A young boy from the 1970s, separated from his family, fled famine and led his younger brother into

At 6:03 a.m., the lights came on in the kitchen of a small courtyard in the suburbs of Beijing.

Lu Xingzhou was wearing an old, faded T-shirt, barefoot on the floor tiles, with a pickled bamboo shoot, a piece of beef shank, and a kitchen knife in front of him.

He stared at the three items for ten seconds, his expression exactly the same as when he was studying the enemy's position deployment map back then.

Take a deep breath.

Hold the knife.

Start.

He chopped the pickled bamboo shoots into pieces of all sizes, the largest as wide as a fingernail and the smallest about the size of a sesame seed. They were laid out unevenly on the cutting board, a stark contrast to the special forces team he used to lead.

He frowned, gathered the pile of scraps together, and decided not to dwell on the knife skills, turning his attention to the beef.

He sliced ​​the beef shank so thinly it was almost translucent, so thin you could almost see the wood grain when it was placed on the cutting board.

He examined the pieces of meat for two seconds and felt that his knife skills were at least a 7 out of 10.

Heat the pan and add oil.

The oil was added, but the pan was cold.

He waited for five seconds, but nothing happened. He waited another five seconds, but still nothing happened.

He turned up the fire.

Twist it all the way to the maximum.

The oil temperature shot up from zero to smoking, and he poured the pickled bamboo shoots into it. The bottom of the pot made a deafening "sizzle" sound, and oil splattered all over his arms. Then a ball of flame leaped up from the edge of the pot.

"hiss--"

He grabbed the pot lid and slammed it on top.

The fire is out, but the thick smoke remains.

A column of dark gray smoke billowed out from the gap in the pot lid, filling the entire kitchen within three seconds.

The smoke alarm on the ceiling emitted a piercing scream.

Drip, drop, drop——

Lu Xingzhou held a pot lid in one hand and a towel in the other, frantically fanning the alarm. He stepped on the splattered oil and almost did a split.

A voice, unusually calm, came from the kitchen doorway.

"Dad, you should heat the pan before adding the oil."

Lu Xingye, wearing a blue and white striped pajama, stood on the threshold with his hands behind his back, his expression as serious as that of a chief of staff commenting on a military exercise.

Lu Xingzhou gritted his teeth and remained silent, continuing to fan the smoke.

Hoshino took a step forward, tilted his head, and added a sentence.

"Mom said that when the oil is about 70% hot, small bubbles will appear when you put chopsticks in it. You can try it."

"I know."

"Then why didn't you try it just now?"

"I'm using a different method."

"What method?"

"The practical testing method."

Hoshino thought for two seconds, shook his head, and turned to leave.

He took three steps out, and Banxia came running from the direction of the bedroom, hugging a pillow bigger than her head, her hair a mess, her eyes not fully open, and her mouth open as she let out a huge yawn.

"What's that sound? It's so annoying."

Hoshino stopped and glanced at her.

"Dad blew up the kitchen again."

Banxia rubbed her eyes, hugged the pillow tighter to her chest, and peeked into the kitchen.

The room was filled with smoke, the stove was a mess, and her father was squatting in front of the pot, his face covered in coal dust, looking like someone who had just crawled out of a mine.

Banxia looked at it for three seconds and then commented.

"It's better than last time; last time the pot lid flew off."

Lu Xingzhou squatted in front of the stove, the towel in his hand had been fanned into a rag, and his forehead was covered with streaks of sweat and ash.

He lifted the lid of the pot and glanced at its contents.

The pickled bamboo shoots were half burnt, and the other half weren't even coated in oil. They were a mixture of raw and cooked, and their color was somewhere between burnt black and pale white.

The beef was still on the cutting board, not even in the pan.

He draped the towel over his shoulder, stared at the pot of stuff in silence for five seconds, and then made a gesture he would never make on the battlefield.

sigh.

Footsteps echoed down the stairs.

Su Nianci slowly walked down the railing, her hair loose, wearing a bathrobe that was two sizes too big, with the belt loosely tied around her waist.

She walked to the kitchen doorway, first looking at the alarm on the ceiling that was still flashing red, then at the oil stains and food scraps all over the floor, and finally at Lu Xingzhou, who was squatting in front of the stove with a look of utter defeat on his face.

She leaned against the door frame.

My shoulders started to tremble.

"Could you, could you—"

Before he could finish speaking, he laughed so hard he bent over.

Lu Xingzhou squatted on the ground and looked up at her. His face, covered in a layer of ash, showed a mixture of innocence and stubbornness.

"I'm making improvements."

Su Nianci laughed so hard she was leaning against the doorframe, panting, and tears were almost streaming down her face.

"You've made improvements over three years, from frying the kitchen once to frying it half a time. This rate of progress would earn you a third-class merit in your unit."

"I just didn't control the oil temperature well today."

"You always fail to control the oil temperature properly."

Banxia raised her hand to speak from the side.

"Last time he said it was because there was too much salt, the time before that he said it was because the heat wasn't quite right, and the time before that—"

"Alright."

