Chapter 60:

At this moment, the two of them felt as if they had just run a marathon—their hearts were racing, and their limbs were weak and shaky.

Lin Chuanbai opened his mouth and then closed it again. That day, it seemed he hadn’t taken a shower to wash off the scent on his body.

Yu Xiang’an continued, “Sometimes, when I think about it carefully, it’s strange. When you come back from work at night, you often have the fresh, clean feeling of someone who’s just showered. Where did you shower? Did you shower at the hospital? Why would you shower there?”

Her voice was quiet because she sometimes did the same thing. After cooking various strong-smelling dishes at the farm, she would shower and rinse her mouth to avoid others noticing the lingering scents.

Lin Chuanbai quickly improvised: “There are things I don’t understand either. How do you always manage to buy fresh meat and eggs? Even rare cuts of beef—you can get them. And fruit. Back in our hometown, you always managed to buy fresh, delicious northern fruits. Whenever you bought them, I never saw them myself, even though I also walked around the same places and left messages. Somehow, I always missed them.”

The two of them stared at each other, wide-eyed, both harboring the same suspicion in their hearts.

“Do you have some kind of cheat ability???”

They spoke in unison, then immediately fell silent.

It seemed they did. The only question was—what kind of cheat did the other person have?

Yu Xiang’an thought about where he showered, then connected it to the medicinal scent on him. It must be a space for growing or storing herbs. Considering the leaves she’d found before, it was probably a cultivation space. Ah, he had once sold ginseng—maybe he grew it himself.

Lin Chuanbai, meanwhile, wondered if hers was something like a trading system from novels and TV shows, or perhaps a farming space. But if it were a farming space, her hands didn’t show the calluses of someone who worked the land often, and she was always clean. It didn’t seem like she did manual labor. He leaned more toward a trading system, though he doubted it was anything too overpowering—probably not the kind that sold cultivation materials, magical artifacts, weapons, or ammunition. More likely, it was a life-oriented system. Recalling how she always bought rice and flour, Lin Chuanbai figured there must be some restrictions.

As their eyes met, they silently confirmed the answer to their unspoken question.

The other person had a cheat ability.

And both of them did. The fear of being discovered by others eased a little. They both had secrets. If anyone else found out, they might not keep it to themselves—but someone else with the same kind of miraculous ability would naturally guard the secret just as fiercely.

Both of them relaxed.

So Yu Xiang’an learned that Lin Chuanbai’s cheat was a medicinal garden space where he could grow specific herbs, including the valuable ginseng. The space also had a built-in time acceleration—plants inside grew ten times faster than outside. One year outside was ten years inside. Right now, he was practically a wealthy landowner sitting on a small plot of fifty-year-old ginseng.

Yu Xiang’an: “!!!”

If they lived to eighty, then…

Lin Chuanbai, in turn, learned that Yu Xiang’an had a game-like farm where she mainly grew fruit trees and soybeans, along with raising ducks and fish. She also had a pasture with free-roaming cows and sheep. Everything was automated—one-click harvesting, one-click planting. Effortless. In other words, she carried around a massive food storage with grains, fruits, and meat. In this era of scarcity, she was practically living the dream.

The two of them burst into laughter, quickly muffling it to avoid waking the children. Once they’d laughed enough, Yu Xiang’an asked, “Can your medicinal garden take other people inside?” She was curious.

Lin Chuanbai: “No, it seems to be bound to me. I can’t bring living things in, not even poultry. When Yihong and Yining were little, I tried taking them in, but they stayed outside while I went in. Can yours?”

Yu Xiang’an: “I can bring in certain living things—only species that already exist inside. Others won’t work. I also tried bringing the twins in, but it didn’t work.”

At that moment, one of the twins (the oblivious tool), Yining, smacked his lips in his sleep, rolled over, and smiled happily, as if dreaming of something delightful.

“Since we both have spaces, let’s test it out.”

Yu Xiang’an felt they needed to try.

Lin Chuanbai took her hand, grinning brightly. “Okay.” The secret was no longer something he had to guard alone. He had a companion now—his closest companion. There wasn’t a trace of unease left in him.

With a thought, the two of them vanished, reappearing together inside his medicinal garden.

