“About Xiaolan’s mother…” Guan Hui’e began while sitting in the car, but didn’t continue.

Zhou Guobin glanced at her. “I found them quite approachable. She even offered to help support our son – what more could you want?”

Guan Hui’e gave him a sidelong glare. “Bah, you’re fine with Zhou Cheng being financially dependent on others? What I meant was, her mother was different from what I imagined. I worried the whole way there that Xiaolan’s mother would be self-pitying, but thankfully she wasn’t!”

Though not particularly talkative or outgoing, communication wasn’t a problem. Even her heavy Southern Henan accent didn’t bother Guan Hui’e. These were secondary concerns – what mattered most was the person’s character.

Fearing Zhou Guobin wouldn’t understand, Guan Hui’e gave an example: “I was worried she’d be like – you know – like Wang Guangping’s wife. That would have been difficult to deal with!”

Ran Shuyu was always trying to associate with people of higher rank than Wang Guangping, desperately attempting to mingle with them at social gatherings.

Yet she was also hypersensitive and fragile.

Her conversation style made people pity her.

Guan Hui’e only realized later when someone pointed it out – what was there to pity? Wang Guangping wasn’t the only one who was sent down. Others still hadn’t been able to return to the city. If Wang Guangping was pitiful, others were even more so.

Ran Shuyu hadn’t always been so modest. After meeting Liu Fen today, Guan Hui’e felt even less sympathy for her. The state would reimburse Wang Guangping’s salary – their family couldn’t possibly be that poor. Moreover, if Liu Fen, a divorced rural woman, could be so self-reliant, Ran Shuyu’s poverty as a stay-at-home wife was her own choice.

“By the way, how’s Wang Guangping? Did he transfer to the Party History Office?”

Zhou Guobin nodded. “He went before the New Year. Could he refuse orders from above?”

Guan Hui’e wasn’t just gossiping – meeting Liu Fen reminded her that Wang Guangping’s son had almost dated Xia Xiaolan.

She thought proudly that she was quite easy to get along with. If Xia Xiaolan had ended up with Wang Jianhua, Ran Shuyu wouldn’t have been nearly as accommodating. Hmph, with the Wang family’s habit of making their future daughter-in-law take the blame for everything, choosing them would have been unfortunate! At the very least, Ran Shuyu would have bullied Liu Fen mercilessly, unlike her reasonable approach.

Zhou Guobin noticed his wife’s inexplicable pride.

Women were truly puzzling.

Overall, today’s meeting with their future in-laws was satisfactory. Liu Fen’s slight calculations were understandable, and she hadn’t tried to hide them – being straightforward made things negotiable.

As for Xia Dayjun?

If even Xiaolan didn’t acknowledge him, Guan Hui’e certainly wouldn’t consider him family!

…

Entertaining neighbors wasn’t a simple matter.

Following Grandmother Yu’s guidance, Xia Xiaolan spent two to three hours busy making many steamed buns with beef filling. She went door-to-door throughout the lane, delivering fist-sized beef buns according to each household’s number of members, always in even numbers, preferring to give too many rather than too few. She’d learned the household sizes from the neighborhood committee.

“Old Zhao, these are homemade buns. Please try them and give me your feedback.”

“Aunt Yang, are you free the day after tomorrow evening for dinner at our place?”

Xia Xiaolan delivered nearly a hundred buns to her neighbors, indicating about a hundred people in total.

With 100 people, that meant ten tables, and preparing food for ten tables made Xia Xiaolan worry not about the cost, but about the work for herself and Liu Fen. She suggested hiring a chef from a restaurant or having dishes delivered from nearby establishments.

Grandmother Yu told her not to rush: “Wait a bit, people will come to visit.”

What effect would a hundred beef buns have? Though reform and opening up had been ongoing for two years, people’s habits were still shaped by times of scarcity.

Though Xia Xiaolan’s family had moved in quietly, some had been muttering about their aloofness and stinginess. Now that Xia Xiaolan was openly hosting, few neighbors were brazen enough to take advantage. The next morning, people began visiting.

Someone brought a small bag of mung beans.

Another left a chicken.

Someone else dropped off some cured meat.

There were dried cowpeas, and homemade pickled vegetables, and next-door neighbor Old Zhao brought a small jar of salted duck eggs.

“The yolks are all oily – perfect with porridge!”

Old Zhao smacked his lips and added, “The buns were really good – your family didn’t skimp on the meat.”

He tried to leave before Xia Xiaolan could refuse, but Grandmother Yu stopped him: “Old Zhao, as a long-time resident, could you tell us which neighbors are good cooks?”

“Little Gu is quite skilled – he’s even trained several apprentices. Whenever there’s a celebration or funeral in the area, Little Gu handles the cooking. If you hire him, don’t worry about tables and chairs – he has his equipment.”

Old Zhao’s “Little Gu” was nearly fifty, hardly little, and lived at the lane entrance where Xia Xiaolan had delivered buns.

By noon, when Xia Xiaolan and Liu Fen sorted through the ingredients, everyone who’d received their beef buns had given something in return. Though the miscellaneous items weren’t all useful for the dinner party, some were, like the proud rooster in the courtyard – with one more, it could make a dish.

“See? No one comes empty-handed. When you ask Master Gu, he’ll help plan what else to buy. If you’re frugal, hosting once won’t cost much.”

Who could afford to regularly host ten tables? Not everyone earned like Xia Xiaolan, and neighbors gathering for a meal wasn’t about bankrupting the host but about creating a lively atmosphere.

“I’ve learned my lesson.”

Social interactions had so many nuances, each era with its characteristics, and Xia Xiaolan had learned new approaches.

When she asked Master Gu to help cook, he didn’t refuse, personally inspecting their ingredients and asking Xia Xiaolan about her hosting standards. Fearing she wouldn’t understand, he explained:

“We can supplement ingredients as needed. For example, with these donated mung beans, buying some bones would make a large pot of meat-flavored mung bean soup.”

Master Gu was suggesting economic standards.

Xia Xiaolan didn’t want to be too extravagant – no abalone or sea cucumber, but several meat dishes were fine.

Master Gu thought that while making the food tasty and using the neighbors’ ingredients, as others had said, this new family wasn’t short on money. As a cook, he didn’t fear preparing good dishes – with quality ingredients, even mediocre cooking could taste decent. What he feared was being asked to create an upscale meal with only vegetables and radishes – that would be impossible!

Old Zhao watched people playing chess while holding his birdcage: “Wasn’t I right? They have a background, observe proper etiquette, not nouveau riche – are you all reassured now?”

The two old men playing chess rolled their eyes – Old Zhao was the most concerned about the new neighbors, changing his tune immediately after eating the beef buns. How presumptuous!