At the Qian Family

Seeing another plate of salted pickled radish on the table, Qian Zhizhi slammed her chopsticks on the table with a loud “bang.”

“Second Sister-in-law, can’t you make something else? Pickled radish for breakfast, lunch, and dinner—who can stand this every day?” Qian Zhizhi glared at Shen Zhimei with disdain and anger.

Shen Zhimei lowered her head and didn’t dare utter a word.

In the Qian household, both Qian Zhizhi and Qian Dabao were the old lady’s treasures. Anyone who dared say a word against them would be drowned in her scolding.

“What are you standing there for? Are you deaf? Didn’t you hear Zhizhi say she doesn’t want to eat pickled radish?” old lady Qian snapped, throwing a sharp look at Shen Zhimei before launching insults.

Who wouldn’t prioritize their sister-in-law when it came to good things in the house? But this heartless and useless woman refused to offer up the two cotton quilts and rolls of cotton no matter how much she hinted.

A worthless woman who couldn’t even give birth to a son—what right did she have to use such good quilts?

And those two useless daughters of hers—
Last year, they didn’t get new padded jackets and survived just fine. Why were they acting so precious this year?

Want new padded jackets?
What a joke!

Thinking about this infuriated old lady Qian even more.

“Zhizhi, I’ll make cucumber salad for you. Will that do?” Shen Zhimei asked cautiously, glancing at Qian Zhizhi.

Before Qian Zhizhi could respond, old lady Qian slammed the table and yelled, “You heartless little tramp! You’re trying to feed Zhizhi that tasteless garbage first thing in the morning. You just can’t stand seeing my Zhizhi happy, can you?”

Shen Zhimei and her daughters, Daya and Erya, shrank back in fear.

Seeing their reaction, Qian Dabao, who was peeling a hard-boiled egg, made a face at them, mocking their timidity.

Qian Xingwang frowned at the scene and opened his mouth to say something, but a cold glare from the old lady silenced him.

Shen Zhimei’s eyes reddened as she endured the abuse without a word of rebuttal.

Everything in the Qian household was stored in the old lady’s room. Without her permission, no one dared touch a thing.

Shen Zhimei wasn’t stupid—she understood the old woman’s intentions. But she couldn’t give in, not just because of her mother’s parting words, but also for the sake of her poor daughters and her youngest sister’s heartfelt kindness.

Her sister worked so hard to earn money despite her frail health—how could she squander her sister’s efforts?

If she did, not only would her mother never forgive her, but she wouldn’t be able to forgive herself either.

As the loudspeaker signaled the start of the workday, Qian Xingcheng and his wife Xie Xiaofen quickly grabbed their bowls and gobbled up their wild vegetable soup with pickled radish before hurrying out the door.

“Eat quickly; it’s time for work,” Qian Xingwang whispered to Shen Zhimei, tugging at her sleeve.

“Eat, eat, eat! All you know is eat! Good for nothing! You can’t do anything right but eat everything clean! What sins did I commit in my past life to deserve such worthless trash in this lifetime?” old lady Qian scolded, hands on her hips.

Shen Zhimei bit her lip, held back her tears, grabbed her hoe, and left silently.

Daya and Erya followed with their baskets and sickles, running to catch up with their mother.

At their age, they could only help with minor tasks—pulling weeds, tidying up stray grass at the field edges, or chasing sparrows away from the drying grain at the threshing ground.

A full day’s work would only earn them one or two work points.

Qian Xingwang glanced at old lady Qian, who was still hurling curses toward the gate, sighed, and silently picked up the hoe he had left there the day before.

Old lady Qian cast a glance at Qian Xingwang’s untouched bowl of wild vegetable soup and exploded in another round of curses at the departing figure, calling him every vile name imaginable.

“Mom, I’m hungry,” Qian Zhizhi whined, covering her ears to block the yelling.

The woman and her daughters were already long gone. No matter how loudly her mother screamed, they couldn’t hear her, and it was giving Qian Zhizhi a headache.

“Wait a moment. I’ll boil you two sweet eggs,” old lady Qian said, instantly stopping her tirade and heading into the kitchen.

During these lean times, most families saved eggs to exchange for soybeans, cornmeal, or grain tickets. Very few people would eat them themselves.

Even when eggs were kept for personal use, they were usually given to the elderly in the household.

“Grandma, I want sweet eggs too!” Qian Dabao shouted, stuffing the rest of his egg into his mouth and tugging at the old lady’s sleeve.

“Alright, alright, I’ll make my Dabao two sweet eggs,” she replied, laughing.

“Grandma, I want three!” Qian Dabao pouted, tugging harder at her sleeve.

“Okay, okay, I’ll make my Dabao three sweet eggs,” the old lady said with a doting smile.

“Mom…” Qian Zhizhi interjected.

“I’ll boil six eggs—three for each of you,” the old lady said indulgently.

“Mom, you’re the best!” Qian Zhizhi cheered, hugging her mother’s arm.

“Grandma, you’re the best!” Qian Dabao echoed, mimicking his cousin’s tone.

After downing his three sweet eggs, Qian Dabao grabbed his slingshot and ran off to play with his friends.

Qian Zhizhi finished her eggs, pushed the bowl aside, wiped her mouth, and headed to the old lady’s room.

The old lady was tidying the long cabinet, where she stored snacks brought by Li Qiuhua. She had locked them away, intending to save them for her daughter.

Hearing footsteps, she motioned for Qian Zhizhi to look inside.

“These are for your dowry,” she said.

Qian Zhizhi leaned in, her eyes lighting up as she saw dragon-and-phoenix towels, mandarin duck pillows, ceramic jars, and a thermos flask.

But as she examined everything, her brows furrowed. “Mom, where are the cotton quilts?”

She had already negotiated with her boyfriend—a dowry of 100 yuan and a women’s wristwatch. If her family couldn’t provide two cotton quilts, how would his mother view her?

Once married, she wouldn’t be able to stand up to her snobbish sister-in-law.

“I asked your uncle to find cotton two years ago, but production has been low. Everyone keeps what little they have for their own children. Where would we find extra cotton to buy?” the old lady sighed.

In these times, every household had sons and daughters to marry off. Cotton was precious, reserved for making dowries or bedding for their own families. Only the most destitute families would sell it—and they rarely had any to spare.

“Doesn’t Second Sister-in-law have two ready-made quilts?” Qian Zhizhi said, glancing in the direction of Shen Zhimei and Qian Xingwang’s room.