Zhong Jianguo’s breath hitched. Was this woman smart or foolish? “Can I know exactly what you’re after?”
“I did have a partner before—I didn’t lie about that—but he was also a university student,” Song Zhaodi said. “The reason I chose you… The conservativeness of the village is one factor, but not the main one. I didn’t want to casually mention Dream of the Red Chamber one day and have Wang Degui chase after me, asking if I was dreaming inside a little red building.
“You’re a university student who has lived in Shencheng for years. You’re well-informed and open to new ideas, so it’s easy to find common ground with you. You also don’t get along with your stepmother or father. When they grow old, if I want to take care of them, I will. If I don’t, you won’t force me. But in our village, people believe ‘there are no bad parents in this world.’”
Zhong Jianguo was sceptical. “Are you saying that if my stepmother kicked my brother and me out, but I don’t take care of her in her old age, people in your village would criticise me?”
“Yes,” Song Zhaodi said. “They’d even tell you that your stepmother had a hard time too, that she didn’t mistreat you on purpose. That she realises her mistakes now, that she’s old and that you should forgive her. That’s one of the reasons I don’t want to stay in the village.”
Zhong Jianguo made a mental note to ask some rural soldiers about this later. “That’s all?”
“Of course not,” Song Zhaodi said. “You have three sons. I don’t want to have children and you won’t force me, right?”
Zhong Jianguo’s youngest was barely a year old. He had thought about having more children after the ones he had grew up. He had even planned to discuss it with Song Zhaodi. But now that she had stated it outright, he felt a bit awkward. “What do you think about having kids?”
“I once saw a woman die from postpartum haemorrhage—both she and the baby didn’t make it.” Liu Ling, the original host of this body, had often heard her mother talk about women in the village who died in childbirth.
Now that she was Song Zhaodi, she retained those memories, though she couldn’t recall specific names. But childbirth complications were common in this era. “To be honest, I’m scared of childbirth.”
Zhong Jianguo stared at her. “You’re a woman?”
“Yes, I’m a woman,” she replied—a woman from the late 21st century. “Not every woman is willing to walk through death’s door.”
Zhong Jianguo hesitated. “Dawa’s mother—”
“I admire your first wife,” Song Zhaodi said frankly. “But I’m not her. Our experiences are different. Just because she was willing to have child after child and I don’t want any doesn’t make me strange.”
Zhong Jianguo was torn between speechlessness and laughter. “At least you know you’re different?”
“Are we still talking or not?” Song Zhaodi shot back.
“Go on,” Zhong Jianguo said.
“From now on, I make the decisions at home. I handle the money. I decide the family’s social interactions,” Song Zhaodi stated. “When we have guests, I’ll give you face, but don’t push it.”
Zhong Jianguo was at a loss. “If you had said all this at the start—”
“I’m not stupid,” Song Zhaodi said. “If you’d realised I was difficult to control, would you have agreed to marry me so quickly and entrusted me with three young children? Would you dare say you didn’t rush into marriage because you thought I was simple and easy to manipulate?”
Zhong Jianguo couldn’t say anything.
Song Zhaodi shot him a glance and continued, “If I didn’t marry you, I’d have to marry someone else—maybe a regular worker, maybe an educated youth from the city. No matter who I married, if I didn’t have a child within two years, my in-laws would give me looks and the neighbours would whisper about whether I was infertile. Some ‘kind-hearted’ people would even start offering me fertility remedies.”
Zhong Jianguo admitted defeat. “You’ve thought this through.”
“This is how society works. Anyone with life experience knows what comes after marriage,” Song Zhaodi said. “A mother-in-law who doesn’t pressure her daughter-in-law to have children is one in a hundred.”
Zhong Jianguo reminded her, “Even if I agree that you make the decision on children, your parents will pressure you.”
“That’s easy to handle,” Song Zhaodi said. “Once I get a teaching job at a school and look after your three kids, I’ll just tell my parents that I’m too busy. They won’t pressure me anymore.”
Zhong Jianguo said, “That’s wishful thinking. Your mother loves you. If you say you’re overwhelmed, she’d happily come help.”
“No… no way?” Song Zhaodi blinked. “That can’t be! My mother has work—she wouldn’t have time to come.”
Zhong Jianguo smirked. “During the slow farming seasons, there aren’t many work points to earn. Even though I’m a city person, I know that much.” Seeing Song Zhaodi’s wide-eyed disbelief, he chuckled. “We’ll deal with that later. As for taking care of elders, having kids, finances and household decisions—I’ll agree to your terms, as long as—”
“I take good care of your three kids?” Song Zhaodi finished for him. “No problem. But I’m not done yet.”
Zhong Jianguo frowned. “Not done? Just say everything now.”
“For now, we sleep in separate rooms,” Song Zhaodi said with a grin. “I’ll move in when I feel like it. You can’t force me.”
Zhong Jianguo opened his mouth but, seeing her firm stance, let out a sigh. The Song family was full of honest folk—how had they raised such a sharp one? “What if you never move in? I married a wife, not hired a nanny.”
