Chapter 11

The lamb stew Song Xingyi had prepared was a masterstroke of culinary precision—its aroma filled the air, and each tender morsel carried a crisp, browned edge that melted on the tongue. Alongside it, the stir-fried pig heart, kissed with the bold bite of garlic, was impossibly fresh and bursting with flavor. To balance these hearty dishes, a shredded potato salad and a bowl of perfectly tender shredded cabbage graced the table, offering a clean, refreshing counterpoint. All of this was set out in carefully chosen bowls, each piece adding to the visual feast.

Meanwhile, Auntie and Fang Shi worked their magic on the side, skillfully crafting golden pancakes and stirring a pot of porridge so sticky and fragrant it seemed to beckon everyone to the table. The whole family gathered on the warm kang—a heated brick bed that radiated comfort—diving into the meal with unrestrained enthusiasm, their faces flushed with delight.

Although the men in the Song family were not heavy drinkers, the occasion demanded a touch of indulgence. Someone fetched a catty of wine, and soon the grandfather and grandsons found themselves gathered at the kang's edge, savoring their meal with relaxed camaraderie. Between bites, their conversation flowed freely, weaving through tales of recent pork sales and the intense negotiations involved, musings about next year’s harvest, and finally landing on plans for tomorrow’s mountain hunt.

As the wine warmed him, Song Xingyi leaned back with a knowing smirk, swirling his cup lazily. He snagged a piece of lamb cartilage, chewing it with a satisfying crunch, and let his voice ring with the authority of experience. "These mountains may not be as lush as the ones in the south, but they’re far better than the barren stretches in the northwest," he declared. "There’s game to hunt, mushrooms to forage, and wild greens to gather. It’s this bounty that kept folks alive during the famine years. We owe the mountains our survival."

Song Zhicheng, ever curious, chimed in, “And yet, it’s been years since we’ve seen the wolves come down from their territory.”

Song Xingyi, clearly enjoying the spotlight, took a deliberate bite of the cabbage. Its crisp tang cleansed his palate, sharpening his wit. “Do you know why wolves venture down from the mountains?” he asked, his tone teasing, his gaze sharp.

Zhicheng scratched his head, puzzled. “Isn’t it because there’s no food up there?”

Xingyi’s smile turned sly. “Oh? And was there no scarcity in the mountains in previous years?”

That shut Zhicheng up. The younger man fumbled for an answer, but his thoughts scattered under his elder’s gaze. Xingyi chuckled, letting the tension build before turning the tables. “Ask Tiezhu about this when you see him,” he said offhandedly, then paused, his brow furrowing in mock contemplation. “Speaking of Tiezhu, don’t you think that name’s a bit... lackluster? Zhou Lao San didn’t put much thought into it. I’ve been thinking the boy deserves a stronger name—something with real weight.”

Song Zhiyuan’s grin widened as he leaned forward, eyes twinkling. “A new name, you say? Alright, old man, what’s this brilliant idea of yours?”

Song Xingyi cast a sharp glance across the room toward Song Dingxiang, who was seated at another table. A sly, knowing smirk curved his lips as he threw a wink her way. His voice, deep and deliberate, cut through the chatter, "For a man who dares to walk the tumultuous rivers and lakes, what truly matters? Integrity. Honor. Keeping one’s word. That’s the foundation of greatness. Remember this—Tiezhu will carry the legacy of the Song family wherever he goes. From today, he bears the name Zhou Yinuo. It’s not just a name; it’s a damn declaration. A promise etched into his soul—a reminder of our family's kindness and the duty to return when he’s made his mark on this world."

With that, his large, calloused hand clapped down firmly on Zhou Yinuo's shoulder, the weight of his expectations palpable.

Zhou Yinuo’s young face lit up with determination, his words spilling out in a steady rush. "Grandpa, you have my word. I’ll come back—not as a failure, but as a man you can be proud of. Grandma, my parents, and Dingxiang—they’ll never need to worry about me. I’ll make sure of that."

A rare gleam of satisfaction flickered in Song Xingyi’s eyes. "Good. That’s what I like to hear. Now, show me you’re a man. Drink with your grandfather!"

