While the water was heating, Xie Yushu washed the clay cups and the few scattered bowls and chopsticks. These were likely left behind by the original owner’s father and were quite old, but they had no greasy residue—just a rinse with water was enough.
After washing these, she noticed the water vat was nearly empty.
Xie Yushu ladled the boiled water into a large coarse pottery bowl to cool before drinking, then covered it with a lid to keep out the dust that filled the room. After that, she picked up the large wooden bucket outside and prepared to go fetch water.
She was strong now—carrying two buckets at once would be no problem at all.
There were three wells in the village for water supply, one of which was near the end of the village, fairly close to the Zhai house. The original owner had gone to draw water once after returning, and the location was still fresh in Xie Yushu’s memory.
She could also go directly to the river, but Xie Yushu wasn’t keen on that—well water was still better.
Before heading out, she checked her attire. She was wearing a light-colored long robe made of fabric that wasn’t too shabby. The original owner had been a steward at the ferry and earned a decent wage, so her clothes were naturally a step above the coarse hemp garments Xie Yushu had imagined the locals wore.
Xie Yushu pushed open the two rickety wooden gate doors that seemed on the verge of falling apart. They let out a strained creak. Just as she stepped out, a figure suddenly appeared at the entrance.
It was a woman.
The middle-aged woman looked lean, probably in her mid-fifties, with particularly sharp, bright eyes. Though dressed in coarse hemp, her clothes were clean and tidy. She carried a small burlap sack in her hands.
“Miss Xie, so you’ve finally come out.”
In this world, unmarried women were called xiaoniang or nülang, while unmarried men were called xiaoge’er.
This woman was Su Quan, the village chief of Qingluo Village.
Su Quan had come to see Xie Yushu on her first day back in the village and had asked about her situation. Xie Yushu remembered her.
“Village Chief,” Xie Yushu responded, drawing on the original owner’s memory.
The village chief was unexpectedly kind. What did she want?
Su Quan nodded: “Oh, good, good. It’s a relief to see you out. I was worried you might be holed up inside and something might happen.”
After getting a clear look at Xie Yushu’s face, Su Quan’s eyes flickered with a hint of admiration. She wasn’t very educated and couldn’t quite put Xie Yushu’s appearance into words—she was just beautiful, stunningly so, even more so than any of the village’s young men.
The last time Su Quan had seen Xie Yushu was at night, when it was too dark to make out her face. Now, in broad daylight, she hadn’t expected Xie Yushu to have such fine features.
Then again, Zhai Jin had been fair and delicate in her youth, so it was only natural her daughter would be good-looking too.
“I heard from others that you’d finally come out, so I hurried over with a few things for you. When you first got back, there was nothing in that house. Here, take these.” Su Quan pressed the sack into her arms.
She had heard early this morning from those talkative men who couldn’t keep their mouths shut that the Zhai house had opened its doors and a fire had been lit for cooking. She’d quickly finished her breakfast, grabbed some food from home, and headed over.
Su Quan had a good relationship with the Zhai family. Since they were all gone, it was only right that she look after their granddaughter.
“That’s too kind of you,” Xie Yushu said politely, though she clutched the sack tightly to her chest.
Just when she needed it most—this village chief was a good person.
Seeing that Xie Yushu had accepted the gift, Su Quan smiled warmly, feeling much more at ease. It seemed she was doing all right. When she’d first returned, she’d been shrouded in such heavy gloom it was alarming, but now that feeling had faded—she seemed like a normal person again.
She gave a few more words of advice, telling Xie Yushu to come find her if she ran into any trouble. Xie Yushu nodded and walked her part of the way back.
Back in the kitchen, Xie Yushu opened the sack the village chief had given her.
Inside was a small bag of rice, a small bag of coarse flour, a few sweet potatoes, four eggs, and two fried pancakes.
Xie Yushu weighed the rice in her hand—it would probably last a few days. She wasn’t interested in the coarse flour for now, so she set it aside.
She stored the two bags of grain in a cabinet missing one leg, then placed the eggs and sweet potatoes into a bamboo basket lined with dried grass and hung it back up. The fried pancakes went into the pot to keep warm.
