Dawa’s expression changed instantly, and he frowned at Song Zhaodi. “Making Dad cook again?”
“Are you going or not?” Song Zhaodi didn’t waste words with him.
Zhong Dawa saw that she wasn’t joking and pouted. “Fine, I’ll go. Erwa, Lin Zhong, let’s go.” With a wave of his little hand, he stomped off toward home in frustration.
Duan dasao looked puzzled. “Is Dawa angry?”
“His father can’t cook,” Song Zhaodi explained. “He’d rather go hungry than let his dad make food.”
Duan dasao chuckled. “That Dawa… he’s really something.”
“His dad doesn’t treat him like a child when they talk. Whenever something happens, the two of them discuss it like equals, so sometimes Dawa acts like a little adult.” As Song Zhaodi spoke, she glanced around. “Chen dasao ran off earlier—she should be back by now.”
Duan dasao turned and said, “Liu Ping, go see what’s going on.”
Normally, Liu Ping would have grumbled to her mother before heading off. But when she saw the white shirt on the ground, she didn’t say a word and sprinted toward the supply and marketing cooperative. Halfway there, she ran into Chen dasao, who returned empty-handed.
Seeing that she hadn’t bought any joss paper, Song Zhaodi was puzzled. “Sold out? Just like that?”
“No,” Chen dasao leaned on her waist, gasping for breath before continuing. “The supply and marketing cooperative was willing to sell us joss paper at first, but when they heard we were going to burn it at the roadside, they refused.”
Song Zhaodi was confused. “Why?”
“I just remembered something,” Ma Zhenxing’s mother, Zhou Shufen, suddenly said. “Back in June two years ago, when the East China Sea Fleet was relocating here, I read in the newspaper about eliminating all ‘monsters and demons’.
“I don’t know who started the rumour, but they said the temples in Shen City were being torn down. Our island has been peaceful these past two years, so I forgot all about it. Xiao Song, what should we do now?”
Song Zhaodi frowned. “If the supply and marketing cooperative has joss paper, why are they still selling it?”
“That kind of paper is usually stocked in bulk and can last three to five years,” Chen dasao explained. “It’s only been a little over a year since they cracked down on ‘monsters and demons.’ I think it’s just leftover stock.”
Duan dasao added, “Xiao Song, even though this is a town, before the main military force relocated here, it was just a small fishing village—no different from rural areas in the north.”
“That reminds me,” Song Zhaodi said. “Where I’m from, people burn joss paper at night. Even if the neighbours or the village head know, they turn a blind eye. Is it the same here?”
Chen dasao nodded. “People believe that if the living burn paper, the dead can receive it. They’re afraid their loved ones will go hungry in the afterlife, so they burn a lot of joss paper. It’s impossible to ban it completely.
“That’s why when you mentioned buying joss paper, I thought the supply and marketing cooperative would sell it to us in secret. I didn’t expect them to refuse outright.”
“The island is so quiet that I forgot about the crackdown on ‘monsters and demons’,” Song Zhaodi muttered. Most of the villagers in Xiao Song Village were poor farmers, and while the revolution was in full swing in the big cities, life on the island was as peaceful as ever. As someone who had transmigrated here, she hadn’t considered this issue. “We can’t use Sanwa as an excuse anymore.”
Duan dasao nodded. “Exactly. If Xiao Zhong finds out, he’ll be furious. Should we head back and think of another solution?”
“No need. I have an idea.” Song Zhaodi’s eyes lit up when she spotted the suit jacket on the ground. “Liu Ping, you’re young and you can run fast. Go to the supply and marketing cooperative and find that woman who showed us the way earlier. Tell her that Western suits are capitalist attire and that your shirt looks strange and out of place. Say we need to burn all these bizarre clothes.
“But we don’t have matches, so ask her for a box. Also, ask for a bundle of joss paper to start the fire. If she refuses, tell her you’ll report her to the Revolutionary Committee and inform the director that her relative’s house is full of ‘capitalist attire’.”