Lu Xingzhou stood up, took off his apron, folded it twice, and draped it over the stove, his movements as neat and precise as folding a military blanket.

He stepped aside, making room in front of the stove.

Su Nianci walked over and reached out to finish the game.

The burnt pickled bamboo shoots were poured into the trash can, the pot was rinsed clean, the stove was wiped down, and the kitchen knife was put back in its place.

She took a new pickled bamboo shoot from the refrigerator, and with a swift motion, sliced ​​it into even, thin strips, each one so thin that the difference in thickness was indistinguishable to the naked eye.

The beef was lifted off the cutting board, turned around, and sliced ​​again to a thickness that was just right—thick enough to let light pass through without falling apart.

Remove from heat and turn the heat to low.

After heating the pan for two minutes, I tested the temperature by placing the back of my hand above the pan.

Pour in the oil.

When the oil begins to ripple slightly, add the pickled bamboo shoots to the pot.

swoosh-

This sound was ten times gentler than Lu Xingzhou's earlier one, like a cat sneezing.

Stir-fry for a couple of seconds, and the sour aroma rises up, with a hint of spiciness.

The beef slices were slid into the pot along the edge, tossed three times over high heat, and the seasoning was poured around the edge of the pot.

From beginning to end, it takes fifteen minutes.

Serve on a plate.

The pickled bamboo shoots are golden yellow, the beef is tender pink, and the broth coats the beef evenly without any burnt taste.

Su Nianci took out the plate and placed it on the stone table, then took out four bowls and four pairs of chopsticks from the cupboard.

Banxia was the first to come over, her chopsticks reaching out faster than anyone else's. She picked up a piece of beef, stuffed it into her mouth, and chewed it a couple of times.

"tasty!"

Hoshino also picked up a piece of pickled bamboo shoot with his chopsticks and tasted it.

"Mom, how much vinegar did you put in?"

"No vinegar was added; the sourness of the pickled bamboo shoots themselves is enough."

"Then why did Dad add vinegar?"

Su Nianci turned around and glanced at Lu Xingzhou.

Lu Xingzhou squatted in the corner of the courtyard with a bowl in his hand, silently eating the rice in front of him, his expression similar to that of a defeated and captured general receiving preferential treatment in his meals.

He put a piece of pickled bamboo shoot into his mouth, chewed it twice, and closed his eyes briefly.

good to eat.

It's really delicious.

The delicious food only made him more frustrated.

Su Nianci sat down at the stone table, picked up two pieces of beef with her chopsticks, put them in her bowl, mixed them with rice, and ate half a bowl.

Banxia and Xingye were engrossed in eating across from each other, their chopsticks clashing three times.

Halfway through her meal, Su Nianci stopped eating.

She had a piece of pickled bamboo shoot in her mouth, chewed it twice, but didn't swallow.

There was an extra flavor on my tongue.

It doesn't taste like pickled bamboo shoots.

The sourness of pickled bamboo shoots comes from lactic acid fermentation, resulting in a soft, mild flavor with a refreshing bamboo aroma.

But the bite she took had a very faint astringency mixed with the sourness.

It has a mild astringent taste, so mild that most people can't even taste it.

But she is not an ordinary person.

Su Nianci spat the pickled bamboo shoots in her mouth onto a tissue, put down her chopsticks, and stood up.

Lu Xingzhou raised his head from the corner.

"What's wrong?"

Su Nianci didn't answer him and turned to go into the kitchen.

She opened the cabinet under the stove, took out the earthenware jar containing the pickled bamboo shoots, and peeled off the oil paper sealing it.

A strong sour smell wafted out, and she brought her nose close to smell it.

He frowned slightly.

She reached her fingers into the jar, scooped out a pickled bamboo shoot from the bottom, and examined its cross-section.

The fiber is slightly dark in color, the fermentation pattern is uneven, and there are several places where the color is a shade darker than the surrounding area.

She put the lid back on the jar, rested her fingers on the rim of the jar, and paused for two seconds.

Lu Xingzhou followed him in, carrying a bowl, and stood at the kitchen doorway.

"Nian Nian?"

Su Nianci turned around and looked at him.

"Who sent these pickled bamboo shoots?"

Lu Xingzhou thought for a moment.

"They were left at the gate of the courtyard, without a name on them. I saw them when I went for my morning run the day before yesterday. I thought they belonged to Uncle Wang next door, since they just pickled a batch last month, didn't they?"

Su Nianci shook her head.

"Uncle Wang's pickled bamboo shoots are made from local moso bamboo, which has a coarse texture when cut. The ones in this jar are thin bamboo shoots, the kind of wild arrow bamboo from the mountains."

She paused for a moment.

"That's not how the neighbors act."

Lu Xingzhou stopped using his chopsticks and his gaze swept across Su Nianci's face before landing on the ceramic jar.

Banxia's urging voice came from the courtyard.

"Mom! Is there any beef left? My brother snatched the last piece!"

Su Nianci looked at the old jar in the corner of the kitchen and tapped her finger lightly on the rim of the jar.

She didn't say anything.