Chapter 21: Winter’s Grip and the Struggle for Warmth

After seeing her son and daughter-in-law off early in the morning, Mother He found herself unable to fall back asleep.

A biting wind seeped through the cracks in the door, causing Wan Xu to frown in her sleep and curl deeper into her quilt.

“Grandma,” He Xingchen murmured groggily, opening his eyes to see her sitting on the edge of the kang. “Cold.”

Mother He quickly draped her own worn bedding over the two of them.

The cold had arrived so early, even before the lunar twelfth month had begun. Mother He worried that the quilts she had left at home might not be enough to withstand the full force of winter.

If only we had some cotton, she thought. Adding some to these old quilts would make them much warmer.

Lost in thought about how to earn more money, Mother He unconsciously sat by the kang until dawn.

After breakfast, she shouldered her bamboo basket and prepared to head into the mountains.

There were no wild fruits left at this time of year, only firewood to be gathered. Mother He wanted to chop as much as possible before the snow fell, knowing that firewood prices would rise sharply once winter truly set in.

The more she stockpiled, the more she could sell to buy cotton.

“Mother, I’ll go too,” He Ningwen called out, hearing the commotion outside. She hastily set down her embroidery needle. “Sister-in-law, I’ll leave my work here. I’ll come back to finish it later.”

Wan Xu placed her half-embroidered handkerchief in a small bamboo basket, smiling and nodding. “Go on, but dress warmly so you don’t freeze.”

“I know!” He Ningwen wiped her runny nose with a handkerchief and hurried out of the house.

Mother He was already packed up in the courtyard. Seeing her youngest daughter rush out, determined to join her on the mountain, she felt a pang of sympathy but scolded, “Don’t go. Stay home and do embroidery with your sister-in-law. The mountain paths are rough, and you can’t carry firewood. You’ll only get in my way.”

Normally, He Ningwen would have given up at these words. But now, the thought of earning money filled her with determination.

Though embroidery brought income, she couldn’t even finish a single handkerchief in a whole day. It was far more profitable to gather firewood; a single bundle earned more than a finished handkerchief.

“Mother, please let me come with you. I’m so bored with embroidery all day,” He Ningwen pleaded, shouldering her bamboo basket before Mother He could refuse.

Unable to dissuade her, Mother He had no choice but to take her along.

Despite the cold season, many villagers were heading up the mountain, all hoping to gather extra firewood to sell.

Along the way, Mother He encountered four or five families. The villagers glanced up, recognized her, and quickly lowered their heads without a word.

Mother He, long accustomed to such encounters, found a spot with plenty of dry wood and began to take off her basket.

“Hey, hey, you can’t be here! Can’t you see someone’s already here? Why are you crowding around?”

The woman speaking had one hand on her hip and the other brandishing a cleaver. Though her face was thin and pale, she exuded a sharp, mean-spirited air.

Mother He refused to move. She had walked a long way to find this spot, and venturing deeper into the mountains for firewood was too risky. “We’ll just gather one bundle and leave,” she said calmly.

The woman’s expression darkened. “This area isn’t that big. If you take some, what’s left for us? And you want a whole bundle!”

He Ningwen felt a surge of resentment. With so much dry wood available, why couldn’t they take just one bundle? She leaned forward, her voice loud enough for all the woodcutters to hear. “This mountain doesn’t belong to you, and neither does the firewood.”

The logic was sound, but the words were ill-chosen.

“You little brat! What did you say?” The woman’s eyes flashed with fury.

The other villagers, who had been bent over gathering wood, straightened up and converged on the group, their menacing postures suggesting they might resort to violence if Mother He and her daughter didn’t leave immediately.

Mother He shielded He Ningwen behind her, retreating while repeatedly apologizing, “Children don’t know any better. We’ll leave right away, right away.”

The families remained silent, their eyes fixed on the pair. Only after the two had moved some distance did they resume chopping firewood.

“Mother, why did we have to leave?” He Ningwen sniffled, feeling a chill. Her wrist ached from Mother He’s tight grip. “There’s so much deadwood here. What harm would it do to take a bundle? Besides, anyone can come to this mountain, and anyone can take what they find.”

Mother He, oblivious to He Ningwen’s discomfort, pulled her deeper into the woods. Only when she was sure no one was following did she finally relax.

Though she hadn’t lived in Yongyang Village long, she knew something of each household. The families they had encountered earlier were among the poorest in the village, slightly better off than the He family but still struggling. Why else would they be chopping firewood on such a cold day?

“When you’re out and about, it’s best to endure what you can,” Mother He explained. “We’re alone. What if those people turned violent? And don’t underestimate human nature in the mountains.”

He Ningwen nodded vaguely, then sneezed. “I’ll do as you say, Mother.”

The cold in the deep mountains intensified. He Ningwen stomped her feet, rubbed her hands together, and trailed closely behind Mother He. Despite climbing for hours, she hadn’t broken a sweat; instead, she felt increasingly chilled.

With no path ahead, they had yet to find another grove of deadwood.

“Never mind,” Mother He said, abandoning the idea of venturing deeper. “Let’s gather what we can and head back. If no one’s at the foot of the mountain when we descend, we can collect firewood there.”

