Chapter 179: Hami Melon

“This is called a Hami melon? It’s so sweet!”

As soon as Zhou Zhiwen took a bite, he couldn’t help but think of his wife, children, and elderly mother back home.

If it weren’t for the fact that he was in the city and home was a bit far, he probably wouldn’t even have taken a second bite. He would’ve insisted on bringing this piece back to let his wife, kids, and mother all have a taste.

These days, there’s barely enough to eat—let alone something sweet like this.

Also, this was the first time he had ever heard of the name “Hami melon.”

Zhou Yimin smiled and said, “It’s a type of sweet melon—or you could say, a variety of honeydew.”

In later generations, Hami melons were cultivated into many different varieties, with all kinds of shapes and unique flavors. Some had a creamy taste, others carried a hint of lemon, but all were sweet as honey and delightfully fragrant.

“Eat up, don’t feel bad about it. When you go back, I’ll let you take one home with you,” Zhou Yimin said, clearly catching on to what Zhou Zhiwen was thinking just from his expression.

That kind of thinking is practically ingrained in every Chinese person.

When there’s good food, the first thought is always of the wife and kids back home.

Zhou Zhiwen hesitated. “This must be expensive, right?”

Luo Dapeng, who had spent quite a bit of time with Zhou Yimin, didn’t stand on ceremony. He told Zhou Zhiwen directly, “Zhiwen-ge, are you still trying to save money for him? If he’s giving it to you, just take it!”

Zhou Yimin shot a glare at Luo Dapeng.

Then he added, “It’s a gift from a friend. This stuff is rare around here, but in the region where it’s grown, it’s not worth much.”

That did it. Hearing Zhou Yimin say so, Zhou Zhiwen finally relaxed and began to eat in earnest. He ate it clean to the rind, gnawing the Hami melon down until all that was left was a skin as thin as paper.

Zhou Yimin was a little dumbfounded watching him.

Damn.

Even when he peeled it with a knife, he couldn’t get the rind that thin!

“Doesn’t Daqiu eat here?” Zhou Zhiwen couldn’t help asking.

He’d been here more than once, but he’d never seen Daqiu, who actually lived here, eat at the place.

Luo Dapeng explained, “He usually eats with his master at the steel factory. He just comes back here to sleep.”

As he spoke, Luo Dapeng tossed the melon rind to the dog lying nearby—the one that belonged to Zhou Daqiu’s family.

Zhou Daqiu’s father had heard Zhou Yimin needed a dog, so he told his son to bring it over without a second thought. It was a way to lighten the load at home, too.

Even though these countryside mutts were easy to raise and would eat pretty much anything—some could even eat their own poop—you still couldn’t feed them like that all the time. They had to be given some proper food, like rice, now and then.

Besides, their family had grown attached to this dog and couldn’t bring themselves to slaughter it. During the hardest times, people had even suggested they eat it, but they just couldn’t go through with it.

So, letting it guard Zhou Yimin’s place was a pretty good outcome. For the dog, this was actually a great ending.

Still, although Zhou Daqiu usually didn’t eat here, if they were having a gathering, he would join in. Luo Dapeng, Li Youde, and the others would throw a proper dinner here every now and then.

After a bit of chatting, Zhou Yimin picked up a few items and headed over to Director Li’s home at the neighborhood office.

“Sis-in-law, is Auntie Li not back yet?” Zhou Yimin handed two Hami melons and two bags of milk powder to Director Li’s daughter-in-law—Zhao Zhenguo’s wife.

The young woman accepted the gifts happily, smiling as she said, “Yimin, come sit for a bit! Auntie Li just got back a moment ago, but she went over to the next courtyard to mediate a dispute.”

That courtyard was always full of nonsense—people causing trouble every other day.

The elders in that courtyard—the First Uncle, Second Uncle, and Third Uncle—only knew how to cover things up. Whenever something happened, their instinct was to suppress it. But this time, the conflict had fully escalated. Someone had even started swinging a blade.

As the neighborhood office director, how could she not step in?

“What about my Zhao-ge?” Zhou Yimin asked.

“Him? He’s been super busy lately.”

Although her husband hadn’t been around much lately, she wasn’t the least bit upset. In fact, she was quite happy—because she knew it meant a promotion was on the horizon.

She truly felt that Zhou Yimin was their family’s lucky star.

Ever since her mother-in-law had acknowledged Zhou Yimin as her nephew, not only had her son’s milk supply problem been solved, but they’d also been presented with huge opportunities.

Take her husband, Zhao Zhenguo, for instance. Thanks to the invention and production of instant noodles, he was practically guaranteed a position as deputy factory director.

And let’s be honest—today’s instant noodle factory was not on the same level as those old noodle workshops. It was a whole different ball game.

A little while later, Director Li came back, still muttering angrily to herself. It was obvious she’d been infuriated by the folks in that courtyard. It wasn’t the first or second time she’d had to go there for ideological work.

But this time was worse—they were already resorting to violence.

The neighborhood office had zero tolerance for behavior like that. She had even brought Public Security officers with her to arrest the offenders. They needed to be taught a hard lesson.

On top of that, the three old uncles had all been stripped of their roles. Three new people were temporarily appointed to manage the courtyard, and if they couldn’t handle it either, they’d just be replaced again.

Trailing behind her was a timid little girl.

“Yimin, you’re here?” When she saw Zhou Yimin, Director Li’s expression shifted from stormy to sunny.

“Auntie, have you been busy lately?”

Director Li sighed, “Just a bunch of frustrating matters.”

Handling the flood of displaced people coming into the city was already a handful for the neighborhood office. On top of that, some courtyards kept stirring up messes—it was chaos.

She then told her daughter-in-law to bring some food out for the little girl named Zhenzhu.

“We’ll let her stay with us for now,” Director Li said.

The little girl had only her father, and earlier he had been slashed with a knife and sent to the hospital. How could Director Li possibly ignore something like that?

Things had already gotten this out of hand—there was no way she could leave the girl in that courtyard. She didn’t feel safe, so she brought her here.

Once Zhenzhu’s father recovered and was discharged, she’d arrange for the two of them to be moved to another courtyard, so they wouldn’t be targeted. Someone that honest had no business living in a place like that courtyard.

“Alright, let her sleep in my room.” Her daughter-in-law wasn’t even surprised anymore that her mother-in-law kept taking people in.

In a house full of neighborhood directors, what else could you expect? Duty calls.

Then she told her mother-in-law that Yimin had brought over two more bags of milk powder and two melons.

“This is a honeydew. I’ve eaten one before, but never one this big,” Director Li remarked as she looked them over.

In fact, China has been cultivating Hami melons for over two thousand years. Not only does it have the longest history of Hami melon cultivation, it also boasts the largest planting area, the richest variety of resources, and the best quality in the world.

It’s one of the many “ancestral picks”—carefully selected over generations.

Later on, internet users would joke: if a food never caught on nationwide in China, it’s probably just not that tasty.

There’s definitely truth to that.

As far back as Zhang Qian’s missions to the Western Regions and Zheng He’s voyages, China had been importing culinary treasures from all over the world. Any food that made it through was essentially approved by emperors—when it comes to food, you can always trust the ancestral seal of approval.

A perfect example is turkey. Turkeys were documented in the Ming dynasty, yet by the twenty-first century, they still hadn’t been widely farmed in China. Why? Because they taste terrible—plain and simple.

Finally, Director Li asked her daughter-in-law to cut up one of the Hami melons so everyone could have a taste.

(End of Chapter)