Zili smiled bitterly. “Dawa, you just said I was your good brother.”
“I never said you weren’t,” Zhong Dawa replied, confused. “Why would you think that?”
Song Zhaodi explained, “You call Zili your brother, yet you say he got played. Is that how a brother treats another?”
“But I was just telling the truth,” Zhong Dawa said. “Do you want me to say Zili has played cat’s cradle before and only keeps losing to Sanwa because he doesn’t know how? The fact is, Zili is clumsy, and Sanwa keeps winning.”
Zili was speechless. “Dawa, I’m not clumsy.”
“Fine, then your hands are clumsy,” Dawa corrected himself before turning to Song Zhaodi. “Mom, is that better?”
Song Zhaodi replied, “Ask Zili. I’m not him, so I can’t answer for him.”
“Zili, are you clumsy, or are your hands clumsy?” Dawa pressed on.
Zili didn’t want to talk anymore and simply stuffed a dumpling into his mouth.
Song Zhaodi was surprised and glanced at Zhong Jianguo. This child actually knew how to sulk?
Zhong Jianguo was also taken aback. He handed Song Zhaodi a chive pocket. “Eat while it’s warm.”
Song Zhaodi broke it in half and returned one piece. “I can’t finish it.”
“Mom, I finished five dumplings,” Zhong Sanwa tugged at Song Zhaodi’s sleeve. “I’m still hungry.” Before she could respond, he added, “I don’t like dumplings.”
“I’ll make you a bowl of powdered milk then,” Song Zhaodi offered.
Zhong Sanwa was stunned. Since when did their family have so much food?
“I don’t want powdered milk either,” he quickly said, afraid that if he hesitated, Song Zhaodi would really go and prepare it.
Song Zhaodi followed his lead. “Then your powdered milk can go to your brothers.”
“No way!” Zhong Sanwa blurted out.
Song Zhaodi often told the children how good milk was for their health. Before the New Year, she had bought five packs of powdered milk, one for each child.
Sanwa didn’t want to drink milk because none of the other kids his age on the island did. But he still wanted to grow taller, so he treasured his pack while always scheming to take some from his older brothers.
In his mind, if he drank more than his brothers, he’d grow faster and soon be as tall as them.
Song Zhaodi and Zhong Jianguo knew about his little plans. Since Dawa willingly let Sanwa take his share, they chose not to interfere.
Knowing this, Song Zhaodi deliberately brought up the milk. “Then have some chive pockets instead.”
“Mom…” Sanwa threw himself into her arms.
Song Zhaodi quickly caught him. “Alright, I hear you.”
“Mom, I’m going to cry,” Sanwa looked up at her, his eyes dry but full of mischief.
Song Zhaodi responded, “Even if you cry, I can’t do anything. Your brother finished all the tofu skins.”
“All gone?” Sanwa was stunned. Realising what she meant, he turned sharply and saw that the plate was empty. His eldest brother, Zhong Dawa, was dipping a dumpling in sauce. “Mom!”
Song Zhaodi said, “You only wanted to eat them cold, I know. But, Zhong Sanwa, you’re only three years old. Your stomach is weak. If you eat too many oily chive pockets and then raw vegetables, you’ll get diarrhoea. When you’re older, I’ll make as many as you want.”
Sanwa wanted to say he wouldn’t want them even when he grew up.
Zhong Jianguo cleared his throat, and the child quickly sat back down, pushing his bowl toward Song Zhaodi.
She placed three dumplings in it. “Is that enough?”
Sanwa pouted but reluctantly nodded.
Song Zhaodi didn’t say more, unwilling to let him think acting cute could always get him what he wanted.
The next day, the thirteenth day of the first lunar month, the Zhong family didn’t cook a big meal. They finished the dumplings from the previous day for breakfast and lunch, then had spinach soup and chive pockets for dinner.
Song Zhaodi had already promised the children braised pork for the Lantern Festival, so on the fourteenth, she didn’t buy any meat. The family managed with vegetables and pickled foods for the day.
