"Wait."
Li Jianguo suddenly raised his hand, his expression turning grave.
"What if something has been mixed into it?" he said in a low voice. "Haven't you heard the stories? On trains, human traffickers lure women and children with food. Once they eat it, they lose consciousness."
The words fell like a stone into still water.
The twins stiffened immediately. Liu Weiguo and Liu Weimin exchanged frightened glances, their earlier excitement vanishing in an instant. They instinctively edged closer to Li Shuying, as though the fragrant bowl had transformed into something dangerous.
Li Jianmin rolled his eyes.
"Second Brother," he scoffed, though his voice remained low out of habit, "who would waste chicken to lure rural children? Wouldn't a coarse bun be enough? And more importantly, who in these times would be so extravagant as to use meat for such a trick?"
His logic was blunt—but sound.
The room fell quiet again.
Even Li Jianguo hesitated. In these bitter years, grain was counted kernel by kernel. Meat was rarer than gold. To use such a dish as bait? It was almost absurd.
Gradually, their gazes returned to the bowl.
For a long moment, no one moved.
The Sweet and Sour Chicken sat in the center of the worn wooden table like an offering before ancestral tablets—glistening, fragrant, untouchable.
Li Jianhua inhaled slowly.
"As the eldest," he said at last, his tone steady despite the tension in his eyes, "I will taste it first."
It was not greed.
It was duty.
If there was danger, he would bear it.
He picked up a pair of chopsticks. The faint evening light caught the lacquered sheen of the sauce as he lifted a piece. The glaze clung thickly to the crisp surface, shining like polished jade.
He brought it to his lips.
The first bite produced a soft crackle.
Then came the tenderness within—juicy, yielding meat infused with a balance so perfect it seemed almost deliberate beyond human intention.
His pupils widened.
The sourness arrived first—bright yet refined—followed immediately by a gentle sweetness that wrapped around the tongue without overwhelming it. Beneath that lingered a deep savoriness, rich with oil and soy, carrying warmth like a winter hearth.
Layer upon layer unfolded.
Crisp. Tender. Silken.
Li Jianhua froze.
For one suspended heartbeat, he forgot everything.
"This…" he exhaled softly, reverently. "This is…?"
Words failed him.
Li Jianmin could no longer restrain himself.
He picked up a piece and shoved it into his mouth whole.
His reaction was immediate.
"Ah—!"
The exclamation burst out before he could stop it. His eyes flew open as though struck by lightning.
He chewed once, twice—
And then his entire expression transformed. The habitual impatience, the restless hunger, the suppressed frustration—all dissolved into stunned delight.
"It's sweet! And sour! And—" He swallowed hurriedly, as though fearing the flavor might escape. "second brother, this is better than the New Year dishes we used to have!"
In their childhood, whenever their father returned home on leave, there had been meat during Spring Festival—thin slices, carefully rationed, each piece savored slowly.
But this—
This was abundance.
Li Jianguo, ever cautious, took his portion last. He examined it carefully before placing it into his mouth, as though conducting an inspection.
The moment his teeth pierced the crust, his brows—so often furrowed by responsibility—gradually smoothed.
His shoulders lowered.
The taste unfolded like a story told by an experienced storyteller: brightness at the beginning, warmth in the middle, and a lingering sweetness at the end that refused to fade.
He closed his eyes.
For the first time in years, he tasted something that did not whisper of scarcity.
It did not speak of survival.
It spoke of life.
The twins could contain themselves no longer.
Liu Weiguo grabbed a small piece with both hands, sauce immediately smearing across his cheek. He stuffed it into his mouth with clumsy urgency.
A delighted squeal escaped him. He bounced in place, unable to sit still.
"So good! So good!"
Liu Weimin chewed more solemnly at first, his round eyes widening further with every second. Then he covered his mouth with both hands, as if afraid the miraculous taste might spill out.
"Sister," he declared with utmost seriousness, "this is even better than the meat we eat at New Year."
In a time when even New Year's meat was rationed carefully, such a statement carried weight.
Meanwhile, Li Shuying finally lifted her own piece.
Unlike the others, she was not astonished by the existence of Sweet and Sour Chicken. She had eaten it many times in her previous life.
And yet...
The moment it touched her tongue, her breath faltered.
This was not merely good.
It was transcendent.
The crispness did not fade beneath the glaze. The sweetness and sourness did not compete; they harmonized. The savory undertone felt deeper, fuller—almost nourishing in a way she could not articulate.
Each bite bloomed anew.
It was as though the dish carried something beyond flavor—
Something subtle.
Something alive.
Warmth spread from her mouth to her chest, then outward through her limbs. The lingering weakness from fever, the hollow ache of hunger—both seemed to recede with each swallow.