“Oh, you’d love that, wouldn’t you?” Song Zhaodi scoffed. “A nanny who doesn’t need wages, looks after your kids, cooks for you and manages your home? Too bad life doesn’t work that way. If you want to dream, go to sleep. Speaking of which, where’s Sanwa sleeping— with you or with me?”
Zhong Jianguo stood up. “You’ve said so much, even if I fall asleep, I’ll wake up startled. He’s sleeping with me tonight.”
“Is it really that scary?” Song Zhaodi looked him up and down. “Doesn’t seem too bad.”
Zhong Jianguo sneered. “I always believed my wife to be honest, intelligent, simple and diligent—just like thousands of other hardworking rural women.
“But now you’re telling me that from the very first conversation we had, you were pretending all along. And the worst part? I didn’t even notice anything off until we reached the island. Isn’t that terrifying? Song Zhaodi, if you were born in the Republic of China era, Dai Li1 would have treated you as an honoured guest.”
“Thanks for the compliment.” Song Zhaodi replied, “Who knows, maybe I’m actually a spy sent by the other side.”
Zhong Jianguo had considered that possibility. “I don’t trust you, but I do trust my stepmother. Before you went to university, you lived in Xiao Song Village your whole life—you never had the chance to make contact with anyone from the other side.
“It wasn’t you who arranged our meeting—it was my stepmother. If she had known that you went to university, the one meeting you first wouldn’t have been me; it would have been either her own son or her favourite nephew. You didn’t even know the military had abolished the rank system—Old Jiang’s people wouldn’t make such a basic mistake.”
“What if I did that on purpose?” Song Zhaodi asked.
Zhong Jianguo examined her carefully. “Show me your hands.”
Song Zhaodi held them out. “What about them?”
“The bones in the middle of your fingers are slightly protruding—that only happens when someone has done farm work for years.” Zhong Jianguo explained. “Yours aren’t as obvious, because you had to go to school and couldn’t do heavy labour every day. Wondering how I know this? Commander Liu’s wife is also from a rural background. Duan dasao wasn’t as lucky as you—her fingers are already deformed.
“If you really were a carefully selected agent from the other side, I don’t know what your hands would look like, but they’d certainly be better than they are now. And one more thing—I’ve been meaning to say this—your taste is pretty terrible. If I were the one in charge of training you, I’d rather give up this chess piece than let you embarrass me.”
With that, he turned and walked away.
Song Zhaodi grabbed his arm. “Explain! What do you mean by ’embarrassing’? What do you mean my taste is ‘terrible’?”
“The bright green loose-fitting outfit,” Zhong Jianguo reminded her. “It’s oversized and shapeless—even I wouldn’t wear it.”
Song Zhaodi took a deep breath and clenched her teeth. “Fine. Yes, my taste is terrible. My fashion sense is worse than Zhong Datuan’s, who has been living in a big city for years and seen it all.”
Bang! She slammed the door shut.
Zhong Jianguo flinched at the sound. He snorted at the closed door. “So cunning, such a temper—so it’s fine for you to fool me, but I can’t even say anything about it?”
On the other side of the door, Song Zhaodi clenched her fists and muttered under her breath, “Other people can say whatever they want, but you, Zhong Jianguo, don’t get to criticise me, Liu Ling.”
The next morning, Song Zhaodi opened her eyes, rubbed her sore eyelids and sat up from the hard bed. She opened the window, saw the sun barely peeking out and patted her cheeks to wake herself up.
Then, she dumped all the clothes she brought from home onto the bed. The red woollen blanket was instantly covered in a mess of colourful fabric and the headache she hadn’t quite shaken off from the previous night worsened.
In another year at most, Western-style suits would be labelled as ‘bourgeois’, qipaos as ‘feudal remnants of lust’ and bright, patterned clothes as ‘odd and inappropriate attire’.
When Mother Song packed her clothes, she had included a beige top and a pink printed blouse. Song Zhaodi had hesitated but couldn’t explain that, soon, all bright-coloured clothes would be banned. So, she stayed silent and let her mother pack whatever she wanted.
Enduring her headache, Song Zhaodi picked out all the flashy clothes and stuffed them into the wardrobe. Zhong Jianguo’s words echoed in her ears—“Your taste is terrible.” Song Zhaodi collapsed onto the bed, exhausted.
After lying there for a while, her headache eased a bit. She got up and put on a pair of grey trousers and a white shirt.
She opened the door and noticed that the room next to hers was wide open. She raised an eyebrow—Zhong Jianguo was up early.
She quietly peeked inside and saw that there was only a small child on the bed. Moving to the westmost side, she saw the eldest and second children still asleep. After a moment’s thought, she picked up the youngest child, carried him downstairs, placed him on a chair and put a small stool in front of him to keep him from rolling off before going to wash up.
Zhong Jianguo was drawing water from the well. Hearing footsteps, he turned around. “Now this outfit looks decent.”
“I don’t want to talk to you.” Song Zhaodi rolled her eyes. “By the way, there’s something I need to discuss with you.”
