Song Zhaodi thought to herself—she had nowhere else to go even if she didn’t return. “I know, I won’t delay your important matters.”
In her past life, Liu Ling had been a Shencheng native. Later, she moved to the capital, then travelled all over the world, spending half the year living in hotels. Yet, she still had a special attachment to Shencheng.
She didn’t want to stay in Shencheng for half a day just for a shopping spree—she simply wanted to see what the city had looked like a century ago.
The road conditions were poor and the bus moved slowly. By the time Zhong Jianguo and Song Zhaodi reached Binhai City, it was past eight o’clock and the darkness was so deep one couldn’t see their hand in front of them.
The train was scheduled to depart at nine. Zhong Jianguo carried a large cloth bundle made of patched-together fabric in one hand while grabbing Song Zhaodi’s arm with the other, hurrying straight to the railway station.
When they arrived, Zhong dasao, who had initially wanted to take a good look at Song Zhaodi, quickly shoved the child in her arms and the bag in her hands.
Song Zhaodi instinctively took them. It wasn’t until she realised there was a child in her arms and a bag hanging from her arm that she froze in bewilderment. “Zhong—Jianguo?”
“What is it?” Zhong Jianguo glanced at her. Before Song Zhaodi could say anything, he continued, “Take this back basket. You’ll carry Sanwa on your back and hold Dawa’s hand. I’ll carry Erwa and these bags.”
Song Zhaodi looked down. Apart from the large cloth bag she had brought, there was another big bag at Zhong Jianguo’s feet—and two children.
Zhong dasao explained, “The bag contains clothes and shoes for the three of them, as well as diapers for Sanwa. Dameizi1, the bag you’re holding has food I bought for you. There isn’t much to eat on the train, so keep this for the journey.”
“Thank you, saozi.” Song Zhaodi forced a smile. She couldn’t help but think of a skit from Spring Festival Gala Classic Sketch Review—The Guerrilla Squad for Having Extra Children2. Back then, she had mocked the scriptwriters, sketch actors and the people of the 1980s. She never expected that one day, she’d be in a similar situation herself. “Dawa, come over here.”
The child held onto Zhong Jianguo’s hand, looking at Song Zhaodi timidly.
Seeing this, Zhong dasao walked over to Zhong Jianguo and gave the child a gentle push. “Dawa, go to your mother. Be good, the train is coming soon.”
The child acted as if he hadn’t heard her, turning around to give Song Zhaodi the back of his head.
Song Zhaodi turned to Zhong da ge. “Da ge, give me Erwa.”
“Let Jianguo carry him.” Zhong da ge looked at his eldest nephew. “Dawa, if you don’t behave, Uncle won’t spoil you anymore.”
Song Zhaodi said, “It’s fine, I often do heavy work at home, I’ve got plenty of strength.” As she spoke, she stretched out her hands.
Zhong dasao was very pleased with Song Zhaodi’s attitude and shot Zhong Jianguo a look—this wife was a good one. “Jianguo, give your da ge the tickets. We’ll help you board.”
With three children and two big bags of luggage, getting on the train was indeed a hassle, so Zhong Jianguo didn’t stand on ceremony.
He took out the tickets, picked up the two big bags and just then, the distant sound of clang-clang echoed in the air.
Song Zhaodi instinctively turned her head towards the noise. At the sight before her, her vision darkened.
An old train with hard seats, freezing in winter and scorching in summer—this journey was going to wear her out.
“What are you looking at, Zhaodi?” Zhong Jianguo took a few steps forward, only to realise his newlywed wife hadn’t followed. “Hurry up and get on the train.”
With a heavy heart, Song Zhaodi carried the youngest child on her back, held the second child in her arms and stepped onto the southbound train. The excitement of ‘escaping’ Xiao Song Village vanished completely and her good mood plummeted.
“What’s wrong?” Zhong dasao, holding Dawa, turned her head and noticed that Song Zhaodi didn’t look right. “Are you feeling unwell?”
