“Sister Lucy, my big brother told me to bring you some vegetables.”

  When Marco left, Roan had strictly warned him not to mention his name, but Marco had a loose tongue and sold Roan out immediately.

  Lucy was confused. "Sofia just gave us some vegetables a couple of days ago, and we haven’t even finished them yet."

  But as long as she didn't step aside, Marco would stay pinned to the doorway, acting as if he wouldn't budge an inch unless she let him in.

  Elena, standing behind Lucy and preparing to wash the berries, guessed why Marco had come.

  “Let him in, quick.”

  Marco had brought beans, cucumbers, and bok choy. As soon as he entered, he dropped the basket and immediately started helping Elena wash the berries. “Sister, whatever you’re doing, I can help you.”

  Elena smiled and explained the method of washing berries in detail.

  Marco was sharp in every other way, but a total disaster when it came to preparing food. Elena explained it once; he followed the steps, but then felt like he had forgotten them right after.

  For example, after washing with ash water, why do they need to soak in fresh water for a while? How much salt goes into the fresh water?

  Ugh, so complicated!

  The process of making jam was even more complex, requiring several crucial steps like mashing, adding sugar, and boiling it until thick.

  Marco could barely remember the mashing step, but how much sugar? How do you stir it while thickening? How do you get that "stringy" texture?

  It’s over! It’s all over!

  Big brother said if he couldn't learn to make jam, he’d have to sleep outside the sisters' yard. Wouldn't the two sisters beat him to death?

  And! There were rats outside the yard. What if it rained?

  The more Marco thought, the more anxious he got, beads of sweat popping out on his face.

  To make things worse, seeing him with a flushed, strained face, Elena repeated the jam-making process all over again in detail.

  Ah—

  Marco screamed for mercy in his heart: Can it not be this complicated? Why are the two times I remembered different?

  But on the surface, he pretended to be a bright student and nodded vigorously.

  Elena had seen through his little thoughts long ago. She filled a wide-mouthed jar with thick jam and put it into Marco’s vegetable basket.

  “Take this back. Tell your brother not to bother learning; you guys won't get it anyway. Next weekend I’ll make more and give you another jar.”

  Like a student finally hearing the school bell, Marco grabbed the basket and bolted. As he scurried out of Elena’s yard, he bumped into Lucy returning from delivering the eggs, but he was too embarrassed to even greet her.

  “Why are you acting like a thief? Hey...”

  Lucy shouted at Marco, but the sky was almost pitch black, and Marco had already vanished.

  ...

  It was also as the sky turned pitch black that Tom finally drove Antonio back to the officers' residential compound.

  This was Antonio’s home outside the barracks, a gift from the government and one of his major perks as an officer.

  The residents were all officers; everyone knew each other, yet acted as if they didn't. For instance, they would never casually greet one another when meeting, to avoid being interpreted as conspiring.

  Two rooms, a living room, a bedroom—complete with a kitchen, bathroom, and dining area. Upon entering, Antonio collapsed directly onto the sofa. The sofa was also government-funded and very soft.

  Tom was just about to leave when he saw Antonio lying on the sofa and turned back: "Commander, you can't sleep here. You’ll catch a cold at night."

  He thought Antonio was drunk and insisted on hauling Antonio up to take him into the bedroom.

  Antonio cursed Tom for being a meddler in his mind.

  How can someone get drunk on tea? Idiot!

  Only then did he realize that while he was drinking tea with Sebastian in the second-floor study, Tom had been arranged to watch TV in the first-floor living room.

  Antonio let Tom help him into the room and remained lying down as if dead drunk, his eyes never opening. He waited until Tom closed the door and the sound of footsteps faded into the distance; only then did he finally stand up from the bed.

  Antonio stood before the dressing mirror, his gaze sharp.

  Stripping off his military tunic, trousers, and cap, he changed into a set of casual clothes—old linen pants and a yellowed blue shirt.

