"Brother, eat," Qin Xiangnuan touched the bowl in Qin Xiangyang’s hand, "It’s getting cold," and she did not plan to tell her brother about her rebirth—it was better this way, to let them start anew and live this life over, altering the destiny of their last life.
"Alright," Qin Xiangyang contently sipped the cornmeal, it was just a pity there were no pancakes, otherwise eating would have been even more delicious, and also filling. Now, this cornmeal barely sufficed to quell the hunger. Qin Xiangnuan ran to the cupboard and took out the multilayered pancakes she had made, though they had been sitting for half a day, they were still quite soft but had cooled down.
"Brother, eat," she placed the multilayered pancakes in front of Qin Xiangyang.
Seeing the soft and crispy pancakes made by his sister scared Qin Xiangyang at first, "Sis, where did these come from? Mom won’t allow us to eat pancakes."
"I made them secretly, she doesn’t know," Qin Xiangnuan wrinkled her little face, then tore off a piece for herself and put it in her mouth, tasting quite good for something made from plain flour, very filling.
"Brother, eat," she tore off another large piece and placed it before Qin Xiangyang.
Qin Xiangyang, trembling, took it and also tore off a piece and stuffed it in his mouth, "Delicious, turns out the pancakes made by my sister are even tastier than those made by our stepmother. But, don’t let her know, otherwise you’ll have to do one more chore." As he ate, he spoke, afraid that his sister, so young, would have endless chores to do. At least for now, she doesn’t make pancakes, Hu Li wouldn’t let her do it, nor does she make noodles, so Hu Li rolls them, and she cooks them.
"Yes, Nuannuan knows, I won’t tell anyone." Qin Xiangnuan nodded her head vehemently, then placed all the made multilayered pancakes in front of Qin Xiangyang.
Qin Xiangyang, however, couldn’t bear to eat much, eating one piece and then placing the rest back in the cupboard for when his sister would be hungry next. Even so, that night was the fullest he had been for many years, his stomach wasn’t hungry, allowing him to sleep well.
Nowadays, after they both went out, Qin Xiangnuan would clean the house, wash clothes, and do whatever Hu Li told her to do, never talking back, just working quietly, causing Hu Li’s hits to feel like they were striking cotton, brewing frustration that was unleashing horribly abusive language upon Qin Xiangyang in the fields, which the villagers occasionally overheard. They covertly talked about Qin Guohua’s choice of wife, foretelling troubles, pitying those children left behind by Du Ping—the boy only eight and the girl just five, their motherless days hard indeed.
Qin Xiangnuan snuck some flour, hiding it in the cupboard, now aiming to make and sell pancakes to quickly gather the money needed for her brother’s medicine. Over 30 yuan, in different times might not be enough even for a meal, but currently, it was a significant sum.
A stick of fried dough 0.04 yuan, only half a liang.
Plain soy milk 0.03 yuan, salty soy milk 0.04 yuan, sweet soy milk 0.05 yuan.
Plain noodles 0.08 yuan, a bowl of two liang, simply noodles with some Conghua added.
Vegetable noodle soup 0.15 yuan, with some greens and oily tofu added, though not much oiliness in it.
Matches 0.02 yuan a box.
Salt 0.15 yuan a catty.
Granulated sugar 0.78 yuan a catty.
When shopping all prices were accounted in cents, so 30 yuan, 30 yuan indeed, could buy over three hundred bowls of noodles, plenty of fried dough sticks. But is brother’s life only worth these 30 yuan? In modern times, for ill children, which family would not desperately try to save their child?