Hard work after winning the lottery

She specially found the best fountain pen in the house, held it in her hand, but hesitated to write.

She wanted to imitate her grandfather's tone.

That old soldier, who wasn't good with words, but had all his feelings etched into his very bones.

She closed her eyes, recalling the expression on her grandfather's face as he recounted the past, and his simple, unpretentious tone with his local accent.

After a long while, she opened her eyes, and the pen tip drew the first mark on the paper.

The handwriting, imitating that of an old man, trembled slightly, yet its strength penetrated the paper.

Old Zhou:

Do you remember that dark-colored steamed bun?

I haven't forgotten. I haven't forgotten the hot pot meal you owe me either.

Fifty years have passed in the blink of an eye. I wonder if your old bones can still hold up.

I'm back in my hometown now, surrounded by my children and grandchildren, and life's pretty good. We raise some sheep; the meat is quite good. I'll send you some to try.

If you like the food, give me a call. If you don't like it... well, you'll have to keep it to yourself.

The phone is downstairs; call back if you're still breathing.

—Old comrade-in-arms, Hua Mutou.

These few lines, devoid of flowery language, carry a warmth and resilience unique to the camaraderie of that era.

She carefully folded the letter and put it into an envelope.

Finally, she wrote her grandfather's name in the sender's column of the express delivery slip: Hua Mutou.

Recipient: Zhou Yinchuan.

The address was a line of words that her grandfather had repeated countless times and that was already etched in her mind: City A, Xicheng Military Region First Cadre Sanatorium.

A vague address, a name long forgotten.

She personally packed and sealed a promise that spanned half a century.

She could almost see the package carrying the affection between two generations traveling across mountains and rivers to fulfill a promise that was fifty years overdue.

Three days later, in City A.

Zhou's old house.

There is no hustle and bustle of the city center here, only towering ancient trees and the tranquility that has been settled by time.

A delivery truck stopped outside the vermilion gate.

The butler, Uncle Fu, signed for an ordinary-looking white foam box, feeling somewhat puzzled.

The Zhou family's belongings are always delivered by a dedicated person and rarely go through ordinary express delivery channels.

Moreover, the sender's address was Baixi Village, a remote mountain village he had never heard of before.

He carried the box, crossed the courtyard, and entered the study that was always filled with the fragrance of ink.

"Sir, there's a package for you."

Zhou Yinchuan was wearing reading glasses and copying a copy of Wang Xizhi's "Preface to the Poems Composed at the Orchid Pavilion".

Hearing the voice, he didn't even look up, and replied in a strong voice, "Put it there."

Uncle Fu gently placed the box aside and prepared to leave.

However, Zhou Yinchuan's gaze inadvertently fell on the sender's name on the express delivery slip.

—Hua Mutou.

These three words, like a thunderclap, exploded into a raging storm in the calm lake of his heart.

His hand holding the calligraphy brush suddenly trembled.

A drop of thick ink suddenly fell onto the rice paper, spreading instantly and ruining the entire piece of calligraphy.

But he couldn't care less about that anymore.

"etc!"

His voice trembled slightly, almost imperceptibly.

Uncle Fu stopped and turned back, puzzled.

Zhou Yinchuan put down his brush, strode to the box, and stared intently at the name in his eyes, which had seen countless changes in the world.

Hua Mutou...

Hua Mutou!

He will never forget this name in his life!

That honest, simple-minded rural soldier who forced a rock-hard steamed bun into his mouth in the snow cave!

"Quick! Open it!" he urged, his voice full of urgency.

Uncle Fu didn't dare to delay and immediately found a utility knife to carefully cut the tape.

As soon as the box was opened, a pure, fresh aroma of meat, carrying the scent of herbs and plants, wafted out.

Inside were several pieces of mutton neatly packaged in vacuum bags. The meat was bright red and the fat was pure white, clearly top-quality.

On top of the mutton lay a brown paper envelope.

Zhou Yinchuan held his breath instantly.

He practically snatched the envelope, his fingers turning slightly white from the force.

He tore open the envelope and pulled out the letter inside.

A familiar greeting, carrying the scent of earth, came rushing towards me.

Old Zhou: Do you still remember that dark-colored steamed bun?

Upon seeing the first sentence, Zhou Yinchuan's eyes immediately reddened.

How could I not remember!

He remembered that feeling for the rest of his life!

He continued reading, and when he saw the last sentence, "If they're still breathing, then attack," this tough guy who shed blood but not tears on the battlefield could no longer hold back.

He threw his head back and laughed loudly, but with a hint of sob in his voice.

"Hahahaha... You blockhead Hua! You're still alive! It's good that you're still alive!"

He grabbed Uncle Fu's phone, ignoring his reading glasses, and squinted as he dialed the number on the letter, one digit at a time.

The call went through.

"Hello, this is Xishan Muyun."

A clear and gentle girl's voice came from inside.

Zhou Yinchuan paused for a moment, then roared in his signature loud voice, "I'm looking for Hua Mutou! Tell him that Zhou Yinchuan, who owes him hot pot, is here to collect the debt!"

weekend.

Zhou Yanjin had just returned from the company, and as soon as she entered the house, she sensed an unusual atmosphere.

My grandfather, who is usually dignified and composed, was like a little kid today, with a ruddy complexion, humming military songs from the 1950s and 60s, and even walking with a swagger.

At the dinner table, Zhou Yinchuan excitedly announced:

"Eat as much as you want today! Try the mutton my old comrade-in-arms sent from our hometown!"

Soon, dishes featuring mutton were served one after another.

The milky white mutton soup is fresh without any gamey smell.

The grilled lamb chops, crispy on the outside and tender on the inside, were intensely fragrant with cumin, filling the entire restaurant with their aroma.

There's also a plate of thinly sliced, translucent lamb, ready to be used in hot pot.

Zhou Yanjin has been socializing all year round and has tasted all kinds of delicacies, so she no longer feels any surprise towards food.

He casually picked up a slice of cooked mutton and put it in his mouth.

The next second, a hint of surprise flashed in his deep eyes.

This meat...

It has absolutely no gamey or muttony smell; instead, it has an extremely pure and sweet flavor.

The meat is so tender that it melts on the tongue with almost no chewing, leaving only a faint, refreshing aroma, like a mixture of grass and mountain spring water.

"Grandpa," he put down his chopsticks and looked at Zhou Yinchuan, who was in high spirits, "where is this mutton from? The quality is very special."

"Haha, you have good taste!"

Zhou Yinchuan slapped his thigh triumphantly.

"My old buddy raises them himself in a place called Baixi Village back in our hometown! He even had his granddaughter open an online store called... oh, right, Xishan Muyun!"

He said his sheep drink mountain spring water and eat a variety of herbs—all natural, completely different from those cheap, artificially raised sheep outside!

Upon hearing this, Zhou Yanjin seemed to be deep in thought.