Song Zhaodi forced a smile. “No, I just didn’t expect there to be so many people. The smell must be awful.”
Zhong dasao stood on her tiptoes and looked around. “There aren’t that many people; the train isn’t even full. If the smell bothers you, tell Jianguo to open the window.” She had initially thought that carrying the children had tired Song Zhaodi out. Now that she heard this, she found it odd. The smell inside the train was nothing compared to the countryside, where there were latrines, pigsties and manure pits everywhere. “Next time, switch to a ship. It’s much more comfortable—fewer people and less bumpy.”
As she climbed onto the train, Song Zhaodi asked, “Saozi, have you travelled by ship before?”
“When your da ge and I went to pick up the three kids, we took a ship.” Zhong dasao handed the child over to Zhong Jianguo, while Zhong da ge passed the tickets to the conductor. Then, the couple hurried off the train.
Zhong Jianguo had no time for farewells. He sat the eldest child down, then took the second child from Song Zhaodi’s arms. Once the family of five was settled, the train set off.
Song Zhaodi patted the rock-hard seat and couldn’t help but ask, “How long do we have to sit here?”
“We’ll arrive at dawn,” Zhong Jianguo replied.
Song Zhaodi’s vision went black. She asked in disbelief, “Ten hours?”
“How could it be that fast? Keep your voice down, people are staring at us.” Zhong Jianguo noticed a few passengers lifting their heads and frowned slightly. “Thirty hours.”
Song Zhaodi’s face changed dramatically. She let out a low gasp. “Thirty hours?!”
“Yes.” Zhong Jianguo didn’t understand why she was so shocked. “A ship would be quicker, but there’s only one direct route from Binhai to Shencheng every two days. The last one left this morning.”
As he spoke, he noticed that Song Zhaodi’s expression had worsened. He suddenly realised something. “Do you get motion sickness?”
Song Zhaodi, utterly drained, muttered, “My lower back is bad… Sitting for thirty hours… I’m afraid my back will break.”
“If you get too tired, I’ll stand up and walk around. You can lie down on the seat for a bit.” Zhong Jianguo held the youngest in his left arm and the second child in his right, then turned to the eldest. “Have you had dinner?”
The child instinctively glanced at Song Zhaodi.
Song Zhaodi had never spent much time with children, so she opened the bag Sister-in-law Zhong had given her, took out an egg, peeled it in a few quick moves and handed it to the child. “Do you want to eat this?”
The child turned to Zhong Jianguo.
Zhong Jianguo, seeing how his eldest son, usually as fierce as a dragon, was now acting like a timid kitten, almost laughed. “Take it and say thank you.”
“Thank you.” The child snatched the egg and quickly spat out the words.
Finding this amusing, Song Zhaodi deliberately teased him. “What did you say? I didn’t hear you clearly.”
The child froze for a moment, glanced at Song Zhaodi, then turned his head towards Zhong Jianguo, as if questioning whether the stepmother he had been given was deaf.
“Your voice was too soft, I didn’t hear it either,” Zhong Jianguo reminded him. “When you say thank you, you should mean it. Say it louder.”
The child lowered his head, broke the egg in half, stuffed the egg white into his mouth and handed the yolk to Zhong Jianguo. After swallowing, he said, “I want to sleep, Dad.”
“Let your mother hold you while you sleep,” Zhong Jianguo said, nodding towards Song Zhaodi.
The child’s whole body tensed. “I’m heavy.”
“I’m strong, I don’t mind,” Song Zhaodi said with a smile. “Come and sit on my lap.” She stretched out her arms.
The child’s peripheral vision caught sight of them and he quickly grabbed onto Zhong Jianguo’s arm.
Zhong Jianguo’s hand jerked, nearly tossing his youngest son.
Song Zhaodi was startled and quickly took the youngest child into her arms.
