Chapter 64

The winter days grew colder, and not a trace of withered yellow remained on the branches. The kitchen of the Cheng family in Dali Village was bustling with activity, and a constant, mouth-watering aroma wafted through the gaps in the window. Cheng Nuo, still wearing an ill-fitting apron, darted back and forth between the stoves. The braised meat, having simmered since the previous night, was perfectly tender; even the toughest cuts, like the pig’s head and trotters, fell apart at the slightest touch. The kitchen of their neighbor, Old Shan, had also been requisitioned. Mother Cheng was wielding a heavy iron spatula with such vigor that she looked like a battle-hardened general sweeping across a field. Every now and then, flames would leap up from beneath the pot, only to be effortlessly quelled by a deft flick of her wrist. Aunt Shan stood by, feeding wood into the stove, clapping her hands in sheer amazement, her eyes wide with wonder.