Yuan Zhao washed the bowl, slung the basket over his back, and hurried into the mountain.
He wasn’t only looking for people—he kept an eye out for wild vegetables along the way. Spring bamboo shoots should be appearing soon; if he found a quiet spot, he could dig some up and perhaps sell them in town.
He followed the little river into the mountains, stopping along a slightly hidden riverside to pull up a few clusters of wild chives. Luckily, his eyes were sharp—otherwise, he would have missed them.
Along the way, he picked wild vegetables and tossed them into the basket, while piling the firewood onto his shoulders. The stack of wood was so high that it almost swallowed his small frame.
“Zhao Ge’er, why are you out here? How’s A Xiang?”
Shi Zhang’s voice came from behind. Yuan Zhao quickly set down the woodpile, turned to speak with her, and briefly explained Shi Wuxiang’s condition.
Hearing that Shi Wuxiang was fine, Shi Zhang relaxed. She furrowed her brow slightly. “How can you carry so much firewood? Let A Yue carry some for you later—he’s half-grown but strong. Let him help.”
Yuan Zhao smiled sheepishly. “It’s okay. This little bit of wood isn’t heavy, and you all have carried so much yourselves. Let’s just head home for now. I’ll come back tomorrow to chop more.”
“Alright,” Shi Zhang replied.
“There’s a patch of bamboo on the other side of the mountain. Tomorrow we’ll see if any shoots have sprouted and go together,” Yuan Zhao continued, shouldering the wood. Having grown accustomed to hard work, he didn’t feel tired. “It’s warming up fast; I also want to check with the village chief about the unused fields.”
Shi Zhang nodded. “We’ll follow your lead.”
When they returned home, Shi Wuxiang was still asleep. The medicine must have taken effect; his face had regained some color.
Yuan Zhao stacked all the firewood neatly against the wall and covered it with a rag. The sun was setting, and with the damp night approaching, wet wood would be hard to burn.
“Grandma, I’ll go return the farming tools and stop by the village chief’s house,” Yuan Zhao called out. “You can rest and wait for me to come back before cooking.”
“Go on then,” Shi Zhang said. She didn’t respond further; cooking was something she could manage herself.
Yuan Zhao didn’t insist. Yuan Yuan eagerly followed him as they returned the borrowed tools to the neighbors—tools that were needed daily. Delaying their return would have upset the neighbors. After a few polite words, Yuan Zhao and Yuan Yuan headed toward the village chief’s house, mindful that it was almost dinnertime.
“Is Chief Niu at home?”
Standing in front of a tile-roofed house, Yuan Zhao called out even though the gate was open, without entering directly.
Mrs. Niu, fiddling with tools in a corner of the yard, hurried over. “Ah, Zhao Ge’er, what brings you here?”
Yuan Zhao brightened his face, black and thin but honest-looking. “Auntie, I want to ask the village chief which mountain lands are unused. It’s warming up, so we should start cultivating them soon.”
Learning that Shi Wuxiang was safe, Mrs. Niu felt relieved.
She furrowed her brow again. “How can you carry so much? Wait, let A Yue help you with it. He’s strong enough.”
Yuan Zhao smiled again. “It’s okay. This bit of wood isn’t heavy, and since you all have carried so much, let’s just head home. Tomorrow I’ll chop more.”
Mrs. Niu agreed.
“The other side of the mountain has some bamboo. Tomorrow, if there are any shoots, we can go together,” Yuan Zhao said, already used to hard labor, feeling no fatigue. “It’s warming up; I also want to ask the village chief about the unused fields.”
Shi Zhang nodded.
Soon, Chief Niu returned with his youngest son. Seeing Yuan Zhao waiting inside, his face brightened. “Ah, Zhao Ge’er, what brings you here?”
Yuan Zhao explained his purpose and added, “If there’s any suitable unused land, please let us know and inform the villagers that it’s been allocated to us.”
“That’s only proper,” the chief said, pulling out a map. He pointed to a plot on the mountain. “This area is good. The villagers can’t tend to all their own fields, so if you plan to cultivate it, it’s yours.”
Yuan Zhao examined it carefully, then grinned and nodded quickly. “We’ll start! We’ll go tomorrow! Once we start, it’s ours?”
Chief Niu smiled and nodded.
“Thank you, Chief!”
“Thank you, Chief…” Yuan Yuan echoed softly.
With many sons at home, Chief Niu liked the obedient and clever children. He immediately stuffed some candy into Yuan Yuan’s hands.
“Take it and eat.”
“Chief, it’s too precious…” Yuan Zhao panicked. “Yuan Yuan can’t take it!”
Chief Niu pretended to frown. “It’s been sitting there since New Year and no one ate it. Children deserve candy. Take it.”