Now free-handed, Zhong Jianguo smacked the eldest on the head. “Did you not see I was holding your little brother?”
The child was startled too, pursed his lips, then glared at Zhong Jianguo. “You’re my stepfather. I don’t want you anymore.”
“Yes, I’m your stepfather,” Zhong Jianguo pointed at the baby sleeping soundly in Song Zhaodi’s arms. “Is he also your stepbrother, then?”
The child was momentarily speechless.
Zhong Jianguo patted his leg. “Come here, I’ll hold you. If you don’t behave, I’ll get the belt.”
“Keep your voice down, everyone’s asleep,” Song Zhaodi interjected. Though the child was indeed being difficult, she didn’t directly intervene, choosing instead to remind Zhong Jianguo to ease up.
Zhong Jianguo gave a small nod and lowered his voice. “You’re not used to holding them. If you get tired, let me know.”
Under normal circumstances, Song Zhaodi wouldn’t have believed him. But her older sister’s youngest son was just a few months older than Zhong Jianguo’s youngest. One time, she had played with her nephew for a short while and the next day, both her arms ached so badly she could barely lift them. “I know. You rest for a bit. I’m not sleepy yet, I’ll watch over them for you.”
Thirty hours without sleep wasn’t a big deal for Zhong Jianguo—he’d gone two days and nights without rest before while staying highly alert.
Seeing how understanding Song Zhaodi was, he didn’t argue. “Alright, I’ll nap for a bit.”
An hour later, Song Zhaodi’s back was sore and she wanted to get up and stretch. Seeing that Zhong Jianguo’s eyes were shut, she didn’t wake him to take over with the children. She gently placed the child in her arms onto the seat, then opened the large bag packed with clothes. She pulled out five pieces of clothing and quickly fashioned a makeshift baby carrier.
Zhong Jianguo, still holding two children, hadn’t dared to fully fall asleep. He heard rustling noises and opened his eyes. The carriage lights had already been switched off, making it difficult to see what Song Zhaodi was doing. But since she seemed very focused, he said nothing.
After a while, he saw that she had strapped the youngest child to her chest. Then she started massaging her waist, stretching her arms and kicking her legs. Zhong Jianguo chuckled silently and closed his eyes again.
The hard-seat train was nothing like what Song Zhaodi had known in her past life. She had only ridden the underground and school buses before—both of which were smooth, stable and relatively quiet, with minimal odours.
But this old train was a different world altogether. It clattered on relentlessly, the carriage reeked of all sorts of smells and the seats had stiff, unyielding backs with no curve at all. Song Zhaodi eyed her seat and decided she’d rather stand.
Zhong Jianguo had bought three tickets, so their family had an entire bench to themselves. With Song Zhaodi refusing to sit, half the bench remained empty. She stared at the space for a moment, then gently placed the youngest child back onto the seat. She rummaged through the big bag, pulling out two pairs of trousers and a padded jacket.
Hearing rustling again and spotting Song Zhaodi crouched on the floor, Zhong Jianguo was baffled. It was past ten—was this woman not tired?
Song Zhaodi’s internal clock was set from midnight to six in the morning. Ten o’clock was when she was at her most awake. Bored, she used the trousers to create a barrier around the bench, then nestled the youngest child in her arms. Next, she carefully lifted Zhong Jianguo’s eldest into the space and, after that, placed the second child beside him.
With his arms finally empty, Zhong Jianguo stopped pretending to be asleep. “What are you doing?”
“You’re awake?” Song Zhaodi looked surprised.
Zhong Jianguo thought, After all your fussing, even a dead man would have woken up. Instead, he asked knowingly, “Where are the eldest and second?”
“They’re here.” She pointed. “I was worried they’d roll off, so I took out the padded jacket and put it between the trousers. No matter how much they toss and turn, they won’t fall off.” Song Zhaodi was quite pleased with her creation. “Now go back to sleep.”
