The chicken soup in the antimony pot bubbled lightly, making a gentle gurgling sound.
Zheng Zhilan scooped out the rice that had been boiled to semi-doneness from the large pot, filtered it through a colander, and then put it into a wooden steamer to steam—a whole steamer full.
Zhou Li felt lucky that he and the others only came by occasionally; otherwise, Miss Zheng would have to plant at least twice as much rice. But if that were the case, perhaps they could let Huai Xu do the farming, as he was also adept at it.
After draining the rice, Zheng Zhilan silently served Zhou Li a bowl of rice soup.
Zhou Li, without speaking, took the rice soup and drank a mouthful, feeling the warmth flow down his throat and into his stomach.
"We'll be off to Chunming in a few days," he said.
"Mhm," Zheng Zhilan nodded.
