Chapter 260: If You Become Rich, Don't Forget Me
Fried bee pupae, fried squid, fried peanuts, garlic chicken, crispy pork, steamed eggs, stir-fried winter melon, sauerkraut with pickled garlic sprouts, seasonal greens, and sandworm vermicelli soup. Though the dishes weren't numerous, the portions were generous, and the flavors were exceptional.
The others had tasted Deng Shirong's cooking many times before, so they knew what to expect.
But for Liu Aihong, it was her first time trying her uncle's dishes, and she was utterly impressed.
She had long heard of her uncle's culinary skills, but she never imagined they'd be this good. Even the renowned chef Zhang Guofu paled in comparison.
The fried bee pupae and squid, in particular, were extraordinary.
Liu Aihong ate more than usual that evening and even shared half a bowl of rice wine with her cousin Azhen. She thoroughly enjoyed herself.
Yet, after the meal, she suddenly felt like crying.
Before her marriage, she'd been lucky to eat meat twice a month at her parents' home. Even then, it was just a taste—never enough to satisfy her hunger.
Honestly, she had never eaten pork to her heart's content in her childhood home.
It wasn't until she married Bu Dashi and started working at her uncle's restaurant that she had meat daily. Now, returning to her uncle's house and enjoying such a feast, she realized how wretched her former life had been.
Marrying the right person truly made all the difference.
After dinner, the family gathered around the fire, chatting with relatives.
Zhang Xiuping warmed her hands and smiled. "Dad, that wooden shed of yours is lovely. It'll be so much cooler to sit under in summer than inside the house."
Deng Shirong nodded. "We had Amei's family build it. Three generations of carpenters—their craftsmanship is famous around here."
Deng Yunzhen asked, "Dad, you keep the TV outside now?" Though they hadn't visited, they'd heard about their father's new television.
Deng Shirong shrugged. "Too many people come to watch. If it were inside, the house would be packed. Out here, it doesn't matter how many show up."
Deng Yuntai chimed in, "How many channels can you get?"
"Four—Guangdong, Guangxi, Hunan, and CCTV. Broadcasting starts at 6:30. If you want to watch, go shower now. The water's hot, and once it's used up, we'll boil more."
Back then, rural areas lacked running water, water heaters, and gas. Summer meant cold showers, and winter required firewood-boiled water.
Most village stoves had multiple burners connected to a rear pot. While cooking, the flames would heat this "mui pot," whose water was mainly for bathing.
If the family was large and hot water ran short, another pot would be used.
Deng Shirong's household was sizable. Bathing everyone daily would consume too much firewood, so in winter, the younger ones bathed every other day—only the adults did so daily.
And his family was better off than most. Other village children often just washed their faces and feet, bathing only every few days, while adults bathed every other day.
Firewood was scarce in that era, especially after mountains were allocated to households. People could only gather from their own plots. Without felling trees, the weeds alone wouldn't sustain a family's needs—they took time to regrow.
Thatchfield Village was an exception this year. With orchards being cultivated, families had cleared their hills of trees, ensuring no short-term firewood shortage.
But as the saying goes, failing to plan is planning to fail. Once fruit trees covered the hills, firewood sources would vanish, forcing families to gather from public lands—or steal from others'.
In short, firewood was an indispensable resource, and without a steady supply, frugality was essential.
After Deng Shirong's reminder, everyone showered in shifts.
Soon, villagers arrived with stools, reserving spots for TV viewing. When they saw Deng Yuntai and the others, they exchanged greetings.
By six, more and more villagers streamed in.
Watching the crowd, Deng Yunzhen and the others understood why their father kept the TV outside. If it were indoors, the sheer number of people might—exaggeration aside—collapse the house.
At 6:30, Deng Shirong turned on the TV.
Though he owned it, he rarely watched. The era's programming held little interest for him—only the upcoming Spring Festival Gala was worth anticipating.
So after switching it on, he left the villagers and his children to enjoy it, returning to the fire to warm himself.
Not long after, Zhang Xiuping emerged from her shower, hair damp. She sat by the fire, combing her hair as it dried.
Deng Shirong said, "Ah Ping, there's a seat saved for you up front. Go watch if you'd like."
Zhang Xiuping shook her head. "Later. My hair's still wet. Besides, I should update you on the restaurant's performance this year."
Back in July, Deng Shirong had earned over 200,000 yuan in days using his system space, so the restaurant's profits weren't critical. But since it was his son and daughter-in-law's training ground, he still cared about its progress.
"Go ahead."
As the bookkeeper, Zhang Xiuping recited the figures effortlessly: "Dad, we opened on May 18th, so it's been just over seven months. Total revenue: 25,687 yuan. Net profit: 12,493 yuan. Monthly average: about 1,780 yuan."
Deng Shirong smiled approvingly. "Not bad at all. With the three of you running it, that's roughly 600 yuan each—on par with what Yungui and I make from the tile factory.