Without hesitation, he snatched up a wine cup and tipped it back in a single, commanding gulp. The fiery liquor burned its way down, leaving him unfazed. Zhou Yinuo followed suit, though the spicy heat of the wine betrayed him, painting his cheeks a flushed crimson.

Li Shi, sitting nearby, let out a soft chuckle, her words tinged with maternal concern. "Now, don’t get carried away. You’ll be heading up the mountain tomorrow. And Tiezhu—oh, look at me, already forgetting you’re Zhou Yinuo now."

Before she could finish, Zhou Yinuo interjected, his tone bright and eager. "Grandma, you can call me Zhouzi if it’s easier. It’ll feel just like before."

Her laughter bubbled up, warm and easy. "Alright, Yinuo, Zhouzi it is. But drink less tonight, my boy, and eat more meat. You’ll need your strength for what’s ahead."

The room buzzed with familial warmth and unspoken resolve.

After the family had stuffed themselves with food and drink, the men sprawled out on the kang, lazily continuing their chatter. Song Xingyi, itching for a smoke, couldn’t help but fish out his tobacco pouch and wave it subtly in Li Shi’s direction, silently asking her to prepare his fix.

Li Shi shot him a sharp, withering glare that could cut glass, then barked orders for the daughter-in-law and granddaughters to round up the kids and usher them into another room to rest. Her voice carried no room for negotiation—it was clear who ran the household here.

Meanwhile, Song Dingxiang’s younger uncle, Song Zhiqiang, was immersed in a world far removed from the domestic clamor. At nineteen and still unmarried, he wasn’t concerned with trivial matters like courtship. His late start in academics had seen him only recently scrape through the juvenile examination last year. Now, he was hell-bent on conquering the prestigious top-level scholar exam next autumn.

In this cutthroat scholarly world, rankings dictated status and rewards. Top scholars didn’t just earn glory; they were showered with tangible rewards—sixty catties of rice every month and total tax exemption on family land. These perks weren’t just luxuries—they were lifelines. For Zhiqiang, chasing academic excellence was his obsession, a pursuit so consuming that even the biting cold couldn’t deter him. While others sought comfort, he planted himself in the academy in town, pouring over texts, relentlessly studying until the academy itself shuttered for the year-end holidays.

When the children were ushered into Zhiqiang’s room, the pungent, inky scent of books hit them like a wave, smothering their usual energy. Intimidated by the air of intellectual rigor, they clammed up, afraid to disturb the sanctity of the space.

Li Shi, ever sharp and efficient, handled the evening's tasks with her trademark briskness. She settled the children, ensuring their dreams overtook them, before swiveling her razor-sharp focus to Dingxiang. Her tone carried no fluff—just a cold, direct practicality designed to cut through any potential resistance.

“Dingxiang,” she commanded with no room for negotiation, “swing by tomorrow on your husband’s way up the mountain. Don’t bother coming back home until he’s made his way down. The year’s end is barreling toward us, and the pig slaughter is going to leave us neck-deep in work. We won’t have time, patience, or energy to babysit you. Understood?”

Her words struck like a blade, brooking no dissent.

Dingxiang, not one to cower, patted her little nephew soothingly, her voice calm but steady with subtle defiance. “Grandma, I’m an adult—I don’t need anyone to hold my hand. Tomorrow, I’ll stay put during the day. If they’re not back by evening, I’ll come over then. I’ll cook beans and sauce at home for you in the meantime.”

Fang Shi, Li Shi’s daughter-in-law, jumped in with a teasing smirk. “Look at that! Mother, she’s suddenly discovered diligence after marriage. Back home, she wouldn’t lift a finger like this!”

“Mom!” Dingxiang shot back, her voice half-exasperated, half-amused. “Grandma, are you hearing this? My mother just loves to nag for sport. I was plenty hardworking at home—she just enjoys finding faults to poke at.”