The whole bench was occupied—Zhong Jianguo at one end, the two boys in the middle, safely enclosed. “And where are you going to sit?”
“There are plenty of empty seats on the train,” Song Zhaodi replied nonchalantly. “If I get tired, I’ll find a spot to rest. By the way, are they really just called Eldest, Second and Third?”
Zhong Jianguo said, “The eldest was born in ’62, during the nationwide famine. My former mother-in-law believed that a humble name would help him survive, so she named him Jianqiang (Strong). The second one is called Kangsheng (Resistant to hardships) and the youngest was born in the south, so he’s called Xiangnan (Towards the south). Their mother named the second and third children.”
“Your previous wife sure knew how to name children,” Song Zhaodi remarked with an implicit meaning.
Zhong Jianguo glanced at her. “Not as well as you, Zhaodi3.”
Song Zhaodi was momentarily choked by his response. “Then why do you call them Dawa, Erwa and Sanwa instead of Jianqiang, Kangsheng and Xiangnan?”
“If you’re so full of energy, go find the train attendant and get me some water.” Zhong Jianguo’s expression shifted slightly as he pulled out a palm-sized porcelain mug from his bag as if by magic.
Song Zhaodi sneered, “Getting angry out of shame.” She grabbed the well-worn mug, dumped out the biscuits inside and went off to find the train attendant.
Zhong Jianguo glanced at his two sleeping sons, confirmed they wouldn’t fall and closed his eyes to relax.
Song Zhaodi returned with steaming hot water. Seeing Zhong Jianguo leaning his head against the glass with his eyes shut, she playfully threw two shadow punches in his direction.
The man sitting across from them chuckled. “What’s your relationship with him?”
“I’m his second wife,” Song Zhaodi stated matter-of-factly. “A stepmother—of three, no less. Bet you haven’t seen that before.”
The man replied, “Never. But you seem pretty happy about it.”
“You’ve got the wrong impression.” Song Zhaodi listened to Zhong Jianguo’s steady breathing, ensuring he was sound asleep, before continuing with a sigh. “I had no choice. Hey, comrade, are you heading to Shencheng too?”
The man had been about to doze off when Song Zhaodi’s voice pulled him back. Then Zhong Jianguo spoke and his drowsiness vanished entirely. He shuffled further inside his seat and gestured for Song Zhaodi to sit down and chat. “I’m getting off at the next stop.”
“Not bad. Unlike me, who has to endure thirty hours on this train.” Song Zhaodi sighed again.
The man was curious. “Why did you stop saying ‘an’?”
“He doesn’t like it. My dad, mum and sister all speak that way, but since I’ll be dealing with him often, he’d better get used to it sooner.” Not really. Song Zhaodi had no habit of pouring her heart out to strangers, so she changed the subject. “Are you a worker, comrade?”
The man waved his hand. “No, I’m an accountant at a state-owned factory. A few days ago, I received a telegram from home. The Red Guards are stirring up trouble, so I plan to move my parents to Binhai.”
“Your family—” Song Zhaodi abruptly stopped and lowered her voice. “Has issues?”
The man was quite talkative, but Song Zhaodi’s destination and the three children in tow meant that even if she knew his family’s whereabouts, she couldn’t possibly harm them. “My father was the son of a landlord and my mother studied abroad.”
“Studied abroad? Then taking them to the factory won’t protect them. You’ll be implicated too.” Song Zhaodi hinted, “You’re underestimating the situation.”
The man instinctively sat up straighter, his expression wary. He lowered his voice. “Do you know something?”
“I don’t. Just guessing.” Song Zhaodi said, “If you want to keep your parents safe, find a way to get all of you sent to the countryside for labour reform. Come to our village—it’s a good choice. Hongya Town, Xiao Song Village. Not Da Song Village, Xiao Song Village.”
The man scrutinised Song Zhaodi. The carriage was too dim to read her expression clearly. He probed, “Why help me?”
