Erwa and Sanwa opened their eyes, staring blankly at Song Zhaodi, confused as to why she was pulling off their blanket.
“Time to get up,” Song Zhaodi said.
Erwa didn’t move. “It’s only seven, Mom.”
“Your dad already made breakfast,” Song Zhaodi said with a smile.
Sanwa turned over and sat up. “Mom, my clothes. Give me, give me.”
Since Sanwa’s fourth birthday last year, Song Zhaodi had told Dawa, Zili and Gengsheng not to help him get dressed anymore. Otherwise, he would become too dependent.
The children didn’t want a useless younger brother, so no matter how much Sanwa begged them, they refused to help.
Song Zhaodi tossed the clothes to Sanwa and once he was dressed, she straightened his outfit before leading the children downstairs.
When they got downstairs, Sanwa didn’t wash his face or hands first. Instead, he asked, “Da ge, does Dad’s cooking taste bad this time?”
“It’s better than last year, at least at a normal level,” Zhong Dawa said seriously. “Dad should make breakfast from now on.”
Zhong Jianguo’s hand trembled, nearly dropping the ladle into the pot. “Dawa, don’t scare your dad like that.”
“Dad, I like your cooking too,” Gengsheng added.
Zhong Jianguo put down his bowl and wiped his face. “Teacher Xiao Song, do you think this is appropriate?”
“What do you think?” Song Zhaodi asked with a smirk.
Zhong Jianguo really wanted to say it was absolutely inappropriate, but recalling the foolish thing he did yesterday, he forced out, “It’s fine.” Then, he shot a glare at Dawa and Gengsheng, these troublemakers just wanted to see the drama unfold. Someday, he was going to teach them a lesson.
Song Zhaodi chuckled.
The next morning, Song Zhaodi didn’t actually make Zhong Jianguo cook breakfast.
She had kicked Zhong Jianguo and he reflexively grabbed her leg. When she fell, she had been furious, nearly wanting to scratch his face. But when she saw him climbing in through the window, her anger mostly dissipated.
Zhong Jianguo voluntarily cooked breakfast again and for once, the food wasn’t too salty and the porridge had the perfect consistency. Song Zhaodi found it hard to stay mad at him.
To be fair, when Song Zhaodi cried, Zhong Jianguo had been startled. Even though he knew she wasn’t the delicate type and that her crying was intentional, from then on, whenever Song Zhaodi hit or punched him, he never dared to retaliate.
But those were matters of the future.
Back at school, Song Zhaodi continued teaching English, but not strictly according to the textbook.
The students noticed that not only Song Zhaodi but also their Chinese and Math teachers weren’t sticking to the curriculum. They were incorporating additional content that wasn’t even found in the ninth-grade textbooks.
Curious, the students asked their teachers why. The teachers all gave the same answer: learning shouldn’t be limited to textbooks; they should learn to think beyond what’s written.
For Math and English, that reasoning made sense.
But for Chinese too?
The students were sceptical and went home to tell their parents that the school had not only changed the class schedule, four periods in the morning, three in the afternoon, but was also teaching extra material.
Their parents’ response? “Your teachers are trying to give you all the knowledge they can. Just study hard!”
With no room for argument, the students obediently followed along.
The teachers continued with their new lesson plans.
On May 28th, which was also the fifth day of the fifth lunar month, Song Zhaodi received a letter from Binhai, along with news about Zhao Yin.
Good news should be shared. After reading the letter, Song Zhaodi left it on the table as usual.
At 5:30 pm, Dawa returned home with his brothers and Zhong Jianguo also arrived.
Upon entering, he heard Dawa reading the letter aloud. Zhong Jianguo glanced at it, it was his eldest brother’s handwriting. “Read it louder, from the beginning.”
“I’m almost done,” Zhong Dawa said and simply handed him the letter. “You read it yourself.”
Zhong Jianguo took it. Seeing it was two pages long and densely written, he, exhausted from the day, couldn’t be bothered to read. Instead, he asked Song Zhaodi, “What’s it about?”
