Inside the shack, Song Hao was feeding water to Bai Qingxia, who had woken up but was still very weak.
As soon as Song Yun came in, Bai Qingxia immediately lifted her gaze toward her. Sure enough, just as her husband had said—this was her biological daughter. This face looked at least eighty percent like hers in her youth, and the special bond between mother and daughter made her eyes well up the moment they met.
Her throat tightened, and she couldn’t speak—she only gazed at her daughter through tear-filled eyes, her heart aching beyond words.
Her daughter should have grown up under her parents’ love, enjoying a good life, and living happily. Yet, because of her and her husband’s negligence, their lives had been switched, and the girl had suffered greatly. She had never enjoyed the life of a capitalist’s daughter, yet she had to bear the consequences of being one. Now, for the sake of these incompetent parents, she had even given up city life to travel thousands of miles into this remote mountain valley to suffer hardship. The thought twisted her heart like a knife.
“Mom—” Song Yun called softly, her own eyes brimming with tears.
This word “Mom” was something she had called thousands of times in her dreams. She had wished those dreams were reality, that she would wake to find her parents and younger brother safe at her side.
Now, the dream had come true. Her tears were those of regaining what was once lost—tears of joy and happiness.
How wonderful—her family of four was reunited again.
“Ah—good child, it’s your mother who has wronged you.” Bai Qingxia longed to hug her daughter, but remembering she had pneumonia—which was said to be contagious—she restrained herself and instead told Song Yun to keep her distance so she wouldn’t catch it.
But Song Yun didn’t care. She handed the clay pot to Song Hao. “Dad, there’s some noodles inside. They’ve probably clumped by now—hurry and take them out.” She took the bowl from Song Hao’s hands. “I’ll feed Mom some water.”
Song Hao had planned to cook some wild vegetable porridge for thin soup, but now that his daughter had brought food, he was delighted. He quickly took the clay pot to the side to work on it.
Song Yun glanced at the bowl, pretended there was something in it that needed checking, and turned away from Bai Qingxia. Quietly, she poured a bit of low-grade nutrient solution she had just exchanged into the bowl.
She didn’t add too much, afraid the sweetness would be suspicious, since she had taken the bowl directly from her father’s hands.
Bai Qingxia drank the water her daughter fed her, finding it a little sweeter than when her husband fed her, but she thought it was just her imagination and didn’t dwell on it.
By the time Song Hao finished with the clay pot, Song Yun had finished feeding the water. She lowered her voice. “Dad, Mom—what’s the situation here in this cowshed?”
Song Hao wanted to tell her anyway. He sat down by the bed with his enamel mug. “Including us, there are six relocated people living here. Next door are two old chiefs from the military region. The next one over is a married couple, said to be from the research institute in Beijing. Those two have a strange temperament, and the way they look at people isn’t right, so we don’t have much contact with them. Old Mo and Old Qi next door are good people, just like us—they ended up here because of misfortune. They’re both old and either sick or injured. I don’t know how much longer they can hold on.” He sighed heavily.
Song Yun knew a bit about this era. She’d heard many stories of patriotic senior officials with great contributions who didn’t survive these dark years. Even if their names were cleared later, what good would it do?
“Dad, since the two chiefs are good people, we should look after them more if we can. Don’t be sad—this will pass.”
Song Hao nodded and then brought up Old Qi’s injury. “Old Qi’s leg is definitely broken. If it’s delayed any longer, it won’t be salvageable. If it gets infected, who knows what will happen.”
Song Yun asked, “Is it Captain Liu who won’t let you go to the hospital?”
Song Hao shook his head. “It’s not the brigade. The villagers here keep their distance from us, but they haven’t made trouble. It’s the people from the Revolutionary Committee—”
He trailed off.
Song Yun’s expression darkened. “They’d actually use violence?”
Song Hao was silent, which was as good as admitting it.
Bai Qingxia, afraid her daughter would worry, quickly said, “It’s fine. They just vent their anger on us—they wouldn’t dare go too far. We just have to endure it for now.”
Song Yun clenched her fists, her chest tight with frustration.
“Alright, didn’t you just tell Old Zhang you’d go buy a water jar? You’d better hurry, or he’ll set out without you. He’s a good man—he’s been looking out for us.”
Song Yun nodded. “Then I’ll head out. I’ll come back tonight—you two eat quickly.”
She hurried off with the clay pot, and the couple started their lunch. The noodles weren’t great—they were plain and clumped—but Song Hao still found them flavorful.
Bai Qingxia wasn’t very hungry after drinking the water, so she ate only a little, leaving more than half a bowl. Song Hao covered it to save for the evening.
Next door, Old Qi and Old Mo were also eating lunch—just their usual translucent wild vegetable porridge. But today they had mung bean cakes and peach crisps, so they were about seventy percent full instead of their usual thirty, and looked much more energetic.
They had heard the noises from next door earlier. Though they couldn’t make out the details, they could guess what had happened, and felt a pang of envy.
Still, if given the choice, they would stick with their current solitary state. No matter their family’s thoughts or feelings, they didn’t want to drag them into this.
They were also puzzled—Song Hao had once told them that before the incident, his daughter had severed ties with them. Why had she suddenly come here?
At that moment, Old Zhang led a cow out of the cowshed to hitch it to a cart at the brigade headquarters. As he left, he set the tools needed for afternoon work in front of the three shacks, called out once, and walked off.
Song Hao stepped out to get the tools, running into Old Mo, who was doing the same. He quickly asked, “How’s Old Qi’s leg?”
Old Mo shook his head. “Same as before. Last night he said it was a little better, not as painful, but today it started hurting again—he can’t get out of bed.”
Song Hao sighed. “Once I finish my work, I’ll come help you. Don’t worry—he’ll get better.” He didn’t dare say more. Even though his daughter could take pulses and gather herbs, that didn’t necessarily mean she could treat a broken leg, and he didn’t want to give false hope.
Meanwhile, Song Yun left the abandoned courtyard and set down the clay pot. The thermos was already out of water, so she couldn’t wash the pot. She would have to wait until she bought the jar first.
She told Song Ziyi to stay in the courtyard that afternoon—first, to help lay out the herbs to dry, and second, to watch over the things stored in the woodshed. People would be coming to work in the afternoon, and she didn’t know how many—too many hands meant trouble, so it was better to keep an eye on things.
Song Ziyi looked disappointed—he had wanted to go with his sister—but he agreed that their belongings were important and couldn’t afford to lose even one item.
The boy nodded earnestly. “Don’t worry, sis, I’ll keep everything safe.”
From their time together these past days, Song Yun knew her younger brother was a clever and steady child, so she felt comfortable leaving him to watch the place alone.
As she was leaving the courtyard and heading toward the village entrance, she spotted Zhao Xiaomei and another female educated youth standing by Old Zhang’s ox cart, talking about something with sour expressions.