Happy Independence Day to my fellow Indians!
Song Zhaodi jolted awake, startled. Seeing Zhong Jianguo, she snapped impatiently, “Are you sick or something? Zhong Jianguo, why the hell are you yelling so early in the morning?”
“I’m sick? I must be sick to have trusted you!” Zhong Jianguo grabbed her arm and yanked her up.
Song Zhaodi felt weak all over and was too tired to argue. She rubbed her forehead, trying to wake herself up. “What happened?”
“See for yourself.” Zhong Jianguo was so furious he could barely contain himself. He really wanted to slap her head open to see what kind of nonsense was inside.
Following his gaze, Song Zhaodi looked down and instinctively asked, “Why is there—” Her eyes widened in shock. She rubbed them, but the stain that looked like blood didn’t disappear. She turned to Zhong Jianguo, “Are you hurt?”
Zhong Jianguo’s anger vanished in an instant. “Me? Hurt? I’m a man. Song Zhaodi, take a good look.”
“Then… I’m the one who’s hurt?” Song Zhaodi blurted out. Then she blinked in disbelief. “That’s impossible. Could it be that… No, wait, are you saying—?”
Zhong Jianguo took a deep breath, reminding himself to lower his voice so he wouldn’t wake the kids next door. “Song Zhaodi, can you stop acting? Can you?!”
“Wait a minute, let me think.” Song Zhaodi counted on her fingers. “You’re not hurt. My period hasn’t come. But that’s still impossible. The original Song Zhaodi had sex three times with her ex.”
Zhong Jianguo stared at her. “You’re sure that’s true? Then… does it hurt down there?”
“My whole body hurts.” Song Zhaodi pointed to her arm. “You grabbed me.” Then to her chest. “You bit me. And here—”
Zhong Jianguo quickly interrupted, “Put on some clothes first. Then we’ll talk.” He handed her a shirt.
When Song Zhaodi put on her pants, she felt a sharp pain below. She frowned. “It’s only been two years since then. Even if this body has an amazing recovery ability, it wouldn’t still be… like a virgin, right?”
“If you ask me, who should I ask?” Zhong Jianguo was just as confused. “You really don’t remember?”
Song Zhaodi thought for a moment. “If I knew—no, if she knew, I wouldn’t be in this situation now.”
Zhong Jianguo firmly believed that the Song Zhaodi in front of him wasn’t the original one. “Think again. Was it something she imagined, or did it really happen?”
“It definitely happened.” Song Zhaodi was certain.
Zhong Jianguo, however, was sceptical. “Then can you remember what the guy looked like?”
“He looked… like a person.” Song Zhaodi blurted out. Then she froze.
Seeing her expression, Zhong Jianguo sighed and rubbed his forehead. This woman was as careless as ever. “Don’t tell me the guy didn’t exist.”
“He existed! I’m sure of that,” Song Zhaodi insisted. “You weren’t her first, and you weren’t my first either. Don’t get any ideas.”
Zhong Jianguo coughed twice, nearly choking on his own spit. “I wasn’t dreaming. I’m fully awake. Think harder—wait, could it be that the guy was… you know, incapable?”
Song Zhaodi rolled her eyes. “From what I remember, all three times were in the dark.” She pointed at herself. “She was so shy that she never dared to look at him.”
“So you don’t actually know what happened?” Zhong Jianguo asked.
Song Zhaodi pondered for a moment. “Probably… he was too small and finished too fast.”
Zhong Jianguo groaned in frustration. “Can you be a little more subtle?” He hesitated before muttering, “I should’ve never asked.”
Song Zhaodi grinned at him. “You shouldn’t have asked? Then maybe it’s my turn now.”
Zhong Jianguo was confused until he saw her extend her arm. There were four clear finger marks on her tanned skin. Immediately, he jumped out of bed, threw on his shoes, yanked the door open, and ran out. As he bolted downstairs, he shouted, “I’m making breakfast today!”
Song Zhaodi had just started getting up when she heard his footsteps thudding down the stairs. Sighing helplessly, she folded the messy wool blanket, opened the window, and went to check on the kids.
The Zhong family’s small house faced north to south. Song Zhaodi and Zhong Jianguo’s bedroom had a south-facing window. Next to it was the living room and the staircase. The kids’ rooms had east-facing windows, while the guest room’s window faced west. Between the guest room and Zhong Dawa’s room was a small, north-facing room that never got any sunlight, making it feel gloomy.
