Chapter 30

Yawan Village is known as a “water village” because of its abundant water resources.

There’s hardly a piece of land larger than an acre that isn’t surrounded by either fields or rivers. The households are scattered—on any given patch of land, at most three or four homes can be built. The few places where houses are clustered are all along the riverbanks.

The rest of the area is low-lying farmland.

This entire plain has a high groundwater level. The fields are perpetually waterlogged, and even on dry land, digging a well barely five meters deep produces an impressive flow of water. The water level in the wells is usually no more than two meters below the rim—so close you feel you could scoop it up with a ladle instead of needing a bucket or a rope.

Rainfall is also abundant, with annual precipitation reaching up to 1,000 millimeters.

Especially in spring and summer, Zhang Hongying would wake up almost every morning to the sound of steady rain. Though not heavy, the rain would fall nearly nonstop, sometimes for an entire month or two.

It made for good sleeping weather—cool and moist air, gentle on the skin. Local girls often had porcelain-smooth complexions.

But this year was different.

It hadn’t rained much at all.

Every day, Li Xiaofang sighed, “This drought is terrible. If only it would rain.”

Zhang Hongying wasn’t too concerned. “What’s good about the rain? It just gets Hongxing all wet on his way to school, and makes it hard for me to get to work.”

After she started bringing home 120 yuan a month, Li Xiaofang finally allowed Zhang Hongying to buy a bicycle—a women’s model cost only 160 or 170 yuan.

Rainy days might be comfortable, but going out in them was a hassle. Even with a rain poncho, the raindrops would land on her eyelashes, obstructing her view. So Zhang Hongying preferred sunny days.

But the continuous sunny weather was starting to create problems for Li Xiaofang.

“Go to the market tomorrow and ask around—see who’s selling mulberry leaves,” she instructed.

Every household grew mulberry trees and raised silkworms. Usually, the amount of mulberry planted matched the number of silkworms raised.

In spring, the mulberry trees sprouted fresh buds. When the leaves reached the size of a palm, the silkworms would hatch.

The weather was still cold then, so women kept silkworm eggs warm by placing them close to their bodies.

The houses were cold too. Newly hatched silkworms, as tiny as ants and black in color—called “ant silkworms”—were delicate and needed warmth. People would light stoves in the silkworm rooms, and the stuffiness sometimes made people faint.

Fresh mulberry leaves were finely chopped with a kitchen knife and sprinkled over the baby silkworms to get them eating.

After seven days of feeding, the silkworms would begin to molt and grow large enough to be seen clearly. Until then, you couldn’t even touch them—a careless finger could kill them.

Despite being called Yawan (“Duck Bay”) Village, geese were more popular than ducks. Goose feathers were perfect for tending to the newly hatched silkworms. Their fibers were so soft that the silkworms wouldn’t be harmed while being gently brushed around.

As the silkworms grew bigger, picking leaves directly from the trees wasn’t enough. Men would go out to the mulberry fields and cut entire branches to carry home.

The pruning shears used were custom-made and called sang jian, or mulberry shears.

Mulberry branches, still dewy, were brought home by the load, and the whole family would pitch in to strip the leaves and feed the silkworms.

Every time the silkworms molted, the family members felt like they lost a bit of themselves.

By the time the silkworms matured and were ready to spin cocoons, the mulberry fields would be stripped bare, and people would be skin and bones. Only when the cocoons were sold would true smiles return to people’s faces.

Silkworm cocoons fetched a high price, and the purchase price increased year by year—from 300–400 yuan per dan (a unit of weight), then to 400–500, and eventually up to 1,000.

Raising a single batch of silkworms from one sheet of eggs took the effort of the whole family and usually yielded 60 to 70 jin (30–35 kg) of cocoons.

When there were no other jobs, raising silkworms was a major source of income. But now that everyone had jobs, Zhang Hongying didn’t care much for this exhausting month-long labor that only earned a few hundred yuan.

It was still about a week before the silkworms would start spinning cocoons, but Zhang Xiaoshu had already picked all the leaves in their fields.

“Is there really no place in our village to buy mulberry leaves?” Zhang Hongying asked.

“Everyone’s raising spring silkworms this year, and the drought has made the leaves grow poorly. No one has extra.

Only that mangy Ah San had silkworms that caught disease early on. He had to throw them all out, and now he has leftover leaves. He used to sell a load for five yuan, but this year he’s asking ten, since everyone’s desperate.

People asked already, but no one wants to buy from him.”

“Why not?” Zhang Hongying asked. “The leaves will just age and fall off anyway. Why’s he being so greedy?”

“He didn’t make any money from the silkworms, so he’s trying to recover some of the loss by selling the leaves,” Zhang Xiaoshu replied—he could do the math.

They’d already come this far—no one wanted to give up now.

Spend a hundred yuan, and you might earn back three or four hundred from selling the cocoons. But if you didn’t spend it, all that month-long work by the whole family—and the crop from the mulberry fields—would be for nothing.

If they could find cheaper leaves elsewhere, they could save a bit more.

Zhang Hongying nodded. “Alright, I’ll go ask around tomorrow.”

Qing Town was big enough—surely it wouldn’t be hard to find a few loads of affordable mulberry leaves?

The next day, Zhang Hongying went to the market and started asking around: “Do you know anyone selling mulberry leaves?”

The vendors came from all over and some said they’d heard of places, while others promised to ask around when they got home.

Honestly, Zhang Hongying thought they might as well just buy from mangy Ah San. At least they wouldn’t have to carry the loads so far.

Qing Town wasn’t huge, but it was still 40 to 50 li (about 20–25 km) across. Even if there were leaves for sale, carrying them back would take serious effort. And that effort cost money too, didn’t it?

She couldn’t understand her father’s stubbornness.

But Zhang Xiaoshu was determined. Even if he had to walk 100 li to get mulberry leaves, he wasn’t buying Ah San’s.

Even if he had to rent a boat, he’d rather spend money on that than give it to him.

Usually, Li Xiaofang had an easy time managing Zhang Xiaoshu—whatever she said, he listened. But when his bull-headedness kicked in, there was nothing even she could do.

Zhang Hongying had even less of a say. What else could she do but help ask around?

A daughter could never win against her parents.

Luckily, a nearby village—just five or six li away—had someone selling leaves.

They had ordered silkworm eggs, but some ducks got into the room and ate them all. With no silkworms, the leaves were just going to age on the trees. Since there wasn’t usually a market for mulberry leaves, they kept the old price: five yuan a load.

Zhang Xiaoshu was overjoyed and placed an order for ten loads, agreeing to carry them home bit by bit.

Ordering more wasn’t a problem—silkworms spun cocoons in batches anyway. If he ended up with too much, he could resell the extras. But if he ordered too little, there’d be nowhere else to go.

Once the deal was made, Zhang Hongying stepped away—Zhang Xiaoshu was still in his thirties, strong enough to carry loads of mulberry leaves without collapsing. After all, it was his own decision.

Zhang Xiaoshu sweated through his shirt every day, hauling the loads—but he was in good spirits. The silkworms had food, and the harvest was secured.

Mangy Ah San, meanwhile, watched the whole village turn up their noses at him.

Everyone was buying leaves elsewhere. No one was buying his overpriced stock.

Frustrated, he went out one night and sprayed pesticide on all his mulberry trees—might as well leave them for the autumn silkworms instead.