After the family split up, my stepmother and scumbag father begged me to come home.

Inside the house, Lin Qianqian was fast asleep.

In her dream, she returned to the modern world. Before her lay a roast duck, its skin glistening with oil, its surface covered in thin pancakes, sweet bean sauce, shredded cucumber, and scallions—everything was there. She rolled one up and popped it into her mouth—it was just right! She then grabbed a can of soda; it was ice-cold, the bubbles bursting on her tongue, making her feel incredibly refreshed.

Then the roast duck started to wobble.

No, it's not the roast duck that's shaking, it's the whole table.

"Sister Qianqian—"

The sound came from a great distance, as if it were coming through a layer of water.

The roast duck grew increasingly blurry, and even the soda seemed to fade into a shadow. Lin Qianqian desperately tried to grasp the flavor, but the scene before her seemed to shatter, crumbling piece by piece—

She woke up.

The kang (heated brick bed) was cold, the roof was dark, and a sliver of gray light filtered through the paper windows. The voice still echoed in my ears: "Sister Qianqian—"

It's Ding Xiaohu.

Lin Qianqian sat there blankly for a while, the taste of her dream still lingering in her mouth—in reality, there was nothing there, only a sense of loss and indifference.

She sighed, slipped on her shoes, grabbed a coat and draped it over herself, yawning as she walked out.

As she pushed open the door, a morning breeze rushed in, and she shrank her neck.

Outside the fence, Ding Xiaohu carried a basket on his back, his little face filled with innocence, his eyes sparkling.

"Tiger, so early!" Lin Qianqian said, then yawned, her voice still hoarse from just waking up.

Ding Xiaohu pulled out the oil paper package from his arms, grinning broadly, "Sister Qianqian, I brought some pancakes! Three of them!"

Looking at him like that, Lin Qianqian suddenly felt that the roast duck in her dream didn't seem so important anymore.

"Come in!"

Lin Qianqian stepped aside to let the doorway pass, her voice still muffled from just waking up, her eyelids drooping, looking like a vegetable that hadn't been watered.

The moment the door opened, Ding Xiaohu, carrying a basket on his back, darted into the house in a flash, moving as fast as an eel.

The basket on his back bumped against the door frame, but he didn't even look at it; his eyes were already scanning the kang (a heated brick bed).

"Ah Long, you're still not up! The sun's practically high in the sky."

The quilt in the corner of the kang stirred, and Lin Yulong poked half his head out from under the covers, his hair sticking up, one eye open and one eye closed: "Brother Hu, how come you're always so energetic? Aren't you sleepy?"

"Why are you sleepy? Let's go treasure hunting in the mountains, it'll be so much fun!" Ding Xiaohu put his basket down on the ground and reached into his clothes as he spoke. "Get up, my mom's cornbread smells amazing—it's still warm!"

The moment the oil paper package was opened, a sweet aroma of cornmeal wafted out.

It's not the kind of overpowering aroma, but a simple, substantial aroma with the smoky smell of a wok.

One side of the pancake was golden brown, while the other side still bore faint imprints from where fingers had pressed.

Ding Xiaohu first handed one to Lin Qianqian: "Sister Qianqian, try it, my mother's pancakes are so fragrant."

Lin Qianqian took it; the pancake was still hot. She tossed it left and right a couple of times before taking a bite.

The crispy crust crumbles between your teeth, while the inside is soft, sweet, and warm, warming your entire esophagus as you swallow.

"It's delicious," she said, her voice much clearer this time.

It's really delicious, with the aroma of corn, very sweet, and so much tastier than modern improved varieties.

The flour is a bit coarse, not as finely ground as modern flour.

Ding Xiaohu picked up another one and handed it to Lin Yulong.

Lin Yulong had already sat up from the covers, but he wasn't dressed yet, his hands still tucked under the covers.

He glanced at the pancake, then at his hands, and whispered, "Brother Tiger, put it there first, I haven't washed my hands yet."