"But the tile factory's growth is stagnant. Maintaining current income is the best we can expect. The restaurant, though, is just starting. With the country's reforms, farmers are prospering, and living standards are rising. More people will dine out.
"Manage it well, and business will only improve."
Having overseen operations for over half a year, Zhang Xiuping had noticed monthly growth in customer turnover (excluding bulk clients like the bicycle parts factory).
She agreed wholeheartedly. "You're right, Dad. Business is picking up. Plus, we have no real competition. State-run restaurants can't match our environment or service. Next year will be even better."
Deng Shirong chuckled. "Keep at it. Gain experience, build connections. In a few years, when the time's right, I'll set you up with something even more promising."
The restaurant was merely a training ground for his son and daughter-in-law. His ultimate goal for them had never changed—to establish a chain of supermarkets.
Zhang Xiuping, of course, had no inkling of her father-in-law's plans. She didn't know what venture he intended for them, but she sensed his high expectations. Whatever this "more promising business" was, it would surely out-earn the restaurant.
Moreover, she suspected it was tied to the second and third floors of Sui Feng Restaurant. Her father-in-law hadn't invested heavily in a three-story building for aesthetics—it had a purpose. Combined with his hints, the answer seemed obvious.
Still, even if she guessed the upper floors were connected to the new business, she couldn't fathom what it might be.
Yes, Father-in-law's vision far surpasses ours. When the time comes, we'll just follow his lead.
After discussing the restaurant's profits and future, Zhang Xiuping added, "Dad, Brother Tai, Azhen, and I have settled on the restaurant's reopening date—the 16th of the first lunar month. As for year-end bonuses, the staff will get a month's salary, but Grandpa Zhang will receive 100 yuan. Does that sound alright?"
Deng Shirong nodded approvingly. "You've handled it well."
Pleased by his praise, Zhang Xiuping smiled. "Dad, I've deposited all the restaurant's profits in the bank. I'll give you the passbook tomorrow."
Deng Shirong waved her off. "Keep it. Save the earnings for future ventures."
Zhang Xiuping was moved. Her father-in-law's generosity was boundless. She shook her head. "I can't take this. It's from the credit union loan you borrowed. You invested it into the restaurant—if you don't reclaim the profits, how will you repay the debt?"
Deng Shirong chuckled. "Don't worry, I'll manage. Hold onto it. If I ever need funds, I'll ask."
After a pause, Zhang Xiuping relented. "Alright, I'll save every penny. Just let me know when you need it."
Poking the embers with a firestick, Deng Shirong remarked, "Money's meant to be spent when necessary. Hoarding it defeats the purpose. What's the point of earning if you never use it?"
Zhang Xiuping smiled in agreement, but inwardly, she resolved to spend sparingly.
Though her father-in-law seemed unbothered by the massive bank loan—as if solutions would materialize—she took it seriously. Until that debt was cleared, she'd save wherever possible.
Once her hair dried, Zhang Xiuping stood. "Dad, I'll join the others to watch TV."
Deng Shirong nodded. "Go ahead. There's space up front."
...
The Next Day
After breakfast, Bu Dashi announced, "Uncle, we'll head back first!"
Deng Shirong acknowledged him, then told his eldest daughter, "Ah Zhen, pack a few kilograms of squid for your cousin and his wife."
Deng Yunzhen hurried to the kitchen.
Bu Dashi protested, "Uncle, keep it for yourself—you'll need it for drinks."
Deng Shirong grinned. "I've got plenty. Since I've taught you how to fry it, take some for New Year's. You can even bring some to your in-laws on the second day."
Knowing his uncle's generosity—and the household's stocked pantry—Bu Dashi relented. When Deng Yunzhen returned with the squid, he offered token resistance before letting his wife accept it.
After bidding farewell to the family, the couple left happily, squid and luggage in tow.
Noticing her sister-in-law and brothers-in-law competing to take Little Dong'er out to play, Zhang Xiuping excused herself and headed to her younger sister Ou Guohua's home.
Yesterday had been hectic. Though she'd briefly met Ou Guofang and Ou Guohua, there'd been no time for proper conversation. Now, she intended to catch up properly.
Ten minutes later, Zhang Xiuping and Ou Guohua arrived at Ou Guofang's house.
"Ah Ping! Come warm yourself by the fire!" Sister Yunfeng bustled about. "Sister Dong, boil water for tea. Sister Fang, keep her company—I'll kill a chicken for lunch!"
Her enthusiasm stemmed from gratitude. When she'd accompanied Ou Guofang to the county for childbirth, Zhang Xiuping's family had hosted them generously—special rooms, restaurant meals—a kindness she hadn't forgotten.
Moreover, this year's unprecedented frost had arrived early and lingered. Without Uncle Jiu's warning and preparations, their livestock would've perished like so many others'.
Given these reasons, Sister Yunfeng's fervent hospitality made perfect sense.
Zhang Xiuping demurred. "Sister Yunfeng, no need for formalities. We're just visiting—no special treatment required. My sisters and I only want to chat."
