Returning to the 82 Mountain Village: An Encounter with the Journey to the West Film Crew at the Beg

Zhou Fangyuan, carrying the bags of dried goods, pushed open the cafeteria door.

A wave of heat mixed with water vapor rushed towards me.

The canteen was small, just a temporary shed with seven or eight long tables made of nailed wooden planks inside.

It wasn't mealtime, so there weren't many people around. Only two prop crew members were sitting in the corner, drinking tea and taking a break.

The head chef's surname is Huang, and he is in his fifties.

He was facing away from the door, looking at the baskets of vegetables on the cutting board with a worried expression.

Radishes, cabbage, pumpkin—the same old stuff.

Zhou Fangyuan walked over and placed the items on the edge of the cutting board: "Master Huang."

Old Huang turned his head, saw it was him, and then saw the packages. His already small eyes narrowed even further.

"Oh, Fang Yuan's here? Is this the dried goods from your hometown you were talking about?"

"Yes, dried chili peppers, pickled radishes, and dried green beans."

Zhou Fangyuan opened the paper package and showed him the contents one by one.

Old Huang first grabbed a handful of dried chili peppers, brought them to his nose, and smelled them, his eyes narrowing:

"Great chili peppers! The aroma is just right, unlike the kind you find in the market. Where in Hunan are you from?"

"In the central Hunan region, there is the Lengshui River."

"Central Hunan," Old Huang thought for a moment.

"I've heard that this place produces chili peppers. Is this spicy?"

"I think it's alright, the stir-fry and the flavorful sauce are especially good," Zhou Fangyuan said thoughtfully.

Old Huang picked up another pickled radish, broke off a small piece, put it in his mouth, chewed it slowly, and nodded:

"This is great! It's just the right amount of salty and chewy. I'll chop it up, mix in some sesame oil, and I can eat two bowls of rice with it, haha."

He rummaged through the bag of dried green beans again: "These are good too, they're best for stewing with meat... Sigh, it's a pity there's no meat."

He sighed, put the things down, and pointed to the pile of vegetables on the cutting board: "See? That's all. Radishes, cabbage, old pumpkin. It's always the same few things."

The comrades are exhausted after a long day of filming, and when they come back to find this again, how can they not have complaints?

Zhou Fangyuan followed his hand and looked over.

Several baskets of vegetables were neatly stacked, the radishes were washed clean, the outer leaves of the cabbage were removed, and the pumpkin was cut into chunks.

Indeed, they couldn't come up with anything particularly interesting.

Old Huang lowered his voice and said, "The daily food allowance for each of us is just so-so, and the meat is sliced ​​off piece by piece."

Sometimes when filming was late, the actors would come back and there wouldn't be anything hot to eat, so they'd have to eat cold steamed buns. Director Yang would save his own portion for the actors, and it pained me to see that.

Zhou Fangyuan didn't say anything, he just stood there listening.

"Zhang Jinlai from your village came over for dinner a couple of days ago because he hurt his arm."

As he spoke, Lao Huang carefully put away the dried chilies.

He ate two bowls of rice with pickled vegetables, his hands were so weak he could barely lift them, but he didn't utter a sound.

I gave him an extra spoonful of food, but he refused. That kid.

He looked up at Zhou Fangyuan and said, "These dried goods you sent are great. I've been wanting to change things up a bit."

But even a skilled cook can't cook without rice; with so little, there's not much to make. But at least this will give us a change of pace.

Upon hearing this, Zhou Fangyuan thought for a moment and said, "Master Huang, there are some traditional methods in my hometown. If you dry radishes and stew them, they can taste like meat."

Chili peppers fried into oil, it tastes good with anything.

I'll write to the villagers later and ask them to send some more dried goods, and we'll gradually make different kinds of them.

Upon hearing this, Old Huang's chubby face scrunched up in disbelief: "Oh my, that's great! Do you know how to make chili oil?"

"I know a little bit; I learned it from my mom at home."

"That's perfect!"

Old Huang grabbed him and said, "We'll use it for lunch and dinner today. You teach me how to make chili oil, and I'll cook the dishes so everyone can have a different flavor tonight."

Zhou Fangyuan was taken aback by the sudden decision and hesitated for a moment before nodding, "Okay."

