“Our master’s calligraphy and paintings are excellent. Many people have asked to buy them, and only three pieces remain.”
“How much for one?”
“Eighteen wen each. Selling cheap just to clear stock—looks like it might snow soon.”
Qin Xiaoman stepped lightly closer. Sure enough, it was him. Wang Zhuzi was selling prints and doing good business, with customers coming to ask prices.
Qin Xiaoman patiently waited until the customers left before approaching.
Wang Zhuzi had sold quite a few prints today and was happily putting the money into his pouch, planning what to buy for New Year once the sales were done. Suddenly, someone tapped his shoulder. A cold voice rang out: “What are you doing selling here?”
“X-Xiaoman gege!”
Seeing Qin Xiaoman, Wang Zhuzi’s heart skipped. He hurriedly tucked some coins into his waistband.
Qin Xiaoman frowned at the small gesture. “What are you doing? You look like I’m going to snatch your money.”
“No, no.”
“Why are you suddenly selling New Year prints? Where did you get them?”
“I… I got them from the bookstore to sell.”
Qin Xiaoman scrutinized him. He wasn’t easily fooled. To sell prints from the bookstore, one would have to buy them cheaply first. Even selling at eighteen wen per piece, the cost per print wouldn’t be just a couple of wen. Where did this boy get so much money?
“Stop pretending. I already know. So, you two have been hiding this from me—”
Before Qin Xiaoman could finish, Wang Zhuzi immediately explained, “No, Heng-gege didn’t mean to hide it from you.”
Hearing that, Qin Xiaoman’s brow furrowed. “So it really was Du Heng who gave this to you!”
He suspected this had something to do with Du Heng—he hadn’t expected the boy to blurt it out so easily.
Wang Zhuzi realized too late that he had slipped, hastily covering his mouth.
Qin Xiaoman’s voice went cold. “Still not going to be honest?”
Shivering under Qin Xiaoman’s glare, Wang Zhuzi, afraid of him, finally confessed everything: how Du Heng had given him Fu-character New Year prints to sell in the county town.
“Don’t blame Heng-gege, Xiaoman-gege. A man always needs a bit of money of his own. Even with his leg crippled, Heng-gege can still earn. Who else in our village can do that?”
Qin Xiaoman glared at Wang Zhuzi. “I don’t need you giving me lectures.”
Wang Zhuzi fell silent.
Qin Xiaoman calmed down a little. “How’s business today?”
“This is the last trip to town this year. Business was better than before. Only two prints left—they’ll sell quickly at a cheap price.”
“Alright, then keep selling.”
Seeing Qin Xiaoman wasn’t angry, Wang Zhuzi relaxed and was about to leave with the prints. Suddenly, he remembered something and hurried back. “Xiaoman-gege, can you not tell Heng-gege about this? Otherwise, he’ll never let me sell his prints again.”
“Who buys New Year prints after the New Year?”
“What about next year? Or the year after?”
Qin Xiaoman wanted to say: who can know the future? Just like with their pickles—one day they’d sell, the next day, someone could copy it and make a fortune.
“Fine, I won’t say a thing.”
Wang Zhuzi grinned. “Thanks, Xiaoman-gege.”
After watching him leave, Qin Xiaoman sighed. He had thought Du Heng was obedient, yet he’d been secretly saving money.
Saving money?
He furrowed his brow, puzzled. Why was Du Heng saving money?
He hadn’t really given him much, yet Du Heng was living at home, cared for three meals a day, and never went hungry. Qin Xiaoman had even thought he needed to rest his leg, and there was always meat in the house. Where would he even spend money?
Could it be that he was planning to run off with the savings?
The thought pricked Qin Xiaoman like a needle, making his chest tighten.
He returned home, troubled.
Outside, snow had started falling again. Du Heng, worried that Qin Xiaoman might be cold, saw him return holding an umbrella.
“Good thing you came back early, or the snow would have been heavier.”
Seeing Du Heng, calm and steady as ever, standing at the door waiting for him, Qin Xiaoman felt his mood lift slightly. He put down the basket under the eaves.
“I bought a fish. Got in a bit late. I wanted a bigger one, but most were sold already. Only this two-jin one left.”
Du Heng picked up the greenfish from the basket. “That’s enough. Too many dishes would fill you up. Let’s put it in the water vat for a couple of days and eat it on New Year’s Eve.”
“Mm.”
Du Heng carefully put the fish away, then turned to see Qin Xiaoman staring at him. “What’s wrong? You look a bit down today.”
“Nothing.” Qin Xiaoman collected the basket. “I meant to buy a pair of New Year couplets to make the house festive, but I completely forgot.”
“No problem. I can write some on red paper at home.” Du Heng looked at him. “What’s really bothering you?”
Half-truthfully, Qin Xiaoman confessed, “The pickles didn’t sell.”
He told Du Heng about the day’s attempts to sell pickles. Du Heng frowned—he had known this business couldn’t last. Restaurant chefs were sharp; their pickles weren’t complicated, just fried with oil and shrimp powder. There was no way to keep it a secret forever. Making a bit of profit twice was already decent.
He had expected it, so he didn’t mind. But it was natural for a boy to feel frustrated losing a chance to earn.
“No matter. We’ll think of other ways to make money later.”
