Chapter 22.2

Li Shi turned to Fang Shi with a reassuring smile and said, “This child has such a kind heart. There’s no need to overthink things. Let’s just wait for Zhouzi to come back before we talk about it further.”

Fang Shi let out a heavy sigh, her expression laced with unspoken emotions. “Do you really think I don’t care about how he’s doing? If he hadn’t left for the army those ten and a half days later… If things had played out just a little differently, how could I not have treated him like my own son? Even now, I still do. But what’s the point of dwelling on it? There’s too much that can’t be put into words. We’ll talk when Zhouzi returns.”

Meanwhile, Zhou Yinuo walked alongside Song Xingyi, their steps slow and unhurried as they moved through the snow-covered village path. Night had fallen completely, yet the snow glowed under the moonlight, casting a soft, ethereal brightness over the quiet world around them.

Zhou Yinuo steadied the old man’s arm, making sure he wouldn’t slip, as he listened in quiet acknowledgment. The air smelled of burning tobacco, the faint curl of smoke rising from Song Xingyi’s pipe as the old man exhaled slowly. His voice, worn by time and memories, carried the weight of things long past.

"You’re young," Song Xingyi began, tapping the ash from his pipe, his gaze distant. "You don’t know what this village used to be like. It wasn’t always this big, this settled. Back then, it was just a handful of homes, barely enough to call a village. Then the refugees came, slowly turning this place into what you see now. When your great-grandfather arrived, he was only thirteen, maybe fourteen, just a boy with nothing to his name. He and your great-grandmother lived in that old house—what your grandfather called home. But back then? It was falling apart. Just two rooms, no land, no stability."

He paused, as if seeing the past unfold before him. The embers of his pipe glowed, casting a flicker of light against his weathered face.

"Everyone was poor," he continued, his tone edged with something close to bitterness, but softened by resignation. "There was no escaping it—whether it was floods, famine, or the cruelty of men, we all struggled. Eventually, your great-grandfather and great-grandmother managed to carve out a bit of land for themselves. They built something from nothing. But winter can be merciless. That year, they just… let go."

Song Xingyi exhaled, the smoke thick around him. He glanced at Yinuo, his eyes sharp despite their age.

"Your great-grandfather took whatever work he could find. He went from the southernmost towns to the cold, unforgiving north—whatever put food on the table. Dangerous work. Backbreaking work. Meanwhile, your great-grandmother stayed behind, tending to the children, holding the farm together. It wasn’t until I was born that he finally stopped wandering. That was when things changed. He built a real house, bought land, settled in. For the first time, there was a future to look forward to."

He looked up at the sky, blinking against the sting in his eyes—whether from the smoke or something deeper, Yinuo couldn’t tell.

"All of us brothers did well back then. That’s why your great-grandfather made sure everything was divided fairly—so there’d be no fighting over inheritance. He and your great-grandmother lived with your grandfather, but they never once demanded more than the small monthly allowance we all provided. They never took more than they needed."

Song Xingyi chuckled dryly, shaking his head. "And now? Life’s taken us in different directions. Some of us thrived, some didn’t. But tell me this—if a man stumbles, does he get to complain? What’s there to complain about?"

His voice turned sharp, almost scoffing. "Look at your fifth grandaunt. Your fifth granduncle passed early, left her alone, but she carried on. She wasn’t rich, but she made do. She survived. And then there’s your third granduncle."

The old man’s lips pressed into a thin line, his meaning clear. Some people endure. Some people break.

And some have only themselves to blame.

Zhou Yinuo walked alongside the old man in silence, his presence steady and unobtrusive as Song Xingyi meandered through his reflections. He listened patiently, offering no interruptions, until the elder finally grew weary, his energy fading like the last embers of a fire. Taking the cue, they turned back together, retracing their slow steps toward home.

By the time they returned, the main house had already settled into quiet emptiness.

