Zhong Sanwa responded without hesitation, “I can do it.”
“Then let’s go.” Zhong Dawa reached out his hand to Sanwa. “Ge will hold your hand, okay?” Then he looked up at Zili and said, “Qu Zhuangzhuang said he knows where there are a lot of wild vegetables. We’ll gather them on the way back so we won’t have to go out again in the afternoon.”
As soon as Song Zhaodi and Duan dasao left, Zhong Dawa took out four small bamboo baskets and four small hoes. Zili saw these things and immediately knew they were going to gather wild vegetables, so he didn’t ask any questions. It was only when locking the door that he suddenly remembered, most of the nearby fields had already been picked clean by these brothers.
“Dawa, does Mother know?” Gengsheng suddenly asked.
Zhong Dawa replied, “Not yet, but I’ll tell her when she gets back.”
“If you tell her, she’ll scold you,” Zili reminded him.
“Mother doesn’t allow us to go into the sea, so we’re just staying on the beach. She won’t be mad when she finds out,” Zhong Dawa reasoned. “Besides, Qu Zhuangzhuang and his sister are coming with us. It’ll be fine.”
Zili had seen Qu Zhuangzhuang’s sister before, she was about fifteen or sixteen years old. Knowing they weren’t just a group of little kids going alone, he felt somewhat reassured.
When they arrived at the Qu family’s house, they saw not only Qu Zhuangzhuang and his sister but also some neighbor kids, all older than them. If anything happened, these older children could help, so Zili was no longer worried.
Still, he remained cautious. Once they reached the beach, he kept Gengsheng close, and the two of them held onto Erwa and Sanwa’s hands to prevent them from running off.
Around eleven o’clock, the group of children returned the way they had come. On the way back, a few girls from the Qu family helped Dawa pick wild vegetables. In just ten minutes, all four of the brothers’ baskets were full.
Back home, they threw the wild vegetables into the goose and duck pens, and Zhong Dawa emptied the crabs into the washing basin. Seeing that they had gathered half a basin full, Dawa grinned. “How should we cook these crabs?”
“Fry them!” Zhong Erwa blurted out.
Zili didn’t want to dampen his excitement but reminded him, “We don’t have any oil.”
“Qu Zhuangzhuang said fried baby crabs taste the best,” Erwa insisted. He had never eaten baby crabs before and was eager to try. He turned to Dawa. “Brother, you should make them!”
Dawa swallowed hard. “Today is the 20th. There are still ten days until next month. Do you want to eat boiled vegetables for the next ten days?”
Erwa counted on his fingers. “Oh no! Ten more days? Never mind, forget it. But Brother, I’m hungry.”
“I’m hungry too,” Sanwa chimed in. “I want fried rice.”
Dawa snorted. “I want some too.” He glared at his younger brothers. “When Mother is home, you eat whatever she makes. Now that she’s not here, you dare to start ordering food? Look at you two acting all high and mighty! I’ll steam some rice.”
“I’ll help,” Zili offered. Seeing that Dawa hadn’t lost his mind and wasted all their oil, he sighed in relief.
In the kitchen, Dawa scooped a large ladle of rice into the pot.
Zili, who arrived a step later, almost tripped in shock. “Dawa! That’s way too much! That’s enough for two meals!”
“Exactly,” Zhong Dawa replied. “Mother always says you need leftover rice to make fried rice. We’ll steam extra now and save the rest for dinner.”
Zili understood but still teased, “And you had the nerve to lecture Erwa and Sanwa just now.” He hesitated before adding, “What if Mother doesn’t make fried rice?”
“It’s hot these days. If the rice sits overnight, it’ll go bad,” Zhong Dawa explained confidently. “You and Gengsheng can tell Mother you want fried rice. She’ll make it for us.”
Zili was curious. “Why do you always make us ask?”
“Because your real parents are gone. Mother thinks you two are pitiful, so when you ask for something nice to eat, she can’t bear to refuse,” Dawa said. “If it were us, she wouldn’t agree so easily. Even if she did, Father might say no.”
In the past, Zili and Gengsheng had been afraid of angering Dawa, fearing that he would complain to Zhong Jianguo and Song Zhaodi and get them kicked out. But now, Dawa’s father was also their father, and Dawa’s mother was also their mother.
Zili was no longer afraid and finally voiced his lingering doubt. “We can ask, sure. But don’t forget, Mother told us before that half a ladle of rice is enough. If she asks why there’s so much, what will you say?”
“I’ll just say Father made too much,” Zhong Dawa answered without hesitation. Then he paused and frowned. “Wait, it’s almost noon. Why isn’t Father back yet?”
Zili sighed, exhausted. “Father said he had a meeting today and won’t be back for lunch. Now hurry up and scoop out half of that rice.”
“Don’t you want fried rice?” Zhong Dawa asked.
Zili inhaled sharply. “I do, but I’m more afraid of Mother getting mad.”
“Then let her hit us once and get it over with,” Zhong Dawa said nonchalantly, nodding in satisfaction. “It’s settled.” Then he started rinsing the rice.
At around three in the afternoon, Song Zhaodi returned home carrying a sack on her back. As soon as she stepped inside, Dawa ran out of the house to greet her.
Song Zhaodi’s heart tightened. “Zhong Dawa, did you get into trouble?”
Zhong Dawa’s expression changed slightly. Oh no, how did his mother figure it out? “No. Well, not really. It’s not exactly trouble.”
Song Zhaodi walked into the house while asking, “What happened?”
“We steamed too much rice,” Zhong Dawa said, sneaking a glance at his mother. Seeing that she wasn’t angry, he continued, “Even though we tried our best to finish it, we couldn’t.”