While making sandals, Song Zhaodi replied, “Remember when we buried your father? I told dasao to have her elder brother visit my biaoyi’s ex-husband’s family and tell them we’d send her fifty yuan a month. Do you remember?”
“I remember.” Zhong Jianguo nodded. “The matter of giving her fifty yuan a year, you told dasao to tell them it was monthly, so her sons would be tempted. Life in the countryside is tough and even if they knew they might not get the money, they’d still try.
“If they went looking for my stepmother, knowing her temper, she’d definitely curse them out instead of giving them anything. There might even be a fight. Dasao didn’t want to do it because she thought it was in poor taste. Judging by your expressions, did she actually go through with it?”
Song Zhaodi said, “She didn’t, but your brother did. He talked to her elder brother and her family fully supported the plan. That very afternoon, they spread the news in Zhao Yin’s ex-husband’s village.
“In rural areas, February and March are the toughest months, food is scarce. That family was probably struggling, so two months ago, they went to Binhai looking for Zhao Yin. According to the neighbours, they didn’t ask for money, just a few ration tickets. But Zhao Yin immediately lashed out, calling them ‘bastard children from who knows where.’”
“She actually said that?” Zhong Jianguo was dumbfounded.
Song Zhaodi pointed to the letter. “It’s written on the second page. Read it yourself.”
Zhong Jianguo quickly flipped to the second page. As he read, he almost choked on his own saliva. “Those brothers dragged their grandmother to my stepmother’s house?”
“Yep,” Song Zhaodi said. “The old lady is seventy-eight, not sick, just has trouble walking. She can’t help with chores or babysit, so they dumped her at Zhao Yin’s house and told her to take care of their mother.”
Zhong Jianguo carefully read each word. “That’s pretty heartless. Making someone else take care of their own grandmother.”
“Considering Zhao Yin managed to drive her away before, do you think the old lady is easy to deal with?” Song Zhaodi chuckled. “It might have been her own idea.”
Zhong Jianguo clicked his tongue. “That family has no shame. My stepmother married my dad over twenty years ago and they never visited. But the moment they think there’s money, they show up?”
“It’s a common story,” Song Zhaodi said. “Besides, Zhao Yin could’ve just told them she didn’t have that much money or that she was saving it for Shengli’s wedding. Either excuse would have been better than cursing them out. If she talks nasty, she can’t complain when people treat her the same way.”
Zili disagreed. “Mom, that grandmother’s sons shouldn’t have gone to her in the first place.”
“If they hadn’t,” Song Zhaodi said, “then when she retires and has nothing to do, she might have come knocking on our door.”
Zili was speechless. “But–”
“No buts,” Song Zhaodi said. “Most people live paycheck to paycheck. If their lives were easy, they wouldn’t have asked Zhao Yin for money. When life gets hard, people will chase even the slimmest chance to make things better. And in the end, they are still blood relatives.” She paused. “Honestly, life pushed them into this.”
Zhong Jianguo nodded. “Your mom’s right. A normal person would at least give a couple of ration tickets if they saw their former children struggling. But my stepmother is heartless. Da ge says in the letter that when he wrote it, the old lady was still living with Zhao Yin. What is she eating?”
“My biaoyi only has that one house,” Song Zhaodi said. “Even if she doesn’t want to go home, she has to. She’ll eat whatever Zhao Yin eats. At her age, Zhao Yin wouldn’t dare starve her.”
Zhong Dawa didn’t believe it. “Grandma wouldn’t dare? Auntie said Grandpa was angered to death by Grandma.”
Speaking of Father Zhong, Song Zhaodi didn’t want to laugh, after all, it would be disrespectful to the dead. But thinking about the things he did, she couldn’t bring herself to respect him either. “If your grandpa had directly taken rat poison and died, the police wouldn’t have had any evidence and they couldn’t have arrested your grandma. But she would still have been blamed for driving her husband to his death.