“Xiao Song, don’t be reckless.” Duan dasao quickly stopped her. “Let’s think of another way.”
Song Zhaodi raised an eyebrow. “Auntie, do you think I’m making this up? When you and Chen dasao went to Hangcheng last time, did you see anyone wearing suits, cheongsams, or Western dresses?”
“Now that you mention it… no, we didn’t.” Duan dasao thought for a moment. “Wait, you’re not making this up?”
Song Zhaodi shrugged. “How could I make this up? When we left Binhai last year, things were already getting tense. But when we arrived here, it felt like a secluded paradise, so I didn’t think about it.”
She truly hadn’t thought of it. A moment ago, her mind had been focused on the belief that ‘the dead must have their clothes burned to rest in peace’. She’d completely forgotten about the crackdown on certain types of clothing.
As for whether people elsewhere had started burning suits and cheongsams, she wasn’t sure. She was simply taking advantage of the chaotic times, knowing that islanders wouldn’t dare to ask too many questions.
“Then Liu Ping, hurry up!” Duan dasao urged. “Do as your sister-in-law says.”
“When you meet that woman, speak confidently. Don’t act guilty,” Song Zhaodi instructed.
“I got it.” Liu Ping had always scoffed when Duan dasao praised Song Zhaodi’s intelligence. But today, witnessing firsthand how quickly Song Zhaodi’s mind worked, she couldn’t help but feel jealous. Reluctantly admitting defeat, she ran to the supply and marketing cooperative.
Moments later, Liu Ping returned, carrying a bundle of supplies, with a woman trailing behind her.
Song Zhaodi glanced at the woman before unwrapping the oil paper package. She pulled out an entire bundle of joss paper and stuffed it under the clothes. Then, she asked Duan dasao, “Auntie, what should I say?”
“I’ll do it. You’ve never performed a funeral rite before.” Duan dasao murmured softly to avoid being overheard, chanting until all the joss paper burned completely, blending with the clothes. Only then did she stop.
The woman who had followed Liu Ping saw that Song Zhaodi and the others had actually burned the newly purchased clothes to ashes. Alarmed, she rushed back to her relative’s house to warn them to dispose of their clothes quickly.
Seeing this, Song Zhaodi sighed in relief. “This life… it’s like fighting a war.”
“It’s not the same as war,” Duan dasao sighed. “Back then, our lives were hanging by a thread. At least now, we don’t have to worry about waking up to find everything bombed to ruins.”
Song Zhaodi nodded. “You’re right. I was just saying.” She paused. “You know, I’ve only been on the island for five months, and I’ve already run into so many problems. Am I just naturally fated to have a hard life?”
“You? A hard life?” Zhou Shufen gave her a side-eye. “Your husband does all the cooking. If you have a hard life, then we must be servants.”
Song Zhaodi chuckled. “Just because Dawa says his dad is cooking again doesn’t mean Old Zhong does it often. Since I came to the island, he’s cooked so few times I can count them on one hand. And each time, the food gets worse. I’m starting to think he’s doing it on purpose.”
“How so?” Chen dasao asked as they walked.
Song Zhaodi: “If his cooking is bad, I just won’t let him cook anymore.”
The others were stunned for a moment. Then, after thinking it over, they couldn’t help but laugh.
When Song Zhaodi reached her house and saw the car parked in the yard, she instinctively looked at the chimney. Not seeing any smoke rising, she clicked her tongue and stepped inside.
“I thought you weren’t coming back today.” Zhong Jianguo, who was washing scallions, felt a surge of joy upon hearing footsteps. Looking up, he saw that it really was Song Zhaodi. “Hurry up and cook. The three of them are starving.”
Song Zhaodi stopped in her tracks. “I don’t feel like cooking today.”
“Not again?!” Zhong Jianguo exclaimed.
Song Zhaodi: “I’m in a bad mood, so I’m not cooking.” She paused. “I also don’t feel like eating.”
