Reborn in 1985, starting from the mountains of Northwest China

Chen Feng remembered the old hen he had bought on credit when he first returned.

At that time, we didn't have a chicken at home, so we could only borrow one from Old Wang in the village, saying we would pay him back after the New Year.

Now that he has the ability to repay, he should do so as soon as possible.

These days, life is tough for everyone.

The man who sells live poultry is called Old Man Zhang, and he's also from their village.

Before Chen Feng got close, he saw Old Man Zhang squatting in front of several bamboo cages smoking a pipe, while the chickens and ducks inside the cages clucked and squawked.

Seeing Chen Feng approach, he raised his wrinkled face.

"Uncle Zhang, I'm going to catch two hens, one rooster, and three chicks."

One hen was returned to Old Butcher Wang in the village, while the other was kept in the family's house to lay eggs, adding a little more oil and fat to the family's income.

The three chicks will be raised by my wife and mother...

"Okay, chicks are 80 cents each, roosters and hens are sold by weight, 1.1 yuan per pound."

Old Zhang weighed it on the scale and showed it to Chen Feng—it weighed a total of nine jin and six liang.

"That'll be 12.96 yuan in total. 12.90 yuan is fine."

Chen Feng took out the money he had prepared and handed it over.

Old Zhang took the money, his dark face smoothing out the wrinkles and revealing teeth stained yellow from smoking: "Is your mother feeling better?"

"I'm much better, thank you for your concern, Uncle Xie."

Chen Feng smiled as well.

He took the adult chicken flapping its wings from Old Zhang and carefully lifted the straw rope that tied the three chicks together.

The chicks chirped softly, while the adult chickens struggled and clucked. In an instant, my hands were heavy with a lot of noise, but it was all real, fresh, and tangible family property.

"I'll lend you a chicken coop and a basket. Just return them to me when you have time."

Old Zhang pulled out a tightly woven old bamboo cage from behind him, helped Chen Feng put the two large chickens inside, and covered it up.

The chicks were kept in a smaller basket.

In this way, even though I have a lot of things in my hands, I am still safe.

"Okay, I'll send it back to you in a couple of days."

Chen Feng thanked them, picked up the chicken coop and basket, and turned to merge into the crowd.

Carrying the live animal, he found it inconvenient to walk through the crowded meat and vegetable stalls, so he headed straight for the grain section at the other end of the market.

The smell in the air gradually changed from the pungent odor of fresh poultry and livestock to the dusty smell of dried grains and a faint aroma of flour.

The stalls selling grain mostly consisted of handcarts or sacks piled directly on the ground.

Chen Feng stopped in front of a stall where the grain looked clean and the stall owner had an honest appearance.

On the stall were several items: coarse, dark cornmeal, dark yellow millet, slightly grayish ordinary flour, and a small pile covered with a fine white cloth that looked particularly different—it was refined white flour, as white as snow, almost dazzling against the backdrop of the coarse grains around it.

At home, we usually eat a mixture of corn and sorghum, and at most, noodles made from regular flour.

White flour was a precious item that was only used during festivals or to entertain distinguished guests.

Chen Feng looked at the pile of white flour and thought of Xiao Shan and Xiao Yue's thin little faces. He also remembered how his wife, Lin Xiu, always mixed white flour with corn flour when kneading dough, and kept saying, "This makes it chewy."

Actually, who doesn't know that steamed buns and noodles made from pure white flour are the most fragrant and softest?

He squatted down, grabbed a small pinch of flour, and rubbed it between his fingertips. It was smooth, dry, and without any grit.

"How much is this flour?"

The stall owner was a middle-aged man with flour stuck to his sleeves: "Eighteen cents a pound. How much do you want? This refined white flour is not the same as ordinary flour; the taste is completely different."

One cent and eighteen cents a pound.

Chen Feng did some mental calculations.

He bought meat, cloth, paid back the money, and bought a new chicken... but flour... He gritted his teeth.

"Weigh out five jin for me."

Five jin (2.5 kg) isn't much, but it's enough to steam two meals of white flour buns or make a few meals of pure white flour noodles, so that the whole family can have a few good meals and have some refined grains in their stomachs.

"Okay!"

The stall owner deftly pulled over a thick brown paper bag, scooped flour from the pile of white flour with a large ladle, and poured it into a tin winnowing basket hanging on the scale hook.

The scale rod rose high, then fell steadily.

"Look closely, it weighs a whopping five pounds!"

Chen Feng paid nine cents and took the heavy bag of flour that smelled of pure wheat.

You can feel the fine powder through the paper bag with your fingers.

He carefully placed the flour sack inside the basket containing the chicks to prevent it from getting dirty from the fluttering chickens.

With a chicken coop in one hand and a basket on his arm, his burden was heavier, but his back was straighter.

The matter was almost completely resolved, and the sun was already high in the sky.

Chen Feng felt a little hungry, but he didn't plan to eat on the street.

He walked to the food counter of the supply and marketing cooperative at the entrance of the market.

The glass display case contained some simple snacks: hard fruit candies wrapped in coarse paper, loose animal crackers, a mix of red and green candies in a large glass jar, and some dull-colored sugar cubes.

Sweetness is a rare luxury these days.

Chen Feng's gaze fell on the candies.

He wanted to buy some candy for his parents.

His mother loved sweets when he was little.

Every time we harvested wheat, we would make him a little bit, dividing it into small portions. It wasn't much, but it nourished his entire childhood.

Dad smokes a pipe, coughs incessantly, and takes medicine. Maybe sucking on a candy will soothe his dry, burning throat.

He also wanted his wife, Lin Xiu, to try it.

After Xiuer married into the family, it seemed that she removed the word "sweet" from her life. Whenever there was something delicious, she would always give it to the elderly and children first.

There are also Xiaoshan and Xiaoyue, two children who seem to have never tasted candy before. Seeing other children eating candy makes one's heart ache.

He suddenly remembered a long time ago when he was just a tiny little kid.

My family was even poorer back then; it was common for us to go hungry.

But whenever Dad went out, whether he was doing odd jobs or going to a market far away, as long as he had one or two coins left in his pocket, he would always try to bring back one or two of the cheapest fruit candies.

The candy wrappers might be worn out, and the candies might be stuck together, but when Dad's rough, calloused hands handed them over, there was always a different kind of light in his eyes.

The candy, when held in the mouth, brought an indescribable happiness that spread gently throughout the mouth.

Now, he has become the one who has returned from his travels.

He became a father.

He composed himself and said to the saleswoman behind the counter, who was wearing blue overalls and knitting with her head down:

"Comrade, could you please weigh out half a pound of fruit candies, mixed ones are fine?"

The salesperson raised her eyelids, put down her knitting, and used an aluminum spoon to scoop out brightly colored candies—red, green, and yellow, fruit-shaped and round—from the largest glass jar, pouring them onto the scale.

The scales sank slightly.

"Half a jin, 15 cents."

Chen Feng counted out 15 cents and handed it over, then took the candy packet wrapped in rough yellow paper in a triangular shape and tied with paper string.

It's a very light little package, but holding it in my hand feels like holding onto some kind of cycle, some kind of inheritance.

He carefully placed the candy packet inside his clothes, close to his chest.