When Song Zhaodi arrived on the island, she had stuffed all their clutter into that north-facing room.
The east, west, and south rooms all got sunlight, which was nice—at least in the winter.
Song Zhaodi entered the east-facing room and opened the window. Sunlight poured in. Zhong Dawa raised his hand to shield his eyes while his other hand clutched the wool blanket.
Song Zhaodi shook her head with a smile and extended a hand to him, helping him sit up.
Zhong Dawa opened his eyes, still groggy, and glanced around. When he met Song Zhaodi’s amused gaze, he mumbled, “Mom…”
“Wake up properly. In a bit, wake up your brothers and head downstairs for breakfast,” Song Zhaodi said, lifting Sanwa into her arms. To her surprise, the toddler hadn’t wet his diaper. Delighted, she quickly grabbed a chamber pot for him to relieve himself. Then she woke Erwa.
After dressing Erwa and Sanwa, Song Zhaodi turned to see Zhong Dawa had flopped back down, fast asleep again.
She chuckled and said, “Dawa, your dad is making breakfast today.”
Zhong Dawa immediately sat up straight, staring at her. “What did you just say, Mom?”
“I’m not feeling well, so your dad said he’d cook,” Song Zhaodi replied. “I haven’t gone downstairs yet, so I don’t know what he’s making. Maybe scrambled eggs? Our hens have started laying.”
Just as she finished speaking, another round of frantic footsteps echoed from downstairs.
Song Zhaodi smiled helplessly, then carried the still-sleepy Erwa and Sanwa downstairs.
Downstairs, she saw Dawa standing at the entrance of the northeast-facing kitchen. After placing the still half-asleep younger children on the bench, she walked over and asked, “What’s your father cooking?”
“Dad is actually trying to steam eggs for us,” Zhong Dawa said with a helpless expression. “Mom, do we have a lot of eggs at home?”
Song Zhaodi replied, “Each of you three gets one egg a day, and there’s always one left over. Since your dad is willing to learn how to cook for once, just let him. If it turns out inedible, I’ll make something delicious for you at noon.”
“Alright then.” Zhong Dawa sighed. “You really spoil him too much.” With that, he turned and walked away.
Plop!
The egg in Zhong Jianguo’s hand fell into the bowl, shell and all.
Song Zhaodi sighed, rubbing her forehead, then pushed Zhong Jianguo aside. “Go rinse the rice and cook the porridge. I’ll handle the stir-frying.”
Zhong Jianguo glanced at his son’s retreating back, then at Song Zhaodi, who was busy fishing out eggshells. “That brat, Dawa, was the one who said that just now, wasn’t he?”
“Sound familiar?” Song Zhaodi asked. “In the future, if you have something to say to me, try not to say it in front of the kids. They’re still young—apart from curse words, they don’t really know what should or shouldn’t be said.
“Dawa is a bit older; if you tell him not to say something, he’ll remember. But if you tell Erwa not to say something, not only will he forget, but he’ll also chase after you, demanding to know why.” She wiped her hands. “I’m going to wash my face and brush my teeth. You go pick some tomatoes later.”
Zhong Jianguo grabbed a handful of rice. When he turned, he saw Dawa heading toward the door and clicked his tongue. “No need, Dawa’s already on it.”
Moments later, Zhong Dawa returned, holding four half-red, half-green tomatoes in the fold of his clothes. Looking up at Song Zhaodi, he said, “Mom, I want to eat ‘Snow Falls on Flame Mountain.’”
“All we have is ‘Guan Gong Battles Qin Qiong’,” Song Zhaodi replied. “Otherwise, just eat the steamed eggs.”1
The child thought for a moment. “I don’t want porridge. I want rice.”
“Go tell your dad,” Song Zhaodi said. “Eating rice first thing in the morning—think your dad won’t smack you for that? Zhong Dawa, whatever you want to eat in the future, I’ll make it for you.”
The child huffed, ran to the kitchen, placed the tomatoes on the cutting board, shot Zhong Jianguo a glare, then turned and ran back outside to get Song Zhaodi to wash his face.
Once the porridge was set to cook, Zhong Jianguo stepped out and asked, “What’s up with that kid?”
“Intermittent fits,” Song Zhaodi said. “Wash last night’s clothes and the bedsheets. I reckon it’ll rain in the afternoon.”