Li shi greeted them with practiced efficiency, fetching warm water to rinse away the chill clinging to the old man’s hands and face. As she wrung out the cloth, she glanced at Zhou Yinuo and spoke with a mix of suggestion and insistence. “Why don’t you go sit in your father-in-law’s room for a while? This old man has a habit of wandering off, and when he’s out alone, I can’t help but worry.”

Song Xingyi, now sobered up from the evening’s drinking, let out a good-natured chuckle as he dried his hands. “Ah, got carried away talking again. Zhouzi, go get some rest.”

With quiet efficiency, Zhou Yinuo helped ease the old man onto the kang bed before excusing himself. Without lingering, he stepped out of the main house and made his way to the west-side room.

As soon as he entered, he was met with a familiar presence—Song Dingxiang, waiting at the door, arms folded, her gaze sharp yet unreadable.

“Back already?” she remarked, her tone carrying a teasing lilt. “Did you lock up properly?”

Zhou Yinuo’s lips curved in a smile as he shrugged off his thick outerwear. His voice held an easy humor, edged with something more elusive. “Locked up tight,” he confirmed, before tossing in a casual jab. “The old man’s feeling sentimental—missing his parents, I suppose.”

The atmosphere in the room was warm, though laced with a quiet tension. Fang Shi greeted them with a friendly smile and, catching the thread of their conversation, leaned in with a knowing look. “Dingxiang, do you still remember your great-grandparents?” she asked, her tone carrying a hint of nostalgia. “They were such kind-hearted people—everyone in the village had nothing but praise for them. Your great-grandfather may have passed away early, but he still made it to nearly seventy. As for your great-grandmother, she was strong as ever, living to seventy-five. She only left us a few years back.”

Meanwhile, Song Zhiyuan, seated casually on a low stool, busied himself with the mundane task of picking peanuts from a winnowing basket. His voice cut in, sharp and tinged with an edge of casual criticism. “The old man these days walks around like he’s the emperor of his own little world, doesn’t he? Always holding himself in high regard. But deep down, you can tell—he still feels that pang of guilt for his brother’s misfortune. It’s not about money, you know. It’s that his brother’s whole character seems to have shifted. That’s the real tragedy.”

Fang Shi’s voice carried a pointed edge as she said, “You know, the better lives we have now didn’t just fall into our laps. They’re the result of grit and effort. Remember when you started butchering pigs at thirteen? And your eldest brother, still weaving baskets to scrape by. When you set up your business here, you didn’t leave him behind—you brought his whole family along. We’ve all fought tooth and nail through tough times, so really, what’s there to whine about? The old man’s just frustrated because his third brother’s not pulling his weight. That’s the heart of it.”

Song Dingxiang cut in sharply, “My grandfather’s not wrong. They’ve gotten too comfortable leeching off others, hiding behind their poverty like it’s an excuse. With twenty acres of land, they could’ve squirreled away some savings and picked up odd jobs to make ends meet. So, how exactly did they manage to wind up in this mess?”

Fang Shi let out a scornful laugh, her words biting. “They like to act all meek and ‘honest,’ keeping quiet like silence earns them some kind of moral high ground. But you know what? I see through them now—it’s just laziness, plain and simple. Hard work isn’t their thing. Look at your fifth and eighth uncles’ sons; every single one of them is tougher and more capable than your brother. Your brother, he can carry a whole pig on his shoulders. And them? They can barely keep a pig in check. It’s pathetic. They fumble around, useless and clumsy, and worse yet, they don’t even know where their loyalties lie.”

Song Dingxiang chuckled lightly, a knowing glint in her eyes. “They say the finest treasures often come from the humblest origins.”

Fang Shi’s gaze sharpened, her tone laced with a touch of sarcasm. “And what? Are they considered treasures too?”

With a casual shrug and a faint smirk, Song Dingxiang replied, “Mom, you’ve got it wrong. By ‘treasures,’ I don’t mean wealth or status. I’m talking about something delicate, something that thrives because it hasn’t been spoiled.”

