Chapter Sixty: Witness Your Husband's Skill

“Just buy the bucket along with it.” Chen Huajiang smiled. He had only met the owner by chance, not come specifically to buy milk, so of course he didn't have a bucket.

“Let me make it clear first: this iron bucket is more expensive than the milk. If you buy a bucket of milk alone, it's twenty cents, but with the bucket, it's a dollar and twenty.”

“If your home isn’t far, I could go with you, and wait while you bring your own bucket for the milk?” The owner looked at Chen Huajiang as he spoke, then hesitated, clearly feeling the price was too steep and that Chen Huajiang might not buy his milk.

“A dollar and twenty it is. By the way, do you sell milk here every day?” Chen Huajiang took out his wallet, handed over the money, then lifted the small iron bucket, about three liters in size, from the mule cart.

This iron bucket was nothing like those of later times. Its surface was dull, the welding points numerous, and the material solid—it looked heavy and sturdy. In the future, aside from aesthetics, the sheer amount of material would bankrupt any manufacturer; iron buckets then were just thin metal sheets, easily crushed underfoot. This was the result of the planned economy—not much concern for costs or profits, so everything was built with good materials and workmanship.

“Not really. When it’s busy on the farm, I can’t manage it—there’s always work to be done in the fields.” The owner shook his head. As a farmer on the outskirts of Nanming City, selling milk was just a side business to supplement the household.

Chen Huajiang could guess as much from his words.

“I have a suggestion for you. Selling milk door to door like this is just luck—why not develop regular customers?” Chen Huajiang explained in detail the future practice of milk delivery, suggesting he could make something like a business card, and when someone bought milk, he could hand it over and ask if they wanted milk delivered to their doorstep.

In this way, he could build a fixed clientele, set a maximum delivery, and bring it to their homes at the appointed time.

“That won’t work. I still have to farm. Young man, I appreciate your idea, but that’s not realistic.” The owner shook his head as soon as he heard it, then drove his mule cart away.

Chen Huajiang stood speechless in the wind, understanding the owner’s thoughts. The deep-rooted urban-rural divide meant farmers farmed and workers worked; it was ingrained.

“Wait a moment, sir. How about you leave me your address—I’ll send someone to collect the milk from you.” Chen Huajiang caught up and got the address.

At this time, those who kept dairy cows were rare as phoenix feathers and unicorn horns. He still wanted Fangfang to have a cup of milk every day—so he couldn’t let the owner slip away.

Arriving at the Hongqi Residential Compound, he found several middle-aged and elderly women gathered around the canal at the gate, washing clothes. When they saw Chen Huajiang carrying an iron bucket and two oil-paper parcels, their eyes lit up.

“He’s so pleased with himself for earning a little money. Sooner or later, he’ll be labeled a capitalist and shot.” Ma Hongfeng was among them, glaring venomously at Chen Huajiang’s back. Ever since he slapped her, she had held a bitter grudge, especially since he later beat up her son, Cui Zhiliang.

“The Cui family is right. The state just hasn’t noticed him yet. Once they do, this petty, unprincipled drifter will either be shot or, at best, have his property confiscated.” Another woman echoed Ma Hongfeng’s words.

“You two should stop. The Chen family has it tough. After leaving the Hongqi Factory, they haven’t had steady work—just some small business to get by. No need for such harsh words.” An elderly woman with graying hair shook her head kindly.

But her words were met with a barrage of scorn from Ma Hongfeng and the others, forcing her into silence.

Now Ma Hongfeng was triumphant; her earlier jealousy vanished, and she scrubbed clothes with renewed vigor, her stick pounding loudly, as if she were beating not the garments, but Chen Huajiang himself.

Naturally, Chen Huajiang was well aware of the women gossiping by the gate. In these days, attitudes toward private business were complicated. It would be four years before the Great Leader drew a circle in the South Sea and set the overall direction; until then, no one could say what fate awaited small traders.

Back at home, Lin Jiayin was in the kitchen cooking. A fit of coughing greeted him as he entered.

“What’s wrong? Are you sick?” Chen Huajiang quickly set his things on the dining table and hurried to the kitchen.

“It’s nothing serious, just caught a chill from the cold wind yesterday.”

“I’ll have some brown sugar water in a bit; that’ll fix me up.” Lin Jiayin smiled when she saw her husband return.

“Brown sugar water isn’t much help. Your cold is from a weak immune system.” “I happened to buy milk. I’ll warm it up for you. From today, you and Fangfang must each have a glass of milk every day.”

Chen Huajiang rolled his eyes. Brown sugar water was considered a panacea in these days—from postpartum recovery to colds, even terminal illnesses, it was always prescribed. In later times, of course, it was unscientific, but in this era of material scarcity it was a comfort, if nothing else.

“If you’re sick, take it easy. I’ll cook today.” Chen Huajiang moved to take the pot and spatula from his wife.

“That won’t do. You don’t know how. Besides, how can a grown man be allowed to cook?” Lin Jiayin grew anxious, clutching the pot handle, but her heart was warm—she knew he was only concerned for her.

“Today, let me show you my skills. Haha, my dear, you underestimate me, claiming I can’t cook.” “Step aside, today I must set the record straight and show you what your husband can do!”

Chen Huajiang laughed heartily, seizing the chance to show off. After all, he was the president of a catering group, having grown from a small restaurant step by step—his skills would surely surprise Lin Jiayin.

“Alright, alright, I’ll let you try.” Lin Jiayin relented, stepping aside. She thought Chen Huajiang was just indulging a whim, wanting to show off. As his wife, she knew he’d never cooked before—what skills could he have? But since he’d opened a restaurant recently, he must’ve learned something; she knew Da Guang was a good cook.

Since her husband wanted to display his talents, she decided to play along. No matter how his cooking turned out, she’d praise him and satisfy his vanity.

“The key to stir-frying greens is tossing the wok. High heat and tossing lock in the moisture, making the greens glossy and beautiful.”

“Watch your husband’s dragon toss!” Chen Huajiang boasted, and Lin Jiayin nodded along—the logic was sound.

With a strong flick of his left wrist, the greens soared from the wok, tracing a parabolic arc in the air. Suddenly, Chen Huajiang’s expression changed; he cried out, “Oh no!” and hurriedly stepped back, trying to catch the falling vegetables.

With a splat, the greens landed on the floor, broth splattering everywhere. Only a bit of oil and a lone leaf remained in the wok, as if mocking his overconfidence.