Li Shi, sharp as ever, smirked and cut in before Fang Shi could escalate. “Your mother’s in a good mood, girl, don’t you know her by now? When she’s happy, this is exactly how she carries on.” Shifting gears without missing a beat, she offered practical advice. “By the way, last night’s leftover dumpling filling—lamb and radish—take some home. Tomorrow, when Yinuo heads up the mountain, pack him some real food. Make a few hearty pancakes, chop up that cooked lamb, fry it up with ginger and dried shrimp, and roll it into the pancakes. He’ll need that energy.”

Fang Shi, half-smiling, nodded quickly. “I’ve already got it all worked out, Mother. Don’t worry about it.”

“Good, then,” Li Shi muttered, settling back against the warm kang, her energy finally waning after the meal. Her eyes fluttered half-shut, but her tone remained commanding even in her drowsiness. “Alright, no more chatter. Let’s take advantage of this warm kang and rest a bit. Those men outside look wide awake—let them keep themselves busy.”

That frigid night, the family churned out dumplings stuffed with lamb, the scent filling every corner of the house. After gorging themselves, the excess was set outside in the biting cold to freeze solid under the night’s unforgiving grip.

Zhou Yinuo, in his usual determined way, escorted Song Dingxiang back to his home. He didn’t come empty-handed—no, he hauled a basket loaded with those rock-hard frozen dumplings. He casually hung the basket on the rack outside the door before stepping in, the icy chill clinging to his movements.

"I’ll get the fire going, chop some wood, and heat up water. You rest on the kang," he instructed, wasting no time. Out in the yard, under the ghostly glow of the moonlight, Zhou gathered a hefty bundle of firewood. His hands moved swiftly, flint striking with precision until a crackling fire sprang to life. Within moments, the once-bitter room was bathed in soothing warmth, the cold chased into the corners.

Inside, the room was dim, lit only by the flickering flame of an oil lamp. The light danced on the walls as the two of them finished cleaning up, the air thick with quiet companionship.

Song Dingxiang, ever sharp, turned her attention to the characters Zhou had struggled to memorize the night before. After a moment of inspection, she nodded, her approval evident. "Studying at night strains your eyes. How about a story instead?" she suggested, her voice laced with an inviting charm.

Zhou Yinuo, snug in his blanket, lounged lazily against the kang cabinet, his fingers absently tracing those same characters as if unwilling to let them slip from memory. "What kind of story?" he asked, curiosity flickering like the flame nearby.

Song Dingxiang’s lips curved into a knowing smile. "How about something enlightening? Something that'll leave you thinking?" Her tone was teasing, yet magnetic, drawing him closer even in her words.

"Yes!" Zhou perked up, his eyes alight with the prospect of learning something meaningful.

"Alright then," she began, her voice soft and honeyed, laced with a mischievous undertone. "Once, there was a clever little cat..." The tale unfurled with a playful rhythm, her words weaving a whimsical narrative. She spoke of animals instead of men, the stories camouflaging the profound wisdom of the Thirty-Six Stratagems. She knew this world was skewed, its history unrecognizable from her own memories. So, she played it safe, disguising dangerous truths behind innocent facades.

"And this clever little cat?" she continued, voice dripping with sly amusement. "It didn’t spend a single coin, yet managed to borrow twenty thousand arrows from the dog family. Impressive, isn’t it?"

Zhou Yinuo was hooked, eyes gleaming as he hung on her every word. "That’s brilliant! Tell me another one!" he urged, leaning forward as if the story itself had ensnared him.

But Song Dingxiang wasn’t about to let him have it all at once. With a low laugh, she teased, "If I tell you too much, you won’t sleep. What then? You’ll be an undead tomorrow." Sliding under the warm quilt, she added, "One story a night. Any more, and you’ll forget the lesson anyway."

Her tone was final, yet indulgent, leaving him with just enough to savor. The room settled into a comfortable silence, the night wrapping them in its embrace.

*

The following day, the sky was bleak, heavy with the promise of snow. It was the kind of weather that brought wolves down from the mountains. It wasn’t a surprise—Zhou Yinuo had already taken care of the nearby giant beast, leaving the wolves free to roam without any immediate threats.

