Chapter 362: You

With the strong help of the two kids, Lin Zhao completed the New Year fried snacks.

During frying, the twins ate no small amount.

"The meatballs are delicious! There's meat inside, and radish—my favorite—hot right out of the pot, but the best!" Gu Hangbao bit into a radish-meat meatball, his words muffled.

When the fried sweet potatoes came out, he went straight for them.

Another cry of surprise.

"Mom's sweet potatoes are delicious too! Sweet and crispy, Mom, are you the Great Chinese Divine Chef? Do you have immortal magic in your hands? So amazing, so amazing, so amazing! I love everything you make!"

No one dislikes hearing compliments, and Lin Zhao was no exception; the articulate second son flattered her into a state of pure delight.

"Try another bite of fried fish," Lin Zhao said, using chopsticks to lift a piece and hold it to Gu Hangbao's mouth.

She had prepared the fish—removed every bone. No risk of choking.

Gu Hangbao opened his mouth wide, swallowed it, and his eyes suddenly brightened.

He cupped his face, voice lively, "Delicious!!!!"

The fish meat had been marinated beforehand—salty and fragrant, with zero fishy smell, crispy outside, tender inside—truly delicious.

"Yun Bao, try a bite too," Lin Zhao called to her eldest son.

Yun Bao dropped a small stick into the stove—the fire mustn't be too strong, or the snacks would burn or even char!

"Delicious!!! I love fried fish!!"

Lin Zhao smiled gently, "If you like it, I'll fry it often for you."

Other families couldn't afford this luxury—oil required oil coupons, and each person got only a tiny monthly allotment; even with money, you couldn't buy more.

She had no such concerns.

The fifty pounds of oil she'd drawn earlier hadn't even been finished yet!

"I'll help Mom fillet the fish!" Yun Bao said.

"You can't possibly…"

Before Lin Zhao finished, Gu Hangbao interrupted, "My brother can—he learned from Grandpa. I can too."

He pouted, sounding wounded, "Grandpa says my hands aren't steady enough—I have to wait until I'm ten to fillet fish on my own!"

Lin Zhao: She'd overreacted. In the countryside, kids were capable; it was normal for six- or seven-year-olds to learn fish-filleting, wasn't it?

"Always be careful with the knife, and have an adult nearby," she said.

"I know. Grandpa and Grandma taught me," Yun Bao replied, eyes fixed on the steaming fried fish. He opened his mouth again, and when Lin Zhao fed him another piece, the child chewed quickly, his eyes shining unbelievably bright.

"Mom, can I take a few pieces of fried fish to Grandpa and Grandma?" he asked, hopeful.

"Of course," Lin Zhao never refused the children's filial gestures toward their grandparents. She filled a porcelain basin with the fried snacks—fried fish, fried sweet potatoes, fried meatballs, fried tofu…then covered it.

"Take these."

Seeing Yun Bao about to leave, she called him back, "Put on your hat. If you catch a chill… I'll take you to the county hospital for a shot. The bicycle's been modified by your uncle-grandpa—it goes shockingly fast."

Yun Bao: "!!"

"I'll wear it!"

He dashed back inside, fetched his hat and scarf, put them on carefully, then picked up the porcelain basin and stepped out.

"Gu Hangbao, stay with your brother. Don't let anyone bully you," Lin Zhao said.

Gu Hangbao shook his head, "No one dares bully us. If anyone tries, when Dad comes back, I'll tell him—he'll find their house."

He spoke with absolute confidence.

This was the assurance Lin Zhao had instilled in them.

"Go on. Don't fall."

The twins left.

The old house was also making fried snacks, but nothing like the lavish excess of the third household—no one used that much oil. Gu Mu had spent her whole life frugal; how could she afford to waste so much?

They'd bought tofu too. A thin layer of oil coated the pot, and the tofu was lightly fried—its aroma was enough to make mouths water.

"Grandpa! Grandma!! Your grandsons are here!!" Gu Hangbao arrived with the fried snacks, strutting like an old man, radiating pride. As soon as he entered, he bellowed, his tone brimming with unmistakable triumph.

Yun Bao, seeing smoke rising from the kitchen, guessed his grandmother was there and walked straight over.

He found Gu Mu still holding her wooden spatula, leaning halfway out of the kitchen to reply, "In the kitchen. Here to pick up Song Qian Bao and Seeing Yaobao? Bang Bang and Lai Mei are watching them. Cold? Come in and warm up first."

Spotting the porcelain basin in her grandson's hands, she hurried to take it. "What's this?"

Gu Hangbao shouted, "Mom made these fried snacks!"

He licked his lips, continuing, "Fried meatballs, fried sweet potatoes, fried tofu, fried fish… super, super delicious!"

