Song Zhaodi immediately felt like she had punched cotton, her strength absorbed without resistance. She glared at Zhong Jianguo and snapped, “Go upstairs!”
“Huh? Oh!” Zhong Jianguo was overjoyed, quickly following her up while chattering, “Comrade Song Zhaodi, I must say, being able to marry you in this life must mean I was a great philanthropist in my past life.”
Song Zhaodi turned to glance at him, seeing his ingratiating grin. She found his flattery both infuriating and amusing. “Zhong Jianguo, you’re a regiment commander,” she reminded him. Show some dignity.
“No, no, no.” Commander Zhong shook his head. “At home, I’m just the father of the children—your husband.”
Song Zhaodi suddenly missed the Zhong Jianguo from two years ago, the one she could easily render speechless. She frowned. “Why have you become so talkative?”
“You trained me well,” Zhong Jianguo blurted out.
Song Zhaodi’s tone turned cold. “What did you just say? Repeat that.”
“I said the kids are all asleep.” Zhong Jianguo quickly pushed open the door. “Let’s talk inside, inside.”
Zili heard a loud bang and was so startled that his hands trembled. His half-removed cotton pants slipped to the floor. He instinctively turned to find Zhong Dawa, only to see him helping Sanwa take off his cotton-padded jacket, as if he hadn’t heard anything.
At nine years old, Zili was already quite sensible. He understood his family’s situation. Being taken in was a huge risk for anyone. So he never dared to cause trouble or speak carelessly, fearing that he and Gengsheng might be thrown out.
But he was still just a child. His anxiety overpowered his caution. “Dawa, your mom and dad… shouldn’t you check on them?”
“Check on what?” Zhong Dawa tucked Sanwa into bed and turned to look at him.
Gengsheng pointed outside.
Zhong Dawa waved a hand dismissively. “It’s fine. You’ll understand in time. If they go three days without arguing, it’s only because my dad is too busy with work to spare the time.”
“Are you sure?” Zili asked worriedly.
Zhong Dawa climbed onto his bed using the ladder. “I’m sure.” He lifted the blanket and wriggled inside. “Hey, my mom put in two hot water bottles for us. Get up here, it’s super warm.”
Seeing this, Zili slowly climbed up. “Do your mom and dad fight a lot?”
“They’re like little kids. One moment they argue, the next they’re fine.” Zhong Dawa pointed to the other side of the bed. “You sleep here. You’ve never slept on a bed this high before, so don’t fall off.”
Zili indeed had never slept in such a high bed before. Since Zhong Dawa seemed easy to talk to, he gathered his courage and asked, “Why don’t you call your mom ‘Mom’?”
Hearing ‘Mom’ over and over sounded strange to him. But he didn’t dare say that aloud.
Zhong Dawa lay down and tucked himself in before answering, “My mom died. My current mom isn’t my birth mother.”
Zili’s eyes widened in shock. He wasn’t convinced and hesitantly asked, “You mean, she’s your stepmother?”
“Yep.” Zhong Dawa nodded, noticing Zili’s stunned expression. “What’s wrong?”
Zili blurted out, “She doesn’t seem like it.”
“Seem like what?” Zhong Dawa blinked.
“I thought she just looked young,” Zili clarified. “What I mean is, she doesn’t seem like your stepmother. She seems like your real mom.” That was why, back in Xiao Song Village, when he heard the villagers mention Zhong Jianguo’s second marriage, he hadn’t thought much of it. “You… you seem to really like her.”
“Oh, you mean that?” Zhong Dawa understood now. “My mom is the best stepmother in the world.” Saying that, he turned his head and called down, “Erwa, isn’t that right?”
Zhong Erwa clambered up the ladder before responding, “That’s right.” Then he asked, “Big brother, what does our real mom look like? I’ve forgotten.”
Zhong Dawa thought hard but couldn’t recall her face. Panic set in. He immediately threw off his blanket, climbed down, and rummaged through a box under their clothes. He pulled out a few photographs and handed them to Erwa. “This is our real mom.”
“Oh.” Zhong Erwa studied the photo, vaguely recalling a faint image. He quickly lost interest and returned the picture to Zhong Dawa.
Sanwa reached out. “Let me see.”
“It’s our mom.” Zhong Dawa handed him the photo.
Sanwa examined it carefully. “I don’t recognise her.”
Zhong Dawa instinctively raised his hand to smack him. How could he forget their own mother? But just as he was about to strike, he remembered that Erwa had been very young when their mom passed, and Sanwa hadn’t even learned to talk yet. “Look at it a few more times, and you’ll remember.”
