Lu Liu congratulated him, saying, “Don’t say you don’t want to go to the county town. Wang Meng has been busy with this for a long time. If you say that, all his effort is wasted, and both of you will feel uneasy. There’s good in going to the county town—maybe once you’re there, you’ll understand what you truly want.”
Chen Jiu replied, “You’re late saying that. I already told him. That shameless guy—don’t know what’s gotten into him—thicker-skinned than before. I said I didn’t want to go, but he kept insisting. Fine, we’ll go. Marry a dog, follow a dog—where he goes, I’ll go.”
Lu Liu: “……”
He realized that the times when others looked at him blankly while he endlessly complained about Da Feng, it was because of this mood.
Lu Liu chuckled again; everyone has their own fate.
It was late, and he didn’t linger—he went home.
Chen Jiu called after him, “I’ll have Wang Meng keep an eye on the nanny goat and deliver it to you when needed.”
When Lu Liu moved, he couldn’t take the wet nurse along. The children hadn’t been weaned yet, and he couldn’t feed them himself. He needed a nanny goat to keep milk flowing during the journey. Once in the prefectural city, he could decide whether to hire a wet nurse or continue with goat milk.
Li Feng wasn’t home, but Lu Liu had kept this in mind. His mother suggested that once Li Feng returned, he could go ask about it. If that didn’t work, he could buy a goat from the livestock shop. He hadn’t expected Chen Jiu to remember and have Wang Meng handle it.
Lu Liu was surprised, a strange warmth stirring in his chest.
He didn’t particularly like Chen Jiu—there was no major conflict, just a dislike of people who had once bullied him. Time had worn down many traces, and looking back, he barely remembered the exact circumstances. He just felt a quiet sense of reflection, though he wasn’t sure why.
After leaving Chen Jiu’s, he carried a lantern along the narrow path.
The stone path had been repaired by Da Qiang, who filled it with earth to make it easier for Yao Fulang to go out and play. Lu Liu benefited from it too.
He remembered walking this same path with Li Feng before, also at night, when the stones dug painfully into his feet. Missing Li Feng, he felt a small thrill stepping on a protruding stone, recalling their walks together.
At home, he washed up and put the children to bed. Lu Liu picked up a small book to read.
His three primer books were worn to tatters, memorized by heart.
He didn’t test himself—reading to the babies, he always held the book. At night, he would read a bit before sleeping.
He remembered studying with Li Feng on the kang—how exhausting and hard it had been, sustained only by the motivation of fooling the children. Now it had become second nature.
Lu Liu flipped through a few pages, then went to the desk to grind ink and write a letter.
His letters had gradually become organized, no longer rambling incoherently.
Organized letters weren’t as interesting as random musings.
He finished one letter, reread it, found it dull, and rewrote it.
He was simply unsuited to writing essays—better at jotting down ordinary daily thoughts.
He wrote to Li Feng about the past few days, recounting everything he had done.
Li Feng’s birthday was March 27. He hadn’t been home, and Lu Liu had already bought a gift in advance, so there was nothing more to do.
He had wanted to make longevity noodles or steam birthday buns that day, hesitated, and spent the whole day restless, thinking of someone far away. It felt unlucky to celebrate for someone not present.
By evening, he couldn’t wait any longer, so he went to the kitchen to cook noodles with meat, eggs, and fish broth—the flavors Li Feng liked.
Li Feng wasn’t home, so he didn’t need to set aside the noodles and wait. He ate them, symbolically sharing the celebration, celebrating Li Feng’s birthday in absentia.
Beyond that, he wrote about how he had spent his day, his “just eat this” moments, and even the sounds of laughter, to convey his joy.
He also wrote about his conversations with his mother and what had troubled him.
In his letter, Lu Liu wrote: “Truly worrying about nothing. They don’t even know what to say. Thinking of it, I laughed for a while, then thought, why not think of you instead.”
