January 30, morning.
Outside the bungalow, the Da Guan Poplar with its leaves fallen, trying not to appear too destitute, adorned itself with some icicles. When the eastern sunrise shone upon it, it became magnificent.
Xue Chuchu, as usual, got up early. She tied her hair up, straightened the bed…
The weather was harshly cold, the iron basin for washing vegetables chilling her hands. Xue Chuchu fetched a kettle from the coal stove, poured hot water into the basin, and began washing vegetables to cook.
She sliced potatoes and green peppers, preparing to make stir-fried shredded potato and green pepper.
This dish she persistently tried time and again, hoping to match Tongtong's culinary skills. Yet, no matter how many attempts, there was always something missing.
Just like the gap between her and Tongtong in studies, that little difference felt like an insurmountable barrier, exhausting all efforts, unable to cross.