“You—” Zhong Jianguo wasn’t afraid of Song Zhaodi when she was being sharp-tongued, nor when she was giving him the cold shoulder. What he feared most was when she acted completely unfazed, like a dead pig unafraid of boiling water. “You’re the children’s mother.”
Inside the house, the eldest and second child were listening. Song Zhaodi didn’t bother correcting him that she wasn’t their biological mother. “And you’re their father.”
“I—I’m a man!” Zhong Jianguo blurted out. But the moment he said it, he suddenly felt guilty and avoided looking Song Zhaodi in the eye.
The sky was darkening, and since there was some distance between them, Song Zhaodi couldn’t see his expression clearly. She grinned and said, “Which law states that women must cook?” Before he could answer, she continued, “Chairman Mao once said, ‘Women hold up half the sky.’ That means women and men are equal. If women can cook, men should be able to cook too.”
“Stop talking nonsense!” Zhong Jianguo knew Song Zhaodi had plenty of twisted logic, but hearing her even twist the meaning of the Chairman’s words left him in disbelief. How could such a woman exist? “You… what’s wrong with you today?”
“I ran into a ghost.” Song Zhaodi said as she walked into the house.
Clatter!
The scallion in Zhong Jianguo’s hand fell to the ground. He didn’t even bother picking it up and quickly followed her inside. “What do you mean? Song Zhaodi, don’t you know we’ve eradicated all feudal superstitions?!” He lowered his voice and glanced around nervously.
Song Zhaodi: “I’m serious!”
Zhong Jianguo hurriedly shut the door. “You’re not messing with me?”
“What good would lying about this do me?” Song Zhaodi countered.
Zhong Jianguo couldn’t help but shudder. His eyes darted around, and he whispered, “Then… then where’s the ghost?”
“Pfft!” Song Zhaodi burst into laughter. “You’re a university graduate, a Party member, a proletarian—and yet you actually believe in ghosts? Comrade Zhong, your ideological awareness needs some improvement.”
Zhong Jianguo held his breath. He opened his mouth, wanting to refute her, but the words that came out were: “Don’t try to change the subject. If you weren’t home steaming buns this afternoon, where did you go?”
“I went to buy clothes.” Zhong Dawa was worried his father would ruin dinner, so he had stayed home to keep an eye on him instead of going out to play. “Lin Zhong said stepmother wants to burn the clothes she bought.”
Only then did Zhong Jianguo notice that Song Zhaodi came home empty-handed. “What do you mean?”
Song Zhaodi told him everything. “I touched a dead person’s clothes. Do you still want me to cook?”
“No!” Zhong Jianguo blurted out. “Go wash your hands, wash them multiple times!”
Song Zhaodi scoffed. “When Dawa’s mother passed away, who changed her clothes?”
“That was different,” Zhong Jianguo argued. “I knew her—it was Bai Hua. But do you know who wore those clothes you touched? Do you know how they died? What if they died from tuberculosis?”
Song Zhaodi nodded. “So, not only do you have to cook, but later, you also have to heat water for my bath. As for my clothes, you don’t need to wash them—I’ll do it myself.”
“Then while you’re at it, wash ours too,” Zhong Jianguo quickly added.
Song Zhaodi shot him a look. “I think I shouldn’t cook tomorrow either.”
“Forget I said anything,” Zhong Jianguo muttered as he turned and walked out the door.
Song Zhaodi followed.
Zhong Erwa, nudged his older brother’s arm. “What’s going on with Dad and Stepmom?”
“They’re just playing house,” Zhong Dawa said. “Ignore them. Go get me another meat bun from the kitchen, we’ll split it.”
Zhong Erwa didn’t move. “I want the one with more meat.”
“Alright.” Zhong Dawa agreed without hesitation.
Zhong Erwa climbed onto a stool, struggling to reach a large bun. When he finally got it, Zhong Dawa split it and gave him the smaller half. Just as Zhong Erwa was about to protest, he saw his brother take a huge bite, eating almost half the meat filling in one go.
