The seventh month of the third year of the apocalypse. Though midsummer, the world now looked like a glacial wasteland.

Tang Xianling huddled in the basement. In the corner, a homemade kerosene stove flickered. The flame suddenly brightened—a last, desperate flicker before burning out completely.

Something simmered in the pot, barely enough to coat the bottom, yet its aroma filled the air.

Tang Xianling held the pot to drink the broth. Inside were expired instant noodles, crumbled to dust, with moldy patches he couldn’t bear to discard. He’d washed them and boiled them anyway. Leaves from the mutated tree outside served as vegetables. With carbs and vitamins covered, all that was missing was meat.

But he simply had no way to find meat.

“…Maybe hunger’s clouding my mind, but this really smells good.” Tang Xianling took a sip. His stomach and limbs relaxed. The instant noodles carried the distinctive aroma of wheat flour. Though expired, under his hands, they tasted as fresh as new. The green leaves were tender yet had a satisfying chew, their bitterness gone. Impressed by his own cooking, he marveled again: “Even instant noodles without seasoning can taste this good when I cook them. I’ve truly awakened my Food Spirit Root—I’m a natural-born cooking genius.”

But what good was that?

Any ingredient in his hands turned into something delicious. If he had this ability in peaceful times, he could run a small restaurant—how wonderful that would be! Today he’d sell jianbing guozi, tomorrow big pork buns, and the day after, if he fancied rice—pearly white grains, translucent and fragrant—he’d stir-fry it. If he had shrimp, he’d first sauté the heads to extract their oil, discarding the heads afterward. Then he’d toss in leftover rice from the night before, corn kernels, soft golden scrambled eggs, and preserved salted duck egg yolks—just the yolks, sandy and not too salty—all tossed together over high heat. The wok aroma would burst forth instantly…

Tang Xianling chuckled to himself as he thought about it. How had he gone from running a restaurant business to just thinking about eating?

Where would you find a young boss so greedy?

Ha ha, that greedy kid is me.

The kerosene lamp flickered out.

The pitch-black basement was bone-chillingly cold, devoid of any life. In the corner, a young boy lay motionless. His skin was deathly pale, his frame emaciated, yet his features held a delicate, almost ethereal beauty. His eyes were closed, a faint smile playing on his lips—as if he’d dreamt of something wonderful in his final moments.

Rong Dynasty, 28th Year of the Wending Era, Spring.

Fengyuan City, Tang Family Courtyard on Huaihua Street, Baxing District.

Early that morning, Tang Qiao followed her husband in their oxcart to her parents’ home. Her father had been gravely ill for nearly half a year, his condition steadily worsening. Only her mother and her fifth brother struggled to keep the household afloat. Last night, her fifth brother had also fallen ill with a fever.

“Why did he develop a fever? Did you call a doctor?” Tang Qiao asked her mother.

Jiang Yun’s face was clouded with worry. Before she could speak, she sighed deeply. “It’s because the Hu family came looking for us again—”

“They’re demanding money again?” Tang Qiao grew agitated upon hearing this. “It’s not like

Wu-ger

killed their son. Why won’t they just leave us alone?”

Jiang Yun couldn’t explain it clearly, only sighing repeatedly about how hard the Tang family had it, and how the Hu family wasn’t having an easy time either. Tang Qiao grew even angrier, but seeing her mother’s reddened eyes, she couldn’t vent her frustration.

Her mother was simply a soft-hearted person.

But what did the Hu family’s troubles have to do with the Tangs or Wu-ger?

Naturally, the Tangs had fallen to their current state. Tang Qiao knew in her heart that blame, if any, lay with her father—not with Wu-ger.

“I’ll go check on Wu-ger first.” Tang Qiao suppressed her anger and headed to the side room.

