Chapter 11: Cooking Rice

Early summer rain always caught you off guard.

It seemed the sun had just ducked behind clouds, promising cool shade. But the next moment, a downpour crashed down.

Sang Shen, chopping firewood with a rusty axe at the door, was drenched head to toe. Yet he didn’t rush inside. Instead, he scrambled to save the scattered pile of freshly split wood.

No firewood, no fire. That meant another lunch of instant noodles.

Noodles weren’t bad, but with Yin Xing here, Sang Shen wanted her to eat something nutritious.

The house had only bacon from Cousin and wild greens picked by the hillside. Still, he thought it beat noodles by a mile.

“Rain came out of nowhere. Good thing I saved some wood. The rest… needs to dry before we can use it.”

Sang Shen stood by the door, wiping sweat, feeling the damp air. He sighed but quickly reassured himself.

“No big deal, this is enough for today and tomorrow. Time to start the fire and cook…”

He turned, only to jump at the sight of a green-haired girl. She’d silently moved a small chair to the door, sitting like a forest sprite behind him.

“Wah! Yin Xing? Weren’t you napping at the table? When’d you get here?”

“…Hungry.”

“Right, right, I’m starting now. Just half an hour… uh, an hour! It’ll be ready soon!”

“…”

“An hour’s the slowest. It’ll be faster, promise!”

No time to rest, Sang Shen got busy.

It wasn’t complicated. He dug out two old metal lunch boxes with lids from the kitchen. Poured rinsed rice in, added water.

Then, using a clothes pole, he took down bacon hanging from a beam. With a fruit knife, he cut off a small chunk and hung the rest back up.

Not that he preferred the fruit knife—it was just the only one not rusted. Sharpened with a whetstone, it could still cut.

The cutting board echoed with slow, rhythmic chops.

He sliced the bacon into thick pieces, rinsed them, and tossed them into a lunch box.

Why not thin slices? His knife skills weren’t that good.

Back at the door, the wood in the converted gas canister stove burned steadily. He set both lunch boxes on it, added more durable firewood, and, under Yin Xing’s gaze, returned to the kitchen.

Just bacon rice felt too plain, so he planned a soup—using the wild greens.

In the city, he didn’t know these weed-like plants were edible. Only after hard times in the countryside did he learn.

When you’re starving, you find ways to eat.

He’d even eaten bugs once. Maybe because he was so hungry, they didn’t taste bad…

Today’s greens were called “red greens” locally, similar to red amaranth but distinct.

Wild greens always had a bitter edge, so the first step was rinsing and blanching.

To add flavor, they needed salting. Coarse salt was better, but the house had only fine salt, so it’d do.

“Soup it is… simpler. Uh, I think there’s a big enamel mug in the cupboard…”

Sang Shen muttered, rummaging in the kitchen. After a while, he found the mug under a stack of porcelain bowls.

The mug read, “To Educated Youth Sent Down: March Toward the Four Modernizations.”

As a kid, he didn’t get it. Now, knowing some history, he guessed its age.

“Thirty or forty years old…”

Sang Shen mumbled, washing the dusty mug in the stainless steel sink. He rinsed the blanched, salted greens again, tossed them in, and filled the mug halfway with water.

Not too much, to avoid spills.

“Oh… should’ve heated oil first. Whatever… adding vegetable oil now should work…”

It was a simple lunch, but he was sweating buckets.

After setting the enamel mug on the stove, Sang Shen exhaled.

Yin Xing looked exhausted, curled up in her chair, knees hugged. Her pale green hair fell messily, making her small frame seem frailer.

Before he could look longer, her phone nearly slipped from her hand. He dove to catch it.

“Phew… close call… Future phones don’t look as tough as Nokias…”

He cradled the sleek, all-white phone, save for its screen. It looked fragile, like glass, but beautiful—like art.

Yin Xing seemed unaware of the commotion, still as ancient jade.

He opened the camera, snapping a shot of her delicate profile.

Her face was too beautiful, unhidden even by plain school clothes.

Judging by looks was wrong, but with a face like that, Sang Shen felt he’d forgive her anything…

“…What’re you looking at.”

“Ah…! You’re awake…”

Sang Shen coughed, fumbling the phone back to the home screen.

“Your phone almost fell. I caught it…”

“…”

She kept staring. Sang Shen blurted his earlier thought.

“Maybe pretty women get special treatment because they’re too beautiful, so they become self-centered?”

“…Who said only pretty women are selfish.”

“Huh?”

“The uglier they are, the more self-important.”

Yin Xing turned away, her long hair swaying.

“Women are just low creatures.”

Sang Shen gave a wry smile, not arguing. He gently smoothed her hair, like a comfort.

“Don’t touch me.”

“Oh… sorry.”

“…”

“Feeling any better?”

“…”

“It’s okay, talk more. Letting it out helps.”

“It’s not letting out.”

Yin Xing’s brows furrowed, her eyes locking onto his.

“It’s stating facts.”

“Talking’s good either way, right?”

For some reason, she seemed angry. She turned from Sang Shen, staring at the burning firewood. Her eyes lost focus.

The air grew quiet. Only the hum of insects, the patter of rain, and the occasional crackle of sparks filled the space.

A Story magazine would be nice to pass the time… Sang Shen’s mind wandered.

Then came a clanging sound.

The soup was boiling, steam rattling the mug’s lid.

The rice wasn’t ready, so he took the mug off, setting it on the red lacquered table.

It was summer—cool soup was fine. Maybe better. Or good for soaking rice later.

Muttering to himself, he sat back by the stove.

When his parents were around, he never worried about when food would be ready. Everything was arranged. He just waited to be called to eat.

Village life was different. Everything was hands-on, and no rice cooker…

“If I cooked at home often, a rice cooker would be nice. But too many things to buy—”

He mumbled.

“Last time, buying tons at once made life miserable for months…”

His thoughts drifted.

To his past life, two years in the countryside.

No big waves, just quiet loneliness.

He was tired of living alone. Even with Yin Xing, hard to talk to, he felt a faint happiness.

Especially since she was another him, from the future. A certainty she wouldn’t leave.

No need to bend over backward to please her. Just treat her sincerely.

His lips curved. He pictured Yin Xing smiling, chasing butterflies on a grassy hill. For a moment, he thought if he could see her that happy, he’d be content even with days left to live.

“…It’s out.”

“…Ah!!!”

Sang Shen snapped back, tossing wood into the stove. Then, remembering, he reached to lift the lunch box lid.

It burned, nearly knocking him off the stool.

“Ow—ah—!”

Blowing on his hand, he wrapped a rag around the box’s edge, moved it to another stool, and pried the lid off with chopsticks.

Steam rose, rice aroma filling the air.

Just plain white rice, but it made him wipe drool.

“Bit scorched, but no big deal… The crust might taste better.”

He swallowed, glancing at Yin Xing, who looked drained of her last strength.

“Almost ready. Let’s eat at the table!”

“…”

“No energy?”

Sang Shen, apologetic, covered the lunch box. Like lifting a kitten, he scooped her under her arms and carried her to the red lacquered table.

…She was so light.

That was his only thought as he held her.