Leaving the woods, Lin Fang lost her mood for a leisurely stroll, yet she didn’t feel like going home either. She aimlessly walked along the main road until she reached a fork, where she turned and continued down a slope. At that moment, she wasn’t sure what she was thinking—or what she should be thinking. Her mind wandered between thoughts of her family in another world and her current family, along with matters concerning herself, leaving her in a state of utter confusion.
“Lin Fang, why are you out here alone?”
Lost in her thoughts, she hadn’t noticed the people working in the fields until one of them called out to her. Startled, she saw an entire family staring at her, their work paused. Lin Fang stopped in her tracks and retorted to the man who had spoken, “Bajin, why haven’t you finished digging up your yams yet? Did you plant so many that you’re planning to make a fortune this year?”
Yams, locally known as huai shan, were grown by almost every household in the area. The straight, well-shaped ones were peeled, dried, and sold to medicinal merchants, while the crooked or misshapen ones were kept for personal consumption—either stir-fried, steamed, or boiled, serving as both a vegetable and a staple food, easy to prepare.
Before Bajin could answer, his mother chimed in, “We only planted half a mu of land. We’ve been busy shelling cotton bolls lately and didn’t have time. Now that we’re almost done with that, we’ve finally got around to digging the yams. Why are you out here alone?”
Great, this family was relentless. The villagers all seemed to think she might drop dead at any moment, so they insisted she shouldn’t go out alone, lest she die unnoticed. Lin Fang sighed and decided to be blunt. “My parents and eldest brother are helping at the shop. My sister-in-law is watching Yuanyuan. I’m not much help, so I didn’t want to stay home and came out for a walk. I’ll head back soon.”
“Huageda” was the local term for cotton bolls. In late autumn, when the cotton plants were uprooted, some bolls remained unopened. The villagers would pick these bolls, spread them in the sun, and wait for them to split open naturally. Then, they’d extract the cotton by hand. Since the detached bolls didn’t open as fully as those still on the plant, many only partially split or remained tightly closed, requiring manual effort to pry them open—hence the term “shelling cotton bolls.”
Bajin’s mother clicked her tongue. “Oh, dear, you shouldn’t wander around like this. If something happened to you, your parents would be beside themselves with worry.”
Lin Fang didn’t want to dwell on the topic, so she changed the subject, asking if Bajin’s family had a particularly good cotton harvest this year, since they were still shelling bolls. She complimented Bajin’s son for being strong and adorable.
After some small talk, Lin Fang prepared to continue her walk. Bajin’s wife, who had been quietly sorting yams behind him, finally spoke up. “Lin Fang, is something going on at your shop? Why else would your uncle, aunt, and eldest brother all be helping out?”
Bajin’s surname was also Lin, making him part of Lin Fang’s extended family. His wife referred to Lin Yuanmin and Dong Huixin by their familial titles. Since Bajin was the same age as Lin Tuo, he and his wife called Lin Yong “eldest brother.”
Lin Fang replied, “We’re planning to open a restaurant next to the shop. My second brother is clearing out some storage space for my eldest brother to grow mushrooms.”
“Open a restaurant?” Bajin’s mother blurted out, voicing the question on everyone’s mind. “We’re in the countryside. People here pinch every penny. Who’s going to eat at a restaurant?”
Lin Fang explained, “Auntie, you’re right—there aren’t many villagers who’d eat out. We’re not counting on them. My second brother has arranged to sell diesel on the side. Our village is right by the secondary highway. Truck drivers passing through have money to spare. While filling up, they might want a hot meal. That’s who we’re targeting.”
Judging by their expressions, Lin Fang could tell they weren’t convinced. She added, “Even if no one eats there, it’s fine. We already have the cooking equipment, and the ingredients come from our own land. We won’t lose money. Right, Auntie?”
Bajin wasn’t interested in the restaurant. His focus was on his tractor parked at the edge of the field. “Hey, this is great! No more traveling far to buy diesel. We’ll have it right here in the village. When does your second brother start selling? I’ll fill up a big canister first.”
Bajin was sharp-witted. During the winter slack season, while others lazed around or gossiped, he was always busy—selling roasted sweet potatoes in town, dealing in coal briquettes, or even dabbling in southern fruit trade. If he thought something could turn a profit, he’d try it. Hardworking and resourceful, his family was among the better-off in the village, owning the first four-wheeled tractor.
While Bajin didn’t care about the restaurant, his wife did. She piped up again, “Lin Fang, your family only grows grains, not yams. If anyone orders stir-fried yams at your restaurant, remember to buy from us. We’re family—I’ll give you a good price.”
