Chapter 595: Li Ruhai: A Little Idle Chat

The three little girls rushed to their mothers. Wang Meilan stroked a little head with each hand, but she didn’t have time to comfort her two daughters. She just asked Li Dayong, “Where’s your big brother?”

By then, Li Dayong had already put down his chopsticks and cornmeal muffin. He got off the kang bed-stove and said to Wang Meilan with a frown, “My big brother… went hunting.”

As soon as he said it, Li Dayong saw Wang Meilan’s jaw clench, her cheek twitching.

If Jie Chen, their guest, hadn’t been there, Wang Meilan would have started cursing.

Just then, Jin Xiaomei gently nudged Li Xiaoqiao, who was hugging her leg, and said, “Sweetheart, what are you crying for?”

It made sense for Zhao Hong and Zhao Na to be crying; their father was being irresponsible, ditching his daughters to go hunting.

But what was Li Xiaoqiao crying about? Her mom might not have been home, but her dad was still there.

Li Xiaoqiao wiped her tears with one hand and pointed at the low table on the kang with the other, saying, “It’s too gross.”

Hearing this, Jin Xiaomei led Li Xiaoqiao to the low table. Where Li Dayong had just been sitting, there were only two cornmeal muffins and a pickled cucumber.

In front of the three little girls, however, there was a dish. The bowl contained spoonful after spoonful of a solid mass. It wasn’t quite yellow, nor was it white—a dingy, grayish color, as they’d say in the Northeast—and it was covered in honeycomb-like holes.

Holding Li Xiaoqiao with one hand, Jin Xiaomei thrust the bowl in front of Li Dayong with the other, angling it so he could see inside. “What in the world did you make for the children?”

Even though he’d made it himself, Li Dayong still instinctively glanced into the bowl before looking up to answer, “It’s steamed egg custard, isn’t it?”

Hearing this, Wang Meilan came over for a curious look and laughed. “Dayong, did you forget to add water when you steamed the eggs?”

“Huh?” Li Dayong froze. “You have to add water?”

Back then, very few men in the Northeast knew how to cook, unless they were professional chefs. Boiling a few dumplings and getting them fully cooked was a challenge in itself.

That was why, even when he was being “reformed through labor” for hiding a private stash of money, Jin Xiaomei hadn’t dared to let Li Dayong cook. The most she’d let him do was help wash the rice or vegetables.

“Sigh!” Jin Xiaomei led Li Xiaoqiao back to the table, sighing and shaking her head. “How many eggs did you use? It looks like the kids haven’t touched it.”

“My dad steamed six eggs,” Li Xiaoqiao piped up. “He gave me three spoonfuls, Zhao Hong four, and Xiaona four. None of us ate it. It wasn’t salty or anything. We couldn’t swallow it.”

“Oh, Dayong!” Wang Meilan said from the side. Hearing Li Xiaoqiao say that Li Dayong had given her own daughters, Zhao Hong and Zhao Na, even bigger portions than his own child, she felt a swell of gratitude. Still, what needed to be said, needed to be said.

So, Wang Meilan continued, “Even if you don’t add salt when you beat the eggs, you should at least pour some soy sauce on it after it’s steamed.”

“Wait!” As soon as Wang Meilan finished speaking, Jin Xiaomei turned to Li Dayong. “Our eggs… didn’t we cook them all when Baoyu’s uncle was here the other day? Where did you get six eggs?”

Jin Xiaomei assumed the eggs were from Zhao Jun’s family—that Zhao Youcai had left them for the children before he left. She hoped Li Dayong’s answer might put in a good word for Zhao Youcai.

But Li Dayong said, “Zhao Jun’s aunt gave them to me.”

“What?” Wang Meilan was taken aback. She quickly asked, “What did his aunt come here for?”

“Looking for his uncle, of course,” Li Dayong said. “My big brother took Wang Qiang away early this morning. Wang Qiang hasn’t been home all day, so his wife was searching all over the village for him.

“Later, she heard from Mrs. Han that my big brother had called Wang Qiang away, so she came to your place. When she saw no one was home, she came over to my house.

“When I told her his uncle and the others went hunting, his aunt asked me what I was making for the kids tonight. I said cornmeal muffins and pickled vegetables. So, she asked what I knew how to make, and I said I could steam egg custard.”

Li Dayong’s explanation made Wang Meilan’s cheeks puff out in anger again. Seeing things were about to go south, Jin Xiaomei quickly tried to smooth things over, teasing him, “And you said you knew how to make steamed egg custard. You completely wasted the six eggs Zhao Ling gave you.”

Li Dayong gave a goofy laugh. “I didn’t know you had to add water to this thing.”

Seeing his simple, honest expression, everyone laughed. But there was no mockery in their laughter; it was perfectly normal for men of that era not to know how to cook.

“Oh, you,” Jin Xiaomei glanced at the cornmeal muffins Li Dayong had left on the table and chuckled. “While you were steaming the eggs, didn’t it occur to you to warm up the muffins?”

“Ah, I forgot. Hehe,” Li Dayong laughed. “I was so busy with the steamed egg custard that I totally forgot about the muffins.”

At this, everyone laughed again. Even Wang Meilan couldn’t hold back a smile, and most of her anger dissipated.

Just then, Jin Xiaomei looked at the cornmeal muffins on the table. ‘We haven’t made any muffins at our house these past few days,’ she thought. ‘Zhao Youcai must have steamed these for the children.’

With that in mind, she decided to help make Zhao Youcai look a little better, if only to keep Wang Meilan from getting too angry.

So, Jin Xiaomei said to Li Dayong, “Our big brother must have given you these muffins, right? They look really well-made. Look, they even have beans on top.”

“Nope!” But to Jin Xiaomei’s surprise, Li Dayong shook his head and said, “Shunzi’s wife brought these over.”

Jin Xiaomei froze, then asked instinctively, “Shunzi’s wife?”

“Yeah!” Li Dayong said. “Shunzi went with my big brother. Around three this afternoon, Shunzi’s wife came by to see if they were back yet. She saw me here with the three kids, knew I couldn’t cook, and after she went home, she brought back a few muffins for me.”

This time, no matter how angry Wang Meilan got, Jin Xiaomei didn’t say another word. What kind of father was he? The whole reason they had insisted on going to Lingnan on a Sunday was because they knew Li Dayong couldn’t cook, and they figured Zhao Youcai, the “master chef,” could stay home and make something for the four children.