CHAPTER 413: CHAPTER 107: SUFFERING LOSS IS A BLESSING

Upon entering, there wasn’t a single response from inside the house, seemingly another solitary residence.

Glancing at the time, it was nearing noon, time to cook. He first entered the kitchen to wash rice and cut a piece of the newly bought sweet potato, not bothering to peel it, and tossed it directly into the pressure cooker, turning on the gas stove.

After washing rice and getting it ready to cook, the male guest who bought the sweet potatoes wasn’t hurried to stir-fry other dishes. Instead, he bypassed the kitchen, parted the reed curtain hanging in front of the door, and walked into the adjacent room.

The room next to the kitchen turned out to be a study. Its furnishings were simple: a rattan chair placed next to a desk by the bookshelf. The man seemed to prefer simplicity, with not many things in the room.

He sat down at the desk, scanning documents from left to right. He first picked up a report titled "National Grain Output Increase for the First Quarter," with the Chinese Academy of Agricultural Sciences at the bottom.

"A common county-level village claiming to have produced a thousand kilograms of rice per hectare. It’s not ’The Great Leap Forward’ era anymore, yet still indulging in such extravagance. These people need to be seriously dealt with." After tossing aside the obviously embellished document, the man picked up another report on "Agricultural Mechanization."

It was only after another ten minutes or so, when the unique sweet aroma of sweet potatoes mixed with rice wafted from the kitchen, that the man stood up, walked back to the kitchen, and turned off the gas.

At that moment, the sound of cheerful footsteps approached the door. Hearing them, his eyes flickered with joy, which he quickly covered up.

"Yu Gang, I’ve brought you some good food," the visitor said, using her own keys to come straight in, carrying a bag with soy-braised pork knuckles, spicy pickled cucumbers, sweet and sour spare ribs, and salt and pepper corn.

She walked into the kitchen, circled around the pressure cooker, took a whiff, "Amazing, where did you buy these fresh sweet potatoes, and in season too? Mixed with rice, the flavor must be exceptional. Got some for me?" She spoke eagerly as she couldn’t wait to lift the pot’s lid, only to be stung by the escaping steam, yelping from the burn.

"How could I forget about you? Every week at this time, you still have the nerve to come over for a free meal," the man who bought the sweet potatoes said while already moving a small dining table up against the wall, then took out two sets of bowls and chopsticks from the cupboard, clearly having prepared in advance.

"Look at what you’re saying. When have I ever come over without bringing your favorites? All you have to offer is a mouth and a stomach, at most chip in a bottle of Erguotou liquor—a surefire gain with no loss. What’s there to complain about?" The woman, unceremoniously familiar with the place, found a dry towel to place on the table, opened the pot lid and upon seeing the white rice and red-skinned sweet potatoes inside, saliva filled her cheeks.

"Let’s eat later, this stuff is scalding hot, it could burn through one’s intestines," the man used his chopsticks to stop the woman’s hurried attempt to scoop out the sweet potatoes, after all these years, she hadn’t changed.

"Then let’s start with the dishes, all your favorites. A little appetizer wine before the meal, and this week will be complete," the woman didn’t touch the dishes, taking a sip of liquor on an empty stomach. Seeing the man not moving his chopsticks, she started urging, "Why aren’t you eating? It’s all from Sauce Fragrance Garden, the same taste after so many years, aren’t their dishes your favorite?"

"True, it’s been many years. I used to love their soy-braised pork knuckles and sweet and sour spare ribs, the flavor is still authentic. Unfortunately, my stomach is no longer up to snuff. Last year, during the medical checkup, the doctor advised me to cut down on greasy food, exercise more, and consume more coarse grains, so I bought these sweet potatoes," the man hummed lowly, his gaze fixed on the dishes laid out in front of him.

"Then just eat the sweet potatoes, that’s great too. Sweet potatoes are the best for cancer prevention, both raw and cooked are good, especially the purple ones," the woman seemed to be ignoring the man’s slightly melancholic words, served two bowls of rice, one of which she pushed in front of him, and then started to bury her head in her sweet potato rice meal.

A good bowl of sweet potato rice should keep the rice and sweet potatoes distinct. The man’s seemingly careless cooking had resulted in a bowl where each grain of rice and piece of sweet potato stood out clearly with a chewy and fragrant texture. After the woman took a few bites, she paused, looking into her bowl of sweet potato rice.

"The rice is good; it must be the new Northeast rice just out from the lab. It’s good to be in the Ministry of Agriculture, where you get first dibs on new agricultural products with guaranteed quality. However... these sweet potatoes," one could tell that the woman was also an expert in crops, as she managed to glean a fair bit of insight from just a few bites of her meal.