
Chicken meat was the most delicious.
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