Li Weihan didn’t go either. He claimed he was out on the boat, but in truth, he was home. The real reason was embarrassment. After all, he’d already let Panzi and Leizi take Yuanzi, Huzi, and Shitou to the banquet. If he, a grown man, showed up to eat as well, it would look bad.
The five kids didn’t just eat for themselves—they brought back plenty, especially the fancy dishes that were portioned per person. Li Zhuiyuan, imitating his older cousins, tore off a piece of the red plastic tablecloth in front of him and used it to wrap up food.
When they got home, they split it up among the younger siblings who hadn’t gone. Watching them eat, they felt like victorious generals returning from battle.
Leizi said, “The singing was really nice, and she’s pretty too. She told us to call her Little Oriole.”
Panzi nodded. “She’s super nice. Pretty and dressed so well. I want to marry someone like her when I grow up.”
Cui Guiying looked down and asked Li Zhuiyuan, who sat beside her, “Is that true, little Yuanhou?”
“Mm.” Li Zhuiyuan put down his chopsticks and nodded. “Pretty.”
In rural funeral troupes, it was important to be versatile—capable in both ceremony and entertainment.
During the rites, they donned Taoist robes and chanted scriptures with a dignified air, projecting a sage-like grace.
After the noonday feast, they organized performances: singing, dancing, acrobatics, magic tricks—whatever they could muster.If the family was wealthy and status-conscious, they’d even pay for a nighttime show. But before that kind of performance began, the adults always made sure to send the kids home to bed.
Little Oriole’s real name was Xiao Huangying, surname Xiao. Her stage name was “Little Oriole.” She was actually in her thirties and divorced.
As for her skills in singing and dancing—she was no expert. But she knew how to dress. Her outfits were bold and trendy: a tight black cheongsam with a high slit that showed off long, pale legs. Add to that her warm, engaging stage presence…
In the words of village women—words that were both the harshest insult and highest praise—she was saucy.
In a village where few households had TVs and those who did were always swarmed by neighbors with benches, the winds of popular culture hadn’t yet swept through. In this backwater, Little Oriole’s “sauciness” hit like a bomb.
She didn’t just steal the hearts of the grown men—she bewitched the boys too.
Just then, a figure appeared at the doorway of the main room. It was Zhao Simei, a long-time “sister” of Cui Guiying. When their kids were little, the two had often sat on the dam gossiping.
“Had dinner?” asked Cui Guiying. “Come on, grab a pair of chopsticks.”
Zhao Simei quickly waved her hands and laughed. “Oh no, I wouldn’t dare freeload at your place. Look, you’re down to porridge already.”
“This porridge goes down easy—I love it. Come on, I’ll get you a bowl. Even if I had to scrape the bottom of the rice jar, you’d still get your share.”
“All right, all right, but I already ate. Hey, did you hear? The head of the funeral troupe just went to the Bearded Man’s house and raised a fuss. Smashed some things. Almost came to blows, they say.”
Cui Guiying perked up immediately. She picked up her bowl and chopsticks, stood up, and began shoveling porridge into her mouth as she edged toward the door. “What happened? Didn’t the Bearded Man settle the payment?”
“It wasn’t about the performance fee. One of their people is missing.”
“What? Missing?” Cui Guiying paused with her chopsticks mid-air. “Who?”
“That saucy one, the one whose ass was swinging around yesterday like it was trying to escape her skirt.”
“Little Oriole?” Panzi asked.
The other kids all pricked up their ears.
“Seems like it. That saucy hussy,” Zhao Simei said with glee.
“What do you mean missing? Did they find her?” Cui Guiying asked.
“They said someone saw her last night going into the little grove by the river with the Bearded Man’s youngest son. After that, she never returned to the troupe, so they went to demand answers.”
“What about that youngest son?”
“He’s at home, but claims he knows nothing. Says it never happened. But plenty of villagers saw them sneak into the grove together.”
“So where is she now?”
“Who knows? Just gone. The troupe leader came to get her back, but the Bearded Man’s family swears they never saw her. They say she bolted on her own.”
“So what now?”
“The Bearded Man’s family paid them off—a pretty hefty sum too.”
Cui Guiying smacked Zhao Simei’s arm and raised an eyebrow. “Something’s fishy!”
Zhao Simei smacked her back and lifted her chin. “Darn right!”
The Bearded Man had once been deputy director of the grain depot in town—a cushy post. Even though he was retired now, all his sons had jobs in town, except the youngest who was a layabout. His family carried more weight in the village than even the village head’s.
So if he was willing to pay hush money, something had to be rotten!
“So the troupe leader just left after that?”
“Gone.”
“They’re not looking for her?”
“Looking my foot. They packed up their gear, loaded the truck, and headed off to the next gig.”
“Yikes.” Cui Guiying shook her head. “I hope nothing bad happened.”
“Who can say.”
“People sure are fickle.”
“Aren’t they though.”
At this point, Huzi and Shitou suddenly burst into tears:
“Waaah! Little Oriole! Little Oriole!”
“My Little Oriole is gone! Waaah!”
Zhao Simei nearly snorted a snot bubble laughing. She pointed and said, “Look at your grandsons—real heartbreakers!”
Cui Guiying rolled her eyes. “Don’t you have a granddaughter? How about we match them up?”
“Heh.” Zhao Simei scoffed and pointed at Li Zhuiyuan. “If we’re talking in-laws, she should marry your little Yuanhou. That way, she can follow him to the capital and live the good life.”
“Yeah, yeah, keep dreaming.”
Li Weihan had already finished eating. The women’s gossip didn’t interest him, and he knew better than to butt in. He quietly picked up his pipe and opened his matchbox—only to find it empty.
Li Zhuiyuan put down his chopsticks and ran to the stove to fetch another box of matches.
Li Weihan didn’t take it. Instead, he held the pipe bowl toward Zhuiyuan.
Grinning, Zhuiyuan pulled out a match. “Scratch, scratch, scratch”—it took some effort, but he finally got a flame and carefully shielded it with one hand, lowering it toward the pipe bowl.
Li Weihan took a few strong puffs until the smoke came through. He was satisfied and smiling.
Back when his daughter was little, she used to love lighting his pipe too. She even said that when she grew up, she’d buy him cigarette cartons herself.
“Whoosh.”
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