Transmigrated as the Villain Boss's Precious Darling-Chapter 32: Fried Rice Cake Slices

After breakfast, Felix Thorne headed out to work, and his three brothers went along to help. They had to rush to three jobs today. Once the spring planting season began, farmers would be too busy for celebrations, so everyone was rushing to hold their events now. During this time, it was common for Felix to handle two or three jobs in a single day.

He could easily butcher a pig by himself, but he needed his sons’ help when rushing between two or three jobs. However, Felix Thorne was adamant that his sons would not follow in his footsteps. This bloody trade was his burden to bear alone; he couldn’t let it taint his sons as well.

Only Phoebe Huxley and Tang Xiaonan remained at home. Phoebe started frying slices of rice cake. The batch they’d made for the New Year was already gone. When it came to food, Phoebe had always been generous, never pinching pennies.

Frying the rice cakes was simple. They were cut into thin slices, drained, and then dropped into hot oil. The pristine white slices fried up to a perfect crisp, releasing the subtle aroma of rice. Their texture was similar to the puffed rice snacks that would become popular years later.

A snack like this would be nothing special in a decade or so, but with the nationwide oil shortage, fried rice cakes were a luxury. Phoebe was careful not to make too many, frying just one large bowl of rice cake slices and another of sweet potato strips—enough to last them a month.

Tang Xiaonan’s mouth watered at the sight. She impatiently grabbed a slice and started to nibble on it. Unfortunately, her baby teeth weren’t quite up to the task. It took all her effort just to get through one piece, and her little cheeks ached afterward.

"Delicious."

Tang Xiaonan didn’t hold back her praise, and Phoebe Huxley beamed. She took a small, clean cloth pouch she had specially sewn for her daughter as a snack bag. She filled it with some rice cake slices and sweet potato strips and hung it around Tang Xiaonan’s neck—enough to keep her nibbling all day.

"Mama, I’m going out to play!"

Tang Xiaonan patted her snack pouch with satisfaction. It was bulging.

"Don’t go looking for that jinx, you hear me!" Phoebe stressed.

"Mama, he has a name. It’s Adrian Hawthorne," Tang Xiaonan pouted, twisting her chubby little waist.

"Alright, alright. Go on and play!"

Phoebe Huxley waved her hand impatiently. ’Her daughter’s fancies never last long anyway. Maybe she’ll be tired of him by tomorrow.’

"Bye, Mama!"

Tang Xiaonan skipped off, her little pigtails swinging behind her. Phoebe had even tied a red flower in her hair, which made her look especially festive. Phoebe smiled, shook her head, and returned to her chores.

Boiling the pig slop, mixing feed for the chickens and ducks, washing clothes, cleaning the house, and preparing lunch—there was always a mountain of work to be done!

The villagers were all quite relaxed, as it wasn’t yet time for communal labor. Everyone was savoring this rare downtime. The women went to the river at the head of the village to wash clothes and, while they were at it, trade gossip about the latest happenings.

The men, meanwhile, worked their private plots, hoeing for a bit before taking a break to shoot the breeze.

The most popular topic was the three dishes from the spat between the Thorne women the day before. This gossip branched out into other subjects, like the infertility of Frederick Thorne’s wife, Lana Steiner; the infamous "leg-propping" chair Goldie Thorne had built years ago; and even Felix Thorne’s first love from his awkward teenage years.

Of course, Adrian Hawthorne and his mother, distant relatives of the Thorne family, were also part of the conversation. Though the villagers looked down on the pair, they were intensely curious about their background. This was especially true of the beautiful and delicate Rosalind Green, who was the unattainable woman in every village man’s dreams—they all longed to catch just one more glimpse of her.

Adrian Hawthorne was also out working. He didn’t have a private plot, but he had cleared a few patches of wasteland on the hillside to grow sweet potatoes, potatoes, corn, and vegetables. However, the future powerhouse was brilliant at everything except farming; the crops he grew always came out looking thin and scrawny.

Old Master Tate was there helping him. The old man and the boy chatted about current events as they worked. Isolated as they were in the mountains, their only source of news from the outside world was the village broadcast.

"The broadcast hasn’t reported any news in a long time. I don’t know what’s going on out there," Old Master Tate said, his brow furrowed with a hint of unease.