Chapter 10

Hemp paper and charcoal were the tools Sung Dingxiang used, treating each stroke as if it were gold, while Zhou Yinuo, with his lack of resources, was left to scrape out letters on the dirt with a branch or trace invisible characters on a tabletop with water-streaked fingers. Every mark, crude and fleeting, bore the weight of his earnest desire to learn.

At seventeen, Zhou Yinuo was at the perfect age to soak up knowledge like a sponge. Within mere hours, he had memorized his old and new names, the letters dancing in his mind as he turned to Song Dingxiang with those wide, eager eyes. He silently begged her to unravel more secrets of the written world for him.

Song Dingxiang took out her precious scraps of paper, carefully inscribing the Three-Character Classic with the precision of someone who had taught generations before. She had mastered this art in her youth, drilling it into the minds of her younger siblings and grandchildren alike, carving meaning into every stroke. Even now, despite the passing years, her hunger for knowledge remained insatiable; books were still her sanctuary, her tether to a broader world.

With no phonetic alphabet to rely on, she simplified the process, teaching Zhou Yinuo four essential pronunciations. She painstakingly annotated the characters with clear markings to ensure he wouldn’t stumble over the sounds.

“The nature of man at birth is inherently good,” she explained, her tone firm but patient. “When a person is born, they’re like an unblemished sheet of paper. Their nature is untainted—good, pure. It’s the world that sullies them.” She didn’t expect him to become a great scholar; her only wish was for him to learn enough to carry himself with dignity.

Zhou Yinuo followed her every instruction with unwavering focus, his fingers tracing the complex, sacred shapes of each character. To him, these were more than strokes and curves; they were talismans of power, keys to a future where he would no longer be deceived or stepped on. In a world where literacy was a rare and revered skill, to know these symbols was to command respect.

On the third day, dressed in fresh clothes, Song Dingxiang and Zhou Yinuo stepped out together, their heads held high as they strolled toward the Sung family’s front yard.

“Ah, Dingxiang is going home?” a neighbor called out, grinning warmly. “And look at Tiezhu—so full of energy! What did you bring for the first visit to your mother-in-law’s house, huh?”

Zhou Yinuo flushed, his hands fumbling to lift the cloth from the basket he carried. “I hunted some game in the mountains to share with my parents.”

A knowing chuckle escaped another onlooker. “Your mother-in-law hardly lacks for meat, young man. Next time, why don’t you save some for your poor old aunt, hmm?”

The neighbors’ laughter rang out, good-natured but sharp, as Zhou Yinuo shifted from foot to foot, the tips of his ears burning bright red. But even under the teasing, he felt a sense of pride. Each step he took alongside Song Dingxiang was a declaration—not of wealth or status, but of a growing self-worth born from the sacred power of words.

Fang Shi stood firmly at the door, her sharp gaze slicing through the tension as she overheard the chatter outside. Without hesitation, she stepped out, her voice dripping with sarcasm and disdain. “What’s this? Not enough meat at my house to satisfy you? My son-in-law brings me something, and you’ve already got your greedy eyes on it. Oh, and didn’t you mention wanting pig lungs? Perfect timing—they’re butchering a pig at the market today. Why not scurry over now?”

The neighbor, unbothered and mocking, sneered back. “Look at you, always so quick to shield your precious family. Afraid I’d dare to pick on your son-in-law? Don’t worry, I’m leaving. But next time, don’t go whining about me.” She cackled as she sauntered off, her laughter echoing like a taunt in the chilly air.

From the yard, Song Dingxiang strolled in, her smile radiant and teasing as she hooked her arm through her mother’s. “Miss me, Mom? I’m home. What feast have you whipped up for me this time?”

Fang Shi gave her daughter a playful poke on the forehead, shaking her head with mock exasperation. “What? Living just a stone’s throw away, and yet you act like you’ve been starving these past few days? Your father left you some treasures—a juicy pork elbow, a hearty willard, and even a pig’s heart. Oh, and yesterday, he hauled back half a sheep all the way from the north. Expensive as hell, but your grandpa couldn’t resist stewing mutton just for you.”

The mention of mutton in the biting winter air was enough to make Song Dingxiang’s eyes light up. “Mutton? Yes!” she cheered, practically bouncing with excitement. “Mom, why don’t we raise some sheep ourselves? Then we could eat mutton all the time!”

Fang Shi’s sharp tongue was quick to cut through her daughter’s enthusiasm. “Raise sheep? Have you lost your mind? Do you not see the fruit trees everywhere? Sheep would strip the bark clean, and then where would we be? Stop dreaming. You’re lucky to have food on the table, and now you want a whole flock of sheep? Get lost with your nonsense.”