This would be her food supply for the next few days—she had to treasure it. At that thought, Xie Yushu let out another long sigh.
When had she ever suffered like this? Even basic food and shelter were now a problem.
After sighing, something seemed to occur to her. She hurried back into the room, lifted the coarse-cloth pillow, and found a simple brown money pouch pressed firmly underneath.
Xie Yushu pulled open the drawstring—eight copper coins lay inside.
This was all the original owner had left her.
Well, something was better than nothing.
She tucked the money pouch back under the pillow, picked up two large buckets, and headed out.
Early in the morning, most villagers were already out in the fields, so there was hardly anyone at the well. Xie Yushu was grateful for the peace and quiet. She made three trips back and forth before the water vat was full.
She also found another, slightly smaller water vat. The larger one would hold water for cleaning and washing, while the smaller one would be for cooking and drinking.
She’d only eaten one coarse bun earlier, which didn’t sit well with her. Now, Xie Yushu’s stomach was growling fiercely. This body was strong, but its energy consumption was astonishing.
Without hesitation, she lifted the pot lid, tore off half a fried pancake, and ate it.
The pancake was only lightly seasoned with salt. Xie Yushu preferred stronger flavors and found it bland, but the dough had been fried to a golden brown, carrying a rich wheat aroma. Even bland, it was far better than the coarse buns.
She also drank a large bowl of the cooled boiled water before the terrible hunger subsided slightly.
Then she set to work on cleaning the house.
—
“Zhai’s daughter came out. I was drawing water with her at the well just now.”
Liu Jingsheng tilted her bucket to pour the water into the vat, filling it to the brim. She wiped the sweat from her forehead with the cloth draped over her shoulder and started chatting with her husband.
Her household had few people and little land, with half of it planted with citrus trees. She finished tending to her fields quickly and came back to help her husband with chores. Their house was also at the end of the village, and she happened to spot Xie Yushu while drawing water.
She recognized her immediately—who else could that unfamiliar face in the village be? Everyone had been talking about her these past few days.
The Liu family husband was sitting on a small stool in the yard, picking vegetables and peeling garlic. He paused at his wife’s words and asked curiously, “She really came out? She’s been cooped up inside all these days with the doors tightly shut. I was starting to wonder if something had happened to her in there. The day she came back, I caught a glimpse of her—her complexion was absolutely dreadful.”
The first day Xie Yushu had returned to Qingluo Town, he’d seen her from a distance and remembered her pallor well.
Liu Jingsheng caught the implication in her husband’s tone and shot him a disapproving look. “Don’t talk about such unlucky things. It’s almost noon—hurry up and get cooking.”
The Liu husband realized his mistake and, feeling it was inauspicious, quickly shut his mouth and bent his head back to his vegetables.
After a while, light, hurried footsteps sounded at the yard gate. The Liu husband looked up and called out, “Chi-ge’er, you’re back so early today?”
The young man who had been hailed stopped. “Mm, I sold out quickly today, so I packed up early.” He nodded at the Liu husband to indicate he was heading off.
Actually, he hadn’t set up his stall that morning. His father had run out of medicine, so he’d gone to get more. He’d bought a large batch this time and had waited at the clinic for nearly the whole morning. He was eager to get back and brew the medicine for his father to take.
Su Chi’s home was very close to the Liu family’s—just two houses apart, only a few steps away.
On his back was a bamboo basket as tall as a person, and in his hands, he carried a thick stack of heavy medicine packets. Pushing open the wooden gate to the quiet yard, the only two chickens the family had left scurried out. Su Chi bent down, grabbed them by the wings, and put them back in the coop. He unloaded the heavy basket from his back and headed to the kitchen.
He moved a knee-high clay stove used for decocting medicine under the eaves and began to brew it.
The medicine pot was made of coarse pottery with a round belly, a small mouth, and a short handle. He carefully opened the medicine packets, placed the herbs inside, and added water. Then he took two thick pieces of wood and lit a fire in the stove.
The medicine from the town clinic had a strong, bitter smell. Soon, steaming, bitter vapors rose from the short spout of the pot, spreading a thick medicinal aroma throughout the Su household.