He spread his arms wide, gesturing extravagantly, his dark eyes sparkling.

Gu Mu lifted the lid—the aroma rushed out. Inside, everything glistened with oil, making mouths water and stomachs growl.

So much frying? Are they even going to live?

This was the first thought of someone who'd spent a lifetime frugal.

Gu Mu didn't say anything to dampen their spirits; she beamed, "So much? Fried snacks keep well. Save them for the reunion meal a few days from now."

"Your father loves braised dishes with fried tofu and fried sweet potatoes—make him some for the New Year!"

Those who struggle outside are always the ones parents worry about most.

"My dad has a favorite?" Gu Hangbao looked surprised. "I thought he liked everything."

Yun Bao added, "Yeah, when he was in the army, every time Mom asked him what he wanted to eat, he'd say… anything's fine, I love everything you make."

Gu Mu: "… Oh heavens, why am I hearing private marital talk?"

She fell silent, poured the fried snacks her grandsons brought into a dry basin, covered it, and locked it in the cupboard.

"Go back. Help your mother well. I'll bring Song Qian Bao and Seeing Yaobao later. Don't run off—watch out for chills."

The twins, one holding the basin, the other the lid, walked off hand in hand.

After only a few steps, Yun Bao felt the basin's weight was off. He turned his head—Xiao Hu Po was tilting her head, desperately trying to lick the inside.

"Xiao Hu Po!!!"

The dog, having eaten her fill of dog food and occasionally gotten treats, sat elegantly, gazing at her young master with innocent eyes.

"You explain this to Mom later!" Yun Bao said sternly, holding the basin against his chest and pulling his brother away.

Xiao Hu Po obediently followed.

"Xiao Hu Po's hungry too," Gu Hangbao said.

Hearing her name called, Xiao Hu Po trotted to Gu Hangbao's side.

Back home, Lin Zhao washed the basin several times, then scalded it with hot water. Only then did she relax her furrowed brow. She had no intention of using it again—after all, they had plenty. A switch wouldn't hurt.

…

Xue Rui bought his ticket, didn't delay, and boarded the train to find Uncle Song.

A few days later, he appeared at the textile factory gate. After showing his introduction letter to the guard, he successfully found the man.

Uncle Song, seeing his old friend, was flooded with memories. He laughed, walked over, and embraced him, patting his back.

"You came fast."

Xue Rui avoided his injured arm and patted his back in return, "You were so desperate—I had to come early, or you'd go telling Lao Er and the others bad things about me."

"Get lost!" Uncle Song released him and led him to his office.

Noticing his arm moved normally, Xue Rui relaxed.

"Lao Er and the others sent you supplements. I left them at the guesthouse—I'll deliver them to your home later."

Yes, Uncle Song's classmates and friends all knew about his serious injury. Nearly all had sent money and health supplements.

This time, several people from Xue Rui's hometown had asked him to bring things.

Poor Director Xue had planned a light business trip—ended up carrying a mountain of packages, like some crude relative visiting kin.

"Thanks," Uncle Song didn't bother with formalities with his old friend.

He poured Xue Rui a cup of tea. They chatted for over half an hour before getting to the real matter.

"What about the gearbox? Any prototypes?" Xue Rui asked directly.

With the New Year approaching, he couldn't stay long.

Uncle Song stood up. "Of course there's a prototype. If I hadn't confirmed production, would I have called you? Come on—I'll show you. Try it and you'll see."

Xue Rui remembered what Song Liu had said about effortless speed-up. He set down his tea, eager.

He covered his porcelain thermos, then stood.

"This tea's fragrant. We'll finish it when we get back."

Uncle Song wore a look of quiet pride. "Zhao Zhao happened to get it. Knew I liked it—gave me the whole lot."

Xue Rui said, "Give me some!"

Let you show off.

Uncle Song feigned pain. "... Fine."

"The washing machine Zhao Zhao wants—you need to take it seriously."

Xue Rui knew he never took a loss. All these years, he hadn't changed a bit. "I'm working on it."

"The sooner, the better," Uncle Song pushed further.

Xue Rui sighed helplessly—but felt unusually light-hearted.

At his level, only among these friends, free of profit-driven entanglements, could he feel such fleeting ease.

They arrived at the open ground.

Uncle Song handed Xue Rui his own bicycle.

"Try it."

Xue Rui said nothing, took the handlebars, stepped on the left pedal, swung his right leg over, and sat on the seat.

A light push, and the bike slid ten meters from its original spot.

"!!!"

Fire flashed in his eyes; he pushed again, and the bike glided forward.

No effort needed—it moved effortlessly.

This technology doesn't exist abroad.

The market potential is unimaginable.