“Oh.” Sanwa nodded uncertainly. “Big brother, why did our real mom die?”
Zhong Dawa thought for a moment. “I don’t remember either. We’ll ask Dad tomorrow.”
“Okay.” Sanwa burrowed back into bed, then suddenly exclaimed, “Gengsheng ge, you’re so warm! Even warmer than big brother.”
Zhong Dawa put the photo away and turned around. Gengsheng hadn’t spoken a word. He reached out and felt his forehead. “Are you sick?”
“No,” Gengsheng finally spoke.
Zhong Dawa’s eyes widened. “You can talk?”
Gengsheng nodded.
“Then why don’t you talk?” Zhong Dawa frowned. “My mom said that when someone asks you something, you should answer. If you don’t want to answer, just say ‘I don’t know,’ but staying silent is rude.”
Gengsheng opened his mouth. “I understand.”
“Good! That’s how it should be.” Zhong Dawa, like a little monkey, quickly climbed back into bed. Before settling in, he reminded Zili and Gengsheng, “The chamber pot is by the wall. In the morning, use it instead of going to the toilet.”
Zili didn’t understand. “Why?”
“Mom says we save it for watering the fields.” Zhong Dawa’s eyes suddenly sparkled mischievously. “By the way, did you enjoy tonight’s lettuce and the scallion in the scrambled eggs?”
Zili nodded instinctively. “It was delicious.”
“Do you know why?” Zhong Dawa asked with a sly grin. “Because they were fertilised with our pee.”
Zili’s hands flew to his mouth, and he bolted out of bed, shoving Zhong Dawa aside as he ran.
Zhong Dawa was startled and quickly followed him. He saw Zili crouched over the chamber pot, retching. His face paled, and he shouted, “Dad! Mom! Something’s wrong!”
Zhong Jianguo immediately sat up and pushed open the kids’ room door. He saw four little faces lined up, each full of concern, while Zili was bent over, dry heaving. Zhong Jianguo hurriedly asked, “What happened?”
“I don’t know either,” Zhong Dawa said. “I was talking to him, and he suddenly threw up.”
Song Zhaodi walked in, draping a cotton coat over her shoulders. “It’s so late, why aren’t you sleeping? What were you talking about?”
“Nothing much,” Zhong Dawa said, his eyes flickering slightly.
Song Zhaodi’s expression remained blank. “Really? Zhong Dawa, I’ve told you before, I like honest children. You can lie, but only if it’s a kind lie.”
“I… I was talking about using urine to water vegetables,” Zhong Dawa lowered his head. “If I had known this would happen, I wouldn’t have said anything.”
Zhong Jianguo looked at Song Zhaodi, then at the thinly dressed Zili. “Did he get sick from disgust?”
“Of course,” Song Zhaodi tapped Dawa’s forehead. “You’re just mischievous. One day, I’m going to give you a good beating.” Then she turned to Zhong Jianguo. “Go get some water so Zili can rinse his mouth.”
“I’ll do it!” Zhong Dawa quickly volunteered.
“Stop right there!” Song Zhaodi said. “If you ever try to disgust Zili again on purpose, I’ll make your dad cook for a whole week.”
Zhong Dawa hurriedly explained, “Mom, I was just joking with Zili.” After a pause, he added, “Gengsheng was fine, though.”
“We had our heads covered and didn’t hear what Dawa ge said,” Gengsheng admitted, then looked at Song Zhaodi expectantly. “Will my brother be okay?”
“He’ll be fine,” Song Zhaodi reassured him. “Zili, crops need fertiliser, and besides animal manure, human waste can also be used as fertiliser.” She patted his back gently. “But it’s not poured directly onto the vegetables.”
Zhong Jianguo came in with a cup of water. “We all ate the vegetables tonight. Think about it—if it were really like what Dawa said, would he have eaten them? Dawa isn’t stupid.”
Zili froze, then looked up at Zhong Dawa, who was keeping his head down. realisation dawned on him. “He did it on purpose?”
“Yes,” Zhong Jianguo handed him the cup. “Take a sip and rinse your mouth. Don’t swallow it.”
Seeing Zili’s red eyes from vomiting, Zhong Dawa felt guilty. “I’m sorry, Zili.”
“It’s okay.” Zili spat out the water, handed the cup back to Zhong Jianguo, and picked up the chamber pot.
