The mornings and evenings were cool, while the noon heat was strong, so Lu Liu put on an extra jacket before getting busy.
He chopped meat and prepared a filling to make clear soup meatballs. This dish could also include spinach. Light, nourishing, with both meat and vegetables, it was perfect for times when one wasn’t very hungry.
His brother tended to have a poor appetite in summer, eating very little each meal. After going out today and getting heated in the sun, his appetite was further reduced, so a bowl of clear soup meatballs would help.
For a meal to accompany rice, Lu Liu knew it wasn’t only about heavy flavors or lots of seasoning. He had been experimenting these months and realized that a simple stir-fried vegetable could also serve as a satisfying side—light and easy on the stomach.
At home, most dishes were rich in sauces, so today he stir-fried some winter melon slices.
There was also lotus root, which he knew his brother didn’t like. From observation, his brother avoided hard foods. Winter melon, by contrast, could be stewed until it melted into the soup—soft and tender.
With just three people at home, after preparing one soup and one vegetable dish, Lu Liu couldn’t manage more. Zhao Peilan took over and made a stir-fried mushroom and egg dish, rounding out the meal.
Afterward, they carried the dishes into the house. Lu Liu prepared a small bowl of clear soup meatballs for Weimeng, his little dog, and separately cooked some noodles to mix into the meatball soup. By breaking a few meatballs into it and stirring, it became a proper meal for the dog.
The puppy was in the bonding stage, recognizing its master. Lu Liu set up the dog’s food for his brother to feed later. At noon, Zhao Peilan had fed it; when the puppy grew older and fully recognized its master, Lu Liu could play with it and help feed it.
With everything ready, Lu Liu habitually walked to the door to peek into the alley.
The neighbors were also cooking. They had initially confused the brothers—thinking Lu Yang was the one with the large belly—but now everyone knew the pregnant one was Lu Liu, while the thin one was his brother.
Opening the door, someone asked what they were cooking. “Smells great!”
Lu Liu smiled. “Stir-fried winter melon, spinach and egg drop soup, and a mushroom and egg stir-fry.”
He was careful not to boast about having both meat and eggs at home. With a pregnant husband, three people only needed a modest meal with a few eggs.
While speaking, he saw Lu Yang enter the alley and wave. “Brother!”
Lu Yang laughed. “What are you doing out here? It’s getting late and cool—come inside.”
Lu Liu smiled but stayed at the door, waiting for him. Not minding the dust and sweat on his brother, he linked arms with Lu Yang as they entered together, chattering like a little sparrow about the dishes he had prepared.
Learning embroidery was rather dull and monotonous. If Lu Yang hadn’t promised Boss Ding early on, he wouldn’t have kept his brother at home—he would have taken him out to play.
Yet Lu Liu found joy in it, stitching all day without much self-praise, making Zhao Peilan blush with his compliments.
Lu Yang entered and brought in water heated from the stove. Now cooled to a comfortable temperature, it was just right for washing faces and hands.
Lu Liu continued to explain every dish he’d made, why he made them, and urged Lu Yang to try them. Two bites, and half a bowl of rice would be gone.
Not long after returning, Lu Yang was surrounded by his brother’s chatter, his ears full of good news, his face smiling stiffly.
He reached out and rubbed Lu Liu’s cheek. “Do you always pamper the Lís at home like this? I wondered why his mouth was all crooked from smiling—so it’s you who’s making him happy!”
Lu Liu chuckled. “I’m not pampering, just telling the truth. All the truth.”
Lu Yang first helped him sit down and asked Zhao Peilan, “Shall we go out for a stroll tonight? August, not far from Mid-Autumn, curfew in the county is relaxed. I hear there are puppet shows—let’s go watch together?”
Zhao Peilan hadn’t seen a puppet show in years. She was tempted but wary of the crowd.
Lu Yang pointed to Lu Liu’s belly. “We’ll hold him on either side, the three of us together—no one will bump into us.”
Lu Liu immediately understood and looked at Zhao Peilan. “Auntie, come with us! I rarely come to the county, I want to see the puppet show—never seen one in my life! Please take us!”
Zhao Peilan nodded, serving Lu Yang a bowl of clear soup meatballs to finish first.
Looking at the bowl, Lu Yang suddenly laughed. Not much food, but enough for him.
After finishing the meal, Lu Yang fed Weimeng, who wouldn’t go out tonight but sleep in its temporary kennel in the woodshed. Then the three of them headed out to see the puppet show.
The county’s puppet theater had no new productions. “The Cowherd and the Weaver Girl” ran all year, yet they enjoyed it immensely, applauding repeatedly.
August had no Qixi festival; the Mid-Autumn Festival on the fifteenth was what they looked forward to.
They wondered if those who had gone to the prefectural city would be able to return home for a reunion.
Carrying heavy loads, exerting great effort.
Following the crowd, eating thin porridge with steamed buns.
At noon, they squatted or sat along the wall, eating and drinking, unable to stop talking.
Erjun missed his husband’s salted duck eggs—rich, oozing with oil, fragrant and delicious, perfect with porridge.
Sihou missed his husband’s cucumber salad with peanuts—green cucumber, red peanut, crisp and fragrant. Even plain rice would go down with two bowls of it.
Sanmiao didn’t want porridge or buns; he longed for sesame pancakes. No one in the village grew sesame, but after marriage, he ate it often—baked into pancakes, added to rice cakes, even in dumplings, fragrant and flavorful.
Wang Meng laughed at their desires, calling them childish.
He craved a large pork hock. His husband cooked it expertly—one fire made the meat tender, nearly falling off the bone, hot yet delicious. True fragrance meant eating big bites of meat!
Li Feng listened and thought deeply.
Lu Liu put care into cooking, always noticing what his husband liked. Fresh vegetables were prepared in two dishes; if he drank little water, soup was made. If he did physical labor, meat was portioned accordingly.
Savings were quiet—meat incorporated into several dishes without reducing flavor.
Even a simple bowl of pickled vegetables, with diced meat and tofu, turned a dark, plain dish into something savory and chewy.
A winter fish soup, carefully prepared from killing, filleting, and removing the fishy taste from bones, resulted in tender, boneless fish and flavorful, rich broth.
Even stolen bites of pork hock at night were more interesting than normal large bites.
His little husband was unpicky—vegetables from the fields, ingredients from the mountains—he accepted them all and loved experimenting.
Eating vegetarian was fine; meat was fine too, and satisfaction was easy.
Li Feng sipped his porridge, thinking of his husband’s slow-cooked clay pot porridge.
Simmered over residual stove heat, the porridge was thick, rice fully softened, partially baked along the pot edges into a crust—simply fragrant.
Lu Liu sometimes added shredded meat, diced meat, or greens. Even if the sides were slightly overcooked from long simmering, he still enjoyed them.
As the five brothers talked, they sighed—they missed home.
Nearby, Xiao Hong at the dock sat on a straw mat, eating porridge and buns.
He laughed. “You’re different—coming here, and still thinking about your husband at home.”
Around the docks, there were many secret courtesans. These strong laborers were easily persuaded; the courtesans would whisper tender words, calling him “big brother” and expressing care, pitying their hard work, saying they asked for nothing but to prepare him a good meal and warm bed, so he could eat well, sleep well, and have someone who cared for him while away.