Yuan Yuan’s small, rough hands held the candy, eyes wide with a mix of anticipation and fear, hesitant to take it.
“Thank you, Uncle Niu.”
“Thank you, Uncle Niu…”
The chief laughed heartily.
With the errands done and night fully fallen, Yuan Zhao prepared to head home with Yuan Yuan, receiving a large fresh cabbage from Auntie Niu on the way out.
Back home, Shi Zhang was surprised. “Where did you get such fresh cabbage?” Since running out of money, they hadn’t eaten fresh produce from the fields.
“Auntie Niu gave it to us. I confirmed the uncultivated field with the chief; he said once we start, it’s ours!” Yuan Zhao’s joy was obvious. “Tomorrow, we’ll borrow tools and start cultivating!”
Shi Zhang’s face lit up with approval.
Though she said Yuan Zhao needn’t worry about what villagers thought, in reality, she cared the most. The sudden change—from a merchant’s wife in town to a village woman—was difficult to accept. She had to shoulder the household first, so the children wouldn’t worry.
Yuan Zhao began cooking. Cold nights called for hot noodle soup. With the fresh cabbage, a pot of cabbage dumpling soup soon boiled, sprinkled with a little salt—simple yet delicious. For Yuan Zhao and Yuan Yuan, having enough to eat and stay warm was already a blessing.
“I’ll take A Xiang his meal. Grandma, you can save the leftover soup for tomorrow morning, then boil some hot water for washing.” Yuan Zhao said; these chores were easy and the warmth of the fire comforting.
He glanced for Yuan Yuan and saw him sharing candy with the Shi siblings.
Carrying the soup into the house, lit only by a single candle, Yuan Zhao found Shi Wuxiang awake, staring at the ceiling. Everything here was rough and simple; he had no choice but to endure it.
“The dumpling soup I cooked is delicious. Drink it while it’s hot,” Yuan Zhao said, moving to help him sit. Shi Wuxiang, propping himself up, startled. “You… you’re fully recovered?”
Shi Wuxiang sighed. “Much better.”
He even took the bowl from Yuan Zhao himself, no longer needing help to eat.
Still, he couldn’t accept Yuan Zhao as a “partner,” struggling to see the fifteen-year-old as such.
Unless he had completely lost his mind, there was no way he could let a child take care of him.
“Did you… go to the bathroom afterward?” Yuan Zhao asked, concerned.
“Cough… cough…” Shi Wuxiang covered his mouth, coughing. “Don’t ask such things while eating.”
“Not me asking! The doctor said you’ve been lying too long; you have to go—just eat first, then tell me!” Yuan Zhao pouted.
In fact, Shi Wuxiang managed on his own.
Relieved, Yuan Zhao carried the empty bowl out and brought in a basin of hot water.
“Hot water today! I’ll wash your feet—otherwise it’ll get cold. Stretch your feet out!”
Shi Wuxiang stared, incredulous. He had only seen this in public service ads.
“Put the basin there and roll up your sleeves!” Yuan Zhao eagerly instructed. Shi Wuxiang, overwhelmed, realized only someone crazy would let a child wash their feet.
Sighing, he rinsed his feet in the hot water—after all, he couldn’t let a child use cold water on him.
Once Yuan Zhao finished scrubbing, he poured out the water in a corner of the yard. With quiet chatter still coming from the other rooms, he returned inside.
Shi Wuxiang, surprised by his return, asked, “Why are you back?”
“I came back to sleep! Are you still feeling a headache? I think you’re still a bit ill.” Yuan Zhao’s thin, black face looked concerned.
He continued, “Ranran sleeps with grandma, A Yue and Yuan Ge’er sleep together. Since he’s small, I’ll sleep with you—just right.”
Shi Wuxiang, now more aware of the family’s poverty, lay down to let Yuan Zhao lie down too, facing the wall.
As he sighed, he felt a poke in his back, followed by a mischievous whisper from Yuan Zhao.
“I hear everyone talking in the other rooms, so talk to me too?”
“Ah… what do you want to talk about?” Shi Wuxiang asked.
Yuan Zhao grinned. “I don’t know, just want someone to talk to. Yuan Ge’er and I have never slept in a warm bed. Your mother treats you so well—if my mother were alive, she would have done the same!”
Shi Wuxiang’s chest felt a tiny prick of emotion. He lay down flat and asked, “Where did you live before?”
Yuan Zhao, seeing the prompt, recounted the story of his second uncle’s family, naturally omitting Wang Guanfu’s troubles—they were no good to speak of.
“Was it hard?” Shi Wuxiang sighed, unsure how to comfort the child.
He followed the small river into the mountains, stopping at a slightly hidden spot along the bank to pick a few clumps of wild onions. Fortunately, his sharp eyes caught them, or he would have missed them.
