Chapter 239: Bringing It Home to Eat

Liang Huan led forty people to the commune to join the main group in building the irrigation canal. Among them, twenty were taking the place of people from Zhoujiazhuang, so they reported under that village’s name. Since the work was physically demanding, the first thing they did upon arrival was have breakfast.

However, because the project required a lot of labor, the food distribution was rather limited. Each person received three coarse grain (mixed flour) steamed buns and a bowl of porridge. Thankfully, the porridge wasn’t too watery—otherwise it wouldn’t have been filling at all.

For the villagers of Shuangtian Village, who had little to no grain left at home, this was considered quite generous. At least it was enough to keep them reasonably full.

One man said happily, “Thank goodness we drew lots and got sent to the commune. If we had ended up in Zhoujiazhuang, we probably wouldn’t even have enough to eat, let alone be guaranteed breakfast.”

“Yeah! But Liang Liu and Liang Zan originally got picked to come to the commune. Why’d they give up their spots and volunteer to go to Zhoujiazhuang instead?” Liang Huan said, puzzled.

And the village chief hadn’t stopped them either, so there must be something going on behind the scenes. But to the villagers, as long as they could eat their fill, they didn’t really care what secrets might be hidden.

After working hard for half a day, it was finally time for lunch. Some people had originally planned to save one bun to bring home to their families, but the labor was intense, and halfway through the morning, their hunger set in. With no choice, they ended up eating the last bun too.

When they arrived at the commune cafeteria, Liang Jianguo couldn’t help but ask, “If breakfast was this good, I wonder what lunch will be like?”

“I’m kind of eager to find out too. Let’s hurry! If we’re late, who knows how long the line will be?” said Liang Huan.

The others agreed and quickly rushed over.

By the time they arrived, a sizable line had already formed, so they jumped in to queue.

After a few minutes of waiting, it was finally Liang Jianguo’s turn to get food. Lunch included five coarse grain steamed buns and a portion of vegetables, though there wasn’t a single trace of oil on the dish.

Still, Liang Huan and the others were content with the meal. At least they could fill their stomachs. But packing some to bring home might be a bit of a challenge.

After a full day of hard labor, the villagers from Shuangtian were most excited for the final event of the day: dinner.

At this moment, Liang Huang asked, “Captain, if I don’t eat dinner here, can I bring it home instead?”

His wife and children were still hungry at home. He had only eaten four buns at lunch and saved three. But partway through the workday, he got so hungry that he had to eat one of them just to keep going, which left him with two. Including one bun left over from breakfast and the seven from dinner, he now had ten buns in total.

“Of course you can. It’s up to you,” the captain replied.

After all, everyone got the same ration per meal. If you couldn’t finish it and wanted to take it home to your family, that was fine too.

So Liang Huang packed all ten coarse grain buns into a lunchbox.

The people from Zhoujiazhuang weren’t stingy either—they even gave him a serving of vegetables to bring home. The portions were about the same for everyone, so there was no worry about unfairness or complaints from the workers.

Many others made the same choice as Liang Huang, packing up their food to share with their families.

Fortunately, Shuangtian Village wasn’t far from Zhoujiazhuang—only about half an hour’s walk. If you had a bicycle, it’d take maybe ten or fifteen minutes.

When Liang Huang got home, he found his wife and child splitting a single cornmeal bun.

Seeing this, he couldn’t help but blame himself for being useless—he couldn’t even manage to let his wife and child have a proper meal.

His wife, seeing him return, asked, “Did you eat enough, dear? If not, I can make you two more buns.”

In her mind, even if Zhoujiazhuang had hired help, all villages were about the same. How could anyone possibly get enough to eat? Especially doing such physically demanding work. If he didn’t eat well, it could become a problem. Her husband was the pillar of the family—he couldn’t afford to fall sick. Even if she went hungry, he had to be full.

Liang Huang opened the lunchbox and said, “Look what I brought home.”

Inside were ten fist-sized coarse grain steamed buns, plus a portion of stir-fried vegetables. There were even visible pieces of pork lard cracklings and a shimmer of oil floating on top—utterly enticing.

His wife was in disbelief. “You didn’t starve yourself all day just to bring this home, did you?”

“Of course not! I ate my fill at every meal. I just saved a little each time, plus tonight’s dinner, so we could all eat together,” Liang Huang explained.

He added, “Breakfast had five big buns, lunch came with a stir-fry and seven buns, and dinner’s the same as lunch.”

His wife was shocked. She hadn’t expected the meals at Zhoujiazhuang to be so good. Honestly, they only ate like this back in Shuangtian during the New Year.

His son, eyeing the big buns, timidly asked, “Daddy, can I have one of those?”

They usually ate coarse cornmeal buns, and it had been so long since he’d had a real steamed bun, he’d nearly forgotten the taste.

“One bun? That’s not enough! There are ten here—you’ll need to eat at least three,” Liang Huang replied.

The little one was overjoyed. Finally, he could have real buns! Once he got permission, he eagerly dug in.

“Slow down,” Liang Huang warned. “No one’s going to snatch it. At lunch, someone got something stuck in their throat because they ate too fast.”

The boy slowed down, savoring every bite of bun and vegetables, his joy plain to see.

Watching this, Liang Huang felt an indescribable happiness in his heart.

His wife picked up a bun too, but she didn’t eat it with any vegetables.

She wasn’t doing hard labor, so as long as she could eat her fill, it didn’t matter whether there was any oil or not. But her husband needed more nutrition and energy.

Seeing her reluctance, Liang Huang picked up a big helping of vegetables and held it to her mouth.

“Eat. Don’t worry about me. If you don’t believe me, go ask the others working at Zhoujiazhuang.”

With no other choice, she ate it. The crisp crackle of pork lard echoed in the house as the three of them happily shared their dinner.

Scenes like this weren’t unique to their family. Many from Shuangtian Village had gone to work in Zhoujiazhuang, and nearly all of them brought food back—unless they lived alone.

Those working at the commune were also full of hope, wondering what goodies might be brought home. If there was meat, that would be even better.

(End of chapter)