“But your grandpa took the poison and then regretted it shortly after. He told people that he didn’t want to die. Life and death are serious matters, yet he treated it like a joke. People would only say he brought it upon himself.” She paused. “Ask your dad, does he dare say that your grandpa was forced to die by your grandma?”
“Your grandpa’s death, your grandma bears some responsibility, but you can’t blame her entirely,” Zhong Jianguo said. “Your grandpa had money and he could still walk. If he was feeling unhappy, he could have taken advantage of Zhao Yin being away and gone to the market to buy himself something nice to eat.”
Dawa nodded. “Dad is right. Grandpa was indeed pretty foolish.”
“Write back to da ge,” Zhong Jianguo said. “Remember to tell him not to meddle in our stepmother’s affairs. She has her own children. If she gets beaten up, her own son and daughter will take care of it.”
Song Zhaodi nodded. “Anything else to add?”
“No.” Zhong Jianguo suddenly thought of something. “The eldest child in da ge’s family should be starting middle school now, right?”
Song Zhaodi: “Same age as Zili, but she started school earlier. She’s only in fourth grade this year.”
“I saw that she’s taller than Zili. I thought she must be twelve or thirteen,” Zhong Jianguo said.
Song Zhaodi glanced at him. “The year you enlisted, your da ge had just gotten married. You’ve only been in the army for twelve years.”
“I never calculated the time,” Zhong Jianguo said, feeling a little awkward. “Forget it, just write the letter.”
Dawa turned to Gengsheng and asked, “What do you call this thing Dad is doing?”
“Trying to cover up but making it worse,” Gengsheng said, spitting out four characters. (欲盖弥彰 – An attempt to hide something only makes it more conspicuous.)
Zhong Jianguo snapped his head around. “Zhong Gengsheng, what did you just say? Say it again!”
“I’m hungry,” Gengsheng immediately switched topics. He turned to Song Zhaodi. “Mom, let’s write the letter tomorrow. We should cook first.”
Song Zhaodi thought for a moment. “Alright. Should we have bean flour noodles or steamed buns?”
“Bean flour noodles,” Zhong Dawa said. “With some tomatoes and eggs, it’s delicious.”
Song Zhaodi nodded. “Good idea. So, Zhong Dawa, you and Zili each knead a piece of dough and Gengsheng will help roll the noodles.”
“Mom…” Dawa protested. “Ma Zhenxing said kneading dough is a girl’s job. I’m a boy, I shouldn’t be kneading dough.”
Song Zhaodi: “Then today we’ll eat steamed buns with cold tomato, cucumber and lettuce salad. And it’ll be a salad without oil.”
Zili tugged at Dawa. “Just knead the dough.”
“I don’t want to,” Zhong Dawa refused to move.
Zhong Jianguo laughed. “If you hadn’t bragged about knowing how to cook, who would know you can knead dough?”
Zhong Dawa thought about it. “That’s true.”
“Of course!” Zhong Jianguo glared at him. “Hurry up! And stop telling everyone about every little thing you learn.”
Zhong Dawa muttered, “I won’t say it anymore.”
As Song Zhaodi passed by him, she ruffled his hair and said, “Erwa, Sanwa, let’s go pick tomatoes.”
“Mom, I want to eat a red tomato first,” Sanwa said. “I’m hungry too.”
Song Zhaodi looked at him. “I remember there are only two red tomatoes in the garden. Erwa, do you also want one?”
“Can I?” Erwa asked.
Zhong Jianguo followed them outside. “You can. But let me ask you, what are we going to put in the noodles later?”
“Put… put vegetables,” Zhong Erwa said. “Mom, let’s use amaranth greens. There’s a lot of it by the fence. If we don’t eat it, it’ll get old.”
Song Zhaodi glanced back. “Keep your voice down, don’t let your brother hear.”
Erwa quickly asked, “Does that mean you agree, Mom?”
At the tomato patch, Song Zhaodi plucked two bright red tomatoes and handed them to Erwa. “Wash them before eating.”