On the fifteenth, the morning of the Lantern Festival, Song Zhaodi took her little troop of children to the food supply store, immediately attracting attention.
Some people looked at them with sympathy, some with admiration, and others with schadenfreude.
Song Zhaodi didn’t care what they thought.
In her past life, she had been helped by influential people, leading others in the industry to mock her for climbing onto an old man’s bed. Later, when she designed clothes for her benefactor’s children, people realised she had strong connections and stopped spreading nasty rumors.
Compared to that, these judgmental looks seemed trivial to her.
Besides, if she hadn’t transmigrated to a rural village in the 1960s, no matter how smart and adorable Zhong Jianguo’s kids were, or how high his status was as a regiment commander, she wouldn’t have married him.
But that was a tangent.
At the pork stall, she handed over five pounds’ worth of ration coupons and cash to the butcher.
The man hesitated. “Teacher Song, there are still ten days left in the month.”
It was February 20 on the solar calendar. Song Zhaodi thanked him for the reminder and said, “The kids want to eat it all at once, so we’ll just finish it now instead of thinking about it every day.”
“You really spoil them,” the butcher commented. He had heard that Teacher Song doted on children, but he hadn’t quite believed it. Yet Zhong Jianguo and Song Zhaodi often came to buy fish, duck and big soup bones, proving the rumors true.
In recent years, the government had promoted ‘learning from Comrade Lei Feng’, and the food supply store had even held study sessions about it. But times were hard, and though people wanted to help those in need, they often lacked the means to do so.
Many workers at the store admired Song Zhaodi, she not only cared for Zhong Jianguo’s three children but had also taken in two more. The butcher was one of those who respected her.
Seizing a moment when no one was looking, he casually placed the meat on the scale and loudly announced, “Exactly five pounds, Teacher Song. Here you go.”
“Thank you,” Song Zhaodi said. She didn’t know how to use a scale, but she understood that if the balance bar was level, it was accurate. If it tipped upward, there was extra. One glance told her he had given her more than five pounds.
To avoid drawing attention, she quickly tossed the meat into her basket and picked up Sanwa before heading to buy fish.
Meanwhile, Zhong Dawa, clutching fifty cents, led his brothers to buy vegetables.
About half an hour later, a family of six gathered at the door.
A moment later, Zhong Jianguo arrived in a jeep.
Seeing the basket on the ground filled with vegetables and Dawa carrying a small basket on his back, Zhong Jianguo was surprised. “Why did you buy so much?”
“Because we have a big family.” Dawa pointed at Gengsheng and Erwa. “You two go back with Dad and Sanwa. We still have something to do.”
Erwa asked, “Are you going to buy food?”
Song Zhaodi nodded slightly. “Yes.”
“Then go ahead.” Erwa wasn’t interested in food. His parents treated everyone fairly, so he never had to fight for it, whatever was his wouldn’t end up in his brother’s stomach. He grabbed Gengsheng and climbed into the jeep.
Zhong Jianguo reminded, “Dawa, give me your basket too.”
“There’s nothing in my basket.” Zhong Dawa waved his hand. “Dad, you all should head back first.”
Song Zhaodi smiled. “We’re going to the supply and marketing cooperative, not doing anything bad.”
Dawa was bold. He wanted to go to the seaside to pick up sea snails and crabs. Zili was afraid he’d sneak off alone, so while Dawa wasn’t around, Zili told Song Zhaodi.
Song Zhaodi also worried that Dawa, the little foodie, would go to the sea. In the morning, when Dawa helped her tend the fire while cooking, she promised to take him to the fishermen’s homes to trade for sea snails and crabs.
Ration tickets for oil, fabric and meat were scarce, and Song Zhaodi didn’t want to use them. So she went to the supply and marketing cooperative and bought a pound of sugar to put in her basket. Then, she took the two kids to a reputable fisherman’s home, someone Dawa knew.