“A rose given, fragrance lingers4.” Even she didn’t believe herself.
In her past life, Liu Ling was fortunate to meet a benefactor. Later, when she made something of herself and wanted to repay them, the benefactor told her that the best way to repay kindness was to help others in turn.
Liu Ling had scoffed at the idea but didn’t want to disappoint the benefactor, so she told herself she’d lend a hand when she could. “Your mother studied abroad. Our village school lacks a foreign language teacher. I’m a university graduate and I know that education is the only way for rural people to change their fate. That’s how I changed mine. Our village respects educated people.”
The man was incredulous. “And your so-called changed fate is becoming a stepmother? Do you take me for the child in your arms?”
“I have unconventional interests.” Song Zhaodi smiled nonchalantly. “Believe me or not, it’s up to you.”
The man felt like she was talking nonsense, but she had even quoted an Indian proverb5, which made her seem oddly credible.
Bang!
Song Zhaodi sprang up and followed the noise, finding Zhong Jianguo groggily rubbing his head. She burst into laughter. “Slept yourself into confusion?”
“Why are you still awake?” Zhong Jianguo looked up to see a pair of bright, star-like eyes. “What time do you usually rest?”
Song Zhaodi made something up. “Midnight. I sleep when the chickens wake and wake when the pigs do. Hey, your son’s awake.”
Zhong Jianguo was about to retort that she was calling people pigs, but then he saw the little one stirring in her arms. “Probably hungry.”
“I don’t have milk.” Song Zhaodi handed the child over. “You feed him.”
Zhong Jianguo: “I don’t have milk either!”
“So what now?” Song Zhaodi blurted.
The man opposite them couldn’t stand it anymore. “What do you usually feed him?”
“Oh, biscuits!” Zhong Jianguo said. “The water you fetched—soak some biscuits for Sanwa.”
Song Zhaodi suddenly remembered. “Right, there were biscuits in the porcelain mug, near Dawa.” She rummaged through their things, pulled out a biscuit and placed it in the water under the moonlight. “Ah? It dissolved completely?”
“This type melts instantly in water,” the man explained. “Don’t you have a spoon? Scoop a bit of water, break off some biscuit and feed him that way.”
Zhong Jianguo recalled that his previous wife used to do just that. “Zhaodi, there should be a spoon in the bag.”
“Dad, are we there yet?”
Zhong Jianguo heard his eldest son’s voice. “Not yet. Stay put, I’m feeding your brother.”
“Dad, I need to pee.” The child tried to get up. “Dad, I can’t move.”
Zhong Jianguo: “Zhaodi, give me the spoon and biscuits and pass me that pouch. Take Dawa to relieve himself.”
Song Zhaodi pulled the child out, led him to the toilet and helped him with his trousers. Noticing that he kept his head down, avoiding her gaze, she raised an eyebrow and deliberately asked, “Dawa, am I good to you?”
“I won’t call you Mom,” the child blurted out, afraid that she’d demand it next. “I only have one Mom.”
- A familiar way to address a younger female relative or close acquaintance in some Chinese dialects. ↩︎
- The Spring Festival Gala is a highly popular Chinese television event broadcast annually on CCTV since 1983. “The Guerrilla Squad for Having Extra Children” (超生游击队) is a well-known comedic skit that satirises China’s family planning policies. ↩︎
- Zhaodi (招娣): lit. ‘beckoning a younger brother’. Traditionally implies the hope for a male child. Families who wanted a son named a daughter this in the belief that it would bring good fortune for a future male sibling. ↩︎
- A rose given, fragrance lingers” (赠人玫瑰，手有余香): proverb meaning that kindness benefits both the giver and the receiver. It suggests that doing good deeds leaves a lasting sense of warmth and fulfilment. ↩︎
- I looked this up – I’m Indian and I’ve never heard of such a proverb. The sources on the internet say that this is mainly Chinese, so I’m not sure. ↩︎
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