Song Dazhi saw his mother’s stern expression and had no choice but to start tidying the main room.
Still, in his heart, he felt resentment.
There’s truth in the saying “a little help brings gratitude, a lot brings resentment.” Lu Minggui had always favored the eldest household; now, showing less preference sparked complaints.
Even if she knew, she wouldn’t care—her love for the eldest son’s family had long died in the drought ditch during the famine years.
After preparing dinner, she naturally didn’t set aside a portion for Song Dazhi.
This completely stunned him.
“Mother, what are you doing? Not even giving me food?”
Lu Minggui looked at him coldly, face full of impatience: “I already told Jinbao and Erfen this morning: if they don’t gather firewood, they won’t eat tonight.”
“But… they didn’t gather any. Why won’t you give me food?” Song Dazhi had ignored responsibilities that morning, yet didn’t see the issue.
“You raised such fine children and now you ask me?”
“This household doesn’t feed idlers. From now on, you eat as much as you work. Don’t want to work? Then get out!”
Song Dazhi was dumbfounded. Get kicked out? And the children not working is somehow his fault? They were Hu Cuihua’s responsibility, not his!
Watching his mother carry a pot of coarse rice porridge and three black wheat buns to Shen Juyue’s room, he didn’t dare barge in.
Outside the door, he muttered: “Mother, I may skip the meal, but I have to bring the three kids back—they’re the fruit of our Song family!”
Lu Minggui served porridge to Shen Juyue and Erfen, giving each one black wheat bun, too busy to respond to him.
Song Dazhi, not angry, tried to reason: “Mother, my father-in-law already looks down on me. If I go get them, I can’t go empty-handed.”
“Give me some money, just thirty wen. I’ll buy something to appease them.”
“Or just give me the money bag you took from me last time?”
Lu Minggui could barely keep from laughing in exasperation.
Still thinking about the bag of coins she took, and wanting thirty wen? She wanted to splash that hot porridge on his face! His nerve! But she couldn’t waste food.
“Manman, go close the door,” she said.
“Don’t let outsiders disturb our dinner.”
Manman obeyed, rising to close the door, startled by Song Dazhi’s incredulous exclamations: “Hey! Mother, what’s this supposed to mean?”
“You don’t need money from me, why close the door?”
“Mother, do you even have eyes for your son?”
Manman, frightened by his voice, hesitated. Lu Minggui calmly set down her bowl and went herself.
Before closing the door, she said to Song Dazhi: “If you have no eyes for your mother, why should I bother with a son like you?”
“Mother, that’s unreasonable! When have I ever ignored you?”
But before he could argue, the door was already shut.
Night fell. Starving, Song Dazhi went to the town.
He still had plenty of copper coins, but with nothing to buy in the village, he might as well go to town to get food.
That old woman refused to feed him—fine, he’d buy something better!
Maybe even roast a chicken, satisfy his cravings. The thought of it quickened his pace.
The Song household finally quieted.
Shen Juyue, hesitant, spoke up: “Mother, now that there’s no labor at home, even the eldest household can work.”
“If everyone is driven away, the fields will go to waste.”
She noticed how coldly her mother treated the eldest household. But with Dahe gone, wasn’t the family still reliant on them?
Why was her mother treating them this way? Shen Juyue couldn’t figure it out, but she felt it was wrong.
If the fields went to waste, the whole family could starve!
Lu Minggui understood Shen Juyue’s concerns. But in the past, giving her all to Song Dazhi’s family had only led to dead ends.
Now, even if they depended on Song Dazhi, she couldn’t erase her anger at nearly being killed.
“Juyue, I know you mean well,” she said.
“But goodwill doesn’t always bring reward.”
“Think about it—our three worked like oxen for them all these years, for what?”
“You do all the household chores, I toil in the fields. They hunt, weave, and squander the money. And still ask me for more!”
“I’m old now, where would income come from? Only living off the old savings.”
“The entire family feeds off me. Once I’m spent, they’d kick me aside.”
Even if she hadn’t hit her head before, she’d have starved in the famine years.
It wasn’t worth sacrificing for Song Dazhi’s family.
If not for her miraculous revival, she’d have confronted Song Dazhi himself.
But this matter would remain locked in her heart.
Seeing her mother so serious, Shen Juyue didn’t dare speak for the eldest household.
She harbored some resentment herself—after all, the eldest household often treated them like servants.
Also, Dahe had died in the war, a battle he only joined because the eldest son asked. Shen Juyue fell silent, thinking of her husband’s death.
At that moment, the door creaked open.
“Mother, are you in Sister-in-law’s room?” A hoarse voice.
It was Lu Minggui’s youngest son, Song Xiaodong, returning.
He was learning carpentry in town, food and lodging provided, and only came home once a month, sometimes two or three.
Hearing his voice, Lu Minggui’s heart jolted. She hurried to the door.
Outside stood fourteen-year-old Song Xiaodong, wearing ill-fitting clothes. His wrists and ankles were slender; though fourteen, he looked barely twelve or thirteen.
Chapped lips, sweaty forehead, chest heaving—he’d clearly run all the way from town.