After seeing off Director Zhang who came to apologize, Lin Wanqiu turned around and saw Shen Nian'an running over with freshly heated corn porridge in her hand, her little face flushed: "Mom, Director Zhang really doesn't blame us anymore? Can we still deliver tofu to the supply and marketing cooperative in the future?"

She took the bowl, her fingertips touching the warm porcelain, and her heart warmed a little, but she still teased him on purpose: "If we can't send it, Nian'an won't have any fried tofu puffs to eat."

Shen Nian'an's lips trembled, and her eyes instantly reddened, but she quickly looked up to hold back her tears, clutching her mother's clothes and whispering, "Then I won't eat fried tofu puffs anymore, Mother, don't be sad."

Lin Wanqiu's heart softened, and she squatted down to hug her son, resting her chin on his fluffy head: "Silly boy, Mom was just teasing you. But this misunderstanding can only be cleared up temporarily. Zhao Jianjun didn't get the better of us, and he will definitely cause us other troubles. We need to find a stronger backer."

This wasn't just idle talk. She'd clearly seen the hesitation in Director Zhang's eyes when he apologized—if it weren't for the commune leaders pressuring them, they might not have been able to get the supply and marketing cooperative to back down so readily based solely on Grandpa Li's testimony. Zhao Jianjun's father was the brigade secretary, and had some influence in the commune; having suffered this loss, he might very well try to sabotage her behind her back. To ensure the tofu business could continue smoothly, she needed the approval of the truly decisive people in the commune.

And this person was Zhou Mingyuan, the commune secretary.

But how easy is it to meet the commune secretary? Lin Wanqiu pondered all night, and before dawn the next morning, she went into the kitchen and started making things. Shen Nian'an rubbed her eyes and came over, only to see several strange things on the cutting board: finely ground soybean flour, a small amount of glutinous rice flour taken from her space, and a small bowl of orange-yellow pumpkin puree.

"Mom, what are you doing?" Shen Nian'an asked curiously, leaning against the edge of the cutting board.

Lin Wanqiu poured the pumpkin puree into the soybean flour, flicked her wrist, and stirred it rapidly with a wooden spoon: "Mother is going to make something good. This stuff will help us completely suppress that scoundrel Zhao Jianjun, and no one will dare to bully us again."

What she was making was a "health-preserving tofu" she had learned from a cooking show in her previous life. In the 1960s, resources were scarce; let alone health preservation, just being able to eat one's fill was a blessing. Commune cadres, constantly busy with official duties, often suffered from indigestion. Her tofu, made with pumpkin puree (good for the spleen and stomach) and a small amount of glutinous rice flour, had a softer, more tender texture and a subtle sweetness, perfectly addressing the "pain points" of that era. More importantly, this "special" tofu would ensure that Secretary Zhou remembered her, Lin Wanqiu, and that her tofu was extraordinary—ordinary people couldn't make it taste like this.

Grinding the soybeans, boiling the soy milk, and adding the coagulant—every step was done with more care than usual. When the first piece of pumpkin tofu was ready, the morning light streamed in through the window, bathing the tender yellow tofu in a warm glow. It trembled at the slightest touch, and before even tasting it, a faint pumpkin aroma filled the air.

Shen Nian'an stood on tiptoe and looked at it for a long time, then swallowed hard. "Mom, this tofu looks even tastier than usual. Can I have a bite? Just a small bite."

Lin Wanqiu smiled and picked up a small piece with her chopsticks, holding it to his lips. The moment it touched his tongue, Shen Nian'an's eyes lit up: "Wow! Mom, this tofu is sweet! It's even better than sweet potatoes!"

"This is our 'secret weapon,' we can't just eat it casually." Lin Wanqiu carefully put the remaining tofu into a wooden box lined with oil paper, wrapped it in three layers of coarse cloth, and tucked it into her bosom—it was still chilly, so she had to make sure it was still warm when it reached the secretary.

After settling Chen Nian'an in, she slung her basket over her shoulder and stepped outside when she saw Aunt Wang peeking in from the courtyard gate. Seeing her come out, Aunt Wang quickly ran over, grabbed her hand, and whispered, "Wanqiu, you must be careful! I went to fetch water at the village entrance just now and overheard Zhang Lan gossiping with someone, saying that Zhao Jianjun is going to the commune to find his father, saying that you put 'something unclean' in your tofu, and that he's going to have the commune investigate you!"

Lin Wanqiu's heart skipped a beat, but she quickly breathed a sigh of relief—thankfully, she had come prepared. If she had waited for Zhao Jianjun to complain first before explaining, it would have looked like she was trying to cover it up; now, by proactively delivering the tofu, she could catch him off guard.

She thanked Aunt Wang and hurried briskly towards the commune. She pondered her words along the way, and before she knew it, she had arrived at the commune compound gate. The militiaman on guard stopped her, asking sternly, "Comrade, who are you looking for? Do you have a letter of introduction?"

"I'm here to see Secretary Zhou to deliver some of our brigade's specialties. I'd like you to try them." Lin Wanqiu handed the basket forward, a sincere smile on his face. "I'm Lin Wanqiu from the Hongqi Production Brigade, the one who talked to the supply and marketing cooperative about tofu a while ago."

The militiaman looked her up and down, noticing that she was wearing a clean blue cloth jacket and that there was nothing suspicious in her basket. He hesitated for a moment and said, "Secretary Zhou is in a meeting right now. Why don't you wait here for a while and don't wander around?"

More than half an hour passed as she waited. A gust of wind blew in from the courtyard gate, and Lin Wanqiu tightened her grip on the tofu box in her arms, afraid it would get cold and affect the taste. Just as she was wondering whether to talk to the militia again, she saw a group of people walk out of the office building. Leading them was a man around fifty years old, wearing a faded cadre's uniform, his hair neatly combed, but his eyes sharp—clearly a capable person. Without a doubt, this was Zhou Mingyuan.

Lin Wanqiu took a deep breath and quickly went to meet him. Just as she was about to speak, she heard someone call out from behind, "Lin Wanqiu! What are you doing here? Are you trying to pull some trick again?"

She turned around and saw Zhao Jianjun following behind his father, Zhao Fugui, pointing at her with a smug look on his face. Zhao Fugui also frowned and said sternly, "Lin Wanqiu, why aren't you staying in the village? What are you doing here at the commune? Is it because of the supply and marketing cooperative's suspension of cooperation that you want to complain here? Let me tell you, the commune is a place for reason, not a place for you to throw a tantrum!"

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