Her heart pounded violently.
This surpassed even the finest versions she had tasted in her previous life.
Magical.
Heaven-sent.
No ordinary human kitchen could produce such perfection.
No one stopped until the bowl was scraped clean.
Even the remaining sauce did not go to waste. Li Jianmin tilted the porcelain dish carefully, mixing the thick, glossy remnants with the coarse sorghum rice they had brought back from the communal canteen. The twins followed suit with solemn dedication, scooping every last streak of sweetness and savoriness into their mouths.
In these years, wasting even a drop would be a sin against heaven.
When at last the bowl shone bare, the fragrance lingering faintly in the air, they leaned back in silence—satiated, stunned, and faintly dazed.
After much coaxing and repeated warnings, they escorted Liu Weiguo and Liu Weimin to the gate. Li Shuying crouched before them, her expression unusually serious.
"You must not tell anyone about the special dish," she said in a hushed voice. "Not even your mother. If others find out… the magic will disappear. And you will never taste it again."
The twins' eyes widened in horror.
"Never again?" Liu Weimin's lower lip trembled.
Li Shuying nodded gravely.
They nearly burst into tears on the spot and hurriedly swore an oath—raising their small hands solemnly as though before ancestral tablets—that they would never utter a single word of it.
Only then did the Li siblings watch them scurry back into the night.
When the courtyard gate creaked shut, silence returned.
Now, only the four siblings remained around the table.
The empty bowl sat between them, mute evidence of something impossible.
After a long while, Li Jianguo spoke.
"Little Shuying," he said steadily, "now tell us. Where did this bowl come from?"
All three brothers turned toward her at once.
Li Shuying rubbed her forehead in frustration. "Second Brother, I truly don't know. It… it just appeared beside me."
Li Jianmin snorted softly. "How can such a large bowl appear out of thin air? Someone must have placed it there, and you simply didn't notice."
Li Shuying hesitated, then nodded uncertainly. "But who would casually leave a full bowl of chicken for me?"
Li Jianguo folded his arms, his expression grave. "Perhaps someone set it down temporarily and intended to return for it. Before they could, you took it."
The explanation hung in the air.
Slowly, the others nodded.
Compared to believing in magic, this sounded far more reasonable.
In these times, even entertaining thoughts of superstition was dangerous. Words like "miracle" or "magic" could easily be twisted into accusations of feudal belief. One malicious report—and a family could be dragged into trouble.
Better to believe in coincidence than invite disaster.
Li Jianmin's expression suddenly darkened.
"These are hard years," he said bitterly. "The drought is severe. People are struggling just to survive. Yet someone can afford to cook something this extravagant?" He shook his head. "Did you notice the oil in that dish? And the carrots?"
He paused, almost incredulous.
"I've only ever seen carrots in books. Never in real life. Never tasted one."
Indeed, in these years, carrots were rare beyond imagination in their region. In the south—perhaps in major port cities near Hong Kong—such vegetables might occasionally appear, imported from overseas. But in the mainland's inland provinces? They were rarer than green imperial jade.
Li Jianmin continued, his tone edged with resentment. "What does that tell us? It means someone out there has the means to live comfortably even in these difficult times." His lips twisted. "If he can enjoy such things, why not help others? Why keep everything to himself?"
Li Jianguo nodded slowly, his jaw tightening.
The injustice of it all weighed heavily on young hearts.
But Li Jianhua did not agree.
He straightened in his seat, his gaze calm yet piercing.
"That line of thinking is dangerous, Third Brother," he said quietly.
Li Jianmin frowned. "Dangerous?"
"Yes." Li Jianhua's voice was measured. "According to you, if someone has the means, he must help everyone. But do you understand the reality of these times? Even the most capable individual has limits."
He looked at each of them in turn.
"If he helps one family, what about the next? If he feeds ten people today, can he feed a hundred tomorrow? And if he cannot continue—if one day he is no longer able to provide—what then?"
Silence deepened.
"Gratitude," Li Jianhua said softly, "is fragile. Once people grow accustomed to receiving help, they may come to believe it is their right. And when that help stops…" He paused, his expression hardening slightly. "Resentment can grow faster than weeds in summer."
He let the words sink in.
"In desperate times, morality twists easily. The one who gives may one day become the target of blame."
Li Shuying listened quietly.
Her eldest brother's words struck closer to truth than the others realized.
In her previous life, she had seen it—how quickly kindness could turn into expectation, and expectation into hatred.
That night, their humble house welcomed another celebration.
When Chen Meilan returned from the canteen and showed her husband's allowance passbook, everyone was stunned for a long while. Their eyes grew moist as they held the passbook as though it were something sacred.