Song Zhaodi quickly stopped him. “Let your Uncle Zhong take it. You’re dressed too lightly. Get under the blankets before you catch a cold.” Then she turned to the others. “The rest of you, off to bed too. Zhong Dawa, if you act up again—”
“I’ll have to let Dad cook,” Zhong Dawa finished for her. “I swear I won’t be naughty. Go to sleep now.” He thought to himself: At most, I’ll just be mischievous when Dad isn’t home.
Song Zhaodi shot him a glare. “Go to sleep. If I hear any more nonsense, I’ll make you all get up and recite books.”
After Zhong Jianguo disposed of the chamber pot, he couldn’t help but say, “Zhong Dawa is getting naughtier by the day.” He turned to Song Zhaodi. “He’s scared of you. Next time you get the chance, you should give him a proper punishment.”
“He’s not scared of me, he’s scared of me not cooking,” Song Zhaodi replied. “If we didn’t need ration tickets for rice and oil, my salary alone could support five kids. But… Zhong Jianguo, go to the grocery store tomorrow and see if they have yams, potatoes, or sweet potatoes. If they do, buy 100 jin of each.”
Zhong Jianguo was startled. “That much?”
“Those can be staple foods,” Song Zhaodi explained. “Sweet potatoes can also be made into starch, and starch can be turned into liangfen (cold jelly noodles), which can be eaten as a side dish.”
Zhong Jianguo was curious. “How do you know all this?”
“Fifty years from now, you can find a recipe for anything you want to eat,” Song Zhaodi said. “I used to love food. When I was on a plane or eating out, I’d look up cooking shows whenever something piqued my interest. But I don’t know how to cook them myself, so I might need to ask someone.”
Zhong Jianguo nodded. “I’ll check tomorrow morning. What about breakfast?”
“After what Dawa pulled, Zili probably won’t want to eat vegetables. Buy four fish, five jin of pork bones, and some seaweed for lunch and dinner,” Song Zhaodi instructed. “For breakfast, we’ll make porridge, pancakes, and boil six salted duck eggs.”
Seeing how thoroughly she planned everything, Zhong Jianguo felt both admiration and gratitude. “You don’t have to wake up too early tomorrow—we don’t have class.”
“No, I have to go to the city tomorrow,” Song Zhaodi said.
There was no television at home, and with winter nights being long, she often went to bed around nine. After what happened with Zili, she and Zhong Jianguo still turned in before ten.
At six in the morning, she woke up feeling well-rested.
By the time she had made ten large oil pancakes, each about 40 cm in diameter, Zhong Jianguo returned. He hadn’t found yams, but he did manage to bring back 200 jin of sweet potatoes and 100 jin of potatoes, along with the pork bones and fish she had requested.
Zhong Jianguo entered the house, surprised to find the children still asleep. “Dawa, that little glutton, didn’t come down to help you with the fire?”
“It’s cold. He probably doesn’t want to get up,” Song Zhaodi replied. “You get the fire going and make some porridge. I’ll go wake them up.”
Now that the children were growing up, she no longer barged into their rooms like before. She knocked on the door. “Who is it?” came a groggy voice from inside.
“It’s me,” Song Zhaodi answered before pushing the door open. “Time for breakfast.”
“We’re getting dressed,” Zhong Dawa said, helping Sanwa into his cotton jacket. Then he waved to Zili and Gengsheng. “Let’s go.”
Like little ducklings, Zili and Gengsheng instinctively followed him.
Song Zhaodi shook her head, amused. “Dawa, after breakfast, you have to do your homework. Even if someone comes looking for you, you can’t go out to play, understand?”
“I know,” Zhong Dawa said. “But, Mom, don’t teach me math anymore.”
“Why?” Song Zhaodi was puzzled.
“Because you already taught me everything, so when the teacher goes over addition and subtraction, I don’t feel like listening. And when I don’t listen, the teacher scolds me. It’s really annoying.”
Song Zhaodi’s eyes flickered. “Dawa, can you solve all the problems in your math textbook?”
“I even know multiplication and division,” Zhong Dawa boasted. “Mom, you made me memorise the multiplication table. Since I know multiplication, of course I know addition and subtraction.”
Song Zhaodi thought for a moment. “When school starts next semester, if your teacher skips you to third grade, do you think you can keep up?”
“Probably,” Zhong Dawa said, though he wasn’t entirely sure; he didn’t know what was taught in third grade.
Song Zhaodi nodded. “Alright, I’ll teach you something else from now on.” Then she turned to Zili. “Schools in Shanghai might be different from the ones here. Yesterday, I said you should start in second grade. Are you okay with that?”
