Chen Jiu thought for a moment, then nodded. “Auntie,” he said, “I thought you disliked me.”
Chen Guizhi told him he needed to watch his tongue: “It’s not just about making money—you need to be kinder in daily life too. When you go out, people scold and criticize you every day. Does that make you happy?”
Chen Jiu only nodded silently, then packed up his embroidery basket and headed home.
After dinner and washing up that evening, with nothing else to do, everyone retired to their rooms.
When Lu Liu entered his room, the water in his foot-soaking basin had already drained by half.
The wooden basin was heavy—he could lift very heavy things, but filling it to the brim proved a struggle, his back lacking the strength.
With half the water gone, he could manage it, though the soak felt uncomfortable.
With less water, the tops of his feet kept breaking the surface with the slightest movement. No matter how he shifted, his feet only met the hard wooden plank beneath.
Soaking feet was more enjoyable when done together, when they could press against each other’s feet.
Lu Liu stared at the basin, then glanced toward the kang.
Being small, he couldn’t sit on the kang to soak his feet. Usually, he sat on a small stool while Li Feng sat on the kang, the couple facing each other as they soaked their feet.
Now, looking down, he couldn’t see Li Feng’s feet; looking up, he couldn’t see Li Feng at all.
After washing his feet, he had to pour out the water himself. Returning to the kang, he had to warm the bed by himself.
He tossed and turned inside the bedding, unable to find a comfortable spot, always rolling restlessly, unable to fall asleep.
The kang was large and hard. He felt uneasy, curling himself up near the kang cabinet, pressing tightly against it as if leaning on a solid arm.
But that arm was too hard, so he’d hug Li Feng’s pillow to his chest instead—that felt better.
His mind wandered through the night, replaying countless stories Li Feng had told him about life on the mountain.
It had been over half a month now. Li Feng hadn’t been able to bathe or soak his feet on the mountain—he must be filthy. When he got home, he’d have to scrub him clean before letting him onto the kang.
So long without changing his shoes or socks—his feet must stink to high heaven!
Lu Liu imagined the smell, wrinkling his nose and covering his mouth and nose with his hand. He thought, their feet must be terribly swollen from the descent.
He wondered if they’d eaten well. He’d wanted to bring Li Feng extra food, but Li Feng had refused, saying it wasn’t convenient.
They carried too much with them. Weapons were essential, but anything they could find in the mountains, they left behind. Food was something they could find in the mountains.
Spring had arrived. Wild greens sprouted in patches, insects and snakes emerged, birds and beasts returned to the woods—all potential sustenance.
Lu Liu didn’t know if eating all this random stuff would make him vomit black or red substances, scaring himself. She also worried: Could past experiences be trusted? Though vomiting such things had never harmed him before, might it cause trouble later?
She even imagined: Might they encounter sleepy little creatures? Perhaps they could tag along with hunters, scrounging scraps and building friendships. Then, when venturing into the mountains later, they’d have companions.
These scattered thoughts weighed heavily on his heart. His sleep was fitful. When he woke the next morning, he rose early to cook for his mother, packing food for her journey. He also handed her four strings of copper coins from his book sales, urging her not to go hungry in the county town.
Chen Guizhi held the coins, looked at Lu Liu, and smiled inexplicably.
Old age crept up on her. Half a lifetime passed, and now a child was treating her like a child, giving her instructions.
“You’re all alone at home. You can invite Yao Fulang over for company. Feed him,” she said.
Lu Liu agreed.
A new day began. Business hadn’t started yet. He opened the door and tidied things up.
Spring had arrived; all winter clothes could be put away.
The cupboard needed emptying, so clothes and odds and ends were piled onto the kang.
He dug out a box of rouge.
He’d only ever received rouge twice—once when he got married, and once before that.
He twisted off the lid. The rouge was red as blood.
Such a small box, yet so expensive. Inside, there were traces where Li Feng had scooped some out.
Li Feng was big, with large hands and fingers. His fingertip had scooped out a piece, leaving a small hollow in the rouge.
Lu Liu reached out, rubbing his fingers in the little indentation Li Feng’s fingertip had made, picking up some rouge.
Without a mirror, he dabbed it onto his hand.
Just a tiny bit on his finger was enough to stain his entire hand red.
Lu Liu froze. He looked at the hollowed-out spot in the rouge box, froze again, then burst into laughter so hard tears streamed down his face.