Along the way, he carefully selected the wild vegetables to put in his basket and chose firewood to carry on his shoulder. The stack of firewood was so large it nearly obscured his figure.
“Brother Zhao, why are you out here? How’s Ah Xiang?”
The voice of Master Zhang’s wife came from behind. Yuan Zhao quickly set down the firewood, turned, and explained Shī Wúxiàng’s situation to her.
Hearing that Shī Wúxiàng was unharmed, she relaxed.
She frowned slightly. “How do you manage to carry so much firewood? Later, let Ah Yue help you. He’s just a growing boy, but he’s strong. Let him give you a hand.”
Yuan Zhao smiled sheepishly. “It’s fine. This little firewood isn’t heavy, and since you’ve all carried so much already, let’s just head home. I’ll cut more tomorrow.”
“All right,” Master Zhang agreed.
“There’s a patch of bamboo on the other side of the mountain. Tomorrow we’ll see if there are any shoots, and then we’ll go together!” Yuan Zhao hoisted the firewood. Having grown accustomed to hard labor, he didn’t feel tired at all and continued, “It’s warming up soon. I want to go ask the village chief about the fallow land.”
Master Zhang nodded. “All right, we’ll follow your lead.”
When they returned home, Shī Wúxiàng was still asleep—likely the medicine had worked—his complexion showing a flush of health.
Yuan Zhao stacked all the firewood neatly by the wall and covered it with a rag. The sun was setting, and nighttime dampness would make the wood difficult to burn if left uncovered.
“Granny, I’ll go return the farm tools and stop by the village chief’s house,” Yuan Zhao called out. “You rest and wait for me to come back before making dinner.”
“Go ahead,” Master Zhang said, not feeling the need to reply further—she could handle the cooking herself.
Yuan Zhao didn’t insist. Yuan Yuan eagerly followed him. The two of them first returned the borrowed tools to their neighbors. Since these were used daily, returning them promptly ensured the neighbors remained willing to lend them in the future.
After exchanging a few polite words, Yuan Zhao led Yuan Yuan to the village chief’s house. If they were late, it would soon be dinner time, so they had to hurry.
“Is Chief Niu home?”
Yuan Zhao called out from in front of a tile-roofed house, not entering even though the gate was open.
Niu Liushi, busy tidying tools in the corner of the yard, hurried over. “Brother Zhao, what brings you here?”
Yuan Zhao brightened his face, his lean frame radiating earnestness. “Auntie, I wanted to ask Chief Niu about unclaimed fallow land on the mountain. It’s warming up soon, and we need to cultivate some fields to feed ourselves.”
“Come in and wait a moment. They’ll be back soon,” Niu Liushi said with a smile, ushering them inside.
The courtyard was neat and tidy, and Yuan Zhao knew this was thanks to the village chief’s sons, who all worked in town and likely earned money.
He wanted to earn money too, but the town rarely employed small boys unless selling household registration to wealthy households—a role he couldn’t take on. He still had many family matters to handle.
For now, cultivating the land to ensure the family had enough to eat and stay warm came first.
It wasn’t long before Chief Niu returned with his youngest son. Seeing Yuan Zhao waiting inside, his usually stern face softened into a smile. “Brother Zhao, what brings you here?”
Yuan Zhao explained his intention and added, “If there’s suitable fallow land, I hope that after assigning it to us, you could inform the village.”
“That’s only right,” Chief Niu said, taking out a map from his youngest son. He pointed to a plot on the mountain. “This area is fine. The villagers don’t have enough time to farm it. If you intend to cultivate it, it’s yours.”
Yuan Zhao considered carefully and then smiled broadly, nodding quickly. “We’ll cultivate it! Tomorrow we’ll start! Once it’s cultivated, it’s ours?”
Chief Niu chuckled and nodded.
“Thank you, Chief!”
“Thanks, Chief…” Yuan Yuan echoed quietly.
The village chief had many sons, and seeing the obedient little girl and boy, he happily stuffed a handful of candies into Yuan Yuan’s palm.
“Take it and eat it.”
“Chief, this is too generous…” Yuan Zhao’s smile quickly turned to panic. “Yuan Yuan can’t accept this!”
The chief pretended to frown. “They’ve been there since New Year, untouched. Children deserve these candies. Take them.”
Yuan Yuan held the candy tightly in his chapped, stubby hands, eyes wide with hope and fear—wanting to eat, but hesitant to take them.
“Thank you, Uncle Niu.”
“Thanks, Uncle Niu…”
Chief Niu laughed heartily. “That’s better!”
With the matter settled, night had fallen. Yuan Zhao bid farewell, taking Yuan Yuan back, even receiving a fresh cabbage from Auntie Niu along the way.