But her tone softened as she continued, her scolding laced with maternal worry. “You’re married now, yet you still act like a child. Don’t think that just because Tiezhu is kind, he can’t be taken advantage of. Look after him, make him stronger, because in this world…”

Her voice faltered, her words catching in her throat. Tears threatened to spill, but she swallowed them back. Deep down, she knew the truth—strength was their only shield. If they were strong, they had a chance to survive. Even if war came knocking, there was hope they’d return unscathed. And as long as they came back, her daughter could still carve out a good life, no matter the odds.

Song Dingxiang slammed her foot down with a dramatic flair, her voice sharp with indignation. “Mom! Are you seriously accusing me of bullying him? Me? Bully? Impossible!”

Just then, the soft rustling of the door curtain broke the tension as Li Shi stepped into view, her presence commanding yet warm. She stood at the threshold, her lips curved into a knowing smile, eyes flitting from her daughter-in-law to her fiery granddaughter.

“So, the second girl’s back?” Li Shi’s voice carried the weight of quiet authority as her gaze lingered on Song Dingxiang, who immediately softened at the sight of her grandmother.

“Grandma!” Song Dingxiang let go of Fang’s hand in a flash, rushing toward the elder. Her voice turned sweet, almost pleading. “Why are you standing outside in this cold? You should be resting indoors.”

Li Shi chuckled, her eyes crinkling with fondness. “Oh, I just stepped out to see who’s around. Tiezhu is here, isn’t he?” Her gaze shifted, landing on Zhou Yinuo, her smile deepening as she sized him up. The young man, flustered under the attention, gave a respectful bow.

“Grandmother,” he greeted, his tone tinged with shyness.

“Come in, come in,” Li Shi said, her voice lilting with hospitality. “Your grandfather’s got something special ready for you.”

Zhou Yinuo hesitated for a moment before stepping inside. The room was buzzing with life—women of all ages chattering away, save for a couple of awkward teenage boys lingering in the corners. The moment his eyes met theirs, his face flushed a deep crimson.

“Uh… Hello, sister-in-law, auntie,” he stammered, his words tumbling out in haste. “I’ll just… help Grandfather with something!” Without waiting for a response, he all but bolted from the room, leaving behind a chorus of feminine laughter that rang out like bells.

Finding refuge in the back room, he came upon Song Xingyi, who was elbow-deep in sorting through a butchered sheep. The old man glanced up and immediately barked out an order. “Ah, you’re here! Grab the cleaver and chop these sheep bones for me. My hands aren’t what they used to be.”

“You’re not old, Grandfather,” Yinuo countered quickly, setting down his basket. Without hesitation, he picked up the hefty cleaver and got to work, his strokes clean and precise as he broke the bones into even pieces.

“Just call me Grandpa,” Song Xingyi said, his tone gruff but pleased. “You’re part of the family now.” He rifled through Yinuo’s basket, his eyebrows raising as he took stock. “Well, well. Wild chicken, rabbit—seems like you’ve had quite the haul. You even went back up the mountain after wolves were spotted?”

Still focused on his task, Zhou Yinuo replied evenly, “I only checked the traps near the base. Couldn’t risk going deeper with the snow closing in. Some catches were taken, though—footprints showed it was wolves.”

Song Xingyi nodded, his expression thoughtful. “I spoke to the village head about it. We’re planning to bring in hunters from neighboring villages to clear out the wolves. It’s getting too dangerous.”

The rhythmic sound of the cleaver striking the chopping block punctuated their conversation, the tension easing into a steady rhythm of work and preparation.

When Zhou Yinuo caught wind of this, his head shot up with surprising eagerness. “Grandpa, can I come with you?” he asked, his voice brimming with determination.

“You? Come along...?” Song Xingyi started, his brow furrowing as he prepared to brush the boy off with a laugh. "You're just a kid—" But before he could finish, he stopped short, a sudden thought making him reconsider.

This wasn’t just any kid—this was Zhou Yinuo, the boy who’d once taken down a tiger with nothing but grit and guts. Hell, he might have more hunting prowess in his little finger than most seasoned old-timers.

Changing tack, the elder's lips curled into a sly smirk. “Well, it’s not out of the question. But don’t look at me—you’ve got someone else to convince. Better ask your wife,” he teased, his chuckles reverberating through the room like a taunt.

