Chapter 1

In the Dongxi Village, the Lin family was the most prosperous household at the western end.

They lived in a private compound with a total of nine bright and spacious cave houses. ^[1]Farmers’ Caves/Yaodong – A yaodong is a particular form of earth shelter dwelling common in the Loess Plateau in China’s north. They are generally carved out of a hillside or excavated … Continue reading

The courtyard walls were built with green bricks, a unique sight in the village.

A date palm stood in front of the gate, bare from shedding its leaves in the winter, with a few unpicked fruits still hanging high.

Eldest Brother Lin worked as a laborer at the county’s tractor factory. Years ago, he had married the daughter of Blacksmith Zhang from the neighboring village.

Zhang Yueju was a diligent and educated woman who kept the house neat and organized. Within two years of marriage, she and Eldest Brother Lin gave birth to two sons.

Second Brother Lin served as a committee member at the village’s Party branch. After having two daughters, he and his wife finally had a son whom they cherished dearly, treating him like a precious jewel.

They gave him everything they could, leaving them a bit financially stretched.

However, the family had not separated yet, so they all still ate from the same pot, and their living standards were about the same as each other’s.

As for Third Brother Lin, he was someone admired by everyone in the Luling Commune.

At twenty, he was admitted as a teacher in training school; at twenty-five, he joined the army.

Later, he went to Renmin University in the capital to further his studies in the Department of Statistics, and this year, he was assigned back to work in Qingjian Province.

The only regret was that Third Brother Lin and his wife, both over thirty, still had no children.

Today was the day Third Brother Lin and his wife returned home for a visit.

In Dongxi Village, Jiang Jiang lived as a child without parents.

Jiang Jiang’s mother had died in childbirth. When Jiang Jiang was three, her father went up the mountain to gather lingzhi mushrooms, fell off a cliff, and never came back.

For a child barely three years old, having no one to care for her was practically a death sentence.

Zhou Fugui, who had accompanied Jiang Jiang’s father up the mountain but survived the trip, took pity on the child and brought her home for a while.

However, amid famine, they couldn’t afford to feed an extra mouth. To make matters worse, Zhou Fugui’s wife constantly hurled insults at Jiang Jiang, accusing her of trying to steal her jewelry.

Forced by circumstances, Zhou Fugui had no choice but to return Jiang Jiang, though he would visit occasionally to bring her a couple of sorghum buns.

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“Isn’t she a bit too old? She’s already four or five and old enough to remember things.” He Guijuan was still reluctant.

Since Jiang Jiang wasn’t her own child by blood, she felt it would be hard to develop an emotional bond.

Lin Youqing replied: “Jiang Jiang is an orphan—she’s pitiful. Since we have no children of our own, why not adopt her? Just look at her, a young child living alone in such a broken-down place. She must have suffered a lot.”

Looking around at the miserable surroundings, He Guijuan’s heart softened a little.

Noticing his wife’s softened expression, Lin Youqing added, “It’s alright. We don’t have to adopt her officially. When I was a child, Brother Fusheng took care of me a lot. Even if you’re not willing to adopt this child, coming here to see if we can provide her with anything is just our duty.”

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When Lin Youqing and his wife arrived at Jiang Jiang’s home, the decayed wooden door hung loosely, creaking with a worn-out sound. Lin Youqing raised his hand and knocked. “Is anyone home?” he asked.

A gust of wind blew through, pushing the door open.

Jiang Jiang sat on a worn, low stool, gripping a rusty knife to chop firewood. Her wrists were thin, bones protruding sharply.

She wore what looked like a man’s cotton coat, re-sewn to fit her small frame; it was full of patches and too long, with sleeves hanging well past her hands.

Her young face was expressionless, showing a dullness far beyond her age.

He Guijuan was struck speechless by the scene before her.

This was the most destitute home she had ever seen.

The house was barren—without a single piece of proper furniture, and the darkness inside made it seem more like a cave than a dwelling.

By Jiang Jiang’s feet squatted an old hen, its feathers dull and white with age, eyes clouded and weary.

Seeing people enter, Jiang Jiang raised her eyes and gave them a puzzled look. “Who are you?”

“You must be Jiang Jiang,” Lin Youqing greeted, lowering himself to speak at her level. “My surname is Lin, so you should call me Third Uncle according to generation.”

He studied the child—her skin was sallow, surely from long years of hunger, but her features were delicate. She could have a future in the arts if given the chance.

“Third Uncle Lin, Third Aunt Lin,” Jiang Jiang addressed them, then fetched a decent-looking bench from the dark cave-like room and invited them to sit.

Jiang Jiang had never seen this Third Uncle Lin before and had no idea why they had come, but since they were guests, she couldn’t leave them awkwardly.

In the kitchen, the fire was still burning, and Jiang Jiang carried the chopped firewood inside.

“Let me help you with that,” He Guijuan offered, looking at Jiang Jiang’s thin arms and legs, her frail figure straining under the bundle of firewood nearly as tall as herself. Her heart ached, fearing that Jiang Jiang might overexert herself and break an arm.

“No need, please just sit down.” Jiang Jiang replied, firm but polite.

She added more wood to the stove, where a pot of wild vegetable and rice bran porridge simmered—her dinner for the night.

He Guijuan stood nearby, gazing into the pot.

The porridge, a thin mixture of rice bran, wild greens, and chopped sweet potato scraps, was hardly fit for human consumption; it resembled the feed they gave pigs back home.

She couldn’t help but feel a pang of sorrow.

Jiang Jiang wanted to pour them some water, but there were only two bowls in the house—one with a chipped rim and another with a crack running down the side. Embarrassed, she hesitated to offer them to her guests.

“This is an apple I brought from the county. Keep it for yourself, child,” Lin Youqing said, opening his cloth bag to reveal a bright red apple.

Jiang Jiang had never tasted an apple before, though she had once seen Zhou Fugui’s wife give apples to Yinhua and Jinbao.

She remembered the sound of crunch, the fresh, juicy bites they took.

Jiang Jiang licked her dry lips and said softly: “Thank you.”

Lin Youqing replied gently: “No need to be so formal. Uncle lives at the east end of the village. A stone mill and a date palm are in front of my house. If you’re ever in trouble, come find me there.”

Jiang Jiang looked up at this elder with his warm tone, seeing a kindness in his eyes she had never known. “Thank you, sir.” She said with her voice barely above a whisper. She was really grateful for the kindness this Uncle had shown.

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Cave Houses:

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