Lin Chuanbai was astonished. “It actually worked. Is it because we both have spaces?” Or was it because they were both “souls in borrowed bodies”?

Yu Xiang’an nodded. “Some things are just beyond understanding.” Like why they had woken up in this era. Like why they had these spaces in the first place.

Lin Chuanbai chuckled. Yeah.

Some things just couldn’t be explained.

Yu Xiang’an looked down at the thriving herbs and the ginseng field that took up half the space.

From left to right, the plants were arranged by age, decreasing in years.

Every so often, Lin Chuanbai would scatter more ginseng seeds.

There were already many varieties here—working at the pharmacy gave him natural access to them.

“In five more years, you’ll be able to mass-produce century-old ginseng.”

“Yeah. If we ever need money, I can sell one of the decent ones. The really old ones are too conspicuous.”

“Right, definitely.”

Lin Chuanbai showed her his collection.

“Some things I’ve gathered over time.”

Yu Xiang’an’s eyes were first drawn to the tall cabinets.

These held medicinal herbs.

The variety was impressive.

Nearby were pots, jars, and other tools.

Clearly, he had spent a lot of time here processing herbs and making medicines. She even spotted a half-finished jar of face cream—something he’d been working on at her request.

After moving north, her skin had struggled with the dryness.

Then she examined his other treasures: gold, jade, books, porcelain, paintings. He had organized them crudely by category, not by era.

Lin Chuanbai: “I can’t tell real from fake, so I’ll sort them out properly later. Even if they’re replicas, they’re still worth keeping.”

Yu Xiang’an agreed.

Aside from these, there was also nearly a thousand in cash and various ration coupons.

Lin Chuanbai coughed awkwardly. “There won’t be any more secrets from now on.”

Yu Xiang’an: “I get it. Before, when we didn’t know, it made sense to keep it hidden. But from now on…” She gave him a meaningful look.

Lin Chuanbai: I understand.

Then they went to Yu Xiang’an’s farm. He could enter hers, too.

Lin Chuanbai stared at the clusters of grapes hanging heavily from the vines, unable to resist plucking a bunch. He peeled one—sweet!

“What do you plan to do with all these grapes?”

Yu Xiang’an: “Most will be turned into wine and stored. It tastes great.” Especially the batches mixed with spiritual spring water. Aged for a few years, they could rival famous vintages.

Lin Chuanbai looked at the fish ponds of varying sizes along the stream, where plump fish occasionally surfaced. On the other side, ducks quacked incessantly, some clearly nesting to lay eggs. He checked the pasture and tried counting the cows and sheep but lost track. “How many are there?”

“Forty-three cows, forty-eight sheep. But three cows and five sheep are pregnant, so we’ll have new additions soon.” The three-acre pasture still had plenty of space. The grass was lush and grew quickly—Yu Xiang’an figured she could raise hundreds without issue.

Lin Chuanbai eyed the thick back of the nearest cow, imagining the meat. “How about a steak dinner?”

Yu Xiang’an laughed. “No problem. Steak, lamb chops—whatever you want.”

She took him to the warehouse.

“I’ve got plenty stored. The warehouse auto-preserves everything—its freshness retention is amazing.”

Lin Chuanbai looked around and felt incredibly fortunate.

All kinds of delicious food—he was in heaven!

…

That night, they talked late into the night, discussing their spaces and future plans. Before, they had been cautious, afraid of exposing their secrets. But now, things were different. They had a true partner in every sense—someone to collaborate with, to cover for each other. Both agreed that while it was fine for their spouse to know, no one else should ever find out—not even their children.

They loved their children dearly, but who could say how they would turn out?

Ungrateful children and unfilial descendants existed in every era. If theirs turned out that way, the consequences were unthinkable.

They had some confidence in their parenting, but how would the kids react if they knew? Once they grew up, found partners, had children of their own—would they develop ulterior motives because of the spaces?

Human nature was too complicated.

The simplest solution was to take the secret to their graves. No one else would ever know.

Later, when the kids were older, they’d send them to school and live separately. Besides their shared home, they’d also have secret bases elsewhere—multiple layers of precaution to obscure the truth.

