Most of the villagers had gone to Beardy’s fish pond to watch the commotion. Li Zhuiyuan didn’t join them. He lay in bed, unable to sleep, and ended up dragging a small stool outside to sit in the courtyard, gazing at the distant farmland.
A while later, Yingzi came out too, having finished washing the dishes. She carried out a square stool, placed her stationery and homework on top of it, then sat on a little stool herself—just like that, a makeshift desk was assembled. The sun today was bright and cheerful, acting as her lamp.
Yingzi’s parents never paid much attention to her schooling. Still, they never uttered things like “girls don’t need to study,” “better to marry early,” or “find someone to pull strings to get a textile factory job and start earning.”
When tuition was due, they paid it. When she needed money for school materials, she could ask without feeling shy or guilty—it was simply expected.
But comparisons were inevitable. Compared to other girls in the village, her parents’ hands-off approach oddly made them seem like paragons of support for a daughter’s education.
Yingzi knew this was because of her aunt, Li Lan.
Back then, her aunt had changed her life through education, becoming the pride of their grandparents. Even her father and uncles would puff out their chests when mentioning her to outsiders, clearly proud.
Yingzi’s grades were only average, even though she worked hard. Back in the day, it wasn’t like their grandparents intentionally chose to educate only their daughter and not their sons—it was just that her father and uncles truly weren’t cut out for studying.
Sometimes Yingzi wondered: had all the brains in the Li family gone to Aunt Li Lan?
At first, this thought was just a passing one. But it grew stronger on the second day after Little Yuanhou arrived. He was still a bit reserved then, sitting beside her while she puzzled over a math problem. Suddenly, a quiet voice said near her ear:“Square root of three.”
From then on, whenever Yingzi had trouble with a problem, she would ask Li Zhuiyuan. She discovered he barely had to think—just a glance at the question and he had the answer.
The hardest part for him, perhaps, was writing out the steps, because otherwise his dimwitted sister wouldn’t understand.
And she was already a first-year high school student.
Yingzi once asked what school he’d attended in Beijing. He answered, “the Youth Class.”
She instinctively thought “Youth Class” meant elementary school.
She marveled inwardly: No wonder elementary students in the capital were so ahead of the curve.
Li Zhuiyuan sat there, zoning out again, only occasionally snapping to help her solve a problem before spacing out once more.
He felt a pen cap poking him lightly. Turning to look at the problem, he saw Yingzi pointing toward the west side of the courtyard steps. A little girl in a flower-print dress stood below the steps, too timid to come up.
It was Cuicui, Liu Jinxia’s granddaughter. She stood nervously, afraid to approach.
Yingzi frowned slightly at Li Zhuiyuan, signaling him not to respond.
Normally, she would’ve outright told him not to bother with Cuicui—every kid in the village understood not to play with her. But since Liu Jinxia and her daughter had come over yesterday to “treat” her brother, she couldn’t bring herself to say it.
Li Zhuiyuan stood up and walked to the edge of the courtyard, smiling as he asked Cuicui:
“You’re here. What’s up?”
Cuicui looked away, twisting the hem of her dress. “I came to play.”
“Okay.” Li Zhuiyuan turned to wave at Yingzi. “Sis, I’m going to play with Cuicui.”
Yingzi said nothing, just sighed and looked back down at her homework.
Really, there wasn’t much to “play.” Most times, it just meant not wanting to be home, so kids would head to a friend’s place, drag them out, and wander aimlessly.
Cuicui smiled when she saw Li Zhuiyuan walking beside her. It was her first time doing what other village kids did—going to someone’s house to call them out.
Still, she didn’t dare step onto their courtyard uninvited. Kids might not understand much at that age, but they were sensitive. She didn’t want to catch any grown-up’s scornful looks.
“Yuanhou-gege, my mom said you were sick yesterday?”
“Mm.” The mention brought back images of Little Oriole, and the smile faded from his face.
“Oh?” Cuicui quickly apologized. “I won’t talk about it. Being sick is no fun.”
Li Zhuiyuan patted his pockets, looking apologetic. “Ah, I forgot to bring you snacks.”
It wasn’t really forgetfulness. His grandparents weren’t home, and the snack cabinet was locked. He couldn’t get to it. Yingzi probably knew where the key was, but if he asked her to help, she’d just badmouth Cuicui.
“Snacks? We have plenty at my place. Come eat at my house.”
“Your house?”
“Yeah, come play at my place.”
“Sure!”
Encouraged by his response, Cuicui boldly reached out to take his hand, and the two of them walked along the dirt path through the fields.
