Li Zhuiyuan blew out the match, dropped it to the ground, and stamped it several times with the sole of his shoe.
Panzi piped up. “Gramps, let’s take the boat out this afternoon and pick some lotus pods?”
Li Weihan glanced at the sparse dishes on the table, nodded, and said, “Take Leizi along. Bring the net, see if you can catch a few fish. Your grandma can make soup.”
Upon hearing this, Huozi and Shitou immediately forgot about the little yellow oriole and shouted, “Gramps, we want to go too! We want to go too!”
The other kids chimed in, afraid they'd miss out on something fun.
Li Weihan looked around sternly and scolded, “Listen here—you all better remember this river’s got water monkeys. They drag people under and drown them, just to make them their scapegoats so they can reincarnate.”
The kids instantly quieted, spooked into silence.
Shitou grumbled, a little unconvinced. “Why do the older boys get to go?”
Panzi and Leizi, being older and more sensible, helped their grandpa scare the younger ones:
“I'm strong. Water monkeys can’t pull me down.”“I’m a good swimmer. Water monkeys can’t catch me.”
Li Zhuiyuan wasn’t scared. He wanted to go too but was too shy to ask. He just lowered his head, fiddling with his fingers and sneaking glances at his grandfather.
Li Weihan said, “Little Yuanhou can come too.”
Huozi immediately protested. “That’s not fair! Yuange is only a year older than me!”
Shitou backed him up. “Yeah! Yuange’s not even as strong as me—how’s he gonna fight a water monkey?”
Li Weihan slowly exhaled a ring of smoke and gave a reason so convincing that even the kids accepted it:
“Little Yuanhou’s from outside. The local water monkeys don’t recognize him.”
…
Most of the houses in the village were built facing the road, with back doors leading to the river.
When it was time to wash vegetables or do laundry, you only needed to head out the back door and walk down a few mossy stone steps to reach the riverside.
Those who knew how to manage their lives well would often set up a net enclosure at the back of their own stretch of riverbank to raise ducks and geese.
The old Li family’s boat was tied to the persimmon tree behind the house. Li Weihan untied the rope, climbed aboard first, and steadied the boat with a bamboo pole.
Panzi jumped on holding a fishing rod, Leizi followed with the net.
Li Zhuiyuan, carrying a little bamboo basket on his back, was lifted onto the boat by Li Weihan.
“Everyone sit tight. We’re setting off!”
As the bamboo pole shortened and lengthened in the water, the boat began to move.
Panzi and Leizi were already used to this. The two of them lounged back lazily, while Li Zhuiyuan sat up straight, eyes fixed on the drifting river lanterns ahead.
“Here, Yuange,” Panzi said, handing him a small handful of roasted beans.
He was the eldest son of the eldest household and lived nearby, so he often went home to grab snacks. His mom had warned him not to share, but to hide them and eat by himself.
By contrast, Li Zhuiyuan’s mother had sent over a large bag of treats—biscuits, pork floss, canned fruit—when she delivered him here in army uniform. Just the day before yesterday, she’d mailed another package. Cuid Guiying locked it all in the cabinet and rationed it out to the kids.
“Thanks, Panzi-ge.”
Li Zhuiyuan took a bean and popped it in his mouth. These beans, locally called “fist beans,” were really just fava beans—stir-fried in their shells with some spices and salt. Crunchy and fragrant.
But Li Zhuiyuan didn’t like them much. Too hard. Hurt his teeth.
So while his two older cousins crunched noisily away, he just kept one bean in his mouth, slowly sucking it like candy.
“Come the day, ten thousand songs may fly, drifting down the road I walk. Come the night, ten thousand stars may shine, brighter than the moon tonight.”
Panzi began to sing.
“You got it wrong,” Leizi laughed. “That’s not how it goes.”
Panzi scoffed. “Hmph, you sing it then if you're so great!”
Leizi pursed his lips, scratched his head. “I only remember the tune.”
Li Weihan, still poling the boat, asked, “What are you singing? I don’t understand a word.”
Panzi answered, “Gramps, it’s what the little yellow oriole sang yesterday. It’s called Yue opera.”
“Yue opera?” Li Weihan was surprised. “That was Yue opera?”
Leizi said, “No, Grandpa, it’s Cantonese opera. From Guangdong, from Hong Kong.”
“Oh, I see. Well then, sing it properly so Grandpa can hear.”
Leizi said, “Panzi can’t sing it. He can’t even remember the lyrics. Compared to the little yellow oriole yesterday, he’s miles off.”
Truth be told, the oriole hadn’t sung it in standard style either. But nowadays, hardly anyone inland knew the difference. It wasn’t about accuracy anymore—it was about confidence, about hitting that dramatic tone.
Panzi pointed at Li Zhuiyuan. “Yesterday when the oriole was singing, I saw Yuange mouthing along. He knows it.”
Li Weihan said, “Little Yuanhou, sing a bit for Grandpa.”
Li Zhuiyuan said shyly, “I only know that one part.”
“Sing, sing!” Leizi urged him. “Yuange can even sing English songs!”
So Li Zhuiyuan sang softly:
“Come the day, ten thousand songs may fly, drifting down the road I walk.
Come the night, ten thousand stars may shine, brighter than the moon tonight.
That’s all I know. Mom likes this song. She plays it a lot at home.”
Leizi looked smugly at Panzi. “Hear that? You got the words all wrong.”
Panzi rolled his eyes so hard they practically flipped over.
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