I Backed Down in the Siheyuan, and the More I Thought About It, the Angrier I Got

Lin Si is reborn in 1954 as an apprentice cook at the Friendship Hotel.

The first thing he sees when he opens his eyes is his seven-year-old sister leaning over the edge of the kang, her cheekbones protruding with hunger. She whispers, “Big brother, I’m hungry.”

A Food Replication System explodes to life in his mind. Any dish he makes with his own hands can be copied infinitely. Cornmeal porridge, red-braised pork, Dongpo pork knuckle: while other families stretch half a jin of meat with ration coupons across an entire month, he can feed his whole family until they’re stuffed with just half a jin.

But in an era of rationed grain, having the smell of meat waft through the house every day is the greatest sin of all. Lin Si is no pushover. After spending his previous life swallowing his anger, his philosophy this time around can be summed up in seven words: If you can hit them, don’t argue.