Jiang Yun hurriedly said, “I went to see him this morning. Wu-ger’s fever has broken, and he’s feeling better. We don’t have much money left, so we won’t seek a doctor just yet. Your father still has some medicine…”

“What kind of medicine does my father have? What medicine should Wu-ger take for his fever? Can the two prescriptions possibly be the same?” Tang Qiao’s tone grew sharper. Seeing her mother muttering self-reproachfully without reply, she instantly regretted her own harshness.

She knew her mother’s temperament well—why blame her?

Given her family’s current circumstances, there likely wasn’t much money left in the house.

Tang Qiao: ”Mother, we must treat Wu-ger. I’ll pay—”

“How could you pay? From last year until now, you’ve contributed little by little to the household. You’re married and living elsewhere, yet you keep taking silver from your parents’ home. How can you manage your life in the Lin household? Everyone should blame me, blame me. How did our Tang family come to this? We were on the verge of better days, yet everything turned upside down in just a few months.” Jiang Yun initially tried to understand her mother, but her words only deepened her sorrow.

Tang Qiao was the eldest daughter of the Tang family. Before her marriage, her parents called her “Daniang”.

As mother and daughter spoke, they reached the side room. The mattress on the bed had been changed for Wu-ger. In truth, Tang Xianling had arrived last night. Feverish and delirious, his mind was a jumble of chaotic memories—self-reproach, grievance, and despair overwhelmed him.

All night, Tang Xianling had dreamed of being ‘Tang Wu,’ a boy consumed by death wishes.

The fifth son of the Tang family, being the fifth child born, was called “Wu-ger.” His given name was Tang Xianling, though both his family and neighbors simply called him “Wu-ger.”

“Mother, eldest sister,” Tang Xianling murmured upon waking, addressing them instinctively.

Tang Qiao breathed a sigh of relief at her brother’s awakening. Thankfully, he was unharmed. With her maternal family’s meager resources, a serious illness would have made life unbearable.

Seeing her brother’s swollen, red eyes and tear-stained hair at his temples, she knew he must have wept bitterly.

“I’m glad you’re awake, Wu-ger. About the Hu family—” Tang Qiao hesitated, unsure how to broach the subject. The Hu family truly acted like leeches, clinging on to suck the life out of them.

Tang Xianling’s mind was now filled with thoughts of food. He pushed himself up from the bed. “Sis, let’s not talk about those disgusting people. Is there anything to eat at home? I’m getting hungry.”

Tang Qiao paused, then smiled.

This little doughnut of a brother—his mouth was sharper than usual today.

Jiang Yun said, “There are still some flatbreads in the kitchen.”

“Why flatbread? He ate that yesterday. He needs something light. I’ll see if there’s any rice and make some congee.” Tang Qiao thought that since her brother wasn’t running a fever anymore, saving the doctor’s fee meant he needed to eat well to recover.

Tang Xianling threw on his outer robe and said, “I’ll go. Sis, I’ll go with you.”

“You just got better. Lie down a bit longer.”

Tang Xianling had already gotten out of bed and followed her. Stepping out of the dim side room, the sunlight made him squint. He instinctively raised his hand to shield his eyes, then chuckled, lowering his hand to let the sun warm his face. It felt wonderfully warm, not a trace of chill left.

How wonderful.

In the spring, the Tang family’s small courtyard had planted garlic, scallions, and Chinese cabbage in the corner by the wall. Now that the weather had warmed, they were growing vigorously and full of life. Leaning against the courtyard wall was a persimmon tree, sprouting tender green buds. Come autumn, they would be able to eat persimmons.

Tang Xianling stared at it, his eyes wide. He couldn’t help but sincerely praise, “What a good tree!”

A tree that doesn’t eat people was truly rare—a good tree indeed.

Well said.

Tang Qiao chuckled and told her mother, “Wu-ger looks full of energy.”

Jiang Yun nodded, her heart still heavy with worry. How would they manage in the days ahead?

Tang Xianling touched his family’s non-cannibalistic persimmon tree. Having praised it, he fetched water to wash his hands and face, then brushed his teeth. He performed these tasks with particular ease, as if he truly were Wu-ger.