Old Huang pulled out a small iron pot, placed it on the stove, and poured in some oil. Zhou Fangyuan brought over some dried chili peppers and asked if there were any scissors.

"What do you need scissors for?"

"Cut it into sections. If you cut it with a knife, the seeds will scatter everywhere. Cutting it into small pieces will bring out the flavor better when frying."

Old Huang handed him a pair of scissors, and Zhou Fangyuan sat on a small stool and began to cut the chilies one by one.

The dried chilies were crisp and hard, making a snip-snip sound when the scissors were cut into them.

Soon, the chili peppers were cut into pieces, and the oil was heated.

Zhou Fangyuan poured the chili peppers in, and with a sizzling sound, a strong aroma suddenly rushed up.

Old Huang took a deep breath: "It smells so good! This is the real deal! This is the authentic taste!"

Zhou Fangyuan quickly grabbed a spatula to stir it, worried that it would burn because there wasn't enough oil.

Old Huang was still giving pointers from the side: "Okay, keep the heat low, fry slowly, just fry until the aroma comes out."

Just as I was busy, someone called from the doorway, "Old Huang, what are we having for lunch?"

Zhou Fangyuan turned around and saw several actors who had just finished work, standing at the door looking inside.

Old Huang shouted back, "We have Hunan chili oil today! Everything tastes delicious!"

The group became interested and came in to look around the stove. Some of them recognized Zhou Fangyuan:

"Hey, isn't this Fang Yuan? What are you doing in the cafeteria? You really are a brick in the wall of this film crew!"

"It smells so good, Comrade Zhou! Did you bring these chilies back from your hometown?"

"Yeah, delivering dry goods, and helping out while I'm at it."

Zhou Fangyuan was a little embarrassed, but he didn't stop shoveling.

The chili oil is fried until golden brown. Pour it into a bowl; it's bright red and smells delicious.

Old Huang chopped another bowl of shredded radish, poured chili oil over it, sprinkled some salt, mixed it well, and put it on the table: "Here, have a taste!"

Several people picked up their chopsticks and started eating.

After a few bites, someone's eyes widened instantly: "This is delicious! Much better than the usual bland soup!"

"It smells good! But it's a bit too spicy."

"Old Huang, how about we make this every day from now on?"

Old Huang waved his hand: "Dream on. Little Zhou brought it from his hometown. There's only a little bit. You guys should eat it sparingly."

"Haha, you guys don't know, back when we went to Lengshui River to film monkey shows, every meal was spicy. That's what we were eating."

Zhou Fangyuan stood by the stove, watching the others eat heartily, and suddenly felt a little uneasy.

He remembered what Lao Huang had said before.

"Comrades, you've been filming all day, and when you come back to find it's just radishes and cabbage again, how can you not complain?"

He remembered that when Zhang Jinlai was injured, he could only eat two bowls of rice with pickled vegetables.

I remembered that Director Yang saved his share for the actors.

I remember Zhang Qiang working so hard those days that he had dark circles under his eyes, but he still kept working while eating cold steamed buns.

This film crew is really poor; they're so poor that a meal of chili oil is considered a treat.

Besides, we've only just started filming, and the funding is still relatively plentiful. As time goes on, we'll only get poorer and poorer...

Old Huang walked over and patted him on the shoulder with his big, chubby hand: "What are you thinking about?"

Zhou Fangyuan shook his head: "It's nothing, Master Huang. When you stew those dried green beans, add more water, and the soup will taste better."

"Okay, whatever you say."

Zhou Fangyuan helped pack up his things and was about to leave when Lao Huang called out to him, "Hey, come over for dinner later, I'll give you a couple extra spoonfuls."

Zhou Fangyuan smiled and said, "Okay."

He walked out of the cafeteria; the sunlight outside was a bit dazzling. After taking a few steps, he looked back again.

A wisp of smoke rose from the canteen's chimney, and the faint sound of Old Huang talking to someone could be heard coming from inside.

He thought he really should write home and ask his fellow villagers to send him some more dried goods.

Send me some chili peppers, dried radishes, and anything else that your family is well-off and that won't spoil easily.

Being able to let everyone have a few more good meals is better than anything else.

With that thought in mind, Master Huang chased after him again.