Chapter 177: Stuffed Tofu

Tonight, dinner was served later than usual throughout the village, but no one complained. After all, there was tofu to eat, and everyone was willing to wait — including the children at the school.

The last time they had tofu was vaguely remembered to be a year ago.

There had never been a plan for soybean cultivation in the village. At most, a few villagers grew some in front or behind their houses — and even then, it wasn’t always soybeans.

At home, Zhou Yimin was chopping up some minced meat.

“Yimin, what are you making the filling for?” Grandpa asked.

Dumplings? Or maybe meatballs?

Zhou Yimin smiled. “I’m making stuffed tofu for everyone. I heard it’s a Hakka dish.”

Stuffed tofu wasn’t a complicated dish — the main ingredients were tofu and pork.

The method was to cut the tofu into small cubes, dig a small pit in the center of each with a spoon, then pack the seasoned minced meat into the holes.

To cook, oil was added to a pan, and the stuffed tofu pieces were placed in, pan-fried over medium heat until lightly golden. A bit of water was added, the lid covered, and the tofu simmered for fifteen minutes until the meat was cooked through. Then, a mixture of starch, soy sauce, a bit of sugar, and water was used to create a thickened sauce, which was poured over the tofu before serving.

This dish was said to have originated in Lingnan. The story goes that two people went to a restaurant to eat together. One wanted tofu, the other pork, and the two argued endlessly. The restaurant owner came up with a clever solution: mash the pork, season it, stuff it into tofu, pan-fry and simmer it — creating a dish that satisfied both. And thus, stuffed tofu was born.

“Sounds good. We’re in for a treat.” Grandpa had never tried it before, but as long as his eldest grandson was cooking, he believed it would be delicious.

Once the meat filling was chopped, Zhou Yimin marinated it and set it aside.

By around eight in the evening, the tofu had finally set and was ready to be distributed. Under the guidance of the old village secretary, a large bowl was cut and given to Zhou Yimin’s family first.

Next was the school kitchen — the students were all waiting for their dinner!

The little ones were staring wide-eyed in anticipation.

Inside the classroom, Teacher Xiaolan lit oil lamps to brighten up the room. These lamps had been provided by Zhou Yimin — four per classroom, enough to light up the entire space.

“Everyone sit properly,” Teacher Xiaolan instructed the children.

No child dared to misbehave in front of the teacher. They all sat obediently in their seats, their bowls and chopsticks placed neatly on their desks.

Next, Xiaolan began to tell them a story.

Storytime was actually part of the curriculum — the teacher would narrate stories to the students.

“Now, I’ll tell you a story — Mr. Dongguo and the Wolf. Once the story’s over, we’ll eat.” Xiaolan began sharing the fable.

Last week’s story had been The Boy Who Cried Wolf.

This week’s tale was about the kind-hearted Mr. Dongguo, who rescued a wolf being hunted. But the wolf turned on him and tried to eat him instead. Mr. Dongguo used his wit to outsmart the wolf and recapture it.

Xiaolan told the story with vivid expressions, and for a moment, the children even forgot they were hungry.

By the time she finished, the tofu was finally ready. The rice had been cooked long before.

“All right, go line up — no pushing,” Xiaolan said, maintaining order.

Watching these little ones, Xiaolan couldn’t help but think back to when she was in school. She sighed — these kids were so lucky. They had food, clothes, and nothing to worry about. They could study in peace.

After they ate, the children were picked up by their parents waiting outside.

As the principal, Zhou Zhigao had informed all the parents earlier that they needed to pick up their children tonight. It was late, and he didn’t want kids running around in the dark and getting lost.

In the end, one child’s parents didn’t come. Zhou Zhigao took a flashlight and escorted the child home.

When they arrived, he immediately scolded the parents.

“Ahem! Sorry, teacher, we forgot…” the child’s father said sheepishly, trying to explain.

Zhou Zhigao was speechless. How could you forget something like this? You don’t notice when you’re missing a child at home?

He glanced around the house.

Well, missing one was a bit hard to notice.

They had six children in total.

In times like these, people were very eager to have children — but this was too much. The house was practically bare, and they still kept having kids?

“Mr. Zhou, can these two kids of mine start school next year?” asked a woman holding a baby.

She pointed to two similarly-aged, identical-looking boys in front of her — twin sons. She had given birth to two sets of twins, so the number of children in the household had gotten out of hand.

She sincerely hoped her twins, who were six by virtual age, could start school too, to ease the burden at home. For now, even though the school was already supporting one of her children, things were still very tough.

Virtual age and full age are both traditional Chinese ways of calculating age, used across the Chinese cultural sphere since ancient times.

Virtual age counts from the time of conception, so a newborn is considered one year old upon birth after ten months of pregnancy.

Zhou Zhigao shook his head. “That’s not up to me. You’ll need to ask Yimin.”

Seven years old was the minimum enrollment age at their school. Some kids didn’t start until eight or nine, which was already a bit late.

Looking at this family, he understood they were indeed struggling.

So Zhou Zhigao added, “I’ll ask Yimin for you.”

In truth, lowering the school entry age had been a growing request among villagers. He believed Yimin was aware of it too.

“Thank you, teacher…”

“All right, now that the kid’s home, I’ll get going.” Zhou Zhigao turned on his flashlight and made his way back toward the school.

The flashlight, once again, was provided by Zhou Yimin — in fact, he had given them two.

Back at the school, he saw his wife washing dishes for the children.

“I heard Sixteenth Brother suggested to the village that from now on, you and Xiaolan won’t be paid in work points, but with a proper salary,” his wife said happily.

How much could work points earn, really?

They were much more eager for a stable wage. With that, her husband and daughter would be like real workers. Even if the pay didn’t match what factory workers earned, it was already the best outcome for people living in the countryside.

Zhou Zhigao nodded. “The old village secretary talked to me about it earlier this evening.”

He felt deeply grateful to Sixteenth Brother.

He could feel that Zhou Yimin had a genuine respect for teachers — even for unofficial ones like themselves, he still gave them full respect.

“That’s wonderful. Our family can finally be considered dual-income now.” The woman washing the dishes suddenly felt much lighter.

Though she helped at the school, she wasn’t a teacher, so she was still paid in work points. She had no complaints about it — Sixteenth Brother had already done so much for their family, and she was incredibly thankful.

…

At Zhou Yimin’s house, a table of people was enjoying the stuffed tofu.

“Tofu with meat inside — that’s something special,” Zhou Xuqing said after taking a bite. It was still a bit hot, but undeniably delicious.

In all his years, it was the first time he’d eaten tofu like this.

“Eat more, everyone,” Zhou Yimin encouraged.

He’d made a rather large batch tonight, but there was no worry about leftovers — people these days had enormous appetites, every one of them bottomless pits.

(End of Chapter)