  If not for his healthy complexion, he would look like a "mud-leg" now—a farmer who had just finished working the fields.

  With a wig in his pocket and a slip of paper scribbled crookedly with his left hand, Antonio lowered his head and headed out.

  Curfew was approaching; the streets were empty.

  In a dark corner, he pulled the wig over his head, turned a few corners, and crossed several streets until he finally found a utility pole tucked tight against a wall.

  A dim yellow light hung from the pole, allowing one to see the portraits of women, information, and phone numbers pasted on the wall.

  This spot was only one cross-street away from the red-light district.

  If a man stood here for a moment, someone would come to talk.

  Prostitution was illegal, and so was solicitation, but the country was currently in total chaos. No police officer was willing to handle such "minor" illegalities. If they did, the media would scream about the loss of freedom.

  Antonio soon saw the person he was waiting for—a thin woman in her early fifties, with slumped shoulders and a hunched back, coughing as she walked.

  “Find out the details of the mining land auctioned today, and everything about this man, Sebastian. Give him this note, and he’ll know. Be careful yourself.”

  The woman took the note and nodded, then suddenly began cursing loudly.

  “You damned mud-leg! If you have no money, why come looking for a woman? Get lost!”

  Antonio was pushed back two or three steps by the woman. Pretending not to hold a grudge, he quickly disappeared into the deep, dark alley.

  By the time the curfew patrol cars went shrieking through the streets, Antonio was already back home.

  ...

  In the pitch-black house, there was only a single oil lamp.

  The three siblings gathered around the lamp. While Sofia was carefully savoring a small spoonful of jam, Roan and Marco were observing the jam's thickness by the light.

  “Strange. Why is it that when Sister Elena pours her jam, it pulls into a long, thin silk thread, but ours is as thin as water?”

  Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

  “It’s because you didn't learn well,” Roan said, shooting a glare at his younger brother, who was swallowing his spit.

  “So sweet, so sweet... a little tart in the sweetness, it’s delicious. The one Sister Elena made is so much better than the ones you guys made.” As Sofia said this, Marco swallowed his spit again.He loved sugar; seeing something sweet he couldn't eat was like a fate worse than death.

  But Big Brother had said they were taking this jar Elena made to the county town tomorrow for a trial sale. If it could fetch a good price, there were plenty of berries on the mountain, and there would be hope for Sofia’s surgery fee.

  Finally unable to endure it, Marco took a bite of the jam they had made.

  “Ah—ptui, ptui, ptui...” What was this taste? Burnt and sour. A complete waste of expensive white sugar.

  He had clearly learned from Elena, so why had he failed three times? Fuming, Marco crawled onto his wooden plank bed in the corner of the hall and stopped talking.

  Roan had no choice but to wash the large aluminum pot, which was sticky and burnt, then shook his head at the basket of sour berries.

  Just as the sky turned a hazy gray, Roan headed out.

  It was too early for ox carts, so he had to walk nine kilometers to Beldora. There, he waited for a passing truck and hitched a free ride to the county town.

  The county town was over sixty kilometers from Beldora. By the time Roan arrived, it was broad daylight. In a private house near the black market, he found Mr. Mateo.

  Mateo scooped a small spoonful of jam from the wide-mouthed glass jar and tasted it: “Hmm, not bad! Sweet and tart, good flavor, and the color is excellent, like honey. Did you really make this?”

  “Yes, yes, I made it. My family used to do this.” Roan wasn't good at lying; he felt his lie was full of holes. If his family used to do this, why could they only secretly sell green vegetables before?

  Fortunately, Mateo was straightforward. “I don’t care if your family used to do this or not. As long as you can provide a stable supply and the quality is guaranteed, I just need to be able to sell it and make money. But, if a customer puts down a deposit and your source is unstable or the quality drops, I won't be happy. If there’s a loss, I’ll come to you for compensation.”

  “Yes, yes!” Roan nodded quickly, looking like an honest, obedient boy.

