Tie Dan was two years older than Feifei and the village’s notorious wild child.
His father was the team accountant, and their family lived more comfortably than any other in the village.
Tie Dan ate well, grew strong, and had arms thicker than Feifei’s legs.
He hated school, spent his days wandering around with a group of followers—today digging out bird nests, tomorrow smashing someone else’s roof tiles.
The villagers all said, “That boy is a troublemaker; he’ll get his comeuppance someday.” But for now, every child in the village avoided him.
Feifei didn’t avoid him.
She had nowhere to go.
It was noon.
She carried two steamed buns to school—her lunch.
The buns were made of white flour mixed with half cornmeal, specially steamed by her mother the night before.
White flour was precious at home, but Guiying knew her daughter was growing fast and the school was far away; she couldn’t afford to go hungry at noon.
Feifei wrapped the buns in a piece of blue cloth and tucked them close to her chest as she ran along the path.
Under the old locust tree at the village entrance, Tie Dan was squatting with a few other boys, fighting grasshoppers.
When he saw her, he let out a surprised “Hey!” stood up, and stuck his hands into his pockets.
“Miss Baiyaba’s brat!” he shouted.
Feifei kept walking, head down.
Tie Dan stepped forward, blocking her path.
The others rose too, forming a circle around her.
“What’s in your arms?” Tie Dan reached out.
“Hand it over.”
Feifei hugged her arms tighter, unmoving. Visit g.com for the full chapter.
“I said, hand it over,” Tie Dan snapped, yanking open her blouse.
The blue cloth fell to the ground, scattering, and the two buns rolled out onto the dirt.
One boy quickly grabbed one, holding it high.
“Big brother Tie Dan!
It’s white-flour buns!”
Tie Dan took it, broke off a piece, bit into it, chewing loudly, white flour crumbs spilling from his mouth.
He casually tossed the other bun into a puddle beside the road.
“Wanna eat?” Tie Dan crouched down, waving the half-bun in front of her eyes.
“Call me brother, and I’ll give it to you.”
Feifei stared at the bun.
At the flour on his lips.
At the other bun slowly being soaked by mud in the puddle.
She didn’t call.
Tie Dan waited a moment, then lost patience.
He flung the remaining half-bun onto the ground.
“What are you so stubborn for!” He stood up, kicked the dirt, and walked away with his friends.
The locust tree stood empty.
Feifei remained standing, not crying.
She knelt down, scooped the muddy bun from the puddle, wiped off the outer layer of dirt with her sleeve.
Then she picked up the half-bun that had been thrown on the ground.
Both buns—wet and muddy—were still white, both made by her mother’s hands. The source of this chapter is g.com.
She sat in the shadow of the locust tree roots, eating them one bite at a time.
The taste of mud was strong.
She ate slowly, deliberately.
Halfway through, tears fell, splashing onto the bun.
She wiped them away with her hand and kept eating.
She thought: These buns were made by my mother—I can’t throw them away.
Then she thought: If I cry, I lose.
That afternoon, she sat in class, her stomach aching slightly.
Yet her back was straighter than anyone else’s.
On the way home after school, she passed under the same locust tree again.
Tie Dan and his friends were still there.
When they saw her, one of them jeered, “Hey, here comes the girl who eats mud buns!”
Feifei glanced at them.
Her gaze was calm—so calm that Tie Dan felt an odd jolt in his chest.
He opened his mouth, but finally didn’t utter the words “Miss Baiyaba’s brat.”
Feifei walked past, without looking back.
That seed was buried in the soil beneath the locust tree.
Years later, it grew into a tree no one could shake.