"I've been fattening this chicken just for your return! You must stay for dinner."
"But—"
Sister Yunfeng was already chasing the chicken, leaving no room for refusal. Zhang Xiuping shot her sister a glare. "Why aren't you stopping her?"
Ou Guofang teased, "Why would I? Thanks to you, I get extra chicken."
Ou Guohua giggled. "Today, we feast by Ah Ping's grace."
Zhang Xiuping: "…"
Once the jesting subsided, Ou Guofang led them inside. "Ah Ping, my mother-in-law's enthusiasm isn't just for your hospitality in the county. It's also to thank your father-in-law for his greater kindness."
Zhang Xiuping blinked. "Greater kindness?"
Ou Guofang's tone sobered. "Since you were in the county, you might not grasp how severe this year's frost was. Many brigades lost sweet potatoes, tobacco, and countless oxen to the cold."
Zhang Xiuping had been unaware of these developments. County residents didn't farm, and surrounding rural conditions were far better than lower communes, so crop freezes weren't discussed. Frozen sweet potatoes and tobacco leaves were trivial—not worth mentioning.
Hearing her sister's account, she gasped. "Oxen froze to death?"
Seeing her astonishment, Ou Guofang and Ou Guohua took turns detailing the frost's devastation across brigades. Zhang Xiuping sat stunned—she'd never imagined this winter's cold could wreak such havoc.
After outlining the damage, Ou Guofang smiled. "Sister Ping, Help and Correct Brigade is the county's only one without frozen oxen. Know why?"
Zhang Xiuping wasn't slow. "My father-in-law?"
Ou Guofang nodded. "Exactly."
Ou Guohua continued, "Back in the eighth lunar month, Uncle Jiu predicted this bitter winter using an ancestor's saying: 'Rain in the eighth month's start means winter freeze kills oxen.' He called a village meeting to warn everyone—keep your livestock warm."
Ou Guofang added, "He summoned your Thatchfield villagers, but sent word to my father-in-law too. Thanks to his early preparations, our oxen survived."
Understanding dawned on Zhang Xiuping—this explained Sister Yunfeng's fervent hospitality. Those dozen oxen were the family's most vital assets; losing them would've been catastrophic.
Her admiration for Uncle Jiu swelled. Predicting such rare, extreme weather? Truly remarkable.
The sisters then turned to personal updates.
Life treated all three well.
Zhang Xiuping's privileged county lifestyle was unmatched.
Ou Guohua fared decently—though her mother-in-law and sister-in-law might grumble privately, her husband's staunch support silenced any open complaints.
Ou Guofang's status soared after bearing a son.
Their chatter lasted until Sister Yunfeng summoned them to eat. Exchanging smiles, the trio headed out.
...
As the Lunar New Year neared, households bustled with cleaning and festive cooking. Affluent families slaughtered pigs; others bought modest pork portions.
On the 28th of the twelfth month, Deng Shirong gathered his children to make ash water dumplings—a holiday staple.
Meanwhile, in Beijing, Deng Yunheng braved the cold with fellow Guangxi students, including Song Yu, scaling the snow-blanketed Great Wall.
Icy winds whispered as snowflakes swirled, draping the ancient stones in white. The group stood awestruck, immersed in a wintry fairy tale.
Before them stretched endless white—mountains veiled in fog, peaks emerging like layered brushstrokes in a majestic ink painting.
Song Yu sighed. "What breathtaking scenery!"
Deng Yunheng recited Mao's verse:
"North country scene:/a hundred leagues locked in ice,/a thousand leagues of whirling snow...
"I'd memorized this poem, but only now grasp its essence. This vista—it's transcendent."
Liu Xiaoman agreed. "Worth waiting ten extra days for."
Zhao Changzheng nodded. "We owe Song Yu thanks—her idea brought us here."
Song Yu demurred. "We girls should thank you—the boys covered our food and lodging these past weeks."
Lin Jianjun interjected, "Then thank our president and Brother Heng—they footed most bills!"
Earlier, to assist impoverished classmate Ding Qiulan, Deng Yunheng proposed male classmates fund the girls' expenses. Privately, he and Zhao Changzheng shouldered the bulk, letting others contribute modestly.
Lin Jianjun, having benefited, now credited them openly.
Song Yu—best informed of Deng Yunheng's background—understood instantly. She promptly thanked both. Liu Xiaoman and Ding Qiulan followed suit.
"We're all fellow Guangxi natives—no need for formalities," Deng Yunheng waved it off, joking, "You're Peking University's future elite. When you're ministers, we'll beg for your patronage!"
Zhao Changzheng laughed. "Brother Heng's right—we're currying favor early!"
"President, Brother Heng, you're the future leaders here!" someone countered.
"If you become rich and powerful, don't forget us!"
Amid laughter, their voices carried across the snow-covered Great Wall.
None could predict where these youths would stand twenty years.
(End of Chapter)