Chapter 19 The Taste of Home
The mud, damp cold, and lingering unease brought by the melting snow were kept at bay by the thick outer walls of the fortress and its powerful internal systems.
Inside the fortress, spring remained constant, but in addition to the clean, cool air, something different began to appear.
That was the rich and enticing aroma of food being cooked. It was no longer the monotonous industrial smell of heated canned goods, nor the dry, briny odor of compressed rations.
The fragrance is complex and layered, drifting subtly throughout the fortress at different times of day, like a gentle hand silently smoothing the taut string of "survival" in the air.
The source was naturally Su Ran, and his kitchen, which was becoming more and more well-managed.
After Wen Yu recovered from his injuries, his range of activity returned, and he spent more time in the control room again. But at fixed times, his sense of smell would always awaken before his consciousness, catching the tempting signal wafting from downstairs.
In the early morning, the aroma is usually the rich, grainy scent of rice porridge or oatmeal, mixed with a hint of the caramelized aroma of fried eggs or bacon, and occasionally the sweet, malty fragrance of toasted bread. The aroma is not strong, but it carries a sense of grounded comfort, announcing the start of a new day.
At midday, the aromas become richer. It might be the savory and savory flavor of braised canned meat, accompanied by the sweetness of potatoes or radishes stewed until tender; it might be the pungent aroma of garlic bursting forth from hot oil as dehydrated vegetables are stir-fried; or it might be the subtle ocean scent and crispy texture of fish fillets simply marinated with a limited amount of spices and then pan-fried.
As evening approaches, the aromas are often the most enticing. They signal for dinner, a comforting reminder after a day's work or vigilance. Sometimes it's the tangy, appetizing scent of tomato soup; sometimes it's a stew-like dish, skillfully seasoned with various spices and chilies, steaming hot and spicy; sometimes you can even smell the slightly charred aroma of baking—Su Ran somehow finds a mini oven accessory and tries to bake cookies or a modified version of "energy bars" with limited ingredients.
But that's not all.
Su Ran began to display an almost obsessive talent for creating "freshness" and "change" under limited conditions. One day, Wen Yu passed by the kitchen and saw several glass jars and plastic containers of different sizes on the corner counter, filled with various beans: soybeans, mung beans, and even peanuts. They were covered with damp gauze.
"What is this?" Wen Yu asked.
Su Ran, who was chopping vegetables, turned around, her face flushed with embarrassment, but her eyes sparkling: "Sprouting beans. Soybean sprouts are delicious in soups or stir-fries, and mung bean sprouts are even more refreshing. Peanut sprouts... I haven't tried them, but I read in a book that they're edible and very sweet."
He carefully lifted the gauze covering a jar, revealing densely packed, milky-white tiny rootlets topped with pale yellow bean kernels, so tender they looked as if they could be squeezed for water. "They'll be ready to eat in two more days."
A few days later, a plate of stir-fried bean sprouts appeared on Wen Yu's table. Simple oil and salt, quickly stir-fried over high heat, preserved the bean sprouts' crisp and sweet natural flavor, a taste completely different from canned food and dehydrated vegetables. When that fresh, vibrant, and tender bite burst in his mouth, Wen Yu's chewing motion paused almost imperceptibly.
On another occasion, he saw Su Ran carefully open several cans of luncheon meat, slice the pink meat into thin pieces, and slowly toast them in a frying pan over a very low flame, constantly pressing and crushing them with a spatula. The air was filled with the aroma of roasting meat, and the sizzling sound of the fat being rendered was subtle and continuous.
Su Ran stared intently at the minced meat in the pot, sprinkling in a little salt, sugar, and five-spice powder from time to time, until the minced meat became dry, fluffy, and turned an enticing golden color.
"This is... meat floss?" Wen Yu was a little uncertain. Before the apocalypse, this was a common snack, but after the apocalypse, it was a processed product that was too luxurious to imagine.
"Hmm!" Su Ran picked up a tiny bit with her chopsticks, blew on it, and carefully brought it to Wen Yu's lips, her eyes filled with anticipation and a hint of nervousness. "Would you like to try it? I used a low-sodium recipe, so it should keep for a while. You can eat it with porridge, mix it with rice, or eat it on its own."
Wen Yu looked at his face, which was flushed slightly from the heat, and his eyes, which were filled with tiny sparkles, and remained silent for a moment. Then, she lowered her head and, using his chopsticks, put the piece of meat floss into her mouth.
Crispy, fluffy, fragrant, and fresh. The perfect balance of sweet and savory, it melts in your mouth with a rich meaty aroma. It's a long-lost, complex taste of finely processed food, yet it carries a touch of simple, handcrafted warmth.
"Not bad," he commented, his voice steady.
Su Ran immediately smiled, his eyes curving into beautiful crescents. The tension vanished completely, leaving only pure joy. He turned around and continued carefully stirring the meat floss in the pot, humming a tuneless, cheerful little tune, his back view radiating satisfaction.
These small, inconspicuous creations, like pebbles thrown into still water, create subtle ripples in the regular and austere life of Wenyu.
He found himself unconsciously looking forward to mealtimes. It wasn't just physical hunger, but a kind of... subtle, almost curious anticipation of "what I'll eat next." Walking into the restaurant, seeing the steaming food laid out on the table, seeing Su Ran wearing a clean apron, bringing out the last dish or bowl of soup, then quietly sitting down, her clear eyes silently signaling "it's time to eat"—this scene, day after day, gradually formed a stable and reassuring sense of ritual.
The food on the table became increasingly diverse. Su Ran seemed to be treating the fortress's inventory list as a challenge.
