Chapter 67: Digging Another Vole Nest, The Joyful Cabbage and Meat Sauce Soup

Mingdai and the others rose early; in the distance, the salted egg yolk of a sun had only just begun to peek above the horizon. Zhou Sinian glanced at the newborn sun, then at Mingdai’s basket, imagining the salted duck eggs he’d thought about all night nestled within.

With the promise of salted duck eggs spurring him on, Zhou Sinian threw himself into the day's work with zeal. Once they left the shantytown, he scooped Mingdai up and began sprinting toward the hillside.

Liu Guoqiang and Sister Huang were startled and hurried after them, but could only catch a glimpse of their receding figures before they disappeared along the mountain path.

Panting, the two exchanged a glance and pressed on. By the time they arrived at the field, Zhou Sinian had already dug open a hole and was smashing a field mouse.

Mingdai waited for him to finish, then told him to move on to the next hole. She and Sister Huang would handle gathering the dead field mice and clearing the burrows.

Zhou Sinian had an uncanny knack for this work: nearly every hole he chose was the right one, and no field mouse could escape his eagle eyes—whether they fell to his spade or were pinned by his swiftly-thrown bayonet.

All Mingdai and the others needed to do was clear the holes.

As they worked, they heard others approaching. Mingdai turned to see people from Shangwan Village, led by a bruised and battered Pan Box. They lingered not far off, watching but not daring to come closer. Mingdai ignored them and continued with her work.

Pan Box watched the group bustling with activity—especially how Mingdai’s trio had already dug out half a sack of grain in no time—and could not help but covet their haul.

“Captain! Let’s go too!” someone beside him urged impatiently.

Pan Box eyed the man energetically wielding the spade on the slope, touched his still aching face, and after a moment’s thought, said, “Let’s head straight for the lower hollow! There are even more field mice there!”

So the group rushed off in a hurry.

Mingdai watched them leave without concern and kept on clearing burrows. The field mice here were truly greedy—each hole yielded no less than ten catties of grain!

Especially soybeans; perhaps because the area bordered wasteland, and soybeans were often planted in such places.

By the time they finished searching this stretch of hillside, Zhou Sinian put down his tools and, with a grim face, went to find Mingdai.

Sister Huang and Liu Guoqiang shrank back at his fierce expression, not daring to speak.

Mingdai, however, calmly dusted off her hands, fetched her basket, poured out some water, and first washed his hands for him. Then she took out a rolled flatbread from her backpack and handed it to him.

Zhou Sinian accepted it, his expression softening, but he still eyed the basket expectantly. Mingdai produced a salted duck egg. “Only one—you mustn’t eat too many. They’re salty. Eat it in small bites with the flatbread.”

Zhou Sinian nodded obediently, sat on a stump with the oil-paper-wrapped flatbread, and gently tapped the egg on his forehead, rolled it, and deftly peeled away the shell to reveal snowy white egg white. He took a small bite, and the reddish oil oozed out, bringing a satisfied smile to his face.

Mingdai called the other two over. “Sister, Accountant Liu, come—let’s eat something and rest.”

Sister Huang and Accountant Liu shook their heads, swallowing as they eyed the white flatbread in Mingdai’s hand.

Mingdai simply broke the bread into three parts. “Here, let’s share.”

After her repeated urging, the two finally joined them, washed their hands, and each took a palm-sized piece of flatbread, savoring it in small bites.

Stuffed inside the flatbread were little fried fish with green chili peppers—not spicy, but fragrant—and the more they chewed, the better it tasted.

Sister Huang sighed once again that coming to help build the reservoir had truly been the right choice!

Accountant Liu, on the other hand, felt a surge of sympathy for Mingdai. It must be with such tasty food that she was able to keep the madman in line. Who knew if her father’s veteran’s pension would last?

Zhou Sinian had none of these worries. After finishing one, he naturally reached for a second flatbread from Mingdai. When both were gone, he poured himself some hot water from the thermos, drank, and—without needing instructions—returned to work.

The four of them toiled for another two hours, searching most of the mountain and turning up nearly forty mouse holes. They caught over 150 field mice and filled two large sacks with grain.

Seeing the sun climb higher, they knew it was time to return and cook.

Once again, Zhou Sinian shouldered the sacks and strode ahead, basket on his back, with Mingdai close behind. Sister Huang and Liu Guoqiang brought up the rear, carrying the sack of dead field mice.

This time, they looped around behind the shantytown, so the workers at the construction site didn’t see them.

The people of Liujiawan were a bit anxious, wondering if they’d have meat to eat today.

Back at the shanty, Zhou Sinian stored the grain, then joined Mingdai in carrying cabbages to the river to wash.

Sister Huang and Liu Guoqiang stayed behind to prepare the rice and heat water, with Mingdai giving them a packet of dried ginger to boil.

Today was even colder than yesterday, and the river water was icy. Mingdai helped remove the cabbage roots while Zhou Sinian washed them.

After washing a large basketful, both their hands were red as carrots.

Back at the shanty, Mingdai set Zhou Sinian to tearing cabbage leaves while she cut the stalks into strips and deboned the leftover field mouse meat from last night, chopping it into a paste.

Once the rice was steamed, Mingdai began to cook.

She started with a quick stir-fry of cabbage stalks—vinegar-splashed cabbage with Sichuan peppercorns and dried chili peppers, fragrant and crisp, whetting everyone’s appetites.

Without washing the wok, she added water, brought it to a boil, tossed in the shredded cabbage leaves for blanching, then threw in two handfuls of coarse grain flour from the commune, stirring until the soup thickened.

At last, she added the freshly chopped meat paste, stirred once, and a pot of cabbage and meat soup was ready.

When the workday ended, everyone rushed over.

Mingdai and her team had already poured out two large basins of hot water. Everyone scrubbed the mud from their hands and soaked them in the hot water, feeling their spirits return.

As before, each person received a cup of ginger tea—though this time, the portion was much smaller.

People were puzzled. Sister Huang explained that there would be cabbage and meat soup today, and excitement spread.

Lining up, each person received a bowl of hot soup. Even though the meat was hard to spot, the floating oil droplets and the occasional morsel of meat that found its way between their teeth elicited exclamations.

“I got some meat! About the size of my pinky nail!”

“I got some too! The size of my index fingernail!”

Good-natured laughter rang out in Liujiawan’s shantytown, a stark contrast to the somber mood in other villages.

After the soup, there was rice and vinegar-splashed cabbage.

Many people glanced enviously at Mingdai, who squatted by the stove eating. “It’s all just cabbage—how does Comrade Ming make it taste so good? My wife’s cabbage tastes like pig slop!”

An aunt nearby teased, “Watch it, Liu Dacheng! I’ll tell Guixiang when we get back and see if she doesn’t twist your ear off.”

The man quickly turned away. “I didn’t say a thing, you heard wrong!”

The crowd burst out laughing again.

Sister Huang, meanwhile, couldn’t stop smiling at the half sack of field mice. Once they finished searching the rest of the mountain in the afternoon, she’d freeze the whole lot and see if she could take a couple home for her boys, Iron Egg and Dog Egg, to try.

The children would surely love them!