Caught off guard, Zhou Yinuo flushed furiously. His face turned an alarming shade of red as he ducked his head, suddenly fascinated with the floorboards.

“Oh, now you’re shy?” Song Xingyi goaded. “What’s got you so desperate to head up the mountain anyway? We’ve got plenty here. No one’s starving.”

Zhou Yinuo straightened, his jaw tight. “I want to make Dingxiang a pair of wolf-fur blankets. Her hands and feet get cold at night. It’d help keep her comfortable.”

Song Xingyi’s eyebrows shot up, his sharp eyes glinting with mischief. “Oh, really? And just how, young man, do you know her hands and feet get cold at night?”

The question hit like a slap, making Yinuo’s hand falter dangerously over the meat he was slicing. “I—uh—her hand slipped out from under the blanket in her sleep. I just—put it back—” he stammered, tripping over his own words as his face burned crimson.

His explanation sent Song Xingyi into a fit of laughter that echoed through the room, leaving Yinuo mortified. If there were a crack in the earth, he would’ve gladly dived in headfirst.

Their raucous laughter caught the attention of Song Dingxiang, who poked her head into the room, her curious eyes landing on the commotion. “What’s so funny, Grandpa?” she asked, before her gaze shifted to the fresh lamb on the cutting board. Her face lit up instantly. “Oh! Are we having radish stewed lamb tonight?”

The sight of his second granddaughter softened Song Xingyi’s teasing mood. “That’s right,” he replied warmly. “Radish stewed lamb and garlic stir-fried pig’s heart—your favorites.”

“You’re the best, Grandpa!” she chirped, flashing him an irresistibly sweet smile as she sidled closer. But her curiosity got the better of her. “What were you all laughing about just now?”

Song Xingyi, still grinning like a fox, patted her hand with grandfatherly indulgence. “Oh, nothing for a new bride like you to worry about—just old men’s talk. By the way, did you know Tiezhu here has a wild idea about heading out to hunt wolves?”

The sharp edge in his tone had Yinuo wishing for that crack in the ground again.

Song Dingxiang’s sharp gaze immediately locked onto Zhou Yinuo. Her voice cut through the air, laced with teasing intent. “So, you’re thinking about climbing the mountain, are you?”

Zhou Yinuo straightened, a flicker of determination flashing across her face. “I want to hunt wolves. Their pelts will make blankets for you, my grandparents, my parents—”

Before she could finish, Song Dingxiang’s smirk widened into something borderline mischievous. “Blankets for all of us? You mean to take on an entire wolf pack just to keep Grandpa and Grandma cozy? Or perhaps you’re hoping Uncle might tag along for some heroic backup?”

The remark hit its mark. Zhou Yinuo’s cheeks burned, her composure unraveling into a stutter. “If… if there’s just one wolf, I’ll… I’ll make a blanket for you. Something to keep you warm at night.”

Song Dingxiang burst into laughter, a deep, cutting sound that echoed in the air. His eyes sparkled with a wicked glint. “Oh, so considerate of you. But let’s not overdo the formalities, alright? You want to climb that mountain? Fine. Just make sure you come back in one piece.”

Zhou Yinuo nodded quickly, almost too eager to escape his piercing gaze.

Song Dingxiang, however, wasn’t done. She sauntered over to where Song Xingyi was methodically plucking feathers from a wild chicken, leaning in with a conspiratorial air. His voice dropped, smooth and sly. “Grandpa, I’ve gone ahead and changed Zhuzi’s name.”

Song Xingyi’s movements paused, a single eyebrow arching upward. “Oh? You changed it? And what, pray tell, did you change it to?”

Song Dingxiang’s lips curled into a self-satisfied grin. “Zhou Yinuo. Has a better ring to it, don’t you think? A name worth carrying when he steps outside. A man’s name should carry weight.”

The older man chuckled, his voice tinged with amusement. “Well, aren’t you full of surprises? All those lessons your uncle gave you on reading weren’t wasted, I see. So, what now? Should I spread the word?”

Song Dingxiang nodded emphatically, her tone sharp and deliberate. “Absolutely. It wouldn’t do for people to ask Yinuo where he got his fine name, only for him to say, ‘Oh, my wife picked it out.’ Imagine the gossip! But if he says, ‘My grandfather gave it to me,’ well, now that’s a story worth telling. Who wouldn’t respect the great Song Xingyi for bestowing such a dignified name?”

Song Xingyi burst into hearty laughter, wiping away tears as he mockingly asked, “What’s this, huh? Ever since you tied the knot, you’ve grown a silver tongue. Who are you flattering here? Me, or yourself?”