The island’s fishermen frequently went out to sea, so their homes were never short of sea snails and crabs. Song Zhaodi was in luck. When she arrived, she saw a basin of scallops and a basin of crabs.
She was surprised. Upon asking, she learned that since it was the Lantern Festival, the island’s fishermen had gone out to sea the night before and had just returned that morning.
As she took out the sugar, she explained her intentions.
At that time, private transactions weren’t allowed, but bartering was permitted.
The fishermen weren’t lacking in seafood. Seeing Song Zhaodi’s sincerity, and knowing their younger family members often played with the Zhong children, they gave her about ten crabs and half a basin of scallops. They even wanted to give her a ribbonfish.
Song Zhaodi declined, saying the kids couldn’t eat ribbonfish, and they had already bought bass. The fisherman took the fish back, but the four or five pounds of scallops and ten crabs still surprised Song Zhaodi.
At noon, she steamed the crabs, stir-fried the scallops, made braised pork, cooked bass with tofu and stir-fried some yam. The whole family ate their fill. Then, she asked Dawa to go to the fisherman’s house again.
Dawa instinctively asked, “Mom, are we trading again?”
“Stop dreaming.” Song Zhaodi said, “Eating like this at noon only happens once or twice a year. There are two pots of pickled garlic cloves and carrot greens in the cabinet. You and Zili take them over.”
Dawa refused to move. “Mom, you don’t even want to eat that stuff yourself, and now you’re asking me to give it to them? I’m not going. If you want, you go.”
“When did I say I didn’t want to eat it?” Song Zhaodi glared. “Hurry up!”
Zhong Dawa remained unmoved. “Not going.”
“Dawa, listen.” Zhong Jianguo rubbed his full belly and stood up. “The island’s fishermen go out to sea all the time. While they’re out, they only have steamed rice and their own pickled vegetables to get by.
“We just ate garlic cloves and shredded carrots this morning, so it’s not like we’re giving them something we don’t eat. Besides, your mom just pickled those this noon; it’s not leftovers.”
Dawa muttered, “Mom said this morning that she didn’t want to eat it.”
“She said that because she’s been eating it all winter. Even if it were meat, you’d get sick of it too.” Zhong Jianguo explained, “Zili, bring out the vegetables.”
Zili tugged on Dawa’s sleeve. “Come on.”
Still, Dawa didn’t move. “Mom, let me pick some fresh vegetables, and I’ll go.”
Song Zhaodi laughed. “Pick whichever lettuce or spinach you think looks good. Take the hoe and cut as much as you want.”
Dawa was delighted but suddenly realised, “I shouldn’t cut too much. We still need to eat, too.”
Zhong Jianguo found his eldest son incredibly annoying and had the urge to kick him into the sea. “You’re the one who wanted to cut vegetables, and now you’re the one reluctant. Are you going or not? If not, I’ll send Erwa.”
“I’ll go, I’ll go, right now.” Zhong Dawa hurriedly told Zili to carry the pickled vegetables while he grabbed a small hoe to cut spinach and lettuce.
More than half an hour later, Dawa returned, dropped the basket, and collapsed onto a chair.
Song Zhaodi noticed his sluggish movements and weak expression. She also saw water dripping from the basket. Instantly realising what had happened, she deliberately asked, “Dawa, what’s wrong?”
Zhong Dawa waved weakly. “Don’t talk to me. I don’t want to talk.”
“Gege, did someone bully you?” Sanwa ran over. “Tell me who it was.”
Song Zhaodi asked, “Are you going to help your brother fight? Sanwa, come here.”
“Da ge must be sick,” Erwa guessed. “Zili, there’s medicine in the upstairs drawer. Give him a pill, and he’ll be fine.”
Zhong Dawa lifted his leg and kicked Erwa away. “You’re the one who’s sick. Get lost.”
“You get lost!” Erwa stumbled but retaliated with a kick before hiding behind Gengsheng.
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