She Only Cares About Cultivation

The two sisters had always thought An Yi had great vision, so in the end they settled on a number: they didn’t want chickens or eggs, they wanted only coarse grains.

Ten jin of soybeans could produce about five or six jin of tofu skin; ten jin of tofu skin was roughly twenty jin of soybeans, so what she gave...

"Ten jin of tofu skin, I’ll count it as thirty jin of coarse grains for you—ten jin of potato, ten jin of sweet potato, how about it?"

This price was definitely a friendship price. The sisters looked at An Yi gratefully. "Sis, you really don’t have to look after us like this."

"Isn’t looking after you something I should do? Okay, since you have no objections, it’s settled. Do you still have beans?"

"Yes, yes. Before the New Year we traded for quite a lot. In the village they’re all trading for tofu now, everyone pays with money, so we can keep up with the amount you want."

"Cheng, then we’ll do it that way. If you ever run short on grain, I’ll have it ready for you, you can just carry it away."

"No rush, we still have some at home, still have some." The two sisters sighed inwardly. Being able to latch onto a good person like An Yi in this life, their ancestors’ graves must have been smoking in the last life.

It was precisely because of her help that the sisters’ days finally had something to look forward to. They no longer had to calculate every day how much grain they could eat to get through the winter. That feeling was just too damn good.

With grain as their driving force, the two sisters worked even harder, and with them no longer underfoot, life on An Yi’s side was indescribably pleasant.

From Xiao Nian to New Year’s Eve, the days were busy yet comfortable. On New Year’s Eve night, the three sisters got together and stir‑fried a few hearty dishes.

Because the dumplings, steamed buns, bean buns and all that had all been made in advance, they just boiled a big plate of dumplings and then stir‑fried a few meat dishes, and that counted as having celebrated the New Year.

Stewed chicken with mushrooms, cold sliced meat jelly, braised pig’s trotters, sautéed pork strips in sauce, sweet and sour pork, pig-killing dishes, fried hairtail, vinegar fried cabbage.

Among these, the sisters had brought over two jin of meat; the rest was all prepared by An Yi. So that the food would last until the second day of the New Year, the portions for these eight dishes were based on the appetite of three people. Whatever was extra she put into the space. Since dumplings were the staple food for New Year’s Eve, the dishes were just for show and didn’t need to be in huge quantities, just enough to eat.

To save fuel, once a pot of food came out, if it stayed outside it would be leftovers, but if she put it in the space, it was as if freshly cooked.

Since she was the one cooking, she had them take the kids over to their place first.

"It’s all smoke and soot in here. Take the kids out for a walk, just come back to eat when it’s time."

Qiuxia wanted to stay and help, but was refused by An Yi. "No need, I can handle it myself. If you stay, I’ll just get all flustered."

After shooing them out, she had nothing to worry about. After fussing around for an hour or two, the sumptuous New Year’s Eve dinner was done.

The reason Northeastern people love stewed dishes is that otherwise, by the time the next dish is brought out after you finish stir‑frying, the previous one might already be cold.

The hall didn’t have a heated kang and was quite cold, so once the food was done, she put it directly into the space and would move it onto the kang table before they came back.

The hairtail she’d caught in the sea were all big and long, especially fatty. The taste and texture after deep‑frying were an indescribable delicacy.

They hadn’t bought any firecrackers, and the Spring Festival couplets at home were written by An Yi. After the 23rd day of the twelfth lunar month, she’d written no shortage of couplets. As long as someone provided paper and brush, she helped them write, and she didn’t take money. Yet there were people who didn’t want to provide ink or even bring paper, and still curled their lips and complained about her.

"Since you’re already writing, why not just write for everyone? We all live in one village, in this dead of winter where do you expect us to get red paper for you? Ink and brush are easy—both the Party secretary and the accountant have them—but this red paper is hard to find. Unless someone in the family has a red‑occasion event, who would normally keep this stuff around?"

In An Yi’s words, "Pushing your luck, aren’t you? I’m writing for free and you still want me to provide brush, ink, paper and inkstone? Who the hell do you think I am? And what do you think you are? Fine, I’ll remember you. Let me make it clear right now: for your family, I just won’t write. Aren’t you so capable? Then go find someone who’ll provide brush, ink, paper and inkstone for you for free!"

After a cold laugh, An Yi lowered her head and kept writing, talking to the onlookers as she wrote.

"Did you all hear what I just said? If you’re not willing to prepare your own brush, ink, paper and inkstone, then leave. There’s no such thing as a free lunch. My labor is already free; you still expect me to stump up for your red paper, and you’ve got the nerve to say it out loud? How’s your face that big, huh? Pah, you’re nothing. Get going, don’t stand here being an eyesore."