The three brothers surrounded Li Shuying at once. They praised her repeatedly, half in admiration, half in disbelief.
"It was all Little Sister's courage," Li Jianmin declared proudly. "If it were us, we would have swallowed our anger."
Then his expression darkened abruptly.
"Mother, tomorrow I'll personally go to the county and bring back grain. Now we have money and coupons." His lips twisted in disgust. "Who knows when those leeches from the main household will try to snatch it back? We should use it before they even think of coming."
Chen Meilan considered his words carefully before nodding.
"Yes. But we must not spend it all at once," she added after a pause. "On Monday, when you return to school, won't you need money for meals?"
The three brothers froze.
Though they were in high school, they had never once stepped into the school canteen. How could they? They had never possessed the means to pay for food. Hunger had long ago become something they endured silently, never daring to trouble their mother with it.
Their eyes reddened almost at once.
Li Jianguo spoke first, his voice low. "Mother… is that true? Can we really use the money to eat at school?"
Chen Meilan's gaze softened. "Yes. Tomorrow, deposit the money properly. From now on, you will eat regularly at the canteen."
Li Jianhua immediately shook his head.
"Mother, after paying two yuan for filial piety, we only have eighteen yuan left. The monthly canteen deposit is three yuan per person. If all four of us pay, that's twelve yuan. Only six yuan would remain."
He paused, calculating carefully as always.
"Let Jianguo, Jianmin, and Shuying deposit theirs. I will manage somehow. I only have a few months left before the college entrance examination."
Silence fell over the room.
Chen Meilan opened her mouth to protest—but Li Shuying spoke first.
"Elder Brother, precisely because you are preparing for the college entrance examination, you must eat regularly." Her tone was firm despite her youth. "All of us will deposit. There is no need to hesitate. Six yuan is enough to buy extra grain and oil. Father's coupons are national coupons after all."
Her calm reasoning steadied the room.
After a moment, they all nodded.
It was decided: twelve yuan would be deposited for monthly meals at the school canteen. The remaining six yuan would be used the next day to purchase additional grain and a small amount of oil.
Yet long after the others had fallen asleep, Li Shuying remained awake in her room.
Moonlight filtered through the newspaper-patched window, casting pale squares of silver across the earthen floor. The house was quiet.
She lay on her thin quilt, staring upward.
Although they had agreed that someone must have temporarily placed the bowl of Sweet and Sour Chicken where she found it, only she knew what had truly happened in that moment.
Her eyes had been closed.
She had been thinking of the dish.
And then—it had appeared.
The twins had claimed they saw it materialize from nothing.
She turned onto her side, her heart beating faster.
Carefully, she closed her eyes again and thought of other dishes she loved from her previous life.
Pork and cabbage dumplings.
Braised pork with glass noodles.
Scrambled eggs with chives.
Her mouth watered instinctively.
Nothing happened.
She waited.
Still nothing.
Her expression fell.
Earlier, for a fleeting moment, she had wondered if her rebirth had granted her a golden finger—like the heroines in the online novels she once read.
But perhaps that had been foolish.
Perhaps she was not the heroine of this story.
Perhaps Zhao Hongmei was the true protagonist.
With a quiet sigh, she prepared to sleep.
Then—
Her eyes snapped open.
Of course.
At the time the bowl appeared, she had not merely been thinking of food in general.
She had been thinking specifically of the dish she last prepared in the farm game's kitchen.
The "useless" kitchen feature she rarely used.
Her pulse quickened.
She closed her eyes once more and tried to recall the dish she had made before Sweet and Sour Chicken.
Her memory resisted at first. She had seldom used that function.
Then it came to her.
A noodle dish.
Months ago, when her virtual warehouse had been full, she had prepared it absentmindedly.
She concentrated.
Hand-Pulled Noodles with Pork Sauce.
She pictured the animated image from the game.
She focused on every detail.
The sheen of the sauce.
The steam rising.
The aroma she imagined it would have.
Suddenly—
A soft weight pressed against the quilt near her knees.
Her eyes flew open.
There, upon her bed sat a porcelain bowl filled with Hand-Pulled Noodles drenched in rich pork sauce.
Steam curled upward.
The fragrance of wheat and savory bean paste filled the small room.
For a moment, Li Shuying could not breathe.
Her heart pounded so violently she feared it might wake her brothers in another room.
Slowly, trembling, she pushed herself upright.
The bowl did not vanish.
It was real.
Terrifyingly real.
She stared at it in shock, moonlight illuminating the glossy surface of the noodles.
This time, there was no doubt.
It had appeared because she willed it.
And in that quiet, silver-lit room, a realization dawned upon her—
Her rebirth had not come empty-handed after all.