“Oh, your sister-in-law isn’t home at all. When we got back, there was a crowd gathered outside the door, which was locked from the outside. She left a note inside saying she’d taken Yuanyuan to stay with her parents for a few days. With winter coming, she wanted to wash their bedding, and she also planned to bring back some clothes from her brother’s child to alter for Yuanyuan.”
No wonder, I thought it was strange how sister-in-law could tolerate Lanxiang and her mother making such a scene—turns out she wasn’t even home. So Lanxiang and her mother were just putting on a one-woman show? Hah, how amusing. At this thought, Lin Fang’s slight guilt over ruining Lin Tuo’s plans vanished entirely. How could such people ever be worthy of her second brother?
Yan Ping’s mother had a stroke two years ago, leaving her half-paralyzed, slurring her words, and incontinent. Her father was left to care for her alone, but as a man, he wasn’t as adept at washing and mending. Yan Ping had two older brothers. The eldest and his wife rented a storage room in the city, making a living selling roasted sweet potatoes to put their two kids through school there. This year, they sold their village house and rented a proper small apartment in the city so their kids wouldn’t feel embarrassed bringing classmates home.
When the family divided their property, Yan Ping’s parents stayed with her second brother. He and his wife ran a pig farm with decent yearly earnings, but they were so busy they barely had time to care for the elderly. The money Yan Ping borrowed to buy her four-wheeler came from him.
She also had an older sister whose legs stopped working after childbirth. Her in-laws couldn’t afford treatment, so she’d been bedridden for years.
Thus, Yan Ping had it tough too, returning home every few days to help her father clean. Perhaps because she’d been hospitalized and couldn’t tend to her parents, she rushed back as soon as she was discharged.
Just yesterday, they’d discussed altering clothes for extra income. Today, sister-in-law went home with that very intention—clearly, she’d taken it to heart. Lin Fang felt a pang of regret that her sister-in-law couldn’t pursue this opportunity, but with so few hands at home, they couldn’t manage everything at once. The idea would have to wait.
That afternoon, Lin Fang stayed in, seriously practicing her handwriting. Though she wrote well, she now had to feign poor penmanship. Luckily, starting from basic strokes allowed her to scribble freely, and no one had time to scrutinize her work.
The warehouse for growing mushrooms and the small space intended as a restaurant were nearly cleaned up by the four of them that morning. The remaining tasks could be handled by Lin Tuo alone. In the afternoon, Lin Yong borrowed Bajin’s four-wheeler and went with Lin Yuanmin to the oil press factory for materials. Dong Huixin didn’t need Lin Fang’s help, busily sorting through pots and pans to see what could be used in the restaurant.
The oil press factory was far, and after just two trips, it was already dark. They hadn’t even bought the plastic bags for mushroom cultivation. Tomorrow was the big market day to help Lin Tuo sell goods, so except for Lin Fang, the family retired early, exhausted. Lin Fang, though not tired, had to rest too—after all, she was still officially a patient.
On the 1st and 15th of each lunar month, the town eight miles from Lin Fang’s village held its big market. Lin Tuo rarely missed a chance to sell there.
Market days drew crowds, though most came just for the atmosphere, not to buy. They browsed for novelties or treated themselves at restaurants—a rare luxury reserved for such occasions. The aroma of food filled the streets, making resistance futile. Even if you weren’t hungry, your feet would drag you toward the stalls.
But no matter how tempting the fare, it wasn’t for Lin Fang. Her family strictly forbade her from braving the jostling crowds, though they’d buy her anything she fancied. Today, she only asked for a candied hawthorn stick—her favorite sweet-and-sour treat, and the most frequent gift from her family in this unfamiliar world.
Lin Yong left before dawn to help Lin Tuo transport goods to the market. Lin Yuanmin ate an early breakfast and went to assist. Only Dong Huixin and Lin Fang remained at home. Dong Huixin steamed a batch of persimmon buns, packed a dozen into a bag, and told Lin Fang to share them with Rouqiu and Chen Dong at school.
Persimmon buns were made by mashing ripe persimmons into dough, yielding a natural sweetness without added sugar—perfect steamed or baked.
During the land reform, each household in the village received one or two persimmon trees. Come autumn, families would either soak, dry, or sell the fruit. This year, with Lin Fang’s sudden illness, they’d skipped processing most and simply made vinegar. The rest were left to soften for eating.
