Chapter 19: Could It Be Her?

The whole family could hear the argument next door and thought Aunt Zhang deserved it — she brought it on herself.

At that moment, Meng Ling suddenly remembered the uncle who had just visited their home a few days ago.

“Dad, I wonder how Uncle’s family is doing. I’m not sure if they’ve made any preparations.”

“Don’t worry. Your uncle’s not foolish enough to not prepare at all. Though they might suffer some losses. Tomorrow, I’ll ask your mother to go check on them,” Meng Liang said.

“True. Maybe they planted later than us,” Meng Ling added.

“Mm, your mom will know once she gets there. Don’t overthink it,” Meng Liang comforted her.

Only then did he realize his daughter had truly grown up — no longer needing their care. Instead, she was the one starting to worry about the adults.

“Daya, this time it’s all thanks to your idea. If not, we would’ve suffered some loss. You even indirectly helped many in the village.”

Meng Ling smiled at her father’s praise and replied, “That was their own decision. The credit doesn’t belong to me. If it goes to anyone, it should go to you, Dad.”

“Hahaha! Then I must be basking in the glory of having such a capable daughter!” Meng Liang’s hearty laugh carried far.

“What are you chatting about over there? Come eat!” Shen Yun called out.

—-

Early the next morning, Shen Yun donned her bamboo hat and rain cape, ready to return to her family home.

“Mom, let me tell you a method. You might find it useful when you get to Uncle’s house.”

Meng Ling said, “Use 100 jin of water with 13 liang of salt, soak the harvested rice — it’ll keep for 7 to 10 days without sprouting or molding.”

Shen Yun hadn’t heard of this method before, but she remembered her daughter’s words — maybe it would come in handy.

Originally, only Shen was going to visit, but Meng Liang felt uneasy and decided to go with her.

After the couple left, Meng Shiqiao put down his work and said, “Sis, let’s take a day off. We’ve been working for half a month now.”

Meng Ling knew he was trying to slack off again. It hadn’t even been 8 days and he was already calling it half a month.

“No way!”

Meng Ling glared at him and said, “Get to work! No work means no food. No food means no strength. And without strength, how can you even pull a bow?”

“Your arrows don’t even fly farther than a monkey’s pee from a tree. Do you know what you need to focus on now?”

At first, Meng Shiqiao thought that made sense, but then he realized something didn’t sound right.

“Fine, I’ll get back to work.”

Meng Ling nodded. “That’s right — good insight. You’re one step closer to having that bear paw stew with fish. Keep it up. You’ll succeed one day.”

She stepped outside the door and looked out at the busy figures in the fields. She knew the unharvested rice had definitely started sprouting already.

Some households were using charcoal fires to dry the rice; others used fans to circulate the air day and night to lower the moisture and temperature.

Everyone’s household was in a frantic rush — except Meng Ling’s. Amidst the chaos, she managed to enjoy some leisure and even admire everyone else’s busyness.

After raining for a full month, the skies finally cleared.

“Sis! The sun’s out!” Meng Shiqiao shouted from outside.

Meng Ling stepped out and saw sunlight bathing the land. At last, the long-lost golden light returned. Birds chirped joyfully in the morning sun on the treetops.

Every household scrambled to dry their rice — some carried bamboo mats, others hauled rice sacks.

Then came a shout from next door: “Damn it! Get up and help! You expect me to do everything? I must’ve been blind to marry such a lazy bum!”

“What are you yelling for? I’m coming!” Aunt Zhang’s impatient voice carried far.

They had been like this for over ten years — never a quiet moment.

Zhang Dahe was now 35. His son was already 16, and his two daughters were 13. Thankfully, the daughters took after their grandmother and were at least hardworking.

The children rarely went out and didn’t greet others. The villagers often said the two kids were antisocial and didn’t play with others — they’d always been like that.

Just then, Zhang Dahe’s eldest son, Zhang Xiaoyu, came to the gate and said, “Can I borrow your flail? Ours broke.”

Zhang Xiaoyu was tall and thin, with a fairly fair complexion.

Zhang Dahe had originally wanted to name his son “Zhang Dayu” (Big Fish) — Dahe raising big fish, after all. But then he thought it sounded like they were brothers, since he was named Zhang Dahe. So he called his son Xiaoyu (Little Fish) instead.

In Zhang Dahe’s own words: “As long as a little fish stays in a big river, it’ll eventually grow into a big fish.”

“It’s over there — take it,” Meng Ling pointed to the corner.

He slowly walked over, gently picked up the flail, and walked out the gate.

Only then did he say, “I’ll bring it back after I’m done.”

The sun rose higher. By midmorning, the ground had dried a bit. The siblings carried bamboo mats out into the courtyard.

Meng Ling untied the rope binding the mat. With a swoosh, it snapped open. Holding one end, she gently shook it forward, laying it flat.

Before long, Zhang Xiaoyu returned, holding the broken flail and looking awkward.

“Your flail broke after just a little use. I tried to fix it, but I couldn’t,” he said, wiping sweat from his forehead.

Meng Ling smiled and said, “No worries, give it here. My dad can fix it. Bring yours too — we can fix them together.”

She reached out to take the flail, and Zhang Xiaoyu’s face almost turned red.

Meng Ling understood — Zhang Xiaoyu had social anxiety, also known as social phobia.

He nodded, left the flail, and walked off silently.

Soon, he came back with his own flail. Seeing no one in the yard, he opened his mouth a few times but couldn’t bring himself to call out.

At that moment, Meng Ling came out carrying a small sack of grain and smiled, “Just leave it here. When my dad’s back, I’ll ask him to fix it.”

Zhang Xiaoyu stiffened and replied with a slightly shaky voice, “Okay, I’ll come pick it up later.”

He turned and walked out of the gate, exhaling deeply as if a weight had been lifted.

Meng Ling picked up the two flails and inspected them — theirs had been eaten by bugs, and the other was just worn down from long use. The connecting rod had become too thin and broke from pressure.

Just then, Meng Liang and Shen Yun returned from the fields and saw Meng Ling fiddling with the flails.

“They’re broken? I’ll fix them later,” Meng Liang said, walking up. “Whose is this?”

Meng Ling replied, “Aunt Zhang’s.”

“Zhang Dahe can’t even fix a flail? Had to bring it here?” Meng Liang muttered.

Meng Ling said, “I asked Zhang Xiaoyu to bring them. He borrowed ours, and it broke after a bit, so I told him to bring both over.”

Meng Liang didn’t expect it was his daughter who offered. He smiled, “Well, fixing one or two is all the same. Just part of the job.”

By the time they finished drying the rice, it was almost noon. Meng Ling carried the repaired flails to Aunt Zhang’s house.

In the courtyard, Zhang Xiaoyu was sifting grain — shaking the sieve rapidly so that the rice fell through, leaving behind bits of straw.

“Not bad!” Meng Ling said with a smile. During harvest season, this was usually done by women, who were more skilled.

Zhang Xiaoyu turned and saw her, smiled, and put the sieve down to take the flails.

“Thanks,” he said with a small smile.

“Mm, try it out,” Meng Ling replied.

“Okay, I’ll try it later,” Zhang Xiaoyu said, forcing a smile.

Meng Ling nodded. As she was leaving, she happened to glance at a large rock in the corner — and spotted a huge turtle shell.

“Could it be Aunt Zhang who stole it?”