“Mom, are we still putting eggs in the noodles?” Erwa reminded her. “Without tomatoes, if we don’t add eggs, da ge will be really mad.”
Song Zhaodi: “Everyone gets a poached egg.”
Dawa didn’t like noodles much, but if they were tomato-egg noodles, he could eat a whole big bowl.
After kneading the dough, Zhong Dawa went outside to call Song Zhaodi over to check if the dough was firm enough, it needed to be harder for rolling.
At the door, he saw Sanwa holding a big tomato and Erwa with another one, both half-eaten… His cheeks puffed up with anger and he shouted, “Mom, they ate the tomatoes!”
“Mom gave them to us,” the two brothers said in unison, selling Song Zhaodi out.
Zhong Dawa didn’t believe it. “Mom, is that true?”
“It’s true,” Zhong Jianguo confirmed. “Your mom is just that bad. I told you all before, but you didn’t believe me.”
Dawa looked at Zhong Jianguo. “Dad, are you happy?”
“No, no,” Zhong Jianguo quickly denied. He didn’t want to provoke his son. “Your mom said, as compensation, she’ll make another salad for you guys.”
“A salad without oil?” Zhong Dawa asked.
Zhong Jianguo choked. “Song Zhaodi, stop laughing, your son is angry.”
Joking had to have its limits. Song Zhaodi said, “How about smashed cucumber salad?”
Zhong Dawa huffed. “No! You roll out the noodles!”
“Alright,” Song Zhaodi said with a smile. She went into the kitchen, shooed Zili and Gengsheng out to play and called Zhong Jianguo in to peel garlic.
Zhong Jianguo sat next to the earthen stove, watching her bend over to roll out the dough. He didn’t understand her at all. “What’s the point of this?”
“It’s just two tomatoes,” Song Zhaodi replied. “Erwa and Sanwa don’t usually ask for food, but they actively said they wanted to eat, so they must really want it. Besides, in a few days, new ones will grow. I’ll make tomato and egg noodles again then.”
Zhong Jianguo asked, “Aren’t you afraid that Dawa will get upset and ignore you?”
“Your son isn’t that petty,” Song Zhaodi said. “Speaking of which, the kids are growing up fast. Have you thought about what they should study in the future?”
“They can study whatever they want. I have no opinion,” Zhong Jianguo said.
“If you don’t tell them what majors universities offer, how will they know what to study?” Song Zhaodi shot him a look. “In a few days, I’ll go out and see if I can find some books. I’ll try to collect more.”
“You might not find any,” Zhong Jianguo said. “The revolution has been going on for years, school books have probably all turned into fertiliser by now.”
“I still have to try,” Song Zhaodi insisted. “If I don’t, even if I know I won’t find any, I’ll still feel unwilling to give up.”
“Take Aunt Liu with you,” Zhong Jianguo suggested. “She can also take the opportunity to visit Liu Ping. By the way, isn’t Liu Ping due to give birth soon?”
“She’s got a little over two months to go,” Song Zhaodi replied. “Just after the dog days of summer, when the weather starts to cool down.”
“Such good timing, maybe she’ll have a boy?” Zhong Jianguo teased.
Song Zhaodi laughed. “If she gives birth to a son, she’ll become the most revered figure in the Jin family.”
“What do you mean by that?” Zhong Jianguo asked.
Song Zhaodi explained, “Dajie told me that Jin Lihui’s two older brothers both had daughters. Since Liu Ping married down into their family, if she gives birth to the first grandson, Jin Lihui’s parents will treasure her like a gem.”
“That’s possible,” Zhong Jianguo agreed. “Like my dasao, she also married down when she wed my brother. But since she didn’t give him a son, whenever they talk, I can feel that she lacks confidence.” He sighed. “It’s a shame, though. People like me, who would search with a lantern just to find a wife who values daughters over sons, never seem to find one.”
“You’re blaming me?” Song Zhaodi asked.
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