They talked for hours. The next day, they overslept and arrived at work looking exhausted. Liu Qing teased Yu Xiang’an, suggesting they “take it easy at night.” At first, Yu Xiang’an didn’t understand, but then it clicked—Liu Qing thought they’d been “overactive” the night before.

After their heart-to-heart, they quickly began collaborating. For example, they collected local varieties that wouldn’t raise suspicion if used. Lin Chuanbai became the laborer, helping process products.

Yu Xiang’an’s farm allowed one-click planting and harvesting. A fully grown cow, for instance, would be automatically butchered and sorted into the warehouse by cut. But turning those cuts into dishes required manual effort.

The farm produced raw ingredients. To sell at higher prices, they needed processing.

Lin Chuanbai’s cooking skills were average, but he was a competent “processing machine”—helping smoke jerky, mince meat, and so on.

With two young children at home who wouldn’t question things, their meals suddenly improved. Meat dishes became frequent.

The twins, already chubbier than most kids, grew even rounder and softer. Their plump cheeks begged to be pinched.

Lin Chuanbai became a regular in Yu Xiang’an’s space. Her farm was larger, with a fully stocked kitchen—every ingredient available on the market was there. He helped with chores, took breaks to enjoy delicious food, ate fish or duck whenever he wanted, and indulged in off-season fruits.

Lin Chuanbai gained weight.

He had to start exercising. Dieting was out of the question—who would willingly restrict food in an era where many still went hungry?

In these times, Yu Xiang’an’s farm was far more practical. Food was the priority. His ginseng, while valuable, couldn’t be sold easily, and even if it were, buying scarce goods required luck.

With the New Year approaching, black-market prices soared. The two took advantage, selling goods and using the profits to stock up on supplies for the farm.

They openly collected stamps, badges, and old books. The black market supplied the rest.

No matter the era, black markets existed. Demand created supply. Despite strict penalties, profits drove people to take risks.

Sometimes they bartered; other times, they used cash.

With Yu Xiang’an’s warehouse well-stocked, even after using some, their savings grew.

In the 1980s, being a “ten-thousand-yuan household” was impressive. But by the winter of 1975, they’d already reached that milestone.

However, letting ten thousand yuan sit idle was a waste. They soon spent half of it, connecting with a black-market middleman.

Five thousand yuan had staggering purchasing power.

Their house had cost only a few hundred. A bicycle was just over a hundred. At 150 yuan per bike (ignoring ration tickets), they could buy a thousand. If spent on food, it could fill a small warehouse.

But buying gold, jade, gemstones, and the like? For top-quality items, five thousand didn’t go far.

Even if these things weren’t useful now, high-quality goods—especially those held by resellers—were never cheap.

The two were swamped. Sometimes disguised, sometimes together, they hustled until the weight they’d gained melted away.

The frenzy ended when Yu Xiang’an got her New Year’s break.

New Year’s Eve dinner was at Lin Houpu’s place—family reunions were livelier.

Lin Duzhong suggested they move back in for the holidays.

Lin Chuanbai and Yu Xiang’an agreed.

Just for a few days.

On New Year’s Eve, Li Yujiao and Yu Xiang’an cooked the feast together.

For the New Year, Li Yujiao bought a whole pork hindquarter—thirty to forty pounds of meat—along with a rack of ribs, a pork belly, half a pig’s head, several frozen fresh fish, and two chickens. It was undeniably a lavish spread.

Lin Chuanbai and Yu Xiang’an arrived, bringing a rack of lamb, five or six pounds of beef, two pounds of honey, and a jar of ginseng wine. The honey and ginseng wine were gifts for the elders, while the rest was purely for indulgence. After all, the New Year was all about feasting on delicious food.

Yu Xiang’an eyed the ingredients with enthusiasm, sharpening her knives. One fish would be cooked whole for the symbolic “abundance every year,” while two others would be sliced for fish balls. The lamb ribs would be seasoned with salt and pepper, and the beef would go into a hearty stew. As for the pork, the possibilities were endless: pork belly soup, braised pork belly, steamed pork with preserved vegetables, and sweet-and-sour spare ribs.

