Around six o’clock, as the sky darkened, Zhong Dawa woke up, slipped on his shoes and walked outside. Seeing the person sitting in the living room, he froze in place.
“Woke up and don’t recognise me anymore?” Song Zhaodi looked up when she heard movement. “Your dad went to buy groceries.”
Zhong Dawa pursed his lips and stayed silent.
“Do you need to pee?” Song Zhaodi asked. “Be careful when going downstairs. I have to watch Sanwa.”
There were also two wooden benches in the second-floor living room. Song Zhaodi was sitting at one end, sewing clothes, while at the other end, a small child was sleeping under a tiny blanket—it was none other than Zhong family’s youngest child.
With Zhong Jianguo not around, Zhong Dawa didn’t know how to interact with Song Zhaodi. He wanted to roll his eyes at her and call her a ‘bad woman’, but when he saw that the clothes in her hands were his, he just let out a small ‘hmm’, held onto the railing and slowly went downstairs.
Song Zhaodi had expected the boy to at least huff arrogantly if he didn’t outright call her names. Seeing him behave so obediently, she raised an eyebrow in surprise.
“You’re awake?” Just then, Zhong Jianguo pushed open the small bamboo gate. Seeing his eldest son peeing on the flowers again, he felt a headache coming on. “Can’t you just use the toilet?”
“The toilet is too far.” Zhong Dawa responded while glancing at the doorway. Seeing that Song Zhaodi hadn’t come down, he waved his father over and whispered, “Dad, she’s sewing my clothes.”
“Who is ‘she’?” Zhong Jianguo asked knowingly.
Zhong Dawa pursed his lips and stared at him—you know who.
“She’s your mother,” Zhong Jianguo said. “If you don’t want to call her ‘Mom’, then call her ‘niang’. My, Zhong Jianguo’s son, is no mute. He is a polite and well-mannered boy.”
Zhong Dawa let out a ‘hmph’ and turned to leave.
Zhong Jianguo knew he couldn’t push too hard, so he followed up with a question: “How did you know your stepmother was sewing your clothes?”
“Because I’m wearing them today,” the child turned his head and noticed the bags in his dad’s hands. His eyes lit up, “Dad, what did you buy?”
“Eggplant, cabbage, lettuce, greens and scallions, ginger and garlic.”
“No meat?” The child’s face dropped in disappointment. “I want to eat meat.”
“All our money has gone to buying White Rabbit candies, baby formula and malted milk for you guys. We’ll buy meat after I get paid.”
“I still have quite a bit of money left. It’s enough to buy a chicken.” Song Zhaodi leaned out from the second-floor window. “Buy some chicks and ducklings too. I can raise them.”
Zhong Jianguo looked up and saw that her face was as expressionless as ever. After thinking for a moment, he nodded, “Got it. Dawa’s clothes haven’t been washed yet. I’ll wash them first and then you can sew them.”
“There was only a small tear on the knee. I already fixed it.” Song Zhaodi cut the thread, tossed the pants into a basin, then put Sanwa on the bed before leading the groggy Erwa downstairs.
Since they had eaten late in the afternoon, Song Zhaodi hadn’t planned on making dinner. But she worried that the two kids would wake up hungry in the middle of the night, so she stir-fried some lettuce with garlic, made a small plate of scrambled eggs with scallions for them and cooked some rice porridge.
A plate of fresh green vegetables, a plate of fluffy yellow scrambled eggs with hints of green scallions, paired with warm white rice porridge—it looked simple yet appetising. Zhong Jianguo’s appetite was stirred and Zhong Dawa knelt on a bench, shovelling down porridge and eggs without even lifting his head.
Song Zhaodi wasn’t hungry, so she fed Erwa instead. Seeing the little one smack his lips while eating, she smiled and asked curiously, “Is it really that good?”
“It’s pretty good,” Zhong Jianguo said. “I’ve eaten lettuce before, but it’s never tasted as good as yours. I don’t see you adding anything special. How did you make it?”
“Just garlic, salt and pork lard. I probably used more oil than usual. My mother would only dip a chopstick tip into oil when cooking—her dishes were so bland they had no flavour at all.”
“That might be it.” Zhong Jianguo turned to his eldest son. “Dawa, is it good?”