He used a limited selection of dried vegetables and mushrooms to create different soup bases; he combined various canned and vacuum-packed meats to create stews with rich layers of flavor; he even tried using flour, eggs, and precious milk powder to fry soft pancakes in a frying pan.
He would also carefully collect the syrup from the canned fruit, dilute it, and use it as a dessert or to pickle some side dishes.
The taste was certainly good. But Wen Yu gradually realized that what touched him might not be just his taste buds.
It's that kind of "dedication." Su Ran's attitude towards food isn't like dealing with fuel to sustain life; it's more like running a small but important business that deserves patience and ingenuity. He remembers Wen Yu's taste preferences and adjusts them silently. He pays attention to nutritional balance, trying to make vegetables, staple foods, and protein as balanced as possible.
He even started to pay attention to plating—although it was simply about separating foods of different colors or sprinkling some bright green scallions on stews as a garnish.
This dedication permeates every corner of the fortress. The kitchen is always spotless, and the tools are neatly put away. The plants in the sunroom are thriving; the onions and garlic are ready to be picked for seasoning, the lettuce is lush and green, and the tomatoes have begun their second bloom.
Sometimes, a "vase" made of washed discarded cans filled with water and a few sprigs of unknown wild grass would appear on the coffee table in the living room, adding a touch of clumsy greenery to the cold, hard metal and composite material environment. Even Wen Yu's clothes that he took off would be washed, dried, and neatly folded by Su Ran and placed at the door of his room.
The fortress was no longer just a perfectly functional and well-supplied "survival device." It began to have the feel of "life." This feel consisted of the aroma of food, the clean environment, the quietly growing greenery, and the gentle and continuous labor of another person.
It silently permeates Wenyu.
One evening, Wen Yu finished analyzing the recent weather and snowmelt models and came out of the control room. His footsteps echoed in the corridor, but the air was filled with the aroma of tonight's meal—it seemed to be the smell of canned beef stewed with potatoes, mixed with the spiciness of onions and spices, warm and comforting.
He walked to the restaurant entrance but didn't go in immediately. Looking from the doorway, he saw Su Ran standing with her back to him in front of the counter, tiptoeing slightly as she took a spice jar from the wall cabinet.
He wore a light beige cotton loungewear set today, which made his neck and wrists appear even more slender and fair. The warm yellow light enveloped him, giving his soft black hair a fuzzy golden edge.
He took the jar down, turned around, and saw Wen Yu standing at the door. He seemed startled, almost dropping the jar in his hand. He quickly held it firmly, his cheeks slightly flushed.
"Mr. Wen, are you done? The food will be ready soon." He said softly, putting down the spice jar and turning to stir the stew pot on the stove. His profile looked particularly gentle in the steam, his long eyelashes drooping, and a fine bead of sweat appeared on the tip of his nose.
Wen Yu hummed in agreement and walked to the dining table to sit down. Two sets of bowls and chopsticks, gleaming clean, were already set on the table. Next to them was a small dish of mung bean sprouts that Su Ran had sprouted herself, freshly mixed, drizzled with sesame oil and vinegar; they looked tender and refreshing.
Outside the window, the sky was darkening and the post-apocalyptic landscape remained muddy and dangerous. Inside, there was light, fragrance, and a quiet, busy figure preparing dinner for him.
A feeling that was both extremely unfamiliar and unusually clear struck Wen Yu without warning. It wasn't the feeling of being full, nor a sense of security, nor the calm after revenge, nor the certainty of being in control of everything.
It was like... a ship that had been adrift for a long time finally sailing into a calm harbor; like someone who had been trekking through ice and snow for too long and was suddenly welcomed into a house with a fire burning and the aroma of food wafting through the air.
It means "place of return".
It tastes like "home".
This realization sent a slight jolt through Wen Yu's heart. He lowered his eyes, looking at his well-defined hands resting on the table. These hands had struggled in the snow and ice, gripped weapons to kill, sketched every line of a fortress on blueprints, and signed staggering purchase orders. They were accustomed to coldness, hardness, precision, and calculation.
And now, they seem to be silently enveloped and permeated by the soft and useless atmosphere of "life" that is slowly growing within this fortress.
Is it dangerous? Perhaps. This softness can make people complacent and create unnecessary worries.
But... Wen Yu raised his eyes and looked at Su Ran carrying the stew pot towards him. He watched Su Ran carefully ladle the steaming hot braised beef with potatoes into a bowl, watched the wisps of hair on his forehead damp with sweat, watched his cheeks, which were even redder from the steam, and watched his focused and serious eyes.
Su Ran placed a full bowl of beef in front of him, looked up at him, and gave him a slight, shy smile: "I tried adding a little more black pepper today, please try it and see if it suits you?"
Wen Yu picked up her chopsticks, took a piece of stewed beef until it was tender and mushy, and put it in her mouth. The beef was soft and flavorful, the potatoes had absorbed all the broth, and the spiciness of the black pepper stimulated her taste buds just right, spreading warmth from her stomach.
"Suitable," he said.
Su Ran's smile deepened, and she sat down to eat quietly.
Wen Yu slowly chewed his food, feeling the familiar yet unfamiliar warmth soothing his entire body. He no longer delved into whether this "softness" was dangerous, nor did he analyze whether there were other intentions hidden behind this "taste of home."
At least for this moment, in this sturdy fortress, at this table filled with the aroma of food, he was willing to temporarily set aside his cold calculations and vigilance, and simply feel this long-lost peace and warmth that belonged to "life" itself, brought by another person.
The apocalypse is far from over, and danger is never far away. But perhaps, in the gaps between survival, having a little bit of "life" isn't such a bad thing.
Outside the window, dusk was falling. Inside the fortress, the lights were warm, and the food smelled delicious.