Song Zhaodi set down the things she was carrying and slumped into a chair. “I thought it was something serious. If there’s extra, so be it. I’ll just make fried rice for you all, it saves me the trouble of steaming rice and cooking dishes. Go get me a cup of water.”
“Okay, I’ll go.” Zili brightened up and ran toward the kitchen.
Song Zhaodi chuckled. “Were you afraid I’d be mad? It’s not a big deal. Come here and see what I bought for you all.”
“Is it something delicious?” Sanwa pounced over.
Song Zhaodi quickly reached out to catch him. “Not all of it. Dawa, Gengsheng, take everything out of the bag.”
“Mom, you bought a bunch of fabric scraps again?” Zhong Dawa opened the burlap sack and immediately saw a bundle of cloth. “Lin Zhong’s mom said fabric scraps are hard to come by. How do you always find them when you go to Hangcheng?”
Song Zhaodi replied, “Because the fabric store clerk likes me.”
“You’re lying.” Dawa picked up the fabric scraps and tossed them onto the bench. Then, he noticed several cans of powdered milk and frowned. “Mom, we’re all grown up. We don’t need to drink milk powder anymore.”
Song Zhaodi laughed. “You’re overthinking. Those are for Erwa and Sanwa.”
“Right! They’re for me.” Sanwa saw that Gengsheng had taken out the cans and immediately reached out his hands. “Gengsheng gege, give me the milk powder.”
Song Zhaodi ruffled the child’s hair. “Dawa, has Lin Zhong’s mother ever asked you where I buy my fabric scraps?”
“She has. I told her I didn’t know,” Zhong Dawa replied. “She told me to ask you. I said okay. Later, she asked me again if I had asked you, and I told her I forgot. I didn’t want to tell her anyway.” Then, he noticed something else. “Eh, Mom, why did you buy a bottle of ink?”
Song Zhaodi answered, “My calligraphy is terrible. I’ve decided to practice writing with you all.”
“Really?” Zhong Dawa asked eagerly.
Song Zhaodi nodded.
“Then I’ll teach you!” Zhong Dawa blurted out.
Zili came out carrying the water. “Mom learned calligraphy before. She doesn’t need you to teach her.”
“That was a long time ago. I’ve forgotten most of it,” Song Zhaodi said after taking a sip of water. “Take everything upstairs. When I have time, I’ll make you all some clothes.”
Zhong Dawa didn’t move. “Mom, why do you never make clothes for yourself?”
“I’d like to,” Song Zhaodi said. “First, you kids grow fast, and our family has few fabric ration coupons. Second, I don’t grow anymore. My old clothes still fit, so there’s no need for new ones. But your dad said that by the end of the year, we’ll each get two more fabric coupons. When that time comes, he and I will each get a set.”
Zhong Dawa was skeptical. “I thought we only got one fabric coupon per person per year?”
“This year, all the factories have resumed production, and there’s a lot of fabric. If they don’t sell it to us, the warehouses won’t have space to store it,” Song Zhaodi said with a smile. “If you really care about me, then wash the dishes today.”
Zhong Dawa made a funny face. “If I had known, I wouldn’t have said anything.” Then, he grabbed the milk candy and ran upstairs.
“You wouldn’t have escaped anyway,” Song Zhaodi said just as Dawa stumbled and had to grab the staircase railing to steady himself. She burst out laughing.
Zili and Gengsheng saw this and couldn’t help laughing too.
“Mom, don’t scare him. I’ll wash the dishes,” Zili offered.
Song Zhaodi glanced at him. “Did you think I didn’t mention you because I didn’t want you to wash the dishes? Sanwa is still small. The four of you brothers will take turns washing the dishes, two at a time.”
Gengsheng snickered and shot his brother a look. “Thinking too much. Overestimating yourself.” Then, he picked up the fabric scraps and bolts of cloth and ran upstairs.
Zili’s face turned red instantly.
Song Zhaodi found it hilarious. “I’m just teasing you. Washing dishes is your dad’s job. You don’t need to fight him for it. When he’s not home, you can do it. Otherwise, he comes home acting like a lord, eating, sleeping, then eating again, wiping his mouth and leaving.”
“Mom, I’m heading upstairs.” This mom of his, he really couldn’t handle her. Zili grabbed the ink and brush and hurried off before she could say another word.
Song Zhaodi had heard from Duan dasao that Liu Ping was bringing her fiancé home in a few days. She thought it wouldn’t be until November. But unexpectedly, on October 11th, in the morning, Liu Ping had already brought him back.
That morning, Song Zhaodi was planting chives while the children were doing their homework under the eaves. Suddenly, Zili said, “Who’s that?”
Song Zhaodi instinctively looked at Zili. He was holding a porcelain cup in one hand and pointing with the other. Following his finger, Song Zhaodi saw the person and smiled. “That’s your Aunt Liu Ping’s fiancé.”
“Her husband?” Dawa stood on a small stool, craning his neck to get a better look. “He’s really good-looking.”
Autumn had arrived, and the vines covering the bamboo fence had withered. Without the dense leaves blocking the view, Song Zhaodi could clearly see the Liu family’s courtyard. “Do they look like a good match?”
“What does ‘good match’ mean, Mom?” Erwa asked.
Song Zhaodi explained, “It means that when two people walk together, they look like a family at first glance. Like your dad and me.”
“Not a good match,” Erwa said bluntly. “They don’t look like a family.”
Dawa was puzzled. “Then why did Aunt Liu Ping choose him as her husband?”
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