“Yes,” Zili nodded, hesitating slightly. “Actually… I haven’t been to school in half a year.”
Song Zhaodi’s brow furrowed. “That woman didn’t send you?”
“She said I couldn’t understand Shanghai dialect,” Zili said. “She told me to wait until I learned it before going to school.”
Song Zhaodi cursed internally. “Don’t worry about the past, it’s over. From now on, you’ll go with Dawa.”
“Thank you, Auntie,” Zili deliberately glanced at Song Zhaodi when he called her that.
Song Zhaodi noticed and smiled. “At home, you can call me Auntie. But when we’re outside, or if someone asks, you must say Mom and Dad.”
“I understand.” Zili pursed his lips and smiled.
Song Zhaodi patted his head and then said, “Don’t eat too much this morning. If I come back late at noon, Dawa, make some milk powder and malted milk for your brothers.”
“Mom, I’m all grown up.” Zhong Dawa waved his hand. “Don’t worry.”
Still uneasy, Song Zhaodi locked the front door before leaving to prevent the children from forgetting her instructions.
It was cold in winter, and the children didn’t really want to go outside anyway. After she left, the five little ones ran upstairs and burrowed into the blankets. Dawa took out his English book, planning to play teacher for the morning.
Zili, who could read, was surprised to see that the book was a first-year middle school textbook. He asked where it came from.
Dawa said it was Song Zhaodi’s teaching material, which surprised Zili even more. He had thought Song Zhaodi taught Chinese or math; he never imagined she was an English teacher.
Without thinking, Zili blurted this out.
Dawa immediately puffed up with pride, pulling out all his patched clothes and showing them to Zili and Gengsheng. “See these little animals? My mom cut them out. Aren’t they nice?”
“They look great.” Gengsheng, who rarely spoke, couldn’t help but comment. “Your mom is amazing.”
Dawa suddenly remembered something Song Zhaodi had once said – Zili and Gengsheng had neither a father nor a mother. He thought for a moment and said, “From now on, my mom is your mom too. Do you… do you have any clothes with holes? Give them to me, and I’ll ask Mom to patch them for you.”
“Thank you.” Zili didn’t want to trouble Song Zhaodi, but seeing the cute patches on Dawa’s clothes, he couldn’t resist. He rummaged through his and Gengsheng’s clothes, looking for any with tears.
Noticing how much Gengsheng admired him, Dawa opened the cabinet again and pulled out a pair of handmade sandals. “Look, my mom made these too!”
“These are shoes?” Zili asked uncertainly.
“Of course! They’re summer sandals, really cool and comfy. When summer comes, I’ll ask Mom to make you some too.”
“Thank you.” Zili found only four pieces of torn clothing and said regretfully, “This is all we have.”
Zhong Erwa suggested, “Then just cut a few more holes with scissors.”
“You wastrel!” Dawa glared at him, then suddenly had a realisation. “Zhong Erwa, all your clothes have holes – did you cut them yourself?”
Erwa’s expression changed. “No!”
“You definitely did!” Dawa pointed at him. “When Mom gets back, I’m telling her!”
Erwa shouted, “Don’t you dare! If you tattle, I won’t call you big brother anymore, and I won’t help you in fights!”
“I don’t need you. Zili and Gengsheng will help me.” Dawa turned to them. “Zili, Gengsheng, if I get into a fight, will you back me up?”
Zili said, “Fighting isn’t good.”
“That’s not the point. Will you help or not?” Dawa asked.
Zili replied, “Of course.”
Dawa then looked at Gengsheng. “Will you call me big brother?”
“Big Brother Dawa,” Gengsheng said.
Dawa looked smugly at Erwa. “I don’t need you as a helper.”
“Then I’ll tell Mom you’re fighting,” Erwa huffed.
Dawa frowned. “Do you want me to beat you up right now?”
“Dawa, your mom said if we misbehave, she won’t cook anything tasty for lunch,” Zili reminded him.
Dawa immediately lowered his fist and pointed at Erwa. “I’ll let you off this time.”
“If you don’t tattle, I won’t tattle either,” Erwa bargained.
Dawa agreed. “Fine.”
However, as soon as Song Zhaodi returned at noon, while helping her start the fire to steam rice, Dawa spilt everything about what Erwa had done.
Song Zhaodi simply said, “I already knew.”
The older boy, Zhong Dawa, widened his eyes in surprise. “You knew?”