Fang Shi’s expression softened, though her words carried their usual edge. “Oh, I see. So, what is this? A woman’s grace with a servant’s destiny? Anyway, Er Ni’er, are you staying here tonight or heading back?”

Glancing at the darkening sky, Song Dingxiang answered, “I’m heading back.”

Fang Shi nodded in approval, her tone shifting to practical briskness. “Good. First thing tomorrow, your dad’s slaughtering pigs; someone’s ordered fresh pork. You both better show up early. We need to buy tofu, fry the meatballs—there’s no shortage of work waiting.”

The two of them exchanged a brief nod, bidding a polite farewell to Fang Shi and Song Zhiyuan before slipping around to the back door. They rapped quietly until their eldest brother, Song Junshan, opened it, letting them into the familiar warmth of their home.

Zhou Yinuo wasted no time heading straight to the backyard. His first stop was the pigsty, where he took a quick inventory of their livestock. Two old sows were heavily pregnant, teetering on the edge of labor, while the remaining three pigs—a sturdy boar and two prime candidates for tomorrow’s slaughter—grunted lazily in the corner. A glance at the trough revealed scraps of feed; it was clear Song Junshan had already taken care of their dinner.

Back inside, the cozy flicker of an oil lamp greeted them, and the faint crackle of kindling hinted at a fire just starting in the hearth. Song Dingxiang was already kneeling by the stove, coaxing the flames to life.

Before she could settle in, Zhou Yinuo shooed her away with practiced ease. "Let me handle that," he insisted, taking over without waiting for an argument.

Song Dingxiang chuckled, a teasing note in her voice. “Look at you, acting like I’m delicate. Precious, am I? Since when?” She bundled their heavy outer clothes and carried them into the next room to hang up, then returned with a small stool in hand. Plopping herself down beside Zhou Yinuo, she leaned in, curiosity lighting her gaze. “So, what’s Grandpa been droning on about this time? You’ve been out so long, you’re practically a stray.”

Her tone was light, but her smile had a sharp edge—playful, yet impossible to ignore.

Zhou Yinuo recounted their conversation, and Song Dingxiang pondered for a moment before saying, "Grandpa feels that his brothers are not doing well and are losing face."

Zhou Yinuo nodded in agreement and said, "I told Grandpa, my last name is Zhou, there's no need to cause trouble with Third Granduncle, but they can't bully you. You're my wife, after all, and I have to protect you."

Song Dingxiang chuckled and looked at the young man beside her, seeing the innocence on his face, but also recognizing the emerging maturity.

Early the next morning, as it began to get light outside, the yard was filled with noisy sounds.

Song Dingxiang rubbed her eyes, ready to get up, but Zhou Yinuo held her back.

"Get some more sleep, Dad and your uncles are coming to slaughter the pigs."

Reluctantly, Song Dingxiang got out of bed and said, "I won't sleep anymore, Mom said we should go early today." She yawned, feeling like she hadn't slept enough due to staying up late chatting with Zhou Yinuo.

The water in the pot was already boiling by the time Song Dingxiang finished washing up. She could hear the sound of pigs being slaughtered and cheers coming from outside.

In ancient times, with a lifestyle lacking in entertainment, even the act of slaughtering pigs could be a fascinating and entertaining event. People would discuss the butcher's knife skills, making it an interesting pastime.

After locking the door and heading to the Song family's house, even the younger children woke up excitedly.

Song Zhiyuan held up a bundle of firecrackers, handing out ten to each person with a grin. "Anyone want more?" he asked, his voice playful yet sharp. Turning to Tudan, he continued, "You're still too young for this. Just stay and watch your older brothers—I'll make sure you get some candy later."

The younger siblings of Song Dingxiang bounced around in excitement, their faces lit up with the thrill of the moment. "Uncle, let’s go outside and set off the firecrackers!" they begged, their voices full of energy.