He Ningwen sneezed three more times in quick succession. Her usual liveliness had vanished; she lowered her head and trudged behind Mother He without a word.

“Why are you sneezing so much today? Are you feeling unwell?” Mother He asked, noticing her daughter’s pale complexion.

“Probably caught a chill last night,” He Ningwen replied casually, rubbing her nose. “It’s nothing, Mother. I’ll just drink some hot soup when we get down.”

Mother He remained concerned. She reached out and touched He Ningwen’s forehead—it was already warm.

“No more gathering. Let’s go home now,” Mother He said, her brow furrowing.

Her heart pounded in her chest. She increasingly regretted bringing He Ningwen out on such a bitterly cold day, especially into these mountains where the wind bit like a knife.

He Ningwen nodded weakly and clung to Mother He’s heels. But for some reason, her steps grew heavier, and the path ahead blurred. She forced herself onward until a misstep sent her stumbling into Mother He’s back.

As they walked, Su Yi’an’s disappointment at not selling the sausages gradually dissipated.

It was understandable that people wouldn’t buy something they’d never seen before. As for the innkeeper… if he didn’t like them, so be it.

“Can you still walk?” Su Yi’an asked as they neared the village entrance, suddenly remembering He Yunhuai’s condition.

They hadn’t caught the oxcart on their return from town and had walked the entire way back.

Their baskets were heavy with rice and flour, making the long journey particularly arduous.

He Yunhuai wiped the sweat from his forehead, steadied his breathing, and replied calmly, “I’m fine.”

Trusting his word, Su Yi’an didn’t question him further. They continued without stopping and arrived home before noon.

As usual, Su Yi’an first gave Wan Xu the money from selling the embroidery and chatted with her about the patterns.

Wan Xu loved flowers and had mostly embroidered lotus and peach blossoms on the handkerchiefs.

But with summer long gone, young women would now choose embroidery patterns more deliberately. As winter approached, seasonal flowers like plum blossoms would become popular.

Wan Xu wanted to embroider as many pieces as possible before giving birth, both to save money for the family and to bring good fortune to her child. However, she couldn’t go to town and didn’t know what styles were currently popular there, so she simply chatted with Su Yi’an a little longer.

Meanwhile, He Yunhuai returned home and finally took off his back basket.

His body hadn’t fully recovered yet, and the journey had been exhausting. He had stubbornly endured, unwilling to show any weakness.

He Songyuan suppressed a smile and asked He Xingchen to pour his younger brother a bowl of water.

“You should have just said you weren’t feeling well! Why did you have to push yourself all the way home?” Despite his teasing tone, He Songyuan was genuinely concerned. He patted He Yunhuai’s back to help him catch his breath.

“How did the trip to town go?” He Songyuan asked.

In some ways, it had been successful. They had sold all the embroidered pieces and even got a good price for the eggs.

But in other ways, it hadn’t gone so well. Su Yi’an’s cherished sausages hadn’t sold at all.

Seeing He Yunhuai’s frown, He Songyuan couldn’t help but ask, “Did something happen on the way?”

“It’s nothing,” He Yunhuai said. “I just couldn’t sell all the sausages I took.” He didn’t mention what had happened at the restaurant, since the result was the same: he hadn’t managed to sell them all.

“People won’t spend money on something they’ve never seen or tasted before,” He Songyuan sighed. “You should comfort her when you have time. These sausages take a lot of effort to make—she worked on them for over half a month.”

He Yunhuai understood this perfectly well, but empty words of comfort wouldn’t help. He needed to find a way to sell the sausages; only then would she be truly happy.

As noon approached and Mother He still hadn’t returned, Su Yi’an took charge in the kitchen.

She steamed a section of the unsold sausages, then sliced half into thin rounds and diced the other half into small pieces.

In the kitchen, He Xingchen helped by lighting the stove, heating the pot, and adding water—the little boy moved with surprising efficiency.

“Auntie, what are you making?” he asked, perched on a small bamboo stool, his face tilted upward in curiosity.

Su Yi’an rolled out the kneaded dough into a thin sheet with a bamboo rolling pin, folded it into layers, and then sliced it into uniform strips.

“Hand-pulled soup noodles,” Su Yi’an said, lifting the noodles with her bamboo chopsticks.

As the water boiled, Su Yi’an washed a handful of shepherd’s purse. This wild vegetable had been picked by Mother He during her recent mountain trip and was still relatively fresh.

“Once the noodles are cooked, I’ll give you a small bowl to taste first, okay?” Su Yi’an chopped the shepherd’s purse into segments and tossed them into the pot.

He Xingchen watched eagerly, already knowing this meal would be delicious just from the ingredients.

He shook his head and licked the corner of his mouth. “Let’s wait for Grandma and Youngest Aunt to come back so we can all eat together.”

“Alright, we’ll wait for them.”

As they spoke, the small courtyard gate burst open with a bang.

Su Yi’an, still holding her chopsticks, hurried outside.

He Zhong staggered in, panting heavily with He Ningwen on his back. Sweat glistened on his forehead, and he looked utterly exhausted.

Su Yi’an’s pupils constricted at the sight, and she froze in place.

“Quick, she has a fever!” He Zhong gasped.