No one could fault him for dealing with the tiger though. If one of those things decided to descend from the mountains, it would have been far worse, a nightmare even.

At the foot of the mountain, nearly twenty hunters gathered, ready for action. They were joined by five or six dogs, sniffing the air, eager to get to work. The group consisted mostly of strong young men from the nearby villages, a mix of novices and experienced hunters.

Everyone was bundled up against the cold. Zhou Yinuo wore an old sheepskin coat that had once belonged to Song Xingyi, and his waist was heavy with two large knives, a basket on his back. He wasn’t too hopeful about bagging a wolf today, but even catching a few rabbits or wild chickens would make the effort worthwhile.

Still, the real prize would be a roe deer. If he could snag one, it would fetch a pretty sum back in town—at least fifty taels of silver.

The bitter north wind sliced through the air like a blade, biting at the skin. Zhou Yinuo tugged the cloth around his face tighter, protecting his nose from the sting.

Among the group were a few seasoned old hunters who could trace the wolves’ movements from the faintest signs. Zhou Yinuo watched them with envy as their iron bows rested on their backs, imagining how much easier it would be to hunt with one of those. But bows were expensive—basic ones went for over ten taels of silver, almost as much as half a donkey.

The snow was deep, making every step a struggle as the group worked their way up the mountain. Zhou Yinuo set up a few rope snares along the way. The older hunters chuckled when they saw him. They had heard about the troubles in Zhou Lao San’s house, but they didn’t hold it against him. They felt more pity than anything.

But now, watching him—stronger, more capable—it was clear that the split from his family had done him some good. He was standing taller, and it made Zhou Lao San’s household look even worse in comparison.

"Hey, what’s the deal? Your father-in-law’s meat not enough for you?" someone cracked a joke, smirking as they eyed Zhou Yinuo.

Zhou Yinuo shook his head, a confident glint in his eyes as he replied, "Oh, it's enough. I just want to bag some wild game, make a little cash, maybe buy a nice hairpin for my wife."

The crowd around him raised their eyebrows, impressed. "Damn, you're something else," one of them said, giving him a thumbs-up like he was some kind of hero.

"A real man takes care of his woman," Zhou Yinuo added, his voice bold and unapologetic. "Hey, Lao Liu, when are you gonna buy a hairpin for your wife too?" he teased, nudging the older guy.

Lao Liu scoffed, waving his hand dismissively. "Pfft, please. His wife’s a beauty, and mine... well, let’s just say she’s not exactly the same caliber," he grumbled, his words trailing off as he dodged the topic. The group snickered, but they were careful to keep their voices low so they wouldn’t disturb the game they were after.

By midday, the old hunter found a cave, and they all piled inside to take a break and have some food around a crackling fire.

Zhou Yinuo pulled out a pancake wrapped in meat. A few curious looks were exchanged, but he just smiled and slapped the pancake onto a pile of hot stones. Soon, the rich scent of lamb began to fill the air, making everyone's stomachs growl in response.

With a deep sigh of satisfaction, Zhou Yinuo took a big bite, the warmth spreading through his body. The lamb, infused with ginger, tasted like heaven in his mouth—a perfect comfort on a cold day.

The old hunter glanced up at the sky, his expression unreadable. "Looks like snow’s coming," he muttered, "But it won’t be too bad. If it snows heavily, we’ll be stuck, unable to go deeper into the mountains. Let’s move now, or we’ll be out of luck when night falls."

The group nodded in agreement, quickly dousing the fire and packing up, ready to trek deeper into the mountains before the snow made it impossible.

*

Inside the house, Song Dingxiang stirred a pot of beans, her thoughts constantly drifting to Zhou Yinuo. She tried to dismiss the concern, but her mind wouldn’t let go. Where was he? Had he encountered any wolves along the way? She told herself she wasn’t worried, but the worry crept in anyway—unwelcome, insistent. He was just seventeen. A boy on his own in a dangerous world. What if something happened to him?

Shaking off the thoughts, she focused back on the beans. She mashed them with force, grinding them down into a smooth paste. The rhythm of her work helped to settle her mind, but not her heart. Once she was done, she wrapped the bean paste in oil paper and hung it on the rafters, letting it ferment naturally. By spring, it would become a rich, flavorful soybean paste.