Su Chi then set about preparing their meal.
On the kitchen floor sat a basket full of vegetables—white radishes he had picked from the field early that morning.
Most of the Su family’s land had been sold off to pay for Wang Wen’s expensive medical treatment. Now, only a single thin plot remained.
That was fine, though. Su Chi went to Songwan Town every day to sell steamed buns at his stall, and when he came home, he had to care for his father and handle the housework. He had little spare time for farming. Now that he only had one small field, it was much easier to manage. He grew just enough vegetables for the bun fillings he needed and for the household to eat.
He twisted the radish greens off the tops of the radishes with a firm grip, snapping off the crisp, still-dripping leaves. He filled a whole basin with them, trimmed away the tough old stems and withered leaves, chopped them up, and mixed them with some bran to feed the chickens.
The tender leaves he washed in a basin of water, then blanched them to remove their slight bitterness. After draining, he chopped them and set them aside.
He steamed the taro until soft, then cut it into small pieces. Heating oil in the wok, he added minced garlic, then the taro, stir-frying until fragrant. He added water and stirred until the mixture turned thick and sticky, then threw in the chopped radish leaves. After simmering for a while, he lifted the lid, sprinkled in some salt, gave it a few tosses, and it was ready to be served.
The taro had become soft and sticky, the radish leaves tender and well-cooked. The freshness of the greens blended with the unique fragrance of taro, creating a thick, savory, and slightly salty broth—simple but comforting, and unexpectedly delicious.
Su Chi also took out an egg from the basket, whisked it with half a bowl of warm water, and added some minced meat to make a steamed egg custard with meat.
A golden, silky smooth egg custard, filled with the aroma of meat and egg, filled the air with its fragrance.
From the inner room came Wang Wen’s coughing—not loud, but sounding weak and frail. Su Chi carried the taro soup and the egg custard into the room.
Seeing his son, who had come home early and was already busy, Wang Wen struggled to sit up, his voice hoarse: “Xiao Chi, why are you back so early?”
Su Chi set the food on the table and carefully helped his father sit up: “I went to pick up medicine today, so I didn’t set up the stall. Father, eat first—you can take your medicine after the meal.”
Wang Wen’s condition had worsened considerably in recent days. He felt drowsy all day, heavy and weak. Watching his son rush around from dawn till dusk only deepened his guilt.
He was dragging Xiao Chi down. He’d been the one to fall ill—an unworthy burden—and now the entire household rested on his son’s shoulders. Most villagers avoided their family like snakes and scorpions, terrified they might ask to borrow money for medical treatment. As a result, Su Chi had reached marriageable age without a single matchmaker coming to propose.
Even lying on his sickbed, Wang Wen caught fragments of the village gossip, let alone Su Chi, who had to move through the village every day.
Wang Wen tried his best to eat more, to ease his son’s worries. He managed half a small bowl of the steamed egg custard and taro soup before waving his hand, saying he couldn’t eat another bite.
Su Chi knew his father had been ill for a long time and had little appetite. He didn’t force him. He quickly cleared away the dishes, setting the leftover food aside in the pot to reheat for the next meal. He planned to make some fish soup later to nourish his father. Then he went out to the yard to pour the medicine and help his father drink it. After finishing the medicine, Wang Wen drifted back into a drowsy sleep. Only then did Su Chi sit down to eat.
He steamed a small bowl of coarse rice for himself and ate it with the flavorful taro and radish leaf soup poured over it.
Anything nutritious or tasty in the house went to his father. The only old hen they had left was kept for laying eggs to strengthen his father’s body. Su Chi made do with whatever was left—if he didn’t have to work later, he’d even skip the coarse rice altogether to save food.
He ate in silence, without making a sound, as if he weren’t eating a meal but merely chewing and swallowing whatever would keep him alive.
Today’s medicine purchase had used up all the money he’d saved over this period.
His father’s condition hadn’t improved at all over the past year. Su Chi’s heart felt like a quilt soaked in winter water—piercingly cold and suffocatingly heavy, wrapped tightly around him. Under this crushing burden, he struggled to breathe, growing exhausted and visibly thinner with each passing day.
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