Right now, she really hoped the adults on nearby porches would see them and ask, “Hey, Little Cuicui, who are you playing with?”
She also hoped they’d run into some kids their age, so everyone could see that she had a playmate now.
Unfortunately, most of the villagers were still at Beardy’s pond watching the pig-skin jelly.
Still, she was overjoyed, her grin never fading. If her hand weren’t occupied, she probably would’ve twirled in circles from happiness.
“Yuanhou-gege, do you have trouble understanding how we talk?”
“At first, I didn’t get anything. Then I started understanding if people spoke slowly and simply. Now I get it all—and I can even speak a little, though not well.”
When he first arrived, he couldn’t understand a word the adults said. Only the school-educated siblings could speak with him in standard Mandarin.
He remembered how every time he called Li Weihan and Cui Guiying “grandpa” and “grandma,” they’d frown and correct him insistently—he was supposed to say “ye-ye” and “nai-nai.”
Locally, people didn’t use terms like “wai gong” or “wai po” for maternal grandparents. Instead, they’d differentiate grandmas by direction—like “South Grandma” or “North Grandma.”
“Hey, Yuanhou-gege, have you ever been to the Forbidden City?”
“Yeah, I’ve been.”
“I want to go there someday.”
“Sure, call me and I’ll take you.”
“Really? Don’t lie!”
“I’m not lying. I know it like the back of my hand.”
He remembered a time when Li Lan worked at the Forbidden City. He’d be left there to play by himself, sitting on the steps by a side door with an orange cat in his arms, watching tourists stream through the main gate all afternoon.
“Hey, Yuanhou-gege, have you ever drunk douzhi?”
“Uh…”
“Have you?” Cuicui asked eagerly.
“I have.”
“Was it good? What does douzhi taste like?”
What did it taste like?
In his mind flashed the image of Cui Guiying rinsing out a vat of spoiled pickled cabbage last week.
“Some people like it. Some don’t.”
“Really? Then I’ll have to try it when I go to Beijing.”
“Mm.”
“Yuanhou-gege, look, that’s my house.”
Following Cuicui’s finger, he saw a two-story building beyond a field.
“Your house has two floors?”
In the village, houses came in all kinds. Most were single-story brick and tile homes. A few poorer families still lived in mud houses. Then there were the well-off, who had already built two-story houses.
Walking up to Cuicui’s courtyard, they saw Liu Jinxia in the first-floor living room, cigarette in her mouth, playing cards.
Her card partners were two old women and an old man. Playing at Liu Jinxia’s meant free meals—with meat and booze—so she never lacked partners and was happy to “buy” company with decent food.
The card table was something magical. Despite having cataracts, Liu Jinxia could still play at lightning speed.
“Nai, I brought Yuanhou-gege over to play.”
“Liu-nai.” Li Zhuiyuan greeted politely.
“Mm, go play,” Liu Jinxia muttered, eyes still on her hand. “Pong!”
Just moments ago, the players had been gossiping about what was going on at Beardy’s. Liu Jinxia, blowing smoke, responded distractedly—until she heard her granddaughter bring in Li Zhuiyuan. She paused, eyes narrowing through the haze.
That boy got possessed yesterday, and this morning Beardy and his son were found floating in the pond.
No way this is all just coincidence. She’d bet her life on it.
Still, she didn’t stop her granddaughter from playing with him. Hell, they were both jinxed kids—what’s the point in looking down on each other?
Cuicui led Li Zhuiyuan through the hall into the inner room, where Li Juxiang was sitting on a stool picking vegetables. She was surprised at first to see her daughter bring someone home, then smiled broadly when she recognized him.
It reminded her of when she used to play with Li Lan as a child.
Li Juxiang quickly stood, wiping her hands on her apron. “Come sit, Little Yuanhou.”
Then she bustled into another room and returned with snacks. The Liu family really was better off, and Cuicui was their only child, so she enjoyed snack privileges most village kids envied.
Li Juxiang even opened two bottles of lemon soda, one for each of them.
These sodas, shaped like beer bottles and carbonated, were cheap and popular. Kids didn’t bother pouring them into cups—they drank straight from the bottle, mimicking adults and their boozy bravado.
“Little Yuanhou, how’s your mom doing?”
“She’s fine, Auntie.”
“I heard she got div—” Li Juxiang caught herself mid-sentence, realizing it wasn’t right to ask a kid that. She quickly changed the subject. “Your mom and I used to play together all the time. We were really close.”
“Mm. Mom’s told me about you—Xianghou, Auntie Xianghou.”
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