But in the afternoon, the rain didn’t come. Around three o’clock, Song Zhaodi was holding Dawa’s hand, correcting his grip on the pen when she heard Duan dasao call her—there were visitors at the house. She hurried outside.
At the entrance stood an elderly man, a little over 1.7 metres tall, looking energetic despite his age. Beside him was a fair-skinned young man, around eighteen or nineteen years old, about 1.75 metres tall.
Song Zhaodi turned back into the house and quickly put away the malted milk and powdered milk on the table.
Seeing this, Zhong Dawa blurted out, “Grandma and maternal grandma are here again?”
“Talk later. Stay inside,” Song Zhaodi instructed as she took out half the eggs from the cabinet and stored them upstairs in the utility room. She locked the door, then hid Zhong Jianguo’s savings and various ration coupons inside a quilt before heading downstairs to open the door.
Zhong Dawa followed her out, his eyes widening in shock. He whispered, “Grandpa? Little Uncle? Why are they here? Mom, what do we do? You can’t beat them.”
“They need something from us. They wouldn’t dare hit me.” Song Zhaodi glanced around the courtyard, making sure nothing too eye-catching was lying around, then smiled as she opened the door. “Uncle, Shengli, when did you arrive?”
Father Zhong replied, “Just got off the boat. Jianguo isn’t home?”
“He’s out at sea,” Song Zhaodi said. “There might be a war soon, so he’s been really busy. Come on in.”
Father Zhong glanced at the two-story house, then at the neatly organised courtyard. Even though Zhao Yin had already told him about it, seeing it with his own eyes still filled him with envy. “This place is really nice.”
“It is,” Song Zhaodi agreed. “But Jianguo risked his life for it. He said conscription doesn’t start until September—why are you here so early?”
Father Zhong frowned. “Why? I came to my son’s house. I can come whenever I want.”
Song Zhaodi sneered inwardly. You sure don’t act this high and mighty in front of Zhao Yin. But outwardly, she just smiled. “That’s not what I meant. It’s just that you didn’t send a telegram beforehand, so the rooms and beds aren’t ready yet.”
“These are Jianguo’s kids?” Father Zhong’s gaze fell on the three children sitting on the bench. “Why aren’t they greeting me? No manners at all.”
Song Zhaodi’s eyelids twitched, her expression darkening. “Probably because they’ve never met you. Dawa, Erwa, Sanwa, this is your grandfather. This is your uncle. It’s normal that you haven’t seen them before—your dad was kicked out of the house by your grandfather when he was just a teenager.”
Father Zhong’s face darkened instantly. “Song Zhaodi?!”
“I can hear you,” Song Zhaodi said. From the corner of her eye, she noticed Zhong Shengli’s face flush red with embarrassment and anger, but she pretended not to see. “Am I wrong?”
Father Zhong was speechless.
Song Zhaodi had no objections to Zhong Shengli joining the army, but expecting Zhong Jianguo to pull strings to get him into the People’s Army? Not a chance. Even if Zhong Jianguo agreed, she wouldn’t.
No matter how outstanding Zhong Shengli was, as long as Zhao Yin was his mother, Song Zhaodi wouldn’t let him stay near Zhong Jianguo. “Uncle, you know exactly how you treated Jianguo in the past. You wrote to Jianguo asking him to take Shengli in. He told me about it. He said that if Shengli wants to be a soldier, he should go back to Binhai and enlist properly.”
“I’m not talking to you,” Father Zhong said, sitting down and pulling Zhong Shengli to sit with him. “I’ll wait for Jianguo to come back and speak to him.”
Song Zhaodi sighed. “Let me guess—did biaoyi go back and tell you how great Jianguo’s life is over here? And that’s why you decided to send Shengli over?”
Father Zhong turned his head and looked outside, deliberately avoiding her gaze.
Song Zhaodi clicked her tongue. “Fine. Then wait for Jianguo to come back.”
- “雪降火焰山” (Snow Falls on Flame Mountain) is an actual dish made with chilled tomatoes topped with a sweet, snow-like layer, often condensed milk or sugar, creating a contrast between hot and cold flavours. “关公战秦琼” (Guan Gong Battles Qin Qiong) is a humorous phrase referring to an impossible matchup between historical figures from different eras. Here, Song Zhaodi is playfully rejecting Zhong Dawa’s request, implying that she doesn’t have the dish he wants and offering a simple alternative: steamed egg custard. ↩︎
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