Chapter 7 "Is there meat in this spoon, or is it thick...?"

Shu Ran slept on the new mattress for a while, and when she opened her eyes again, she was starving.

She glanced at her watch; it was already past eight in the afternoon. Due to the time difference, it gets dark late in Xinjiang, so it was still daytime outside.

She picked up her enamel basin and spoon and headed towards the company canteen.

A long queue had already formed in the cafeteria. The cook was a burly man in an apron, wielding a large, long-handled iron ladle.

Shu Ran lined up at the window. While the male employees ahead of her were getting their food, the chubby cook flicked his wrist, skillfully scraping the bottom of the bucket with his iron ladle. The resulting porridge was so thick that chopsticks could almost stand upright on it, with a few glistening pieces of mutton floating precariously on top.

When it was the female employees' turn, especially some who looked thin or were new young women, the spoon became "lighter," only lightly scooping the porridge from the surface, making it watery and bland, with hardly any meat bits to be found.

It was Shu Ran's turn. She handed over her enamel basin.

The portly man glanced at her, his eyes lingering on her fair face and clean Lenin uniform, and he pursed his lips.

Sure enough, the large iron ladle reached into the porridge bucket, stirred it perfunctorily on the surface, and scooped up a spoonful of the thin, watery stuff to pour into her basin.

Just as that spoonful of "clear soup" was about to hit the plate—

"Master!" Shu Ran's clear voice rang out. She held the enamel basin in one hand and with the other hand, she bent her index and middle fingers and tapped the edge of the enamel basin three times with a "clang! clang! clang!" sound.

The sound wasn't loud, but it was unusually abrupt. The surroundings instantly quieted down, and everyone in line turned to look.

The portly cook froze, the spoon hovering in mid-air, the mushy bits dripping back into the bucket. He frowned, glaring fiercely at Shu Ran: "What are you banging for? There's a line behind you!"

Shu Ran showed no fear whatsoever, but instead revealed a sincere expression of seeking guidance, "Master, I just have a question and would like to ask you for advice."

She paused, and under the impatient gaze of the portly cook, slowly asked, "Excuse me, sir, what are the rations for today's meals? How much porridge per person? How much meat? I noticed the men in front of me had theirs a bit thicker?"

The portly chef froze, and Shu Ran added, "The Three Main Rules of Discipline and the Eight Points for Attention require 'fair trade,' so when we distribute food to our colleagues in the canteen, shouldn't we also do so fairly and equally, according to the amount?"

The fat chef's face twitched, and a hint of panic flashed in his eyes. This seemingly delicate capitalist's daughter actually brought this up in public! The people queuing around, especially the female employees who were usually given only simple soup, all changed their expressions.

The fat chef's face turned red and white in turns. Under the watchful eyes of everyone, this was no joke!

He glared fiercely at Shu Ran, then with a sudden thud, he plunged the iron ladle into the bottom of the porridge bucket, stirred it violently a few times, scooped up a large ladleful piled high with several pieces of mutton, and slammed it down into the enamel basin that Shu Ran had extended.

"Enough already?!" the fat chef spat out through gritted teeth, speaking fiercely.

"Thank you, Master!" Shu Ran seemed oblivious to his murderous glare, a sweet smile blooming on her face. She picked up the bowl of dinner and calmly turned to leave the window.

A few suppressed chuckles and low cheers rose from the surrounding area.

The fat chef was so angry that his chest heaved, but he couldn't vent his anger. He could only take it out on the next person getting food, slamming his spoon down with a loud bang.

Shu Ran, carrying a full enamel basin, found a corner to sit down. She picked up a spoon, ready to enjoy her spoils, when she caught a glimpse of the light dimming at the doorway.

Chen Yuanjiang's figure appeared at the entrance of the cafeteria. He had obviously just finished his work, and his gaze habitually swept across the cafeteria, past the crowd, past the chubby chef at the window, and finally landed on the enamel basin piled high in front of Shu Ran.

Immediately, he looked away and walked towards the food serving window.

When the chubby chef saw Chen Yuanjiang, he forced a smile and quickly scooped out a large spoonful of meat for him.

Shu Ran lowered her head and ate the mutton. Mmm, it tasted good. This dinner was especially delicious.

She had just put down her spoon when a figure sat down opposite her with a bowl in hand.

"Comrade Shu Ran? Hello."

Shu Ran looked up. Sitting opposite her was a young man, about twenty-five or twenty-six years old, wearing thick glasses, his hair neatly combed, and with a scholarly air about him. The porridge in his bowl was very thin, with only a few scattered shreds of pickled vegetables.

"Hello." Shu Ran nodded politely, recognizing him as one of the people she had seen in the cafeteria yesterday.

“Zhou Wenbin,” the man pushed up his glasses and introduced himself, his voice carrying a slight southern accent and a somewhat deep tone, “a technician sent down from the division’s agricultural research institute, specializing in soil improvement.”

He glanced at the empty bowl in front of Shu Ran, then at the watery soup in his own bowl, and gave a self-deprecating bitter smile. "Comrade Shu Ran really knows how to handle things. The food in this godforsaken place is so bland and watery, it's hard to swallow. I've never eaten anything like this in Shanghai." He disdainfully poked at the pickled vegetable shreds in his bowl with the tip of his chopsticks.

His tone was full of complaints and a sense of superiority and loss, as if he had been exiled to a desolate land.

The word "Shanghai" held a powerful allure, striking a chord with her deepest, most secret desires. An urge to escape from this place was awakened.