But he knew he wasn’t. Wu-ger was gone.

“Thank you,” Tang Xianling murmured softly, gazing at the warm sunlight. “I’ll live this life for both of us. This time, I’ll live it to the fullest.”

A gentle breeze blew, rustling the persimmon tree’s leaves.

In the kitchen, the Tang family’s rice bin held only a thin layer of stale, broken grains, not particularly clean. As Tang Qiao rinsed the rice, she almost sighed. But remembering her mother was still by her side, she thought: If I keep sighing like this, our days will truly become like water laced with bitterness—already bitter enough, I can’t afford to keep sighing.

“Mother, go rest in the house. I’ll bring the porridge over when it’s ready.”

Jiang Yun nodded. “I’ll go check on your father.”

Tang Xianling happened to walk in just then. Seeing his eldest sister washing the rice and worrying it might not be enough, he chimed in, “Let me see what else we have—we still have some coarse grains at home. We could make some small buns. There are also pickled vegetables, but if you don’t want those, we can have something else. The Chinese cabbage outside is growing well. I’ll go pick some.”

“No need. Chinese cabbage can be eaten anytime. Today I brought a basket of Chinese toon.” Tang Qiao continued her work while gesturing to her brother. “In that basket, there are also five duck eggs. Your brother-in-law took the children to sell grain.”

His eldest sister had married into the wealthy Lin family outside the city. His brother-in-law was the third son, and they now had two sons and a daughter.

Tang Xianling, recalling the memory, reached for the basket of toon buds. Glancing inside, he couldn’t help but smile. These buds were indeed toon, and spring was precisely the season for them.

The green-shelled duck eggs were palm-sized and oval.

“They’re not worth much,” Tang Qiao explained. “The sprouts are just growing well and tender.” Even if she wanted to support her parents’ home, she dared not go overboard these past months. Not only were her mother-in-law and father-in-law watching, but her two sisters-in-law kept an eye on her, too. Constantly sending money, meat, or sugar back home meant she faced nagging from both the eldest and second sisters-in-law at the Lin household.

Today, she brought some Chinese Toon and deliberately announced it loudly, implying they were free items, to show she hadn’t subsidized her parents’ home. Her mother-in-law kindly said, “It’s impolite to send only wild greens to in-laws. Pick up some duck eggs to add to the gift.”

Tang Qiao then added five large duck eggs to the package.

“Big Sis, Chinese toon is perfect! Fragrant toon buds stir-fried with eggs.” Tang Xianling’s mind was filled with thoughts of eating, and he was practically swallowing saliva as he spoke.

Seeing her little brother like this, Tang Qiao immediately laughed out loud.

“How can you be so greedy?”

“Sis, I barely ate last night,” Tang Xianling said, swallowing hard as he rinsed the toon buds. “I’ll cook. My brother-in-law and the kids will join us for lunch at our place. Freshly stir-fried tastes best.”

Tang Qiao: “Who knows if selling the grain will go smoothly. If you’re hungry, eat first.”

“Did you bring the kids today?”

“No, just Erniang. The boys were fighting like crazy, so I decided not to bring either of them,” Tang Qiao explained. With her father-in-law gravely ill in bed, the courtyard was shrouded in gloom. Her own two boys were impossible to manage, while Erniang was well-behaved, so she brought only her.

Tang Xianling: “Then I say we cook everything. Eldest Brother-in-Law and Erniang will surely finish selling the grain smoothly. Once the meal’s ready, we can all eat together.”

“How do you know that?”

Tang Xianling: “Eldest Brother-in-Law sells grain in the city year-round. He must be going to familiar shops. It’s almost noon now…”

The two chatted while tending to their tasks.

Originally, Tang Qiao was in charge, as Wu-ger had just recovered from illness. But soon, Tang Xianling took over the stove, rinsing the old rice and broken grains before placing them in the clay pot to simmer gently over low heat. The flour wasn’t pure white, but rather a pale yellow, not finely ground, and still containing bits of bean flour.