“Yes,” the child looked up and, meeting Song Zhaodi’s gaze, blushed slightly before quickly turning back to his dad. “Dad, are we really eating chicken tomorrow?”
“We’ll eat chicken tomorrow.” Song Zhaodi smiled. “But you have to help me take care of your two younger brothers. No running off to play. Otherwise, I’ll kill the chicken but won’t cook it.”
“If you don’t cook it, it’ll rot.” Zhong Dawa blurted out.
Song Zhaodi smiled slyly. “Then you probably don’t know that rubbing salt all over the chicken can preserve it for three to five months.”
“Dad!” Zhong Dawa turned to Zhong Jianguo for help. “Do something!”
Zhong Jianguo glanced at him. “Are you full? If you’re full, go to bed.”
“Not yet.” Zhong Dawa had mostly finished his food, but since he had napped both in the morning on the boat and in the afternoon, he wasn’t sleepy at all. So, he picked up his spoon and continued drinking porridge.
Seeing Erwa slow down while eating, Song Zhaodi asked, “Are you full?”
Erwa nodded but glanced at his bowl, noticing that there was still half of the porridge left. He peeked at Song Zhaodi and softly said, “There’s still some left.”
“Give it to your dad.” Song Zhaodi turned to Zhong Jianguo. “Want it?”
Zhong Jianguo laughed and said, “It’s my son’s leftovers, not someone else’s.” He took the bowl and another one was placed in front of him. “Dawa?”
“I’m full,” Zhong Dawa said. “Dad, help me finish it.”
Zhong Jianguo glanced at his two sons. “You both finished an entire plate of scrambled eggs with scallions—of course you’re full.” Then he poured the leftovers from both bowls into his own.
Song Zhaodi smiled but was about to speak when a loud wail interrupted her. She instinctively asked, “Who’s crying?”
“Sanwa is awake,” Zhong Jianguo replied out of habit, about to say, “You go check,” but then remembered that the person across from him was his newlywed wife. “I’ll check.”
“I’ll go,” Song Zhaodi said. “You can clean up the dishes.” With that, she stood up and went upstairs.
Zhong Jianguo watched her disappear up the stairs before turning to his two sons. “Now that she’s not here, tell me honestly, what do you think of your new stepmother?”
Zhong Erwa looked at his older brother, clearly ready to follow whatever Dawa said.
Zhong Jianguo reached out and pinched his eldest son’s ear. “No avoiding the question this time.”
“She’s a little bit good,” Zhong Dawa said, holding up his pinky finger. “Just a tiny bit.”
Zhong Jianguo snorted, seeing through his son’s reluctance. “Erwa, add to that. What’s good about your stepmother?”
“The food is delicious,” Zhong Erwa said timidly, sneaking a glance at Dawa for approval before adding, “She bought us White Rabbit candy.”
Zhong Dawa shot him a glare. “All you think about is eating. Dad—”
“Don’t explain,” Zhong Jianguo interrupted. “If you two like this stepmother, I’ll let her stay. If not, I’ll send her back to Binhai and find another one for you. How about one of the elementary school teachers who came to the island last year?”
“Not them,” Zhong Dawa responded instantly.
“Then this one stays,” Zhong Jianguo said. “No changing anymore. This time, it’s your choice, so when I’m not home, you have to listen to your mother.”
Zhong Dawa grumbled, “Fine, fine.”
Hearing footsteps coming down the stairs, Zhong Jianguo quickly picked up his bowl and finished the porridge in a few quick bites.
Song Zhaodi came downstairs. Zhong Jianguo got up to clear the dishes, took them to the kitchen and washed them before coming back out. “Where are your dirty clothes?”
“Upstairs,” Song Zhaodi replied, noticing how diligent Zhong Jianguo was. A hint of amusement flickered in her eyes. “You don’t have to wash my small clothes. I’ll take care of them tomorrow.”
Zhong Jianguo hummed in acknowledgement and then asked, “Should we make something for Sanwa?”
“There’s formula. Make him a bowl,” Song Zhaodi said, then noticed the two boys playing together while sneaking glances at her. She narrowed her eyes. “Does the island have dairy cows?”
Zhong Jianguo thought for a moment. “I don’t think so. Why?”
“I want to order milk for Dawa and Erwa,” Song Zhaodi said. “They can’t just eat vegetables every day—adults might manage, but kids can’t.”