On the wall hung portraits of the two of them, showing intimate postures.
On small scrolls were miniature likenesses, which Li Feng had dismissed as too trivial to paint.
Lu Liu would look at them many times a day, telling Li Feng he was used to it and no longer cried—but he didn’t say that his longing was still strong.
These feelings could be expressed in letters.
Soon, they would be able to live in the same place more permanently, and Li Feng wouldn’t need to travel so frequently. Writing it down didn’t matter.
Li Feng often left home; after they married, he spent more time away than at home. Yet everywhere in the house bore Li Feng’s presence.
Feeding the dog reminded Lu Liu of when he first married, when Li Feng took him to give Er Huang his “acknowledgment of master” meal. He remembered Er Huang’s courtship, and why Li Feng had wanted to adopt the dog girl. Now the dog girl was grown, yet her father had rarely played with her.
Going to the privy, he recalled Li Feng’s bargaining about how many times a day he could go.
Cooking in the kitchen, he remembered Li Feng and little details he had treasured. Cooking used to be joyful, though he had worried when food ran out.
Visiting the garden, he recalled the first sprouts, and the day Li Feng returned from the mountains, discovering the pregnancy.
Walking in the courtyard along the smooth stone path, he recalled Li Feng’s work in paving it.
In the storage room, he remembered the chicks and rabbits, and the bathing tub surrounded by straw mats and bamboo mats, full of stories.
Back at the small shop, he remembered their excitement and anticipation for the future.
Though they spent little time together, Lu Liu’s life was full of Li Feng.
Writing these things down became Lu Liu’s way of cherishing the home and their memories.
Moving would bring a new life, and Lu Liu looked forward to it—but he didn’t want to forget his roots.
Even before leaving home, he began to miss his hometown.
On April 10, Li Feng and others returned home, visited the county town, and obtained a heart-protecting mirror and wolf-hair brushes.
This time, Li Feng didn’t stay long. He had to hurry to take the pony to the prefectural city, and also bring along some light jackets.
At Lu’s village, he collected his fathers-in-law’s winter clothes and heavy bedding.
Lu Erbao and Wang Fengnian were dazed; they knew they had to leave, yet when the moment came, they couldn’t quite grasp it. Watching Li Feng pack, they asked many questions about life in the city—mostly about expenses.
Where would they live? Was it expensive? What would they eat? Was it costly? Were things settled now? They weren’t in a hurry; they could wait until next year.
Li Feng kept busy, telling them to wait a little longer.
“You can notify relatives. If you’re attached to anyone, visit them and spend some time.”
The two elders, affectionate with the eldest uncle’s family, could only visit there if they didn’t want to part.
Li Feng made two trips in April, returning by the Dragon Boat Festival to host a banquet, eating and drinking with relatives and brothers.
In the future, he would continue returning home, though Lu Liu and his mother would see him rarely—perhaps less than twice a year.
This banquet was actually Chen Guizhi and Lu Liu’s way of saying goodbye to friends.
Lu Liu had long decided the small shop would go to Yao Fulang. He had mentioned it to his mother in passing, who had no objections, saying that the shop was theirs to manage as they liked.
Lu Liu delayed telling Yao Fulang until the moment they really had to leave, causing Yao Fulang to cry buckets of tears.
Lu Liu comforted him: “The small shop is yours. You’ll help me look after it.”
Looking after the shop? It was nearby; he could see it regularly. With free hands, he could just sweep inside and out—it didn’t require daily labor.
Yao Fulang said he was kind. “Some friends I grew up with changed after marrying, becoming distant. Married outside the village, they aren’t affectionate anymore. I thought your words were just to console me. Going to the prefectural city, living well, making new friends—would you still remember me? I didn’t expect you truly cared.”
Lu Liu wouldn’t forget him—he would always remember and think of him.
At today’s gathering, Wang Meng came, while Chen Jiu did not.
Wang Meng brought a nanny goat to feed the children.
