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Soon, it was time for lunch.
Lunch was prepared by Song Qingyu.
It consisted of cornmeal porridge so thin you could see your reflection in it, and a pile of poorly fermented dough made from a mixture of sorghum, millet, bitter buckwheat, and ground sorghum stalks.
This was the entire family’s meal.
The food was placed on a grindstone in the middle of the courtyard.
According to the old Qinzhou customs, the entire family squatted around the grindstone, which was about waist-high, waiting to eat.
“Dad, come out and eat, Dad,” someone called out.
As usual, everyone had to wait for the patriarch, Grandpa Song, to join them before they could start.
Grandpa Song had a habit of drinking tea brewed in a tin can.
His daughter had to call him three times before he reluctantly set down his tea canister and slowly came out to eat.
Although Su Xiangwan had no appetite for the sour and unappealing mixed-grain buns, her stomach was empty.
Her predecessor had tried to hang herself because she was forced to eat food worse than what the donkeys were fed, nurse her child, and was caught writing letters of complaint to Song LaoEr( Song’s Second Brother).
Overcome with shame and anger, she had attempted to end it all.
Starving, Su Xiangwan grabbed a bun and began eating voraciously.
“Eat up, everyone, fill your bellies so you can get back to work,” Granny Song urged, her tone brisk.
She wore a Longines watch on her wrist—a bizarrely extravagant item in this impoverished mountain village.
“Good heavens, is this soup or plain water?” Su Xiangwan stared at the bowl of soup in her hands, dumbfounded.
“For such a poor family, having soup is already a blessing. What do you think this is, a cadre’s household? Do you think we can afford thick porridge?” Granny Song retorted.
“Lu Dan’s mom, I’ll eat the thin one; you take the thicker one,” Grandpa Song said, noticing his daughter-in-law’s watery soup.
He swapped his own thicker porridge for her bowl.
Well, Song Qingyu was always partial.
The bowl served to her father was the thickest, while everyone else’s was so thin it reflected their faces.
“Dad, you’re the main laborer in our family. You should eat the thick one,” Song Qingyu protested.
Grandpa Song gave a heavy sigh and said, “Xiangwan, eat up. Don’t mind what others say. I understand your grievances.”
Her father-in-law wasn’t a bad man. He picked up the thin porridge and slurped it down.
The way he ate seemed to inspire everyone.
Even Lu Dan and Gou Dan ate their mixed-grain buns carefully.
If a crumb fell, they would lick it off their fingers and savor it, as if it were the most delicious treat.
Little Zhizhi, her eyes bright as tiny pearls, intently watched her mother’s mouth.
Whenever Su Xiangwan drank, Zhizhi’s lips would purse as if mimicking her.
This little one was already a year old, but due to malnutrition, she looked no bigger than a seven- or eight-month-old baby.
Su Xiangwan dipped her spoon into the porridge and let Zhizhi taste it.
The child eagerly licked it up, smacking her lips noisily, as though it were a delicacy.
After finishing the mixed-grain buns and porridge, Su Xiangwan lay down in her room to rest.
As she lay quietly, she overheard Grandpa Song and Grandma Song arguing outside.
Unsurprisingly, they were arguing about her attempted suicide.
Grandma Song thought her daughter-in-law had brought shame to the family and suggested sending her back to her parents’ home.
Otherwise, when her second son returned, who knows what madness she might cause?
Grandpa Song was trying to convince her otherwise.
He reasoned that all Su Xiangwan had done was complain about feeding the donkey, which was indeed a tough chore.
His suggestion was to call Song Laosan(Third Brother) back from his in-laws’ house to help feed the donkey at night.
That way, the eldest daughter-in-law wouldn’t feel so burdened.
But Grandma Song was against it.
After all, Song Laosan living with his in-laws saved the family some food.
Why should he be asked to contribute?
Moreover, she believed her Eldest son’s death was Su Xiangwan’s fault.
He was perfectly fine working away from home until she visited him once, and then he died.
In her mind, this was proof that Su Xiangwan had a cursed fate.
Such twisted logic was impossible to reason with.
Grandpa Song usually didn’t say much, but he was tall, strong, and the only man in Songjia Village who could earn twelve work points a day.
Even at noon, he had to call Lu Dan to join him in repairing field ridges on the mountain, which could earn an extra five work points.
Before leaving, he reminded everyone repeatedly, “Make sure Xiangwan doesn’t overwork herself. She still needs to nurse the baby. And don’t bring up nonsense about her being cursed. Life and death are matters of fate—how can you blame her for Da’s death?”
Grandma Song pursed her lips but said nothing.
Lu Dan even came in to comfort his mother. “Mom, I can earn three work points this afternoon. You just rest easy. Leave everything to me.”
At only six years old, he slung a straw basket over his back and deliberately walked in a wide-legged stance.
Following his grandfather, he strutted out confidently.
In the countryside, by midday, everyone except the hardworking men would usually be taking a nap.