After half-heartedly practicing calligraphy, Lin Fang packed her things. Noticing her mother hadn’t prepared anything for her, she grabbed her schoolbag and filled it with plain steamed buns. Dong Huixin assumed they were for Rouqiu and Chen Dong and stopped her: “Those persimmon buns are enough for Rouqiu—he loves soft ones. Chen Dong has a weak stomach and can’t eat cold food. The persimmon buns are just a treat—remind her to drink warm water while eating. Proper meals should be bought at the canteen.”
By “soft buns,” Lin’s mother meant freshly steamed ones—chewy and far superior to reheated leftovers.
Rouqiu’s father worked at the mines with a decent salary, and as an only child, he was picky with food. Chen Dong, however, grew up in hardship, fighting her wolfish sisters for every bite. Leftovers sent her scavenging for anything edible, which ruined her digestion. Now, even slightly raw or cold food made her vomit or writhe in stomach pain.
Lin Fang kept packing, explaining, “These are for me. Eating at the canteen every meal is too expensive. If others can eat soaked buns, so can I.”
“Oh no, not in this cold! You’ve said yourself the boiler water barely gets warm. Soaking cold buns in it will make it worse. Your health can’t take that. We may be tight on money, but we won’t skimp on your meals. Put those back!” Dong Huixin snatched the bag and returned the buns to the steamer.
“Mom, I really can eat soaked buns. Don’t I often do that at home?” Lin Fang’s voice cracked.
Lin Fang couldn’t cook. When the family was too busy, she’d soak buns in hot water.
Dong Huixin sighed. “Silly girl, it’s not the same. At home, you use boiling water—it’s warm and doesn’t hurt your stomach. Besides, what’s a little extra money for canteen meals? Your health is what matters.”
Seeing further argument would only upset her mother, Lin Fang fell silent. She picked up her brush and resumed scribbling on old newspapers—this time, truly venting her frustration.
Students who brought their own meals didn’t have to rush to the cafeteria like others. They could leisurely return to their dorms. The only downside? The buns turned rock-hard, especially in winter, requiring hot water to soften unless you wanted to test your teeth.
The side dishes froze too. If the dorm stove went out in winter, temperatures could drop below -10°C, turning food into ice chunks. Students would thaw bits in their bowls, eating as it melted. By the end, the water would be cold but still contain crumbs and grease—nothing went to waste for those who’d known hunger.
Whether big or small, markets usually dispersed after lunch. Once the meal was over, Lin Fang waited for her eldest brother to return and take her to school on his motorcycle.
Riding pillion, leaning back against him, face to the sky—it felt like flying. The faster the bike went, the better. Lin Fang loved it and always begged for rides, though Lin Yong took it easy when she was aboard, mindful of her heart.
But as afternoon wore on with no sign of Lin Yong, Lin Fang grew anxious. Had there been trouble at the market? Or was business too good to leave? Only when her father returned on his bicycle, cheerfully calling out, did she relax.
This was the first major market since winter’s idle season began. Crowds and stalls overflowed, with farmers spending their harvest earnings freely. Even post-lunch, the bustle continued, delighting vendors who stayed open late. With Lin Fang’s school run looming, Lin Yuanmin had to return first, leaving his sons to pack up.
Though disappointed about missing the motorcycle ride, Lin Fang was thrilled by the good sales. After gathering her school things and enduring her mother’s endless reminders, she set off on her father’s bicycle. She offered repeatedly to pedal instead, but he refused, fearing to exhaust his frail daughter. Lin Fang sighed inwardly—her improved health would have to be revealed gradually.
At the school gate, after another round of parental advice, Lin Fang entered with two bags: her own backpack and one full of treats for Rouqiu and Chen Dong.
Entering the girls’ dorm, she found it oddly empty with the door ajar. Two students were supposed to guard it every weekend—why was it unlocked?
After storing her bag, Lin Fang headed to the boys’ dorm for Rouqiu. He was out, and she dared not leave the persimmon buns with his roommates. Generous to a fault, he’d share anything good, leaving little for himself.
Chen Dong’s dorm was locked, so Lin Fang returned to hers.
Grabbing two thermoses—hers and Yang Xiuqin’s—she hurried to the water room before the post-weekend rush. The later it got, the longer the lines and the cooler the water. County No. 2 High was on the outskirts, with communal heated brick beds in the dorms. Lin Fang and Yang Xiuqin slept side by side and got along well.
But luck wasn’t with her today—the water room was already packed. Resigned, Lin Fang queued up, inching forward.
Weekend meals at the canteen were served early and in limited quantities. If this delay continued, she might miss dinner. Peering over heads, she searched for a familiar face—and spotted one.
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