  Mateo dropped his harsh tone and patted Roan on the shoulder, saying encouragingly: “You, I trust. We’ve been dealing for nearly three years. Work hard. If there’s money to be made, you’ll get your share.”

  “Okay, Brother!”

  Roan just kept nodding.

  In reality, he wasn't afraid of Mateo turning on him at all. Mateo had a dozen lackeys, and heard they were the type who fought like they didn't value their lives, but if Roan were truly pushed, he could call in an entire battalion of soldiers.

  “As for the price, I’ll give you 60 pesos a jar. How does that sound? I can’t go any higher.” Mateo looked at Roan with an inquiring gaze, though he had already made up his mind on that price.

  60 pesos?

  Ten wild eggs only sold for 50 pesos, and this stuff could sell for 60? There were berries all over the mountains; Roan felt like he had struck it rich.

  But he didn't dare show his joy. He continued to nod with an expression of awe. “Brother, whatever you say. I’ve been with you for nearly three years, and it hasn't been easy to get a bite of food. How would I dare to set conditions? But, this stuff takes two days and two nights of simmering to get it right.”

  “Fine. Three days from now, bring ten jars. I’ll be responsible for giving one to each of my old customers as a sample.”

  “You guys, give Roan 60 pesos.”

  Mateo signaled to the two lackeys standing beside him. One immediately handed over two brand-new banknotes.

  Roan took the bills and flicked them; the new 50-note made a crisp snap in his hand. He used this method to verify if the currency was real; Sofia had taught him the secret of the sound of real versus fake bills.

  A big deal was settled just like that. As Roan stepped out of that dilapidated wooden door, he couldn't stop and kept rubbing his hands. 60 pesos... what a concept. Jam made with just a little white sugar could sell for 60 pesos.

  When he left home, he thought this stuff would sell for 5 pesos at most, maybe just a tiny bit more expensive than the vegetables he grew.

  “60 pesos... 60 pesos...”

  Mateo’s voice echoed in Roan’s mind. Without realizing it, he had walked to the gate of the mental hospital again.

  He hesitated for a moment, then walked straight in.

  The nurses at the mental hospital were very familiar with Roan and simply pointed toward the corridor. “He’s over there.”

  At the end of the corridor, a man sat in a wheelchair with messy hair. Beside him stood two bewildered soldiers holding boiled eggs and bread.

  “Who told you to come see me? Stay away!” the man shouted, slapping away the hand of a soldier trying to help him steady the wheelchair.

  One soldier said aggrievedly, “But General, you need a haircut. If you don't get one, we’ll be punished.”

  “I don't want to see anyone! Whether I get a haircut or not is none of your business!” After a violent roar, the man stood up from the wheelchair, lifted it high with both hands, and was about to smash it into the corner.

  But when he noticed this would hit Roan, he grinned: “What are you doing here?”

  “Pfft!” Roan burst out laughing. “I’m here to watch you act! Your legs are fine, why are you in a wheelchair? And since you’re in one, why smash it? Did the wheelchair offend you?”

  “Go on with you, daring to mock me.” Leo set the wheelchair down and gave Roan a slap on the shoulder.

  He pulled Roan over to sit on the nearby bench to talk.

  One soldier secretly handed a pair of scissors to Roan, gesturing from an angle Leo couldn't see for Roan to give Leo a haircut.

  ...

  At this time, Antonio had just walked into his office, clutching a thick stack of new newspapers.

  The front-page headline of every newspaper featured a photo of him and Sebastian, standing in front of the auction poster wall, chatting intimately with warm smiles.

  The headline read: Sebastian’s Coal Development Plan Receives Military Support.

  “Bullsh*t... What military support? Who supported you...” Taking advantage of the fact that no one else had arrived at the office yet, Antonio threw a small tantrum. He slammed those shameless newspapers hard onto his desk, then added three punches for good measure.

  Bang! Bang! Bang!