Huge potential! Tremendous opportunity!!

Xue Rui's mind raced with thoughts; he turned the bike around and rode toward Song Uncle.

He stopped in front of him.

One foot on the ground.

"Sixer…" he called him by his old nickname, face relaxed, "the washing machine Zhaozhao wanted will arrive in a few days—is there anything else you need?"

No wonder he's Little Six.

His wild, far-fetched ideas were bound to become reality.

All these years, he's been refining himself.

Indeed.

Silence until he speaks—then the world is stunned.

Song Uncle said, "The washing machine is the most important. The rest… you decide. I don't care. The washing machine is my New Year gift to Zhaozhao—you know, for me, fame and fortune mean nothing compared to Zhaozhao's happiness."

Xue Rui stared at him for several seconds, then gave a helpless smile. "You haven't changed at all."

"You've changed," Song Uncle said.

Xue Rui: "??"

"You've gotten older."

Xue Rui's breath caught—he didn't want to talk to this man who occasionally stabbed him in the heart. He locked the bike and rushed back to the office with good tea, gulping down two big mouthfuls.

This tea was truly fragrant.

Drinking good tea erased all his gloom!

Song Uncle followed slowly behind, took a file folder from the safe, and handed it to Xue Rui.

"All the technical data on the gear system is inside. Keep it safe."

Xue Rui knew how vital this data was—he carefully stored it in his briefcase, thinking of what favors he could secure for Little Six with this technology.

"Have you ever thought of leaving here? Come to our factory—I'll make you Chief Engineer." He suddenly had the urge to poach him.

"Generous salary, a big apartment, and two job slots for your family."

Xue Rui was sincere.

Song Uncle didn't hesitate—he shook his head. "No. Too far from home. I don't want the hassle."

Xue Rui sighed.

"I guessed as much. If you weren't so attached to home, your achievements would be even greater." He had full confidence in his friend's ability.

Song Uncle said, "I'm not that noble. In my heart, home always comes first."

He'd turned down a job in the capital just because it was too far—he refused to leave. What's the difference between that and a heartless traitor who abandons those who lifted him up?!

"You… you…" Xue Rui had no reply, yet he loved people like this—steadfast and kind-hearted.

He drank his tea, refilled the pot several times, and only stopped when the tea had lost all flavor.

He didn't bother with politeness—he directly asked for some tea leaves.

Song Uncle generously gave him two taels, saying, "The washing machine will arrive before the New Year—I'm waiting."

Xue Rui: "I'm a factory director—do you think I'd lie to you?"

"It's mealtime. Come, I'll take you to eat," Song Uncle changed the subject.

"Just something simple," Xue Rui said. "I want to try the canteen food."

"Alright."

The two headed toward the canteen.

…

Soon, ten days passed.

On the same afternoon he received Xue Rui's call, Song Uncle got the washing machine delivered by someone.

"This iron lump—can it really clean clothes?" Song Aunt touched the casing, skeptical.

"If it can't clean clothes, what's the point of calling it a washing machine? I'll borrow a handcart and take it to Zhaozhao right away," Song Uncle said.

"Good. There's a lot of laundry before the New Year—Zhaozhao said she wanted to wash the curtains. Now she won't have to wash them by hand!" Song Aunt agreed.

Then she added, "I wonder if she has enough detergent—I've stockpiled a lot. I'll bring some along."

Song Uncle looked at his wife with tenderness.

His wife was the most understanding person in the world!

"Alright." His voice was slightly hoarse.

"If we get another chance, get one for home too," Song Uncle said.

Song Aunt's heart warmed, but she shook her head. "We're only a few people. Our son washes his own clothes, I wash ours—no need for a washing machine. Yun Cheng and Yun Jin aren't married yet—we need money for other things. No need to go through the trouble or owe favors for tickets. It's unnecessary."

Song Uncle said nothing, but thought: if I ever get the chance, I'll buy one anyway!

Then he went to find a handcart.

The residents of the staff housing building had never seen a washing machine before. Seeing this bulky object, they gathered around, murmuring in confusion.

"So this is what a washing machine looks like?"

"How does it even wash clothes? Can it clean them?"

"Engineer Song, your uncle's truly devoted to his niece—better than many fathers!"

Someone sneered, "But she's not even his own child."

Song Aunt snapped back, "What's the difference between raising someone and giving birth to them? You jealous little chicken!"

Gu Gu Qingzhou couldn't help retorting, "You could ask your own uncle to buy you one—it's not that you can't, you just don't want to. Do you enjoy washing clothes by hand in winter?"

"You!" The sneering woman's face darkened. "This is our staff housing building matter—what's it got to do with you?"

She hadn't expected this polite, reserved boy to speak so harshly.