Zhong Jianguo pretended to be surprised. “What? Speak up, I can’t hear you.”
“Is this funny to you?” Song Zhaodi was speechless. “I saw the vegetable seeds you brought yesterday—I plan to plant them today. What should we do with these flowers?”
Zhong Jianguo straightened up and glanced around. “These flowers were planted by the children’s mother before she passed. If you rip them out to plant vegetables, Dawa will call you a bad woman again.”
“But what will we eat if we don’t plant anything?” Song Zhaodi asked.
Zhong Jianguo had expected to have a sleepless night, but now that the mystery around her behaviour was explained, he had slept soundly and woken up in a good mood. He said, “Plant the flowers along the bamboo fence. I’ll explain to the eldest.”
“A circle along the fence?” Song Zhaodi asked. “That won’t be enough space. Do we have any wooden planks? We can make planter boxes and put them under the eaves.”
Zhong Jianguo thought for a moment. “That could work.”
“There’s also no firewood in the yard. What happens when we run out of firewood for cooking?” Song Zhaodi asked. “Don’t tell me I have to go up the mountain to chop wood?”
“Technically, yes,” Zhong Jianguo said.
“And non-technically?” Song Zhaodi pressed.
“We use coal briquettes. Back in Shanghai, I always used coal.”
“How many stoves do we have at home?” Song Zhaodi asked.
Zhong Jianguo: “One.”
Cooking a meal with a single stove would take at least an hour. Song Zhaodi’s shoulders slumped. “A full-time nanny who also has to chop firewood? What kind of fate is this?” She paused and then asked, “Zhong Jianguo, is it too late for me to go back to the countryside?”
“It’s too late,” Zhong Jianguo said with a smile. “I won’t agree to it and you won’t be able to get a divorce. Even if you go to court, they wouldn’t dare to accept your case.” Carrying the water, he walked over to Song Zhaodi. “Comrade Song Zhaodi, the commentary on Wang Xifeng2 in Dream of the Red Chamber suits you quite well.”
Song Zhaodi smiled sweetly. “Commander Zhong, if there’s no firewood at home, who do you think will go hungry?”
“You—” Zhong Jianguo pointed at her. Song Zhaodi blinked at him, signalling him to continue. Zhong Jianguo took a deep breath. “I’ll go find a guard later and have him chop firewood for you.”
Song Zhaodi was surprised. “You have a guard?”
“I’m a regiment commander!” Zhong Jianguo reminded her. “Not just some village chief from your hometown.”
Song Zhaodi retorted, “You went to our village alone, unarmed. If you had claimed to be a low-ranking soldier, no one would have doubted you. Besides, you never mentioned having a guard.”
“There are plenty of things I haven’t mentioned,” Zhong Jianguo replied, “but not as many as the things you’ve hidden from me.”
Song Zhaodi looked at him intently. “And then?”
“Hurry up and brush your teeth, wash your face and cook,” Zhong Jianguo said as he carried the water into the house. He filled the water jars in both the kitchen and the courtyard, making sure Song Zhaodi wouldn’t have to fetch more water for the next two days before stopping.
During this time, resources were scarce and there wasn’t much to eat. Song Zhaodi cooked a thick pot of white rice porridge and stir-fried some cabbage with vinegar. After serving the cabbage, she turned to Zhong Jianguo. “There are still two eggs in the cupboard. Should I cook them for Dawa and Erwa?”
“Scrambled eggs with scallions?” Zhong Jianguo asked. “If they get used to it, they’ll ask for it again tomorrow.”
Seeing that he didn’t outright refuse, Song Zhaodi guessed that he also cared for the children. “You’re a grand regiment commander, yet you can’t even afford a few eggs?”
“Even if I have money, it’s hard to buy them,” Zhong Jianguo sighed. “Just chop more scallions and make one.”
“Do we have oil ration tickets?” Song Zhaodi asked.
“I think there are still some left,” Zhong Jianguo replied. “Is there no oil left in the jar?”
“If we can still afford oil, then I’ll make them egg pancakes,” Song Zhaodi said. She mixed a little flour batter, sprinkled in some chopped scallions, cracked in an egg and in two minutes, fried it in lard until golden and crispy.
The rich aroma filled the air, making Song Zhaodi swallow involuntarily. She sighed, “I truly am the best stepmother in the world.”
- Dai Li (戴笠, 1897–1946) was a high-ranking Chinese intelligence officer and the head of the Bureau of Investigation and Statistics (often referred to as the military intelligence agency) under the Nationalist government during the Republic of China era. Known for his ruthless methods and extensive espionage network, he played a key role in intelligence and counterintelligence operations against the Chinese Communist Party and the Imperial Japanese Army. ↩︎
- Wang Xifeng (王熙凤) is a major character in Dream of the Red Chamber. She is known for her sharp wit, strong management skills, and ruthless pragmatism in running the Jia household. Despite her intelligence and charm, she is also manipulative and can be merciless when dealing with others. ↩︎
Leave a Reply