Chapter 39: A Refined Man

Since the drought, this was the first time everyone had the heart to celebrate the New Year.

Every household in Tongshu Village was preparing for the New Year’s Eve dinner.

Chen Dazhuang had gone all the way to Huaihua Gully to learn how to make tofu. Anyone who wanted tofu would weigh out some soybeans and send them over. After the tofu was made, they could come pick it up. Chen Dazhuang earned a little from the tofu dregs, and the soy milk he made was given to Zhou Yu and the others.

Aunt Zhao and Qin Ying also made some tofu. Half of it was cut into small pieces and set outside to freeze into frozen tofu; the other half was used for dumpling filling.

Qin Ying grabbed a handful of soybeans and roasted them until golden brown, then ground them finely and mixed them into the cabbage filling. It actually gave off a meaty aroma.

After chopping the cabbage and squeezing out the juice, they used the juice to make dough—nothing was wasted.

After wrapping the dumplings, the mother and daughter laid them out on trays to freeze in a shaded area outside. Once frozen, they stored them in jars outside. When it was time to eat, they could just take some out and boil them.

When Zhao Hu came home and saw the two of them loading dumplings into jars, he asked curiously.

Aunt Zhao beamed and said, “You’re back? Did Lord Zhou return too?”

“He’s back! They’re all back!” Zhao Hu grinned and ran over. “What kind of filling?”

Qin Ying smiled and answered, “Three kinds. Cabbage and tofu, wood ear and radish, cabbage and mushrooms.”

Zhao Hu slurped his saliva. “I haven’t had dumplings in three years. I’ve been craving them so bad!”

“Don’t drool yet,” Aunt Zhao picked up a basket and shoved it into his arms. “There are a hundred dumplings in here. Take them to your Grandpa Chen’s house.

“If you see Lord Zhou, just tell him—please don’t mind that it’s humble food, just make do and eat with everyone. Us country folk don’t have anything fancy, but it’s the sentiment that counts during the New Year.”

Zhao Hu agreed and ran off with the basket.

Watching his back, Qin Ying sighed softly, “Mom, let’s not wait until New Year’s to give Huzi his new shoes. His current ones are so worn his toes are sticking out!”

“It’s only a couple of days until New Year,” Aunt Zhao still hesitated. “He probably won’t be going out again.”

“Mom,” Qin Ying persuaded, “As long as our family is together, every day is New Year’s!”

Aunt Zhao thought of the disaster that wasn’t fully over yet and couldn’t help sighing. “Alright, we’ll do as you say. We’ll give him the shoes when he comes back.”

The two went back inside, tidied up the kneading board and basin, and checked on An’an. The little one was still sleeping.

Then they took out the sewing basket and resumed their needlework. After much hesitation, Aunt Zhao finally said, “Yingzi, Lord Zhou has really looked after us. Do you think we should make a pair of shoes for him too?”

“No way,” Qin Ying immediately stopped what she was doing and said seriously, “Mom, please don’t. People like him have someone assigned to manage everything they wear and use.

“Even if they accept something from outsiders, they won’t actually use it.”

Aunt Zhao blinked, not quite convinced. “But Lord Zhou doesn’t seem like someone that particular.”

Qin Ying chuckled, “Mom, think about it carefully. Do you know any villagers who, like Lord Zhou, always carry a handkerchief with them?”

“Uh,” Aunt Zhao paused. “No one uses that kind of thing here. I only got a red handkerchief when I got married, and I never had the heart to use it. After Huzi was born, I turned it into a bellyband for him…”

Qin Ying couldn’t help but laugh and added, “And think about it—haven’t you noticed that no matter when, Lord Zhou’s clothes are always neat and wrinkle-free?

“He never wears patched clothes either.”

Aunt Zhao looked down at her own clothes, layers of patches on patches, and shook her head. “He’s a government official. Not wearing patched clothes is normal, right?”

“But haven’t you noticed?” Qin Ying pointed out, “Since he arrived in our village, he’s only worn clothes in two colors, switching between them.

“If you’re not paying attention, you’d think he only has two sets of clothes to change into.

“But if he really only had two sets and has worn them for so long, why aren’t they worn out at all? And he’s done plenty of manual labor.”

Without waiting for Aunt Zhao to guess, she answered directly, “So the only explanation is: he has several sets of clothing in the same color and style.”

As she spoke, she flipped through the fabric scraps beside her. “And look at his shoes—the fabric is even better than the best cloth we have here.”

Aunt Zhao’s gaze fell on the pile of fabric scraps. These were all cut from clothes so worn they could no longer be mended.

The smallest scraps were glued to the soles of shoes; the larger ones were pieced together for uppers.

In fact, except for winter, country folks didn’t wear cloth shoes. In summer, they went barefoot. In spring and autumn, they wore straw sandals.

Well, bachelors sometimes went barefoot year-round.

Aunt Zhao’s idea was completely dismissed.

Not long after, Zhao Hu returned, holding a small bundle. He warmed up by the fire first, then came into the east room. Seeing An’an sleeping, he lowered his voice slightly and placed the bundle on the edge of the kang. “Lord Zhou gave this.”

Aunt Zhao’s face immediately turned stern. “You rascal! Why are you taking things from others?”

“Lord Zhou insisted. What could I do?” Zhao Hu looked aggrieved. “Brother Xu stuffed it into my arms and pushed me out. Grandpa Chen even called over the wall and told me to accept it.”

Aunt Zhao opened the bundle. Inside were two pieces of fabric, one black and one red, two taels of cotton, and a bundle of various embroidery threads.

Zhao Hu added, “Lord Zhou said there wasn’t anything fancy to give for New Year, but he remembered An’an didn’t have new shoes and asked us to make him two pairs of cotton shoes.”

Qin Ying came over, picked up the fabric and looked at it. She quickly confirmed, “These are leftover scraps from tailoring something else. It’s fine, we’ll take them. Fresh vegetables are hard to get in winter—we can bring him some more next time, and that’ll even things out.”

Then she took out the shoes they had made for Zhao Hu and told him to change into them. But Zhao Hu couldn’t bear to; he hugged the shoes and insisted on waiting until after he washed his feet at night.

An’an woke up. Seeing the uncle he hadn’t been close to for days, he was thrilled and stretched out his little arms to be held.

Zhao Hu was overjoyed, planting several kisses all over An’an’s face.

An’an giggled. “Can collect 0.01 energy, right? So what if he kisses me a few times?”

The whole family was chatting happily when Xu Xia arrived, carrying a big bundle.

After exchanging a few pleasantries, he said to Aunt Zhao, “Auntie, I’m actually an orphan—no father, no mother.”

Aunt Zhao immediately showed a sympathetic expression.

Xu Xia said a bit shyly, “I used to buy ready-made clothes in town. But I haven’t been back in ages—look at my clothes.”

He lifted his coat to show a huge rip, sewn together with wildly uneven stitches—some nearly an inch long, others half a finger wide.

When he turned around, there were several more places not sewn at all.

Aunt Zhao immediately threaded a needle and put on a thimble. “Child, take it off. Auntie will sew it for you. It won’t take long.”