After a brief exchange of pleasantries, David Clark left the police station with Henry Foster and Richard Brooks, heading toward the only restaurant on the street. David Clark finally had a chance to take a closer look at the world he had arrived in.

The location of the Hongshan Commune consisted of a single street less than 200 meters long, lined with the police station, health clinic, commune revolutionary committee, grain store, supply and marketing cooperative, and restaurant. The street was paved with bluestone, but it was covered in mud. On the walls on both sides of the street, there were slogans with a distinct flavor of the era. There weren’t many people on the street, and most of them wore patched clothes, reflecting the poverty of life.

Upon entering the restaurant, he saw that there were only four square tables, each surrounded by four long benches. Even though it was mealtime, there wasn’t a single customer inside. A young waitress with a long braid was sitting to the side, knitting a sweater. David Clark knew that it wasn’t because the food wasn’t good, but rather that ordinary people at the time simply wouldn’t eat out; the restaurant only did business on special occasions. After all, the restaurant was state-owned, with guaranteed income regardless of drought or flood, so the staff had long gotten used to the lack of customers.

“Xiao Zhang, we have guests,” Richard Brooks called out to the waitress.

Little Michael looked up, saw Richard Brooks, and greeted him warmly, “Brother Brooks, more leaders visiting?”

Richard Brooks replied, “That’s right, leaders from the provincial capital. Let Master Bai show off some of his skills.” With that, he turned to Henry Foster and David Clark and smiled, “Not many people come to our small place, but Old Bai’s cooking is pretty good.”

The four of them sat at the four sides of the table, each taking a bench. Laura Foster, being a little girl at heart, couldn’t sit still—she’d sit on one end for a while, then move to the other, using the bench as a seesaw. After sitting down, David Clark habitually looked at the waitress, waiting for her to bring a menu, but after a while he remembered that it was only 1979, and there weren’t many dishes in restaurants; the only menu was written in chalk on a blackboard.

Since Henry Foster was treating, Richard Brooks didn’t want to take the initiative. He whispered a few words to Henry Foster, then called out to the waitress, “The usual—two meat dishes, two vegetable dishes, and a bottle of Deshan Daqu.”

The waitress came over to collect the money first: two yuan and eighty cents, plus a jin of grain coupons. Richard Brooks made a show of reaching for his wallet, but Henry Foster stopped him. They had already agreed that this meal was on him, since both Richard Brooks and David Clark had helped him out, so naturally they shouldn’t pay. Richard Brooks knew this, and his earlier gesture of paying was just for courtesy, like a slow-motion scene in a movie.

David Clark seized every opportunity to search his remaining memories for knowledge about life in this era. He had already checked his pockets earlier—inside were over a hundred yuan and more than forty jin of national grain coupons. This money was his demobilization pay. At that time, an ordinary worker’s salary was about forty yuan, and a PLA soldier’s monthly allowance was just over ten yuan, so having over a hundred yuan was a small fortune.

The dishes and liquor were soon brought to the table. Laura Foster naturally wasn’t allowed to drink, so she just sat quietly eating, occasionally finding an excuse to bicker with David Clark. The three men poured their drinks, exchanged some polite toasts, and the meal officially began.

Among the three, Richard Brooks was a former soldier, so he felt a sense of kinship with David Clark. Henry Foster was a section chief at the provincial light industry department and a university graduate from before the special period, so he actually had more in common with the current David Clark. However, David Clark didn’t dare reveal his identity as a time traveler, so he could only continue to play the role of a demobilized soldier in their conversation.

Henry Foster had been returning home with his daughter to visit family, taking this long-distance bus back to the provincial capital. Who would have thought they’d run into such an incident on the road? Fortunately, David Clark came to the rescue, and his daughter was safe and sound.

“Come on, Little David, let me toast you again. If it weren’t for you yesterday, things would have been much worse,” Henry Foster said, raising his glass.

“Old He, it was just what I should have done,” David Clark replied. He raised his glass and clinked it with Henry Foster, then downed it in one gulp. Deshou Daqu was a famous local liquor, and in those days, fake alcohol wasn’t a thing yet, so it felt warm and comfortable going down. When he was at Huaqing University, David Clark hadn’t been much of a drinker, but it seemed the body he’d inherited now could hold its liquor pretty well.

“To be honest, I’m ashamed. When the thug pulled out the bomb, I, as her father, didn’t even react, but Little David was the first to shield Little Laura with his body,” Henry Foster said.

David Clark glanced at Laura Foster and said with a smile, “I’m a reconnaissance soldier, so I naturally react a bit faster in these situations. At that moment, I had only one thought: such a pretty little girl—if she got even a scratch from shrapnel, it would be such a shame.”

Hearing David Clark praise her looks, Laura Foster couldn’t help but blush a little. In those days, people were quite reserved about commenting on appearances, so saying outright that a young girl was pretty was rather forward. But precisely because it was so direct, it made the girl feel secretly delighted.

“Come on, let’s eat,” Henry Foster said after the toast, urging everyone to dig in.