“Of course, it’s you, Grandpa!” Song Dingxiang replied, her voice dripping with syrupy sweetness, her wide, pleading eyes doing most of the talking.

“Alright, alright,” Song Xingyi said with a playful wave of his hand, still chuckling. “It’s just a name. Leave it to Grandpa to sort out. I’ll have a chat with the village head and get your husband’s name changed.”

“Grandpa, keep teasing me, you’re impossible!” Song Dingxiang huffed, pouting as she spun on her heel. “I’m done talking to you. I’m going to find Grandma!” She stormed off, using her grandmother as a convenient escape route.

Inside the house, the womenfolk were knee-deep in their annual debate—the sacred art of paste-making for the New Year.

In the northern countryside, paste-making wasn’t just a chore; it was a legacy, a skill, a battlefield. The women who knew their way around the craft could whip up jars of heavenly, aromatic paste—perfect for drizzling over rice, blending into stews, or smearing onto fresh vegetables. A single bowl could transform a dull meal into a feast. But woe to the inept; a botched paste smelled like sweaty feet and marked you as the butt of every joke in town.

The Song women, however, were champions of the craft. Their paste was legendary, so much so that neighbors would barter to get their hands on it. Naturally, this meant they churned out jar after jar, year after year.

As Song Dingxiang stepped back into the house, her mother, Fang Shi, seized the chance to rib her. “So, Dingxiang, are you going to make your own paste this year, or are you just going to mooch off what we have?”

Before Song Dingxiang could answer, her grandmother, Li Shi, cut in with a sharp-tongued jab. “Look at you, Fang Shi. You’ve got a grandson now, but you still act like a cheeky teenager instead of the wise matron you’re supposed to be!”

Fang Shi leaned back with a sly chuckle, peeling peanuts with the lazy confidence of someone who knew how to push buttons. She popped one into her mouth, her gaze sharp as she teased, “I have to ask, don’t I? Dingxiang better learn how to make paste herself. Otherwise, if she whips up a batch that reeks like sweaty feet, what’s her husband going to do? Turn right around and bolt?”

“Mom!” Sung Dingxiang’s face flushed a deep crimson, her foot stamping with indignation. “I’ll do it myself, okay? Not just paste—I’ll make soy sauce too! But it’s not for you, Mom. It’s for Grandma!”

“Oh, listen to her now. You’re going to make soy sauce?” Fang Shi nearly choked on her peanuts, barking out a laugh. “Do you even know where to start with that?”

Dingxiang’s lips curled into a sly grin as she climbed onto the kang, the heat in her eyes as playful as it was defiant. She plopped down beside Li Shi and leaned in, her tone conspiratorial. “Don’t underestimate me, Mom. Remember when I was twelve and Dad took me to the county town? I overheard some folks talking about making soy sauce. They didn’t even notice me—thought I was just a kid. But I listened. And don’t forget, you’re the one who said I was too young to try making paste back then. Well, guess what? Now I’m married, and I’ll make it myself.”

What they didn’t know was that making soy sauce was child’s play for Sung Dingxiang. Back in her past life, she had been the brains behind a bustling sauce workshop, crafting everything from rich, tangy sauces to crisp, mouthwatering pickles. If it could be fermented or brined, she’d mastered it. But this year, time had been tight, and the family's stockpile of salted vegetable chunks hadn’t even been touched yet.

Fang Shi’s eyes narrowed, her words cutting. “I see what this is—you just want to waste good food.”

Li Shi, ever the calm peacemaker, chuckled warmly. “Let her try. We’ll steam two extra pots of beans for her. But listen, second girl, if you mess it up, you’re going to learn the proper way from your mom next year. Don’t go wasting things just because you’re feeling bold.”

“Don’t worry, Grandma!” Song Dingxiang’s grin widened, mischief dancing in her eyes. She swiped a large date and a flaky pastry from the table, her voice honeyed with confidence. “I’ve got this. And by the way, I’m taking this pastry to my husband—I doubt he’s eaten enough.”

Fang Shi let out an exasperated scoff, turning away with a dramatic wave of her hand. “Look at her! A married daughter’s like water poured out—gone, just like that. I’ve been sitting here for hours, and she hasn’t even thought to offer me a pastry.”

Li Shi laughed, a soft but knowing sound, as she gestured to the pile of peanuts Fang Shi had been steadily depleting. “You’ve been snacking the whole time! Look at your sister-in-law over there, quietly working. She hasn’t said a word, but she’s done more than you’ve noticed.”

