Chapter 31:

Lin Duzhong didn’t know that Lin Chuanbai had gone out. Before going to sleep, he looked at the light in his room with a sense of relief.

He naturally wanted to pass down the family’s medical heritage and didn’t want it to end with him.

Although he had three children, only his daughter had pursued medicine in this generation. Back then, he hadn’t hesitated to teach her just because she was a woman, and she became the only one of his children to become a doctor. However, in the end, she had already married and moved away.

As for his two sons, the eldest was intelligent but had no interest in medicine. He had joined the military and made a name for himself, now serving as a factory director in a distant city. He had achieved success, and as a father, Lin Duzhong couldn’t dismiss his years of hard work.

The youngest son had wanted to learn medicine but simply lacked the talent. Lin Duzhong had poured a lot of effort into teaching him but ultimately had to give up. Some people just weren’t cut out for this profession—his son was too rigid and couldn’t adapt flexibly. How could he trust someone like that to prescribe medicine to patients?

Now, his youngest son worked as a quality inspector in a pharmaceutical factory, which was acceptable. Though he couldn’t become a doctor due to the family’s medical legacy, he was at least capable of assessing the quality of medicinal herbs.

As for his grandchildren, the eldest grandson lived in Shanghai, and the eldest granddaughter worked at the city’s Women’s Federation. The second grandson had initially shown no interest in medicine, passively absorbing the knowledge Lin Duzhong taught him. But now, he had finally turned around—from reluctance to enthusiasm—and Lin Duzhong couldn’t be happier.

From his youngest son’s side, there was one granddaughter and one grandson, neither of whom had any talent for medicine. Seeing that the family’s skills could only be passed down through the second grandson, Lin Duzhong naturally paid more attention to him.

—

Lin Chuanbai sneaked out under the cover of darkness, guided by the faint moonlight in the pitch-black sky, and arrived at the agreed-upon spot. After crouching for a while, he imitated a cat’s call twice.

“Meow~”

“Meow~”

After his calls, another set of meows echoed from somewhere, and the two successfully met.

Lin Chuanbai was the buyer, and the other was the seller.

There was no other way—even though he had a medicinal garden, it didn’t produce food or meat. If he wanted these, he had to buy them on the black market.

It wasn’t that he couldn’t buy from official stores, but when he went to grain shops or grocery stores, aside from money and ration tickets, luck played a role. If they were out of stock, no amount of money or tickets would help.

Their arrangement was mutually beneficial: Lin Chuanbai provided the medicinal packets the other party needed, while the other supplied him with grains, vegetables, and other foodstuffs.

Their acquaintance had been somewhat coincidental. Back then, Wang Zhi’s family had exhausted all their savings on hospital bills, and their production brigade could no longer cover the medical expenses, urging them to return home. But Wang Zhi wasn’t ready to give up.

He had knelt and begged the doctors at the hospital, but while temporary help was easy, his mother’s illness required long-term medication—a continuous burden.

Lin Chuanbai, moved by compassion, had approached Wang Zhi in his moment of despair and proposed the trade. He would provide medicinal packets, and if his mother’s condition changed, he would also supply the necessary follow-up prescriptions if possible. In return, Wang Zhi would provide food.

The Wang family lived in the countryside, near mountains and water. With enough courage, they could gather plenty of good things.

Normally, they traded once every ten days. Compared to the uncertainty and constant vigilance required in the black market, this arrangement was far more reliable.

The two didn’t exchange many words. After meeting, they quickly swapped their goods, checked them, and left immediately without delay.

They both had their own responsibilities the next day, and lingering would only waste time.

—

Meanwhile, Yu Xiang’an was also awake at this hour.

She was using her trained palate to compare the differences between two jars of soy sauce.

The soybeans, jars, fermentation time, and quantities used were identical—except for one thing.

One jar used water drawn from the well, while the other contained water mixed with a few drops of spiritual spring water.

After signing in consecutively for a full week, the system would randomly reward her with spiritual spring water—sometimes just a few drops, other times nearly ten.

This spiritual water didn’t have immediate effects. When used on people, the changes were subtle and hard to notice. Only when applied to livestock with short growth cycles could more obvious results be seen.

Since the spiritual water was limited, Yu Xiang’an always saved a drop or two from each batch and used the rest on herself and her family.

So far, she wasn’t sure if it was the spiritual water’s doing, but no one in the household had fallen ill recently, and everyone’s complexion seemed slightly better.

She usually added the spiritual water to cooked meals, where the taste difference was almost imperceptible.

This was the first time she had used it in soy sauce brewing.

She wanted to see if there would be any noticeable difference between the two jars.

After calculating the time, she opened the first jar—the one with well water—and dipped a chopstick in for a taste.

The soy sauce was excellent. The farm’s produce was all top-grade, and the brewed soy sauce was no exception.

Then came the second jar.

Yu Xiang’an rinsed her mouth and sampled it.

Yu Xiang’an: “!!!”