But just as Su Xiangwan was peacefully cuddling little Zhizhi to sleep, Grandma Song’s loud voice rang out:
“This is how we’ll split up the tasks for the afternoon: I’ll hoe the fields and earn three work points. Gou Dan will follow your mom to hoe the millet fields and earn two points. LaoEr is with his wife at her doctor’s appointment, so he’s off the hook. Qingyu and Jingui will stay home and cook for us. How about that?”
The shouting startled Su Xiangwan awake, and little Zhizhi began to cry.
Her cry wasn’t loud—more like a mouse’s squeak, since the poor child hadn’t eaten much.
Just then, a loudspeaker blared outside, playing the spirited tune of The Golden Mountain of Beijing.
It was the assembly signal.
Upon hearing it, everyone had to report to the commune, where tasks would be assigned, and work points earned collectively.
As Su Xiangwan got up to nurse Zhizhi, Grandma Song barged in. “Eldest daughter-in-law, didn’t you hear the assembly call? You should be heading to work!”
“Listen carefully, Mother,” Su Xiangwan said calmly, holding Zhizhi in her arms. “I’m trying to have a proper conversation with you, so you better listen. I don’t have any milk left, and the baby has been crying non-stop. We need to figure out a solution. Otherwise, Zhizhi will starve to death.”
She moved the tiny girl closer to her mother-in-law, showing her the child’s frail condition.
Earlier, when Su Xiangwan tried to nurse Zhizhi, the pain was excruciating.
When she pressed, what came out wasn’t milk, but a mix of red and white—a horrifying blend of blood and milk.
The baby drank it, but it caused Su Xiangwan unbearable pain.
Nursing a child with blood instead of milk—it was shocking, even terrifying.
Grandma Song instinctively wanted to scold the “useless girl,” but when she glanced up, she saw her daughter-in-law’s eyes glaring at her fiercely.
It reminded her of the wolf that had snatched her little sister when she was a child.
The wolf’s eyes had the same ferocity as Su Xiangwan’s now.
For the first time, she felt a twinge of fear. “Then what do you propose we do?”
“I need to buy her baby formula.”
Buying baby formula required special coupons, which only workers and government officials could obtain. Agricultural families like theirs had no access to such coupons.
“We don’t have formula coupons. How about I make her some mixed-grain porridge?”
Mixed-grain porridge?
For a baby barely over a year old?
Her digestive system was too weak even for fine flour, let alone coarse grains.
This woman had some truly outrageous ideas.
“If we don’t have coupons, we can still buy it on the black market. Where’s the money? I’ll use it to get high-priced formula for my daughter.”
“Money? You want to spend money? Why don’t you just eat my flesh instead? Your husband is dead, you have no income, and this family is already supporting your three children. Now you want to buy baby formula?”
She secretly thought, That cursed little girl, let her starve.
If it had been the original Su Xiangwan, she might have argued with the old woman until her voice was hoarse but ultimately would have been powerless.
But, who told Su Xiangwan that she had traveled through time?
“Alright, with what you said, I understand what I need to do.” Su Xiangwan waved her hand at the old woman and didn’t say another word.
If arguing works, why call the police?
This old woman couldn’t be dealt with by just arguing; what she needed was a societal slap.
After the old woman left, Su Xiangwan sat for a moment.
Noticing that Gou dan was still timidly standing outside the door, she asked, “Why don’t you come in and sleep?”
The little Gou Dan still wore open-crotch pants, and the marks from the broom the old lady had used to hit him earlier that morning were still visible.
The child wiped his nose, his stomach growling loudly, and with his big eyes squinting into a smile, he said, “Mom, I’m not going to sleep. I’m just watching the door for you.”
“You must be hungry, right? Otherwise, why would your stomach be growling like that?” Su Xiangwan teased.
Gou Dan waved his hand, saying, “No, and didn’t my grandma say that children without fathers are supposed to be hungry? It’s normal to be hungry, being full isn’t normal.”
As he spoke, the child rubbed his stomach hard, blew out a breath, and said, “Look, Mom, I’ve let the air out. Now my stomach won’t growl anymore.”
Actually, according to the original story, Su Xiangwan’s husband, Song Qingshan, had been mistakenly thought to have died in a plane crash, but he hadn’t actually died.
He was misidentified by the military as dead.
And as long as they got through this period, he would return.
The original character didn’t know that her husband could come back to life.
She either cried, wanted to hang herself, or even tried to marry her brother-in-law, causing her mother-in-law, Song Old Lady, to torment her to death.
But Su Xiangwan was not the original character.
She wasn’t interested in Song Laoda and didn’t care whether Song Laosan was a person, a ghost, or a dog.
What truly piqued her interest was the little Gou, Gou Dan whose stomach was growling like a puppy, loyally guarding the door for his mom.
“You’re hungry, right? Come on, let’s go find some money, I’ll buy you food and get some milk powder for our Zhizhi.” Su Xiangwan said as she took Goudan’s hand.
Gou Dan’s eyes immediately lit up. “Mom, my dad’s been dead for two years, how are we going to find money?”
Su Xiangwan smiled and replied, “The commune.”
In the 1960s and 70s, the old woman was rude and unreasonable, but the People’s Commune was a place that could be reasoned with.
This time, Su Xiangwan was going to stir up trouble at the commune to get some money for these kids.
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