“Mm.”
Qin Xiaoman trusted that Du Heng could make money if he wanted. Talented people could turn anything into income; the untalented needed money just to survive and grew poorer over time.
Before, Qin Xiaoman had felt proud that Du Heng had talent. Now, he almost wished Du Heng were a bit like a decorative vase—so there would be less to worry about.
Still, Qin Xiaoman wasn’t the type to throw a tantrum over imagined troubles, though it didn’t mean he wasn’t irritated. He wasn’t upset at Du Heng—he was frustrated with himself for letting others’ words about Du Heng leaving disturb him.
He knew people were speaking ill because they couldn’t stand to see him happy: when Du Heng first came, they mocked him as crippled; now that his leg was healing, they said he wasn’t a suitable match.
For other matters, he could scold people directly. But with Du Heng, he never knew what the man really thought, so he couldn’t assert himself.
They said he wanted to stay, yet avoided him. They said he might leave, yet gave advice to help him earn money.
Qin Xiaoman felt a prick in his heart. But the days before the New Year were busy; the house needed a thorough cleaning.
Every cobweb in the eaves and ceiling had to be removed, furniture and bowls scrubbed—tedious labor with few hands. Only by the thirty-first was everything cleaned.
Exhausted, Qin Xiaoman had no energy to dwell on those messy worries.
In previous years, he had done everything alone. This year, at least Du Heng was there, taking full charge of the New Year’s Eve meal.
On New Year’s Eve, before dark, he already heard firecrackers from the east side of the village. Every year, the local landowners had their New Year’s Eve dinner first; the firecrackers could be heard from afar.
Qin Xiaoman had planned to set off some for fun this year too, but with the pickle sales failing, he was in low spirits, and many of the items he intended to buy didn’t get purchased.
Later, it was still Du Heng who dug out some leftover paper his father had used and wrote two couplets to hang on the gate. Passing neighbors even asked where they had bought them.
He also personally paid Wang Zhuzi to bring back two red lanterns and hung them on either side of the main gate. With a touch of red in the courtyard, the house finally felt like New Year—just looking at it lifted the spirits.
“Smells so good from afar. Aren’t you going to Du Heng’s for the New Year’s Eve dinner?”
Qin Xiong, trudging along the small path with snow and mud clinging to his boots, saw Qin Xiaoman chopping radishes by the little stone bridge in the yard.
“I already said this year I’ll celebrate with Du Heng.”
Qin Xiong entered the courtyard. “What are you eating tonight? Smells amazing.”
Qin Xiaoman quickly dropped the radish and pulled Qin Xiong into the kitchen. “My husband’s cooking today. There’s plenty of dishes.”
Entering, Qin Xiong saw Du Heng tied with a cloth around his chest, frying ingredients. The fragrant aroma filled the kitchen.
“Second uncle’s here,” Du Heng greeted.
Qin Xiong leaned in, incredulous, standing shoulder-to-shoulder at the stove, watching scallion, ginger, and garlic being fried in oil. “You really know how to cook?”
“Of course,” Qin Xiaoman said proudly. “I told you before, but you didn’t believe me. My mother-in-law, whom you never met, used to be a cook. My husband is skilled too.”
He lifted the small soup pot, revealing a bubbling chicken soup that filled the air with rich aroma. “Old hen stewed with vermicelli.”
He lifted a covered pan. “Cured meat for the ancestral offering.”
Qin Xiong looked at the iron pot with a scoop of water added. “And what’s this for?”
“Xiaoman bought river fish. Planning to cook a pot of sauerkraut fish.”
Qin Xiong licked his lips. Even though he had eaten plenty of good food, he had never seen fish cooked in oil with Sichuan pepper, chili, and ginger-garlic paste, then boiled in water. The method was foreign to a man like him, but the aroma was unmistakable.
When the sauerkraut went in, its flavor mingled with the aromatic base, masking any fishy smell. Qin Xiong shamelessly tasted a piece Du Heng handed him. “Is there any seasoning?” he asked, reluctant to swallow.
“It’s hot. You didn’t taste it yet,” Du Heng said quickly, offering chopsticks again.
Qin Xiong wrapped a piece of fish with sauerkraut and took a few bites before saying, “Now it has flavor.”
Qin Xiaoman, hands on his hips, shot his uncle an annoyed glance. Du Heng picked up another pair of chopsticks, gave Qin Xiaoman a piece of fish, and finally, Qin Xiaoman’s frown eased.
“Second uncle, this fish is two or three jin, plus plenty of other dishes. I’ll serve a bowl for you to take over.”
Qin Xiong waved his hand, eyes still on the pot. “No need. Your aunt cooked plenty today. I came to tell you to join Xiaoman for dinner.”
Before Du Heng could speak, Qin Xiong added, “Your aunt doesn’t cook fish; she didn’t buy any this year.”
Seeing Qin Xiaoman remain silent, Qin Xiong glanced over. “See, Xiaoman? Your aunt never cooks fish. At least Du Heng knows his way around. This dish will go well with drinks, I bet.”
Qin Xiaoman took a large bowl from the cupboard and generously served a full portion of sauerkraut fish.
Qin Xiong, holding the bowl, complained half-heartedly, “Why so much? Just a bit for your aunt to taste would do. So wasteful!”