Her professional palate confirmed it—the soy sauce with spiritual water was far more flavorful!

Yu Xiang’an: “…”

This was premium quality!

She couldn’t wait to cook with it.

Did spiritual water work better in foods that required fermentation?

If it worked for soy sauce, then perhaps it could also enhance wine or vinegar. Excited, she glanced at the grapevine heavy with young fruit.

Given how many grapes it would bear, she could brew a jar of wine later.

Her eyes then fell on the pear tree laden with half-grown fruit. The pears would be ready soon—another perfect use for the spiritual water.

In just a few months, she’d have tasted four kinds of fruit.

Once the newly planted saplings matured, she could enjoy these four fruits year-round.

And if the XiXi Farm retained its upgrade features, the future looked even brighter.

She hadn’t played the game for long, but she knew it could level up—unlocking more functions like pastures, mountains, processing plants, or even a marketplace.

That night, Yu Xiang’an had a wonderful dream. By morning, she couldn’t recall the details, but the good mood lingered.

At the factory, she first checked the progress of the under-construction housing.

Sun Qingchun was also there, staring at the building with mixed emotions.

As the structure took shape day by day, some who had initially declined to buy now regretted it.

In contrast, those who had secured a unit were filled with pride and satisfaction.

In their office alone, Sun Qingchun and Yan Yuzhen were a stark contrast.

Sun Qingchun often stood by the building in regret. His family already had a home, but their cramped quarters couldn’t compare to these spacious, bright apartments.

He could have afforded a one-bedroom unit, allowing him and his wife to live comfortably.

Yan Yuzhen, on the other hand, was a frequent visitor, often helping move bricks. She felt uneasy if she didn’t check the progress daily.

Since unit assignments would eventually be decided by lottery, the one she was helping build might end up being hers.

Yu Xiang’an noted that construction was progressing faster than expected. At this rate, they could move in before the New Year.

Some were already planning their furniture arrangements.

Yu Qingshan had also asked about this.

Yu Xiang’an: “We’ll buy some secondhand furniture for now, except for the bed—that should be new. The rest can be replaced gradually.”

A new bed was affordable, but furnishing the entire place at once would be costly. She preferred upgrading piece by piece.

Yu Qingshan nodded. “As long as you have a plan. Your cousin at the recycling station has old furniture. I’ve already asked him to keep an eye out for you.”

Now, looking at the building, Yu Xiang’an felt a twinge of regret.

Should she push harder to afford new furniture sooner?

Old furniture might clash with the new home.

—

That day, Yu Xiang’an and Yan Yuzhen had lunch at the canteen as usual. After washing their bowls, they returned to the office. With some time left before the afternoon shift, they usually napped at their desks.

Today, just as they dozed off, Sun Qingchun arrived.

He usually took his lunch home since he lived nearby, unlike Yu Xiang’an and Yan Yuzhen, for whom the commute wasn’t worth the time.

“Why are you back so soon? Haven’t you eaten yet?” His lunchbox was still in his hand.

Sun Qingchun set it down. “I forgot—no one was home today. I’d be eating alone.”

Used to going home for lunch, he only remembered halfway and turned back.

He took a bite of the braised rice and frowned. “The cook forgot the salt today. It’s too bland.”

Yu Xiang’an: “It is a bit light today. I have soybean paste, peanut butter, and chili sauce here. Want some?”

Sun Qingchun, who usually didn’t eat with them, was surprised by the variety of condiments. “Sure, let me try. Did you make these yourselves?”

Yan Yuzhen grinned. “Drop the ‘selves’—I don’t have such skills. It’s all Xiao An’s work.”

Sun Qingchun tried the chili sauce first and immediately regretted his past choices. How had he missed out on something this delicious? The spiciness was perfect—just a little could make him devour three bowls of rice.

The more he ate, the more he regretted not paying attention to their meals earlier. Now, he could only make up for lost time.

With an earnest smile, he asked Yu Xiang’an, “I love this chili sauce. Could you make some for me? Just tell me what ingredients to prepare.”

He noticed the sauce contained more than just oil—there were traces of mushrooms and even a hint of meat. If he wanted her help, he’d have to provide the materials himself.

Yu Xiang’an agreed readily. “No problem. Prepare the ingredients at home, and I’ll swing by at noon to make it before returning.”

“That works.” He nodded, finding the arrangement convenient.

After finishing the chili sauce, he sampled the other two. Both were good, but the chili sauce remained his favorite—irresistibly appetizing.

Unlike the two women, who napped at their desks, Sun Qingchun didn’t take midday rests. With no commute today, he grew restless but didn’t want to disturb them. So he took the inventory list to the warehouse.

The morning’s count had been incomplete; he might as well finish it now.

—

When the afternoon shift began, Yu Xiang’an and Yan Yuzhen were back at work when Sun Qingchun returned with the list. “Finally done.”

