Yan Laojin watched the two leave again and did not move for a while. Only when their footsteps faded did she turn back toward the kitchen. She was tired, yes, but it was the kind of tired that came with relief instead of despair. She had lived long enough to understand that small gains mattered. A few bags of rice could carry a family through a week. A few bottles of oil could turn plain food into something that felt like home. A few pairs of clean socks and underwear could make people feel like life had not fallen apart completely. In times like these, all of it counted.