“The difference between natural wear and tear and something cut by scissors is obvious,” Song Zhaodi replied. “Didn’t you notice? Whenever I use scissors, I always place them somewhere high up so Erwa can’t get to them and start cutting things, and possibly even hurt himself. But your little brother is smart. When he couldn’t find scissors at home, he went to someone else’s house to borrow them.”
Zhong Dawa immediately asked, “Then why didn’t you beat him?”
“He only ruined his own clothes, not mine,” Song Zhaodi said. “Besides, you two don’t have many clothes to begin with. When he grows up and remembers what he did, he’ll think he was pretty foolish.”
Zhong Dawa nodded. “It was foolish. By the way, Mom, where did you get so many books?”
“You must never tell anyone about the books, not even Ma Zhenxing and Lin Zhong,” Song Zhaodi said seriously.
Seeing her grave expression, Zhong Dawa nodded. “I won’t say a word from now on.”
That morning, Song Zhaodi bought five kilograms of cotton in the city. On her way back, she passed a house and noticed smoke rising from the courtyard. Peeking through a gap in the fence, she saw a few people burning books, their faces full of reluctance.
After some thought, Song Zhaodi knocked on the door. She managed to talk them into giving her the unburned books and stuffed them into the cotton before carrying everything home. However, when she checked the books, she found that they weren’t high school textbooks—they were all in traditional Chinese characters. Just looking at them for a while gave her a headache. Disappointed, she sighed.
Still, the experience gave her an idea—she could visit the library more often.
On the twenty-fifth day of the twelfth lunar month, Song Zhaodi used the excuse of buying New Year’s supplies to travel with Duan dasao to Yongcheng, the city across the sea from Wengzhou Island.
Upon arriving, they headed straight to the library. After asking around, they learned that half of the books had been destroyed, while the other half had been sent to the landfill. Without hesitation, they bought a pile of goods from the cooperative store and then made their way to the dump.
Whenever Song Zhaodi and Duan dasao went out, they dressed in ragged clothes. When they told the workers at the landfill that they were looking for some scrap paper to use as toilet paper, no one questioned them.
They rummaged through the garbage for nearly an hour and managed to recover more than twenty books. Stuffing them into a burlap sack, they carried them back to the island. Only when they arrived safely did Duan dasao finally breathe a sigh of relief. She couldn’t help but remind Song Zhaodi, “Your Uncle Liu told me that the commander thought you were kind, which is why he asked you to take in Zili and Gengsheng. But if anyone finds out about what we did today, Xiao Song—”
“Auntie, no one will know except you,” Song Zhaodi assured her. “When I hand the high school textbooks to the principal, I’ll just say they belonged to a classmate or me.”
Duan dasao suddenly remembered something. “Wait, what happened to your own high school textbooks?”
“They were borrowed by others,” Song Zhaodi said. “The year I got into university, everyone in the village was envious. They wanted to raise a college student of their own, but they also wanted to save money on books, so they borrowed mine.” She shrugged. “They never returned them, and since I didn’t need them anymore, I didn’t bother asking.”
Duan dasao frowned. “Then why are you suddenly teaching middle school students things they’re only supposed to learn in high school?”
“I used to teach Dawa some basic arithmetic when I had free time. One day, he told me that because I had already taught him, he understood everything his teacher taught,” Song Zhaodi explained. “That got me thinking. If the teacher covered more advanced material, Dawa wouldn’t have said that.
“So I figured, when the kids from our island go to high school one day, if their high school teachers don’t take teaching seriously, they can at least study on their own if they’ve already learned some of the material in middle school.”
Duan dasao was impressed. “Xiao Song, you really think ahead.”
“I just have a feeling the country won’t stay like this forever,” Song Zhaodi said. “Maybe it’s because I’ve studied too much, I tend to overthink things. Oh, by the way, Auntie, next time you see Commander Zhao’s wife, tell her to stop giving us oil and grain ration tickets.”
Duan dasao had given Song Zhaodi two jin of oil tickets a few days ago, and she had seemed quite happy at the time. “Why refuse them now?”
“Every time they send things through you, it reminds Zili and Gengsheng that they’re only guests in our home,” Song Zhaodi said. “I want the boys to see the Zhong family as their real home, not to worry about being kicked out one day, like what happened before. Besides, Jianguo and I both earn good wages. We can afford to support a few extra children.”
Duan dasao hesitated. “Are the boys unhappy about it?”
“After you left last time, they were quiet for a long time. I think they’re worried about how long they can stay with us,” Song Zhaodi recalled. “Honestly, I never wanted to take in so many children, but now that they’re with us, I have to take responsibility for them.”
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