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Tan Xiaomei nodded heavily, wiped her tears with her sleeve, and smiled. “Yes, sister-in-law.”
As she spoke, her mind wandered back to the spiteful faces of the Jiang family. Her teeth started to chatter. “Sister-in-law, I must go back and tell them, let them know that I’m not some eggless hen!”
Wan Chunmei placed a comforting hand on her shoulder and said, “My dear sister, don’t pay attention to their words. So what if you can or can’t have children? The Jiang family doesn’t deserve you, Tan Xiaomei. You must remember, you are a person, a living, breathing person! No matter what you look like, the Jiang family has no right to bully you or humiliate you!”
Tan Xiaomei nodded, her tears flowing freely once again.
Wan Chunmei squeezed her hand and continued, “Yes, you should go, but not now. Wait until you’ve had a child. Then, we’ll walk around their village, parading the baby in front of their door, let them lose face!”
Tan Xiaomei thought this made perfect sense. She nodded repeatedly. “Yes, sister-in-law.”
Though Wan Chunmei spoke in such a reassuring manner, she was still furious, especially seeing the lingering marks of the injury on Tan Xiaomei’s face. How could she let the Jiang family off the hook so easily? She just didn’t want Tan Xiaomei to be burdened with this worry.
That night, she couldn’t hold back and decided to take a walk to the village entrance. She would gossip with a few chatty women, spreading the news so that the rumors would reach the Jiang family. It was time to give them a taste of their own medicine.
By evening, Old Tan and the others had heard about the situation and were smiling broadly, discussing how they should handle the divorce as soon as possible.
Wan Chunmei chuckled. “Father, Aunt Yu mentioned that Master Liu is returning to the village soon. He’ll be passing through here, and he’ll make a personal visit. We can talk about the Jiang family’s misdeeds, and this matter will be settled for good.”
Old Tan nodded. “Alright, then.”
“It’s getting late. You should rest early. The work in the house is tiring.” Wan Chunmei stood up to clear the bowls.
Seeing the frostbite on her hands had cracked, Old Tan quickly stood up and took the bowl from her hands. “Let me wash the dishes, and the vegetables for tomorrow too. Look at your hands—how are they in such bad shape?”
Wan Chunmei rubbed her hand, which was swollen and cracked from the frostbite, and smiled. “It’s fine, I’ll wash them and warm them by the fire afterward.”
Old Tan, ignoring her words, took the bowl and walked to the stove. “I said I’ll wash them, so I’ll wash them. You go take care of Little Qiyue, she needs to sleep. It’ll also give you a chance to rest earlier.”
Wan Chunmei glanced at this strong man, who had worked all day and was still insisting on helping her wash the dishes. She felt a warm sensation in her heart.
While Old Tan was busy with the dishes, Wan Chunmei quietly poured some warm water into the pot, so the water wouldn’t be too cold for washing.
Little Qiyue sat on the bed, smiling and looking over at them.
In the dim light of the candle, in the old, worn house, the figures of Old Tan and Wan Chunmei overlapped. Both of their faces showed the signs of a long day’s work, yet there was a smile on their faces. Though tired, there was no gloom in their expressions, only warmth and contentment. Seeing them like this from a distance brought a sense of peace and comfort.
Little Qiyue didn’t want to trouble them any longer. She lay down on her side, gazing at the bright stars outside the window, and gently closed her eyes.
Wan Chunmei’s pickled vegetables had taken several days to prepare and were now ready to be packed into jars to be sold.
The jars they had taken to the county last time hadn’t been returned, so they had none left. Buying new ones now would mean a loss.
Tan Erqian thought for a moment and said to Wan Chunmei, “Mother, business is business. If you keep selling like this, you’re bound to lose money. How about this: from now on, we won’t use small jars for the pickles. I’ll just take these large jars over. Anyone who wants to buy can bring their own jars, and we’ll pack it for them. We’ll charge by weight—how much per pound, how much per ounce.”
“Also,” he continued, “before, selling a small jar for just a few coins was too cheap. Even though our vegetables are homegrown and the pickles are homemade, salt costs money, you know! And Big Brother and Father work hard for this, and you’ve ruined your hands making these pickles. Selling them so cheaply isn’t worth it. It might as well not be done.”
Tan Erqian said all of this in one breath.