Song Zhiyuan waved his hand dismissively, a knowing smirk on his lips. "Nah, I’m not joining this time," he replied, his tone confident, almost teasing. "You all head out, but take care of your brothers. Don’t go running off, got it?" His eyes flashed with both authority and affection as he gave them a sharp look, making sure they understood the balance of fun and responsibility.

The children hurried out the door, excited and full of energy, while Song Zhiyuan, a playful smirk tugging at his lips, clapped his hands and teased, "So your man’s been hanging around for ages, and you’re just showing up now? What a lazy wife you are!"

Song Dingxiang rolled her eyes, not missing a beat, and shot back, "Well, if one day I actually become your wife, should I be waking up at the crack of dawn just to boil water for you to wash your face, huh?"

"Such a cheeky girl," Song Zhiyuan laughed, the sound warm with affection, "Alright, go on now. You better get to work before you really make Uncle mad."

With a lighthearted laugh, Song Dingxiang made her way to the front yard, where everyone else was already deep in their tasks.

Fang Shi, who was strictly forbidden from touching cold water, was busy chopping vegetables in the kitchen. Zhang Shi was frying meatballs, while Qiao Shi had stepped outside to handle the more demanding tasks, slaughtering chickens and ducks, with a few frozen fish already lined up, all prepared with precision.

Jin Qiao'er, the eldest sister-in-law, was noticeably pregnant, so she had been assigned lighter tasks, like sorting and cutting the vegetables they would need.

"Mom, what should I do?" Song Dingxiang asked, rolling up her sleeves in a way that suggested she was ready for anything.

Fang Shi gave a casual wave of her hand. "Go pick jujubes and peel the peanuts with San Ni'er. And while you’re at it, ask your grandmother when she plans to start on the zucchini filling. If she says 'now,' then grab seven or eight zucchinis."

There was a practical ease in her words, but a sharp, almost directive tone that made it clear no one could slack off—even if they weren’t dealing with the heavier tasks of the day. It wasn’t just a kitchen, it was a place where everyone had their part to play, and Song Dingxiang seemed more than ready to dive in.

It was the eve of the Lunar New Year, the night before the grand feast that would mark the most anticipated meal of the year. Even though the sun hadn’t fully risen, the village was already alive with a buzz of energy, each household frantically preparing for the festive chaos.

But Li Shi wasn’t stuck indoors—she stood proudly by the door, watching her son work with the pork, a grin on her face that seemed almost permanent. Every so often, a customer would stop by to buy some meat and praise her and Song Xingyi for raising such capable sons.

"Not only are they hardworking, but look at their wives and children—everyone’s pulling their weight. Fourth Uncle and Auntie are in for a life of luxury," one of the villagers remarked with a knowing nod.

"Exactly, it’s a whole family of go-getters," another chimed in, with a smile that matched the warmth of the season.

Li Shi’s smile deepened, a perfect balance of humility and quiet pride as she observed her sons and husband working in tandem. She couldn’t help but soak in the success, knowing that her family had earned every ounce of praise.

Just then, Song Dingxiang appeared at her side, tugging at her sleeve with a slight frown. "Grandma, Mom wants to know when you’ll be preparing the zucchini filling for the dumplings."

Li Shi’s smile softened, and she shrugged lightly. "No need to rush. We’ll handle that when we make the dumplings later tonight."

Dingxiang nodded, but her gaze lingered outside, where she noticed Zhou Yinuo, another of the family’s hard-working pillars, chopping large bones with a focused intensity for someone.

What a hardworking kid.

She shook her head with a smile, a mixture of amusement and disbelief, before stepping out into the yard. The entire day, from the first light of dawn to the darkening skies, had been consumed by one goal: this meal. Two tables had been pushed together, now brimming with an abundance of dishes—chicken, duck, fish, and meats, every plate overstuffed with rich flavors and indulgence.

Song Xingyi stood at the edge of the scene, eyes gleaming with laughter so bright and genuine it seemed to swallow up his face, his grin so wide that his eyes nearly disappeared altogether. It was a rare sight, the kind that made everything feel a little lighter, a little more like home.