He mentioned his trip to the warehouse: “When I got there, Chen Yi and the production team were stocking new items. What a coincidence—I watched as they tallied. This month’s defective products were two bottles fewer than last month’s.”

Defects were inevitable in production. As consumers, they loved stumbling upon “flawed” goods at supply centers—like the fabric Xu Xiaojuan had bought earlier. The so-called defects were often negligible, yet they sold without ration tickets at much lower prices, making them a bargain.

But for factories, defects meant wasted resources. The lower the defect rate, the better.

Under normal circumstances, this would be good news—but during lunch break?

As accountants, they interacted often with warehouse staff and knew Chen Yi’s reputation: a notorious slacker who dragged his feet on tasks, arrived late, and left precisely on time.

For someone like him to work through lunch?

Something felt off.

Yu Xiang’an and Yan Yuzhen exchanged glances, sensing something amiss. Had he suddenly reformed?

Yan Yuzhen murmured, “When I asked him for the list two days ago, he said it wasn’t ready and told me to check back later.”

Both picked up on the strangeness but couldn’t pinpoint the issue. Yu Xiang’an decided to scrutinize the data he’d provided later.

She hoped he wasn’t tampering with records.

If he and the production team were colluding to embezzle factory property, everyone could be implicated.

At the time, Yu Xiang’an considered it a remote possibility—people’s moral standards were generally high, and mutual oversight was strong. But to her surprise, the worst-case scenario turned out to be true.

Once suspicious, Yu Xiang’an paid closer attention and inquired about Chen Yi’s background.

He had worked in the warehouse for eight years.

His seniority made him hard to discipline, and his work ethic was poor. Worse, he had a habit of taking advantage of others.

When Yu Xiang’an brought him up with another warehouse worker, the latter vented: “Last time, I left two handfuls of peanuts on my desk while I went to the restroom. When I returned, he’d eaten them all—only shells remained. When I confronted him, he claimed he thought they were for sharing. If I’d meant to share, wouldn’t I have said so? And before that, during my family’s celebration, I brought candies to distribute. He took two portions without telling me, making me short one person. So embarrassing!”

Yu Xiang’an fell silent. Working with someone like that sounded exhausting.

“Him? Working through lunch? Only if the sun rose from the west!”

Yu Xiang’an: “…”

The evidence surfaced almost comically—she caught him red-handed stealing newly stocked, uncounted products.

Timing was everything: she’d arrived quietly during the usual lunch break.

Yu Xiang’an immediately reported to Yan Yuzhen, who wasted no time heading to the production team.

The team had just delivered the goods—they’d know the exact numbers.

Even if some were involved, not everyone would be.

The matter eventually reached Deputy Director Wang, who verified the theft. Aside from Chen Yi, his friend in production was also implicated.

However, the incident wasn’t made public. Though their theft was small-scale, exposure would ruin their lives. Deputy Director Wang showed mercy: they compensated the factory and were dismissed.

He refused to keep such individuals employed, no matter how much they pleaded for a second chance.

Over the years, their petty thefts had added up to a significant sum.

Yu Xiang’an had no objections to the outcome, but Sun Qingchun was surprised by the dismissal. He’d expected demotions or transfers to marginal roles—not termination.

Then again, while job security was high, theft warranted such consequences.

Sun Qingchun was somber for days.

Losing a job was no small matter, and he felt partly responsible.

Yu Xiang’an felt no guilt—they’d brought it upon themselves. Deputy Director Wang’s leniency was already a blessing.

Had it gone public, their futures would’ve been far bleaker.

Their positions were quickly filled—one by someone with a few years of elementary education, the other by a primary school graduate.

Both had connections to management.

As the whistleblower, Yu Xiang’an received Deputy Director Wang’s commendation. Coincidentally, her second article was accepted by the newspaper—proof that her first publication wasn’t just luck.

He gifted her a notebook and a fountain pen, encouraging her to keep striving.

The notebook was modest, but the pen was worth several yuan.

Moreover, he began assigning her tasks beyond accounting—half her work now resembled that of an assistant. To outsiders, she might as well have been his deputy.

Yu Xiang’an consulted Liu Shouyi about her situation. Instead of feeling threatened, he laughed. “You’re worried? Haha!” He was actually pleased—he was about to be promoted, leaving the assistant role vacant.

Yu Xiang’an was Deputy Director Wang’s chosen successor.

This was a clear step up. As the saying went, “A prime minister’s doorman ranks third.” Being close to leadership carried prestige and expanded one’s network—frequent interactions with other factories meant valuable connections.

Yu Xiang’an was more than willing. Before the reforms and college entrance exams resumed, a worker’s status offered protection—the higher the rank, the better. She still dreamed of opening a restaurant.

Her previous eatery had been short-lived, but her ambition remained unchanged.

With her extraordinary second chance and foresight, Yu Xiang’an no longer aimed for just one restaurant. She envisioned a chain spanning China—perhaps even global expansion, like McDonald’s or KFC in the future.