Zhong Jianguo felt a warmth in his heart. “I’ll ask around. If there’s none—”
“Dad, I don’t like milk,” Zhong Dawa suddenly spoke up.
Zhong Jianguo was speechless. “You’ve never had milk. How do you know you don’t like it?”
“Never had it?” Song Zhaodi was surprised. “When I was buying formula in Shencheng, the supply clerk told me fresh milk was cheaper than formula and recommended I get that instead. You lived in Shencheng for three or four years—Dawa never had milk?”
“No,” Zhong Jianguo admitted, then hesitated. “Maybe his mom didn’t know where to order it.”
“Can you get formula in Yongcheng or Hangcheng?” Song Zhaodi asked.
“I’ll check when I go out tomorrow,” Zhong Jianguo said.
“No rush,” Song Zhaodi reassured him. “The White Rabbit candies I bought them are made of condensed milk, which is just concentrated fresh milk. Those should last them a month.”
Zhong Jianguo looked at her meaningfully. “You even know that?”
“I know a lot,” Song Zhaodi said with a smile. “Go wash the clothes and once you’re done, let’s have a talk.”
The humidity on Wengzhou Island was heavy. Zhong Jianguo noticed the musty smell in the sheets and blankets, so he stripped everything. Adding in the clothes for their family of five and Sanwa’s diapers, he was busy until past ten at night.
When he finally went upstairs, he assumed Song Zhaodi had already gone to sleep. But to his surprise, she was still awake. “You’ve been travelling for two days. Aren’t you exhausted?”
“I am,” Song Zhaodi admitted. Her whole body ached and when she washed her hair that afternoon, she even considered cutting off her long, shiny black hair—it was just too much trouble to wash. Her neck had been sore from it. “But I won’t be able to sleep until I’ve talked things through with you.”
Zhong Jianguo pulled up a stool and sat across from her, the two of them separated by about a metre and a half. It didn’t look like a conversation between newlyweds but rather a negotiation between opposing parties.
Song Zhaodi lifted her eyes to glance at him, the corners of her mouth curving slightly. “Let’s start with an introduction.”
“A… self-introduction?” Zhong Jianguo was confused. “You already know everything about me—my stepmother told you everything.”
Song Zhaodi said, “You don’t understand my situation.”
“I really don’t,” Zhong Jianguo said, his tone carrying deeper meaning.
Song Zhaodi smiled. “I thought you had no clue at all. Looks like I didn’t misjudge you.” After a brief pause, she continued, “My name is Song Zhaodi. I was born in 1945, my family is from Xiao Song Village and for three generations, we’ve all been poor farmers—our background is pure and politically sound.”
Zhong Jianguo waved a hand. “I already know all that. The year I enlisted, the neighbourhood committee investigated my social relations. My stepmother’s relatives were scrutinised from top to bottom. Your mother is my stepmother’s biological cousin. They had already confirmed back then that your family was ‘red’ through and through.”
“Since you already know about my family, let’s just talk about me directly,” Song Zhaodi said. “In 1963, I graduated from high school in Hongya Town and got into Binhai Normal University—”
“Wait a minute!” Zhong Jianguo interrupted, his face full of shock. “Binhai Normal University? The one on par with Binhai Ocean University? You—just you—got in?!”
Song Zhaodi gave a slight nod. “I was the top scorer in our county’s entrance exam and I was admitted to Binhai Normal University as the county’s top student. But hold on—let me finish. Last year, the university suspended classes and they still haven’t resumed. I didn’t graduate, so my official record only states a high school education. Technically speaking, I dropped out of university.”
“Then why did you tell me you were a high school graduate?” Zhong Jianguo frowned. “You could have just said you didn’t finish university. I—I see now. You always said you had a ‘high school diploma’. At the time, I found it odd. If you graduated high school, just say that—why specifically say ‘diploma’? So you were scheming from the start? No wonder I always felt something was off about you.”
Song Zhaodi rolled her eyes. “You’re overthinking it. You’re just a widower with three kids—what exactly is there for me to scheme about?”
Zhong Jianguo choked for a moment before asking, “Then why did you marry me? And why did you come here with me and treat my three kids so well?”
“Obviously, I have my own motives,” Song Zhaodi said.
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