Shen Dajun’s hands stilled mid-motion. He muttered quietly, “Today is also my daughter and son-in-law’s return day. I may slaughter this chicken, but it ought to be for my daughter and son-in-law to eat too…”
Liao Chunmei, wife of the second son, heard him and instantly darkened. She planted her hands on her hips and pointed at Shen Dajun.
“What? That foundling, that money-losing girl—she wants chicken? In your dreams, Eldest Brother! Don’t think we’re all fools. Just look at her—she’s far better fed than our Youyou. Clearly she’s been sneaking good food behind everyone’s back! And then she went and used those bewitching looks of hers to hook that Gu boy. Shameless hussy! Chicken? Not a crumb! This chicken belongs to Mother, and I have been the one feeding it day in and day out. Why should that cheap little girl get the best of it?”
Seeing his eldest brother’s face harden, Shen Erguang tugged quickly at his wife’s sleeve.
“That’s enough! It’s a joyous day—why must you carry on like this?”
Liao Chunmei wrenched her arm free, seething.
“Me? What have I done? I speak nothing but the plain truth!”
Privately, she burned with envy. That Gu boy was an officer and his family lived in the city—what a fine match he would have made! If only her own daughter hadn’t insisted on marrying Wang Jianguo, who worked at a scrap-recycling station, she would have schemed to snatch that marriage right out from under Shen Niannian.
It was unfair! And now the girl wanted chicken she had raised? Over her dead body.
Shen Dajun stood rooted, eyes cast down. His hands clenched so tightly the veins stood out sharply along his forearms—he looked formidable indeed. Liao Chunmei instinctively shrank back.
“Well? Eldest Brother? Do you dare raise a hand to me?”
Old Man Shen, who sat on the threshold of the main hall smoking his long-stemmed pipe, had watched the whole exchange. He frowned, tapped his pipe, and pointed the stem at Shen Dajun.
“Eldest Son! What do you think you’re doing? Rebelling against heaven itself?”
At that moment, Li Guihua hurried out from the main hall, having heard every word. She narrowed her triangular eyes, planted her hands on her hips, and rounded on Shen Dajun.
“You spineless fool! Dare lay a hand on Second Son’s wife and see what becomes of you! Have you lost your senses? She speaks the truth! That foundling—why should she eat chicken? Let me make this plain: today’s feast is prepared only for my own granddaughter Shen Youyou. If that money-losing girl wishes to come home? Fine. She may sit in your room, set up a rickety table, and make do with wild-vegetable soup!”
“Our family sees little meat all year round! That small portion was bought by Second Son’s household. If she wants meat so badly—Eldest Brother—go buy it yourself!”
Shen Dajun listened, his heart turning to ice within him. A grown man, his eyes burned red with the effort of holding back tears. He lifted his head and looked straight at Li Guihua and Old Man Shen standing in the doorway.
“Father, Mother… where am I to get money? All these years—every coin I have earned—has gone into your hands. First you said it was being saved for my marriage. Then you said it must go to Third Brother’s wedding. Later you said it was needed for building the new house. I never uttered a single word of complaint. I told myself: never mind if I never marry. I will raise Niannian by myself. But look at how my daughter has lived in this house! And look at how Second Brother’s daughter Shen Youyou has lived!”
“Now, at last, Niannian is married. She has come home with her husband—and this is how you treat her? Are you not being altogether too cruel?”
“Even if the meat was bought by Second Brother… surely this chicken is partly mine?”
Liao Chunmei rolled her eyes.
“Eldest Brother, that is sheer nonsense! If Third Brother spent your money on his wedding—go demand it back from him. And as for the new house—every brother contributed! Are you saying you would shirk your duty to your parents?”
She paused, seeing him silent, and scoffed.
“And as for this chicken—what share is yours? Did you buy it? Did you feed it? For shame, speaking such barefaced lies!”
Shen Dajun’s heart ran hot and cold—cold with grief, hot with rising wrath. He shifted his lame leg forward and took one halting step. Eyes blazing red, he pointed down at his injured limb.
“Second Sister-in-law—very well! The chicken was bought by Mother, and you have tended it. But who went daily into the hills to dig wild herbs for its feed? Last night—did you not say the chickens were starving and drive me up the mountain to dig more? The path was steep and treacherous. I slipped and fell. And this is how I broke my leg! It is my own foolish fault, I suppose. But tell me—has this leg not earned me half a chicken for my daughter to eat?”
Silence fell. Every face in the Shen household darkened.
Old Man Shen tapped his pipe against the stone and said nothing. Li Guihua looked away, awkward and defensive. It was not that she felt no compassion—but the family had precious little money to spare. Worse still: her eldest son had always been meek, the sort who swallowed grievances and never made a sound. People so easy to overlook were soon forgotten entirely.
It was true what they said: the squeaky wheel gets the grease. She doted on her second son most of all—he was clever, he knew how to flatter, how to keep her pleased. Her third son was decent enough too; quiet, but quick-witted. When one grows accustomed to ignoring someone, that habit becomes nearly impossible to break.
Besides—when Shen Dajun limped home last night, he had not cried out in pain, nor begged for a doctor. She had told herself it could not be all that serious. What household goes without a tumble or two? A hospital visit meant consultation fees, examinations, medicine—all adding up to a fortune.
And as things stood, Liao Chunmei’s son Qingfeng had just returned from the countryside. He had been sent down to the farms per national policy, and the whole family ached to make it up to him. Liao Chunmei had been scheming to secure him a factory post—and connections cost dearly.
Shen Niannian’s marriage had brought two hundred yuan from the Gu family, all of which Li Guihua kept tucked away. Liao Chunmei had learned of a retiring senior worker at a chemical plant whose position was for sale—originally asking three hundred yuan, a staggering sum no common farming family could hope to scrape together. After days of haggling, the seller had lowered it to two hundred and fifty yuan.
Shen Youyou’s marriage had also brought two hundred yuan from the Wang family. Add the two hundred from the Gu family, and they were within striking distance—plus Li Guihua had another twenty or thirty yuan saved. Altogether, if they pooled every coin, they might just manage.
But every extra yuan spent now was one yuan closer to falling short. That was why Li Guihua would not—and could not—spend money on Shen Dajun’s leg. It looked like a fracture, and a proper hospital visit alone would cost dozens of yuan. Unthinkable.
If Shen Dajun went to hospital now—what became of her grandson’s future?