Li Yujiao: “…”

She was reduced to an emotionless kitchen assistant, unable to contribute much. From the moment Yu Xiang’an started cooking, the children in the house lost all interest in playing outside. Even in their new clothes, they had no desire to show off, instead lingering by the kitchen door, hoping for a taste.

The rich aromas wafted through the neighborhood, and soon, the familiar sound of children crying and demanding meat reached Yu Xiang’an’s ears. She couldn’t help but feel grateful that their house was relatively isolated. While most parents could afford to indulge their children with meat during the New Year, the difference between what they smelled and what they actually got was stark.

Li Yujiao ended up entertaining several visitors who came by with their children, unable to resist their tantrums. Normally, these folks wouldn’t dare approach the factory director’s home, fearing an encounter with him. But the irresistible smells emboldened the kids, who threw such fits that their parents had no choice but to knock on the door.

To their surprise, the children discovered that the director’s house wasn’t some terrifying den. Without the stern-faced director around, it was actually quite welcoming. Lin Duzhong, who adored having kids around, happily handed out snacks like roasted beans, sunflower seeds, and candies—all prepared for such occasions. As he aged, he found joy in the lively energy of children, especially during the New Year, when a bustling household was considered an auspicious sign for the coming year.

Yu Xiang’an, who had previously kept a low profile at the machinery factory, suddenly became famous. Everyone now knew her as the culinary master whose New Year’s feast had enchanted the neighborhood kids, leaving their parents struggling to console them.

On New Year’s Eve, Lin Houpu was busy with work and didn’t return until nearly six o’clock. The children who had been lingering scattered like startled birds the moment he arrived, restoring peace to the household.

After a quick bath, it was time for the New Year’s Eve dinner. Normally, Lin Houpu would make a speech, but this year, the sight of the lavish spread left him speechless—everyone was too eager to dig in.

After the feast, it was time for handing out red envelopes. Lin Houpu gave his two grandsons thick packets, each containing 10 yuan—a small fortune. Yu Xiang’an promptly confiscated them, reasoning that the kids were too young to understand money anyway. She, in turn, gave red envelopes to Lin Tiandong and Zhang Ying, each containing two yuan.

The children, exhausted from the day’s excitement, soon fell asleep, spared from the tradition of staying up late. The adults, however, kept vigil until midnight, when a cacophony of firecrackers heralded the arrival of the new year.

The first day of the new year was reserved for visiting relatives. The two little ones returned from their rounds with pockets stuffed full—one side filled with red envelopes, the other with treats. Even if they stayed home, red envelopes would come to them, as visitors paying respects to Director Lin would naturally include the children.

After the New Year, things quieted down for a while. The pre-holiday frenzy had raised suspicions, so they decided to lay low for a bit before making their next move.

By 1976, 1977 was just around the corner. Even accounting for minor discrepancies, the timeline for the resumption of college entrance exams wouldn’t be far off. So Yu Xiang’an collected two sets of study materials and sent them home—one for Yu Xiangqing, who, like her, had been writing and submitting articles, keeping her academic skills sharp in hopes of passing the exams. The other set went to Yu Qingshan as backup, for whoever might need it later.

Yu Qingshan didn’t suspect anything, as Yu Xiang’an explained the books were for Yu Xiangju and Yu Mingjie’s schooling. The sight of so many textbooks left the two boys wide-eyed.

For Yu Xiangju, the books only added to his gloom. Already upset over family matters, he now felt the weight of his sister’s “high expectations” bearing down on him.

The source of his unhappiness lay at home. He hadn’t told Zhao Qiangniang about their grandmother’s discovery—that she’d been diverting items sent by Yu Xiang’an to the Zhou family. He didn’t know how to face her. His grandmother had advised him to stay out of it, focus on his studies, and leave the grown-up matters to the grown-ups. But he couldn’t stop thinking about it.

Zhao Qiangniang had always been kind to him, but her kindness sometimes came with strings attached. He didn’t know what to do.

The New Year had passed quietly at home, but he knew it was only the calm before the storm.

Yu Qingshan had held off acting for two reasons: first, it was the New Year, and he didn’t want to make a scene; second, Zhao Qiangniang hadn’t taken anything during the holidays—perhaps because she’d already given enough.