Who said Bajin’s wife was dull? She was shrewd, just quiet. Appearances could be deceiving. Lin Fang teased, “Sister Bajin, you’re truly Bajin’s wife—always thinking business. Our restaurant hasn’t even opened, and you’re already angling to supply us, even suggesting menu items.”
Bajin’s wife laughed. “Well, we’re family. Why let profits go to outsiders?”
Lin Fang agreed half-heartedly, “Sure, I’ll mention it to my parents. But you know I don’t handle things. Don’t get your hopes up.” Being family made financial dealings messy. Her promise was empty—everyone knew she had no say in household matters.
“Lin Fang, tell your parents to buy starch powder from Liujin’s family if they need any,” Bajin’s father, known as the “mute jar,” finally spoke up.
Bajin’s wife frowned. “Dad, I was talking about our family. Why bring Liujin into this?”
“Bajin and Liujin are brothers. We should help where we can,” Bajin’s father muttered weakly.
“Same mother, different surnames. They’re not family. We’ve got our own problems—why worry about outsiders?” she shot back.
“They’re still brothers. How can you call your brother-in-law an outsider?”
“He’s surnamed Gao. We’re Lins.”
“…”
“…”
A quarrel between the “mute jar” and the “wooden block.” Thankfully, the fields were empty—this would’ve been quite a spectacle otherwise. Lin Fang grew irritated. The argument stemmed from her presence, and she longed to escape.
“Shut up! One more word and I’ll smack you with this shovel!”
“Keep arguing and go live with Liujin. Spare us the embarrassment!”
Bajin and his mother roared simultaneously, silencing the bickering pair. Lin Fang seized the chance to leave. “I’ve been out too long. My family will worry if I don’t head back. I’ll go now. You all keep working.”
Bajin’s mother smiled warmly. “Go on, dear. Watch your step.”
“I will. I’m not a child,” Lin Fang replied, walking away much faster than she’d arrived.
Bajin called after her, “Remember to tell your second brother—let me know when he starts selling diesel. I’ve got a deal lined up to haul branches soon. It’s a big job—I’ll need plenty of fuel.”
“Got it. I’ll tell him,” Lin Fang called back without slowing down.
A few years prior, apple orchards had brought wealth to some, prompting many to plant apple trees. But when harvests surged, prices plummeted, leaving growers unable to recoup costs. Last year, most cut down their trees. With no use for the wood, someone had the idea to char it into charcoal—turning waste into profit. Now, everyone was copying the idea. Bajin’s “hauling branches” meant buying felled trees and thick branches to make charcoal.
Musing on the villagers’ bandwagon mentality, Lin Fang walked until the family’s voices faded. Only then did she exhale and slow her pace.
Her parents had told her Bajin’s father had married into the family on the condition that his firstborn would carry his surname, continuing the Gao lineage. Liujin, the eldest, was surnamed Gao, while Bajin and his sisters took their mother’s surname, Lin.
Liujin was simple-minded, lacking Bajin’s shrewdness. Though poor at earning, he excelled at fathering children—five by his late twenties, keeping the family in hardship. The elderly couple was divided too: Bajin’s father favored Liujin, while his mother doted on Bajin, creating tension at home.
Walking back at a leisurely pace, the scenery unchanged, Lin Fang no longer felt the same contemplative mood. She headed straight home. Nearing her alley, she heard a commotion. As usual, to avoid getting caught in the crossfire, she stopped short. Still, she asked a young woman hurrying toward the scene, “Sister-in-law, what’s all the noise about?”
The woman gasped as if uncovering a scandal. “Oh! You’re still here? Big news at your place! They say someone from your family beat up Lanxiang. Her mother’s making a scene, demanding your family take responsibility—if Lanxiang’s hurt or disabled, your second brother has to marry her!”
Lin Fang didn’t need to hear more. If Lanxiang claimed someone hit her, it could only be herself.
Lanxiang was determined to trap her second brother. How shamelessly dense could she be?
Physically, Lanxiang was sturdier. Strength-wise, Lin Fang looked like a breeze could knock her over. Verbally, Lanxiang had been a class monitor—always lecturing others, never the one being scolded. By all accounts, Lin Fang was the victim. With no witnesses to their encounter—and no physical contact—who could prove Lin Fang had done anything?
This stunt would surely erase whatever faint affection her second brother had for Lanxiang.
Just days after her rebirth, this nonsense had already soured her mood. Lin Fang turned and strode toward the village entrance, stopping in a sheltered spot. She didn’t dare wander far—her family would panic and search for her.
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