Her fingers, holding the empty basin, tightened unconsciously; she could barely resist the urge to agree.

She opened her mouth, the words "Yes, it's so hard" almost escaping her lips. But in the end, she simply lowered her eyes and replied, "...Well, it's not quite the same."

She didn't want to hear any more words that were trying to sway her will; she just wanted to leave immediately. She hurriedly cleared away the dishes, saying, "Teacher Zhou, please enjoy your meal. I... I'm leaving now."

She turned around somewhat hastily, picked up the empty basin, and quickly left her seat.

Zhou Wenbin watched her retreating figure, wanting to say something more, but Shu Ran had already walked far away.

Shu Ran walked out of the canteen and headed towards the dilapidated shed that had just been cleaned up behind the company headquarters.

With her head down, still planning tomorrow's "battle," she rounded the shadow of the row of mud-brick houses where the company headquarters was located, and her line of sight was drawn to a pair of suede shoes that stopped a few steps ahead of her on the path.

Shu Ran paused, her heart instinctively tightening. She slowly raised her eyes.

Chen Yuanjiang stood before her, his deep eyes fixed on her. He had just come from the cafeteria, seemingly heading back to his small room with the special symbol on it.

Shu Ran subtly shifted her foot half a step to the side, intending to go around him. She didn't want to have anything to do with him again.

"Comrade Shu Ran."

There was no way to avoid it. Shu Ran stopped, turned slightly to look at him, her face expressionless: "What a coincidence, Officer Chen."

“Unfortunately,” he took two steps forward, “I came here to find you.”

Shu Ran met his gaze, her tone wary: "Is there something you need?"

Chen Yuanjiang's gaze sharpened as he swept it over her pocket.

“Zhou Wenbin, who spoke to you today,” he paused, seemingly choosing his words carefully, but his words still carried a coldness, “has the same background and identity as you.”

Shu Ran straightened her back; she understood his unspoken meaning.

"What does this have to do with me?" Her voice turned cold.

Chen Yuanjiang hadn't expected her to talk back, and said in a deep voice, "I just wanted to remind you to raise your ideological awareness." These words sounded like a warning.

"Thanks for the reminder," Shu Ran replied coldly. "I know you're someone who specifically... cares about our thoughts, but surely it's not wrong for two people of the same kind to exchange a few words?"

The atmosphere reached a stalemate.

After a brief silence, Chen Yuanjiang spoke again, his tone hesitant: "What happened last time... I was just taking things for granted."

Shu Ran looked up at him. Was this almost a disguised apology? The slight resistance in her heart subsided a bit.

"...It's nothing." She finally uttered only two dry words and looked away.

Chen Yuanjiang didn't seem to intend to dwell on this topic. He changed the subject, "How's the construction of Qiming Elementary School going?"

Shu Ran froze, looking at him blankly: "What primary school?" She wondered if she had misheard. In this desolate livestock farm, where was there a primary school besides her dilapidated shed?

“The document says that each company should develop education, so I submitted a report to the higher-ups.” Chen Yuanjiang paused, his gaze falling on the tool shed leaning against the wall behind her. “The classroom you’re cleaning up is the only teaching point in our company. From now on, it will be Qiming Primary School.”

She found it hard to believe that he had submitted a report giving that dilapidated shed an official name, the status of a primary school.

Chen Yuanjiang's gaze returned to her face. "Your superiors know you have a heavy task," he continued, "and have explicitly requested that you take time off to teach literacy. They hope you can complete the task assigned to you by the organization."

Taking time off to teach literacy means she won't be assigned any work tasks?

A surge of emotion welled up in her eyes as she poured out the pent-up frustration of the past few days, and her restrained voice rang out: "Definitely."

Chen Yuanjiang glanced at her, said nothing more, and strode away.

She walked to the shed by the wall and stood in front of the adobe platform. She touched the rough surface of the door panel, the blackboard she would be using from now on. The ink wasn't completely dry yet, and a little stained her fingertip.

The podium was simple, even a little crooked, but it was her battleground.

"We have the podium, but where are the desks?" Shu Ran looked around the empty shed. Zhao Weidong had only provided the space; nothing else.

She walked to the corner of the shed, where several relatively flat large adobe bricks she had cleared out that morning were piled up. She tried to move one; it was heavy, but easier to move than the small adobe bricks she had used to build the lectern. She moved the three large adobe bricks to the center of the shed, arranging them in a triangular pattern.

"These are the desks." Shu Ran looked at the three clods of dirt and smiled wryly. She imagined the children hunched over them writing, knowing it would be uncomfortable for their hands.

She glanced at the ground again and saw a few small, scattered pieces of chalk. "I'll use these as chalk." She bent down, picked up a few pieces, weighed them in her hand, and found that the edges were still relatively sharp and could leave white marks when drawn on the blackboard.

“A pointer…” Her gaze fell on a few discarded, still relatively straight, tamarisk branches in the corner. She walked over and picked one up; it was the perfect length and quite resilient. “This is it.”

The simple teaching aids have finally been found.

Shu Ran breathed a sigh of relief. She walked to the door and, using the last rays of daylight, looked at the empty interior of the shed, her gaze falling on the large mud bricks that served as desks.

The children could only squat or sit on the ground, writing and drawing on clods of dirt. It must have been uncomfortable after a while. She frowned.

We need to find something to sit on, even if it's just a low stool.

A note from the author:

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