He carried the cabbage home, holding Yuan Yuan’s hand joyfully. By the time they arrived, night had fully fallen.
“Where did this fresh cabbage come from?” Master Zhang asked, surprised. Since the family’s money had run out, they hadn’t had fresh vegetables from the field.
“Auntie Niu gave it. I also clarified the fallow land issue—Uncle Niu assigned us a plot. He said once we cultivate it, it belongs to us!” Yuan Zhao’s excitement showed clearly on his face. “Tomorrow we’ll borrow farm tools and start cultivating!”
Master Zhang nodded happily.
Although she had told Yuan Zhao not to worry about the villagers’ opinions, she cared deeply. Their household had been turned upside down overnight, from merchant life in town to villagers’ life, and it was overwhelming.
She had to hold the family together first, to spare the children from worry.
Yuan Zhao began cooking. In the cold, hot soup noodles were essential, and with the fresh cabbage, a pot of cabbage noodle dumpling soup was quickly ready. A pinch of salt made it delicious. At least they could eat their fill and stay warm, which was already excellent for Yuan Zhao and Yuan Yuan.
“I’ll bring Ah Xiang some food. Granny, save the remaining soup for tomorrow morning, and boil some hot water for washing,” Yuan Zhao said. These chores were easy for him, and the warmth from the fire was comforting.
When he looked at Yuan Yuan, he saw the boy sitting with Master Shi’s siblings, sharing the candies.
Yuan Zhao carried the soup inside. Only a single candle lit the room, but it was bright enough.
Shī Wúxiàng had awakened, staring at the ceiling with deadpan eyes. The room was run-down, but he had no choice, though he felt it hard to endure.
“I made noodle dumpling soup tonight. It’s delicious—drink it while it’s hot,” Yuan Zhao said, attempting to help him sit up. Shī Wúxiàng, however, propped himself up and gasped in surprise. “You… you’re fully recovered?”
Shī Wúxiàng sighed. “Much better.”
He even took the bowl from Yuan Zhao himself—he was well enough not to need someone else to feed him.
Moreover, he still couldn’t adjust to Yuan Zhao’s youth and tried to keep some distance. He simply couldn’t see a fifteen-year-old child as a “companion.”
Only a crazed law-abiding person would do that! A copper-smelting automaton, self-destruct!
Besides, he felt embarrassed being cared for by such a small child.
“Did you manage to… relieve yourself?” Yuan Zhao asked, concerned.
“Cough… cough…” Shī Wúxiàng covered his mouth, coughing. “Not while eating.”
Yuan Zhao pouted. “I’m not asking out of curiosity—it’s the doctor who said lying too long is unhealthy. Anyway, you can tell me after you eat!”
Shī Wúxiàng handled it himself.
Only then did Yuan Zhao relax completely, carrying a full basin of hot water inside.
“Today we have hot water, I’ll wash your feet before it cools! Stretch them out!”
Shī Wúxiàng stared incredulously. He’d only seen such scenes in public service ads.
“Put the basin there, roll up your sleeves!” Shī Wúxiàng sighed at Yuan Zhao’s eager expression. Only a madman would let a child wash his feet!
“If you don’t want, fine. Why be so fierce?” Yuan Zhao asked. “Go ahead and wash. You finish, then I’ll wash.”
Shī Wúxiàng reluctantly rinsed his feet with hot water… he couldn’t let a child wash with water already used for soaking.
Had life truly become this difficult?
Yuan Zhao rubbed his feet comfortably, poured the water into the yard’s corner, and returned inside, hearing faint voices in the other room.
Shī Wúxiàng was surprised again when Yuan Zhao came back.
“Why are you back?”
“I’m going to bed!” Yuan Zhao’s lean face showed concern. “Do you have a headache? You still seem unwell!”
He continued, “Ranran sleeps with Granny, Ah Yue and Yuan Ge’er sleep elsewhere. Even though he’s young, I sleep with you—it works out perfectly.”
Shī Wúxiàng realized the family’s poverty even more clearly.
He lay down silently, letting Yuan Zhao get in. Not used to sharing a bed, he turned to face the wall.
Just as he was sighing internally, he felt a poke on his back, followed by Yuan Zhao’s mischievous whisper.
“I hear voices from the other rooms. Talk to me too?”
“Uh… what do you want to talk about?” Shī Wúxiàng asked.
Yuan Zhao grinned foolishly. “I don’t know. I just want someone to talk to. Yuan Ge’er and I have never slept in a warm bed. Your mother treats you so well—if mine were alive, she’d do the same!”
Shī Wúxiàng’s heart felt a rare warmth.
He chuckled softly. “Then I should thank you.”
The small boy beside him had already drifted into light snores.