The soy sauce, though, would take longer—another four months of drying after spring. By the time it was ready, it would be autumn. Autumn sauce, they called it.

When she finished with the paste, she rolled her sore shoulders, feeling the ache settle deep in her muscles. It was already mid-afternoon, and there was still no sign of them. No sign of Zhou Yinuo. No sign of anyone returning today.

She grabbed some leftover steamed bread, reheated it with vegetables, and quickly ate. Then, while the day still had some light, she made her way to the backyard. Her hands moved with purpose as she gathered dried rattan vines, each as thick as a finger. She was going to make armor for Zhou Yinuo.

She’d heard from Song Xingyi that most of their new recruits were poorly equipped, many without proper armor. Even those who had some were left with fragmented, mismatched pieces. Only the trained soldiers had proper gear; the rest were just cannon fodder. With wars raging across the north and south, Song Dingxiang didn’t trust that Shangfeng Peak’s authorities were paying enough attention to the new recruits. She couldn’t take any chances with Zhou Yinuo. He needed protection.

She carefully began weaving the rattan into armor, soaking it in tung oil when it was done. The oil would harden the material, giving it some durability. Once dried, she’d soak it again, letting the oil form a white mark, the sign of perfection. It wouldn’t be able to withstand fire, but it would protect against swords, and it was lightweight enough to be worn under clothes. It wasn’t much, but it would be enough for now.

As the day turned into night, the sky stayed heavy with clouds, casting a dim light over everything. Fang Shi called Song Dingxiang to come over for dinner, and in her usual straightforward manner, invited her to stay the night.

"Hunting's always like that," she said, tossing out a casual remark. "Little trips that can stretch into days. You're worried now, but before, you didn't stop him from going out."

Once they packed up and locked the door, Song Dingxiang followed Fang Shi back to her parents’ house, where life was simple and direct. Their meals were humble but hearty, often using leftover bones to make a rich stew, a bit more oil in the mix than most households would dare.

After dinner, Fang Shi, in her familiar, gentle way, suggested, "Don’t go back tomorrow. Your father’s taking your brother to another village to slaughter pigs. They might take a couple of days to return. Stay here and keep your mother company."

Song Dingxiang smiled, nodding without hesitation. "Alright. I’m not worried. Brother Yinuo’s been up the mountain hunting a big tiger before. He can handle it. I don’t have any reason to worry."

Fang Shi, raising an eyebrow, chuckled and gave her daughter a playful pinch on the cheek. "Oh, really? You’re not worried? Your smile says otherwise." She then nudged her daughter to help her with some old clothes, tearing them apart so she could wash and re-cotton them for the New Year. They weren’t new clothes in the usual sense, just old garments that were getting a fresh coat of cotton and maybe a small cloth overlay. But for their world, that was an upgrade.

Song Dingxiang mechanically ripped apart the fabric as her mother went on and on about this and that. Outside, her father and brother were sharpening knives under the lamplight, preparing for the next day's slaughter. Her aunt came over, pretending to borrow some hemp thread for mending shoes, but really just stopping by to check in on Song Dingxiang, offering comforting words like a usual routine.

The night dragged on, and with each hour that passed, Zhou Yinuo and the others were still missing. Song Dingxiang couldn’t sleep, tossing and turning on the heated brick bed until the first light of dawn, when exhaustion finally took over and she drifted off. She didn’t stir again until midday.

"Erni'er, Erni'er, wake up!" Fang Shi’s voice broke through her sleep, practically glowing with excitement. "Zhouzi and the others are back!" She lifted the curtain and poked her head in with a mischievous grin. "I knew you didn’t sleep well last night, so I let you rest. But who knew you’d sleep in so long! Get up, your man is back!"

Fang Shi’s voice was filled with laughter, as if her joy couldn't be contained. It wasn’t just that Zhou Yinuo had returned; he’d come back with something to show for it. His prey was with him.

———T/Note: "Erni" is a term of endearment meaning "Second Daughter".