But when he noticed household items disappearing again, along with a portion of the household funds—without any corresponding increase in groceries—he stayed up all night. The next day, he sent Yu Xiangju to stay with Yu Mingjie and confronted Zhao Qiangniang.

He’d hoped the first incident was an exception. But now, a second time, and with money involved—how many times had this happened without his knowledge?

Zhao Qiangniang panicked. She hadn’t expected to be caught. She’d been careful, taking only small amounts at a time.

When had it started? Probably after Yu Xiang’an moved to Qincheng.

To her, Yu Xiangju was her support—it was only right that he enjoyed these things. But seeing Yu Mingjie and his siblings happily indulging in treats while her own grandchildren went without, as her daughter had said, broke her heart.

They were all children. Why should some have milk powder, candy, and cake while others went without? The first cake her grandson ever tasted was one she’d secretly saved for him from her own share.

At first, she’d only skimped on herself. But after Yu Xiang’an left, she was in charge of the household supplies. A single piece of candy or a biscuit here and there—who would notice?

Gradually, her courage grew. Beyond food, money was useful too—it could buy new clothes for her grandchildren.

Every time she saw her daughter and grandchildren’s happy faces, she felt fulfilled. After all, they were family.

Of course, Ding Minxiu was overjoyed. As a woman without substantial support from her maiden family, life was difficult. Her son was the cherished heir of the Zhou family, yet as his mother, she held little influence. Her mother-in-law and grandmother-in-law constantly undermined her in subtle ways.

Without a steady job, she needed someone in her corner. These rare treats not only elevated her status in the Zhou household but also endeared her to her son.

And secretly, it gave her a perverse satisfaction—even if the Yu family had cut ties with her, she was still benefiting from their generosity.

Did the Zhou family know where these things came from? Of course. They pretended not to recognize the Yu family in public, but their eyes held mocking smiles.

*What can you do about it? It’s been so long—there’s no proof. Our grandson is thriving, and we’re still enjoying your family’s luxuries.*

When Yu Xiang’an received the letter, the opening line hit her like a bolt: Zhao Qiangniang had left their home and moved in with Ding Minxiu at the Zhou family’s place.

Yu Xiang’an: “???”

What happened?

She skimmed the letter and quickly pieced together the story. Zhao Qiangniang had been diverting food and household funds to support Ding Minxiu. Yu Qingshan had confronted her, and the discussion had gone south, leading to their separation.

To shield Yu Xiangju from the fallout, Yu Qingshan sent him back to their hometown to continue his schooling. As for divorce—they’d never officially registered their marriage in the first place. Neither had Yu Qingshan and Qin Fenglan. Like many at the time, they’d never bothered with paperwork.

There were consequences to the separation, but Yu Qingshan’s letter was vague. She only knew the outcome.

Yu Xiang’an: “…”

Her feelings were complicated. Yu Qingshan was nearly fifty. Zhao Qiangniang was in her forties. Neither was young.

And now they’d split?

She set the letter aside and wrote to Yu Xianghai for more details.

When Lin Chuanbai heard about it, he said, “You don’t need to intervene. Your father didn’t ask you to. He’s a sensible man.”

Yu Xiang’an thought back to how, after sharing the papermaking technique, she’d taken half a year’s wages from Yu Xiangqing, Yu Xiangyan, and their uncle.

“You’re right. He probably didn’t want to put me in a difficult position or upset me.”

The thought of her care packages ending up in Ding Minxiu’s hands was unsettling. But the one who’d suffered most was Yu Xiangju. He’d been raised by Zhao Qiangniang.

Lin Chuanbai comforted her. “Xiangju isn’t that young anymore. Being in a new environment, away from gossip, will help him move on. As a child, he never had a say in any of this.”

Though they were far away, it wasn’t hard to imagine the rumors swirling around them—reviving the old drama of “two women fighting over one man.”

Sending Yu Xiangju away was the right call.

Seeing that she’d finished her letter, Lin Chuanbai tried to distract her. “Remember Quan Shu, the one who traded with us and ate so much of our meat? I got a signal today—he wants to do business again. Do we have any grown cattle or sheep ready at the farm?”