The voice came from the kitchen, and yet she didn’t hear Changzong’s footsteps opening the door.
Looking up, she was shocked. A young woman resembling Grandma waved at her: “Wenwen, come with Grandma.”
Not calling her by her usual name, and in a background not her own—this unusual sight in her bedroom immediately told Hongguo it wasn’t real.
Soon, a young version of Grandma walked past the bed she leaned on. It was the younger Changzong’s grandmother.
Hongguo realized that the baby in her womb seemed to be letting her witness the history tied to the jade grapes—scenes spanning decades—but which specific part she saw, she thought, must have been guided by the child.
Surprisingly, Hongguo wasn’t afraid. Perhaps she already knew that both Changzong and her baby were extraordinary, so she accepted the unusual calmly.
She touched her belly and praised the little one: “Was that you? You’re amazing.”
As if responding, the baby kicked again, and Hongguo smiled knowingly.
“Wenwen, these were all part of Grandma’s dowry. Pick a few things you like for your wedding trousseau.”
The soon-to-be-married Yan Suwen first selected the purple jade grapes. Grandma laughed, praising her good eye, and pressed one grape firmly. A small switch at the base clicked open.
“This purple jade grape isn’t as valuable as other pieces. Later, if you want, you can hide small treasures inside as a surprise for someone honest. Isn’t that fun?”
So the lawyer had paid a high price for the small, run-down house to give Hongguo and Changzong a hidden gift—something Grandma had learned from her own grandmother.
The scene shifted: the lawyer held the wooden box containing the jade grapes, murmuring to the dilapidated house:
“Teacher, I’ve completed the task you entrusted me with. You always taught me that objects are lifeless, people are alive. Even if these items have value, I’ve sold them to help the living. I hope you won’t blame me.”
Some people of similar age came forward, offering to sponsor or buy the lawyer’s house to ensure he wouldn’t reveal the story of Grandma’s support for orphans and lending them ten antique items.
The lawyer firmly refused the offers. He explained that the teacher had trusted the children, and though they sold half of what she lent them, the teacher had known all along. Only the most honest student had been returned the remaining items.
He added: “We wrote IOUs for borrowed items. If any remain, you should return them to the rightful owners.”
Hongguo realized that the others weren’t truly helping; they had borrowed Grandma’s possessions via IOUs, returned part of the value, and only the honest lawyer kept the least valuable jade grapes for himself.
When Changzong entered, Hongguo was startled, and the display fell—but luckily on the bed, unharmed.
“Was something dirty on it?” he asked.
Shaking her head, she pointed to the movable grape: “Changzong, this one can move. I can’t press it; try it.”
Even Changzong, who had inspected and cleaned the piece, hadn’t noticed the movable grape. He pressed it, opening a hidden compartment. Inside were neatly stacked sheets of paper—IOUs in pristine ink.
This was Grandma’s hidden gift for the honest student. By fate, Hongguo discovered it.
Hongguo felt a pang of sympathy for the honest student: “If I’d known, I wouldn’t have haggled.”
Changzong said: “The honest student would have been endangered by the IOUs anyway. Later we can make it up to him elsewhere.”
Hongguo smiled, kissed his face: “Changzong, I love you.”
She rarely said it so plainly. Changzong, pleased, felt his heart full. Holding the IOUs, he planned to recover them.
Hongguo, concerned that the timing might arouse suspicion, prepared a reason to accompany him: prenatal checkup in the city, a few days of shopping.
Aunt Liu initially said there was no need; the county hospital was fine. Once she heard of the shopping trip, she relented: “You two have money, go ahead. I’ll watch the house—no need to pay me this time.”
So they left for a short trip. Two hours from the county to the city, two hours from city to provincial capital. They stayed in a comfortable hotel, far better than a guesthouse, expensive but cozy.
In the afternoon, they browsed a department store; clothing was far more abundant than in the county supply store. Previously 20–30 yuan per item felt expensive; now Hongguo bought several pieces for just over 100 yuan.
Changzong’s disguise, a forty-something, weathered man, was well-executed. Hongguo bought him a full suit, watch, and shoes—two to three hundred yuan—to maintain his image. No one would suspect his true identity.
At night, Changzong changed the bedding to their own cotton sheets, then took advantage of darkness to head to the provincial city by train to collect the IOU payments.
Hongguo, unused to the bed, didn’t sleep well. Feeling her small belly, much smaller than typical, she wondered what the hospital check would reveal.
If anything unusual was detected, she planned to leave with Changzong to a safe, unknown place to deliver.
Early the next morning, she went to the hospital, pretending Changzong would be accompanying her, telling nurses: “My husband will be here soon. He went to pay the fees.” In reality, she went alone.
She understated her pregnancy by over a month. Ultrasound showed everything normal—no horns, normal hands and feet. At least the child passed standard prenatal checks.
The only concern: a smaller size. She asked around and learned that small babies, preemies, or twins born at lower weights could all grow healthy with proper nutrition.
After a long day, Hongguo bought dinner, brought it to the hotel, and pretended to the front desk that Changzong had gone out for her favorite steamed pork rice.
Even waiting past the last bus arrival, Changzong hadn’t returned. Though being alone while pregnant felt uncomfortable, she understood the necessity of settling the IOUs promptly.
The bedding she had changed helped her sleep quickly, making the night pass faster, hoping Changzong would return tomorrow.
….
Hongguo woke to a knock before seven. Thinking it was room service, she hesitated.
“Hongguo, I bought breakfast,” said Changzong outside.
He waited until she realized it was him before entering, avoiding startling her.
After a day apart, Hongguo hugged his strong waist tightly, laughing but with red eyes, softly murmuring: “You’re finally back.”
Seeing her so vulnerable, exhausted from pretending he was there, Changzong felt deep heartache and tenderness.
Changzong’s face showed no traces of disguise now. He wore normal clothes, carrying a plastic bag in one hand and breakfast in the other.
“Guoguo, you eat first. I’ll take a shower and come sit with you.”
Jiang Hongguo could hardly eat first. She waited for him to wash and change, while sitting. Changzong had bought two steaming bowls of wonton soup—one large, one small—plus six meat buns, all hot and inviting.
She opened the wontons to cool them, then looked at the bag. Inside were his changed clothes, shoes, a watch carefully boxed, and a thick bundle wrapped in newspaper. Peeking under the corner, she saw stacks of cash—Changzong’s haul from this trip.
Changzong, now clean and refreshed, hair still damp, was pleased to see Hongguo’s joy as she handled the money.
“Guoguo, it’s 12,000 yuan. Happy?”