Tang Xianling found a stone mortar and ground it again, making the flour much finer, though he didn’t sift it.

He thought of the multigrain pancakes sold near his university entrance back in college days. He couldn’t help but swallow hard at the sight of this bowl of multigrain flour. The faint, slightly raw scent of flour wafting up was quite pleasant.

Three years into the apocalypse, he truly, truly craved food.

Simple, unrefined grains.

He mixed water into the flour, stirring slowly in one direction until it formed a thick batter.

Tang Qiao chopped toon buds and cracked duck eggs—two for the family. Turning, she caught Wu-ger staring at her expectantly. Tang Qiao: …

Wu-ger’s expression screamed, ‘Sis, give me two more—these aren’t enough.’

“Sis, a couple extra duck eggs won’t make us rich overnight. Don’t worry—from now on, I’ll take care of the family,” Tang Xianling promised.

Even as he lay dying, Wu-ger still worried about his family.

Tang Qiao didn’t take Wu-ger’s words entirely seriously. Given their current situation, if Father Tang regained his health and reopened the noodle shop, things would gradually improve after a few years. But her father was senile—he rarely regained consciousness, and never revealed the secret recipe for his signature mutton soup.

Her father distrusted the family, insisting that the Tang family mutton soup was passed only to sons, not daughters or gers. No one knew the secret.

The shop had been closed for nearly half a year.

But no matter how hard life got, it was just as Wu-ger said: a couple extra duck eggs wouldn’t make them rich. Tang Qiao cracked open two more duck eggs. Just as she spoke, a sound came from the outer room.

“It must be your brother-in-law coming back,” Tang Qiao set down her bowl.

Tang Xianling said, “Sis, you go out front. I’ll handle lunch.”

After a moment’s chatter outside, Tang Qiao entered carrying a piece of meat. “Your brother-in-law bought it.” A hint of a smile touched her face.

Tang Xianling: Meat!

Meat was the only thing missing from his last meal before death.

“Sis, your husband is truly kind. He treats you well, and because you value our family, he treats us well too.” Tang Xianling’s flattery was sincere.

Tang Qiao’s smile grew sweeter. “We’re an old married couple now,” she said. “What’s there to say? Let’s stir-fry something with this meat flavor today. Wu-ger, you cook. I’ll fetch water. Your brother-in-law’s sweating buckets—call Erniang to help.”

Erniang was only eight this year.

“No need. I can manage alone.” Tang Xianling, with meat dangling before him, was like a donkey chasing a carrot—full of drive. He could plow three acres without stopping for breath.

The small courtyard of the Tang household grew livelier.

Xiao Erniang came into the kitchen to help. Tang Xianling chatted with the little girl while his hands worked tirelessly. Soon, a rich aroma of rice filled the kitchen. Xiao Erniang took a deep breath and exclaimed, “It smells so good!”

One pancake after another was cooked. Their crusts were slightly crispy, yet soft and fluffy to the touch, releasing the fragrance of wheat.

Sizzling oil crackled as duck egg yolks slid into the pan. Whisked and scrambled, they became fluffy, golden, and soft.

Erniang sniffed again. “So delicious.”

Tang Xianling, who usually avoided pickles, now enjoyed minced meat stir-fried with pickles.

Erniang’s mouth watered.

How could it smell so good?

“Wu-ger, what did you make? That aroma is overwhelming!” Tang Qiao could smell it even from the stove room.

Tang Xianling: “Just rice porridge, pancakes, and two dishes—stir-fried duck eggs with toon buds, and minced pork with pickles. Let’s eat.”

Let’s eat!

It smells incredible.

Tang Xianling inhaled the rich aroma. The congee didn’t taste like stale rice at all. The duck eggs had no fishy aftertaste. The multigrain pancakes carried only the simple, wholesome scent of wheat. His ‘Food Spirit Root’ ability—once useless in this apocalyptic world—was still intact!

Heaven truly loves me.