The little boy’s face instantly fell. His lips quivered, and he ran outside. “Mom, big brother tricked me!”
“What’s wrong?” Song Zhaodi quickly put down the soap and rinsed her hands. “Did he hit you?”
Zhong Erwa raised his hands. “Look!”
“A bun?” Song Zhaodi tilted her head, making sure she saw correctly. “You don’t want it?”
Zhong Erwa stomped his foot. “No, no! He said he’d give me the bigger half, the one with more meat. But he kept most of it and even ate my meat filling!”
“Then go get another bun,” Song Zhaodi said. “I’ll eat this one.”
Zhong Erwa’s face lit up, and he ran back to the kitchen. This time, after struggling onto the stool, he snatched another bun. As he passed by Zhong Dawa, he huffed, “I’m not giving you any!”
“I’m full anyway.” Zhong Dawa had wanted to get another one but hesitated—what if Song Zhaodi suddenly decided to cook something delicious later, and he was too stuffed to eat it? So, he stayed put, watching Sanwa wander around the house.
Song Zhaodi split the bun, giving all the filling to Erwa while she ate just the bun skin. “Happy now?”
“Mm!” Erwa was satisfied, his eyes curving into a smile.
Zhong Jianguo shook his head helplessly. “It’s just a bun, was that really necessary?”
“I’m not talking to you. You and Brother are on the same side,” Zhong Erwa huffed, clutching Song Zhaodi’s hand. “Mom, what’s for dinner?”
Song Zhaodi looked at the little boy, whose mouth was still stuffed with pickled vegetables, dried beans, and meat. She was speechless. “You can still eat more?”
“Maybe not.” The child patted his belly. “Mom, don’t cook tonight.”
Zhong Jianguo abruptly stopped in his tracks and turned his head sharply.
Song Zhaodi burst out laughing. “Eat your bun and stop talking.”
The little boy, focused only on his food and his mom, didn’t notice his father’s expression change. He simply nodded and said, “Mom, I want to go outside and play.”
“No, stay here and help your brother look after the little one,” Song Zhaodi said. “If you want to play, you can only do so in the courtyard.”
She followed Zhong Jianguo into the kitchen but didn’t dare to touch anything inside. “Burning paper at the intersection won’t cause trouble, right?”
Zhong Jianguo replied, “It’s fine. Chen dasao and the others won’t spread it around, and the family who sold you the clothes wouldn’t dare to say anything either. Even if someone wanted to stir up trouble, without witnesses or evidence, it’d be pointless.” He paused for a moment before adding, “Comrade Song Zhaodi, are you really not cooking today?”
“Nope!” Song Zhaodi had originally been joking, but seeing that Zhong Jianguo thought she was joking, she decided to take it seriously. “If you don’t know how to cook, I can teach you.”
Zhong Jianguo reminded her, “I’m pretty slow at learning.”
“That’s okay, I have patience.” Song Zhaodi smiled sweetly at him. Even if you’re as stubborn as a block of wood, I’ll make sure you learn.
Zhong Jianguo sighed. “After teaching me how to cook, what else do you plan to teach me?”
“Sewing clothes,” Song Zhaodi replied. “But we don’t have any fabric for you to practice on at home.”
Zhong Jianguo visibly relaxed.
“You didn’t actually take me seriously, did you?” Song Zhaodi asked in disbelief. When she saw Zhong Jianguo’s ears turn red, she widened her eyes. “You—you’re really cute, you know that?”
The knife in Zhong Jianguo’s hand wobbled, nearly slicing his own fingers. “Song Zhaodi, pay attention to the impact of your words!”
“Your three sons aren’t here. Who’s being influenced? You?” Song Zhaodi glanced outside, then turned back with a teasing look. “Comrade Zhong, are you feeling affected?” As she spoke, her gaze deliberately drifted toward his waistband.
Zhong Jianguo froze. realising he was too tense, he glared at Song Zhaodi and squeezed out a warning through gritted teeth: “Don’t think I don’t dare touch you!”
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