When Zhang shi overheard Li shi casually mentioning her name, she flashed a sly smile, her voice dripping with feigned humility. “Mother,” she began, her tone sweet yet sharp, “I’m not exactly the most eloquent person—how could I say much of anything? Besides, with Second Girl back, shouldn’t I, as her aunt, say a few words? What would people think if I stayed silent? Wouldn’t that seem cold?”

Fang shi, ever the one to cut through pretenses, shot back with a scoff, “What’s this nonsense about being an aunt meaning you can’t speak freely about her? Go on, say it—don’t coddle her like you always do!”

Zhang shi chuckled, her laughter carrying a teasing edge. “Oh, I get it now—Second Girl clearly inherited her fiery personality from you.”

Fang shi snorted, but beneath the rough exterior, there was a flicker of pride. She secretly enjoyed the comparison. Her eldest daughter mirrored Song Zhiyan’s honest, obedient demeanor, but her second daughter? That one was bold, daring, and sharp-tongued—a reflection of herself. Fang shi took comfort in knowing the girl wouldn’t bow down easily to anyone in the future.

With a purposeful movement, Fang shi grabbed an old, worn garment lying nearby. Her fingers deftly unraveled its seams as she spoke, her tone brisk. “I was thinking of stitching some kneepads for Tiezhu. He and the others are heading up the mountain tomorrow to hunt wolves. I’ll pick up some scrap leather for the job. Can’t have him freezing his knees off in that biting cold.”

Li shi chimed in with a wry smile. “Now you’re finally acting like a proper mother. Of course, kneepads are a start, but if he’s going out into the wild like that, make him a wolf fur vest too. That tough leather could shield him from any scrapes or bumps along the way.”

The mention of such dangers cast a heavy shadow over the room. A somber silence settled in, broken only by the soft crack of sunflower seeds and the rustle of peanuts in the children’s hands. Even the little ones seemed to sense the gravity of the adults’ conversation, keeping their mischief at bay.

Just then, Song Dingxiang strode into the room, her bright eyes scanning the quiet scene. “What’s going on?” she asked, her voice light and curious. “Grandma, why’s everyone so serious all of a sudden?”

Li shi responded with a faint smile. “Oh, your mother was just talking about making kneepads for Tiezhu. He’s heading up the mountain tomorrow for the wolf hunt.”

Song Dingxiang let out a laugh, breaking the tension. “Well, isn’t that funny? Zhou ge was just saying he’s going up the mountain too—said he’d make a wolf fur blanket for Grandma while he’s at it.”

Fang Shi was startled, her voice cutting sharply through the air. "Ridiculous! What could possibly possess them to head up the mountain at a time like this?"

Song Dingxiang, calm but resolute, fired back without hesitation. "Mother, my husband isn’t just any man. He’s strong, skilled, and sharp as a blade. He’s trailing the old hunters, learning their ways. This is the same man who brought down a tiger with his own hands—if he can conquer a tiger, a mere wolf won’t dare lay a claw on him."

Despite her bold words, Fang Shi’s brows remained furrowed, unease flickering in her eyes. Sensing the lingering doubt, Song Dingxiang leaned in with a teasing glint in her gaze. "I was thinking of giving him a better hatchet. His current one is worn to the bone. I’ll swap it with one of ours—might as well get something good for the wolf fur blanket he’ll bring back."

Fang Shi’s sharp tongue lashed out with mock indignation, though her actions betrayed her. "You impudent girl! What ‘exchange’? Always scheming, aren’t you? Let me see what we’ve got that’s worth giving." Muttering her displeasure, she swung herself off the kang, her steps purposeful as she headed to the toolshed.

As Fang Shi disappeared into the shed, Li Shi, the family matriarch, let out a knowing sigh, her lips curving into a gentle smile. "Your mother frets because she cares. She fears the worst, but you’re right. Your husband is capable, clever, and watchful. I only pray that when he returns, the two of you can finally settle into the good life you deserve."

Song Dingxiang nodded lightly, her expression a blend of strength and longing. "Grandmother, I know." In truth, she was prepared for any outcome—whether Zhou Yinuo returned or not, she would carve out her own path and thrive.

But even so… That boy.

That wild, unyielding boy. He had something rare, something raw. She couldn’t deny it—she hoped he’d come back. Together, they could build something fierce, something lasting, something that burned brighter than any mountain flame.

——— Author's Note: Song Dingxiang: With all my skills, why would I fear not living a good life?

Zhou Yinuo: Following my wife, there's meat to eat~