At seventeen, Jiang Wan’s biggest worries were that the rice jar was nearly empty and her younger sister’s shoes were almost worn through.
Then, just at that moment, Lu Zheng returned after seven years away from the village.
One was a country girl whose parents had both died, supporting her family with a generations-old talent for cooking. The other was her former fiancé, a quiet, dependable man who had left the army to return to farming. They had long held each other in their hearts, yet when they met, she was busy selling braised eggs with her head bowed, while all he could say was:
“Jiang Wan, I’m back.”
After they married, Jiang Wan stayed by the stove, turning ordinary ingredients into countless delicious dishes. Lu Zheng hunted in the mountains and traveled to trade, working to build a future for their family.
They carried their goods to market, set up stalls and saved money. They repaired a mill and opened a shop, weathering unpaid debts, damaged goods, and a low point when they nearly lost everything. No fortune fell from the sky. They built their livelihood coin by coin, and whenever the cooking fire went out, they lit it again.
Years later, the Jiang family’s restaurant finally hung out its sign in town.
The Qingxi River still flowed, and cooking smoke still curled into the sky. Through all four seasons, a home shared by two and three meals a day: the once-impoverished little household had finally grown warm and bustling.