That bastard Da Feng!
So little rouge was enough for his own face, yet he’d scooped out such a huge chunk. What on earth did he make of his own face? And he’d lied, saying it looked beautiful.
So beautiful, then why hasn’t he come back yet?
After laughing for a while, he lay on the heated bed until his breathing steadied. Only then did he carefully and reverently put the rouge away, tidy up the cabinet, and step outside to feed the chickens and rabbits.
Erhuang had gone up the mountain too, and no big dog was wagging its tail around him anymore.
This time up the mountain, his doghouse was still intact—no rabbits had come to claim it.
Lu Liu had dried some straw for him, so he’d have a comfortable bed when he returned home.
Spring had arrived, and the dog couldn’t sleep on the thick straw pile anymore. Lu Liu had even washed out a straw mat.
The bamboo mat was cooler, but it was too hard, and Er Huang didn’t like it.
Just as he finished tidying up, customers began arriving at the front yard.
They came to buy salt, oil, rice, flour, and often grabbed some red dates while they were at it.
Seeing the red dates stirred mixed thoughts in Lu Liu’s mind.
He’d once thought about stewing red dates with eggs when he craved something sweet, adding a bit of sugar for extra flavor.
If Dafeng scolded him, he’d claim it was for conceiving a child.
But he’d only ever imagined it—never actually eaten stewed red dates with eggs, barely sipped the sweet syrup a few times.
Before marriage, he’d thought it the most delicious thing in the world. Getting to eat it once a year made him blissfully dizzy.
Living with Li Feng, meat and eggs were never in short supply. His sweet tooth remained, but his belly was always full—there was no room left for red dates and eggs.
After the busy season of guests passed, Lu Liu grabbed a handful of red dates and steamed them with eggs in the kitchen.
He wasn’t pleased. He wanted a proper meal. If Da Feng came home early, he’d eat less; if he came home late, he’d eat the family into poverty. Hmph!
After steaming the eggs, he went out to the yard to prepare the wild mushrooms.
This season brought an abundance of fresh mushrooms, and the family would set aside some to dry into preserved mushrooms.
He’d learned to identify them now, and remembered his mother’s warning: when handling fresh mushrooms, cover your mouth and nose with cotton cloth.
Mother said breathing in too much of the fresh mushroom scent made you feel sick and could even make you ill.
Before long, Yao Fulang came over to play.
Yao Fulang told Lu Liu, “My brother caught some fish for me to eat and get my strength back. Just smelling them made me throw up. Didn’t get much up, but I still feel awful.”
Lu Liu hurriedly asked if he felt better.
Seeing Yao Fulang still looking pale, he offered him some steamed red dates and eggs, adding a spoonful of brown sugar. The aroma wafted out as soon as he brought it over.
Yao Fulang stared at the dish on the table, his emotions hard to put into words.
“Lu Fulang, truly, aside from my mother and my eldest brother, Daqiang is the kindest to me.”
Lu Liu told him not to talk nonsense: “Daqiang is very good to you. He even bought you cakes to eat. Have you forgotten?”
Yao Fulang told him to eat it himself: I threw up this morning. My brother made me brown sugar eggs too, just with fewer dates. I’ll buy half a pound of dates later and make them for you too.”
Seeing he wouldn’t eat the steamed eggs, Lu Liu scooped some dates into his hands: “These are for you. Get well soon, and your baby will be plump and fair!”
Yao Fulang smiled and accepted them: “Alright. We have plenty of fish at home. Whenever you want some, just come over and catch a couple.”
Lu Liu agreed. He wasn’t particularly fond of fish himself, but Dafeng loved fish soup. When Dafeng returned, he’d catch a couple of fish and stew a pot of soup for him to eat his fill.
Qingming Festival was approaching. Farming was exhausting, and Er Tian was too busy to visit the mountain village. Wang Dongmei found time to make a trip.
Knowing Chen Guizhi wasn’t home today, she deliberately chose this moment to speak with Lu Liu. She wanted to ask him to send Da Feng to help out in the new village once he returned.
Lu Liu refused. If they hadn’t split the household, it was one thing—a family should support each other. But now that they had divided, what was the point of this?
Da Feng was still in the mountains, his return date unknown. She didn’t know if he was injured or in good health. Rushing over without giving anyone a moment’s rest, Lu Liu gave her a cold shoulder.
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