Chapter 8: Food is the People’s Heaven

The cafeteria was situated in the northeast corner of the campus, and at this hour every day, crowds of students would stream toward it. Truly, as our ancestors said, food is the paramount necessity of the people. Speaking of the school cafeteria, I think the food is actually quite decent. Among all the dishes, there’s one in particular—sautéed potato and onion slices—that’s my favorite.

The preparation is delightfully simple. The main ingredients are potatoes, onions, and green peppers. Scallions and ginger are first sizzled in the pan, then salt, oyster sauce, soy sauce, and a bit of sugar are added for flavor. When the potato slices turn golden and glisten with oil, a drizzle of fragrant sesame oil completes the dish.

The first time I tasted sautéed potato and onion slices in the cafeteria, I thought it was truly a delicacy fit for the gods. So, when I got home, I asked my mother to make it for me. Yet somehow, it just wasn’t as delicious as the cafeteria’s version—perhaps it’s the magic of a big kitchen cooking for many. I wondered if I would be lucky enough to have it again today.

Before I knew it, I arrived at the cafeteria, and from afar, I could already see a long line forming at the serving window. I went to the utensil cabinet first, took out my own set, and joined the queue. Ge Xin hadn’t arrived yet, so I waited for her as I stood in line. But even after I had gotten my meal, there was still no sign of her.

Could something have happened? I started to worry. Fortunately, I spotted one of Ge Xin’s roommates eating nearby. I walked over and asked, “Xie Fang, isn’t Ge Xin coming to lunch?”

“Oh, her father came to see her and took her out for lunch. She asked me to tell you not to wait for her. I completely forgot to pass on the message—got distracted by my favorite dish, shredded pork in garlic sauce. Hehe…”

I nodded. “Got it, thanks.”

So it seemed I wouldn’t be seeing Ge Xin today. With little enthusiasm, I finished my meal and washed my utensils. Now, with the lunch break ahead of me, I wondered where I should go.

Last winter, I actually had a bed in the school dormitory. Winters in the north are harsh, and it gets dark especially early. Our school required us to attend evening self-study sessions. The cold, slippery roads, the pitch-black night—on several occasions, after self-study, I fell off my bicycle on my way home. Sometimes it was my elbow, sometimes my knee, making close acquaintance with the icy, glassy pavement, in temperatures well below minus thirty degrees. My bicycle would skid off a good distance too—it was quite a sorry sight.

Eventually, my mother arranged a bed for me in the school dormitory—a large room with bunk beds for more than a dozen students. If at first I was curious and even a little excited about dorm life, that experience thoroughly shattered any illusions I had.

Most dorm rooms were for eight people, with a dorm leader and a cleaning roster. But the room I stayed in was specifically for day students like me who needed temporary accommodation, and we paid monthly. The students came from different grades and classes, making for a highly mixed group.

The hygiene left much to be desired, but the worst part was the nights—sleep was almost impossible. Lights-out was enforced, but no one could control people’s mouths. There were two girls who knew each other, and as soon as their heads hit the pillows, they would chat endlessly. They didn’t speak loudly, but in such a small room, with bunks pressed close together—and as luck would have it, these two were right above me—every word reached my ears as they chattered on and on.

One of the girls was a devoted fan of Greek mythology, and every night she would regale her friend with tales—Achilles’ heel, Hercules and his “impossible” labors, Perseus and Medusa… I really wondered how she managed to remember so many long and complicated names. Honestly, she was quite a storyteller. If I hadn’t been so exhausted after a full day of classes and just wanted to sleep, I might actually have enjoyed listening to her stories.

The two of them would talk late into the night, while I lay there wide awake, silently wishing someone would finally shout, “Enough already! Some of us are trying to sleep!” Alas, my wish never came true—no one said a word.

And so, there I was, pitiful and resigned, lying on my bed, staring up at the bunk above, full of anger I dared not voice, silent tears filling my eyes.