Amber?!
Zhuang Yubai took a few seconds to realize that someone was calling him. Awkward.
He clumsily climbed down from the windowsill, dusted off his pants, and walked out of the courtyard, pondering what identity he should assume to greet the visitor.
He was Meng Zhizhang’s confidant, and since he was now in charge of the household, he was naturally the head of the family.
Standing behind the wooden gate, the new head of the household, Zhuang Yubai, cleared his throat, lowered his voice, and tried to speak from his chest to sound authoritative:
“Who goes there?”
“It’s Amber, right? I’m Niu Dayou.” The visitor’s voice was simple and honest, accompanied by a couple of chuckles. “Zhizhang asked me to bring some firewood and see if you need anything else.”
Realizing it was a guest invited by Meng Zhizhang, Zhuang Yubai quickly opened the door and invited him in.
It was unclear whether the gate was too small or Niu Dayou was just too broad-shouldered, but he had to turn sideways to squeeze through the entrance into the courtyard.
“Sorry to trouble you,” Zhuang Yubai said, looking up to speak to him. When a guest comes to the house, it’s customary to offer tea or water.
Niu Dayou, with his honest appearance and straightforward manner, carried two large bundles of neatly tied firewood and placed them in the corner of the kitchen where the firewood was stored. Seeing Zhuang Yubai rummaging around, he realized he was preparing tea and quickly said with a chuckle, “Zhizhang’s house doesn’t usually have many visitors. No need to fuss; I’m not an outsider.”
Zhuang Yubai still found two cups, washed them, and poured water. The two sat down at the table and chairs in the courtyard.
After some conversation, Zhuang Yubai got a general understanding of Niu Dayou. He was a childhood friend of Meng Zhizhang, helping his family sell firewood and charcoal in the county and nearby towns during the farming off-season.
Being familiar with the streets and alleys, he was naturally sensitive to prices. Zhuang Yubai was worried about how to price the shrimp chips, and this was a godsend. He quickly asked about the daily prices of rice, flour, salt, and oil, taking notes as he asked.
Each jin of rice and wheat was 8 wen, oil was 30 wen, salt was 15 wen…
To be honest, his handwriting was quite ugly, crooked and slanted, incomparable to Meng Zhizhang’s, as if they were from different dimensions.
Thanks to Niu Dayou, Zhuang Yubai now had a parameter system for the price structure of this time and space. He thanked him repeatedly, calling him “Brother Dayou.”
Niu Dayou occasionally scratched his head, chuckling, “You’re Zhizhang’s cousin, so you’re my cousin too. No need to be so polite.”
Cousin?!
Alright, it seemed this was the new identity Meng Zhizhang had given him.
In a traditional clan society, when a stranger comes to the village, they must have a clear identity and reason. Normal marriages are well-known and celebrated within the clan. But if a complete outsider wants to stay temporarily, they must explain their origin, occupation, family background, and official documents to the village chief and clan leader.
And Zhuang Yubai’s background was inexplicable.
The identity of a cousin was quite fitting. Meng Zhizhang had even thought of his external identity, showing thorough consideration.
As dusk approached, farmers didn’t have much time for idle chat. Besides prices, Zhuang Yubai quickly brought up another key issue:
“Brother Dayou, can you get shrimp?”
“Shrimp?” Niu Dayou’s eyes flickered, and he pursed his lips. “How much do you need, and when?”
It seemed possible to get some.
“Tomorrow, one or two jin. In the future, there might be regular large purchases.”
Niu Dayou was silent for a moment, then nodded and got up to leave. “I’ll bring it to you tomorrow morning. If you need a lot in the future, we can discuss it then.”
As they walked out of the courtyard, Zhuang Yubai remembered something and asked him to wait a moment. He went inside to get the money pouch left by Meng Zhizhang, while Niu Dayou was examining the makeshift drying rack he had set up.
“What’s this you’re drying?”
“Starch. Planning to make a snack to supplement the household.” Zhuang Yubai grabbed a handful of coins. “I don’t know if 50 wen is enough, but I’ll leave tomorrow’s shrimp to you, Brother Dayou.”
Niu Dayou’s round eyes were full of surprise. He hadn’t expected the other party to give him money, and so much at once. He scratched his head vigorously, thought for a moment, and carefully counted out 8 wen, holding them in his thick hand:
“Tomorrow’s shrimp is on me. This rack isn’t well-ventilated. I’ll bring you two round bamboo sieves from the bamboo shop on my way back, better for drying.”
Zhuang Yubai understood that this was all due to Meng Zhizhang’s goodwill, and forcing money on him might offend his kindness.
The sun gradually set, casting more and more shadows in the courtyard. The silhouettes of the courtyard wall and the wooden gate were projected on the ground, like little monsters overgrown with weeds, growing taller and taller, covering half the courtyard.
The shadow of the pomegranate tree also grew longer, its tangled branches spreading over the small mountain of gluten balls, shining brightly and roundly as the light changed.
Zhuang Yubai hurried to serve a heaping plate of gluten balls: “Made from the flour at home, just a bit of effort, not worth much.” Seeing Niu Dayou still hesitating, he added, “If you like them, Brother Dayou, just spread the word outside.”
Niu Dayou mumbled a response, took a few steps out the door, and returned with a stack of brownish-green paper-like items: “Wrap them in these lotus leaves. Use the remaining leaves for now; I’ll bring more tomorrow.”
Zhuang Yubai bid farewell to Niu Dayou at the gate, not forgetting to emphasize that these were called gluten balls, suitable for stir-frying or soup.
The top layer of starch had already dried a bit. After sending Niu Dayou off and closing the wooden gate, Zhuang Yubai used bamboo chopsticks to break the starch into smaller pieces for faster drying.
“Clatter, clatter—” The wooden gate sounded again.
Thinking it was Niu Dayou forgetting something, Zhuang Yubai approached, only to find a boy of about eleven or twelve standing outside, holding a few plump, oily green loofahs.
“Who are you looking for?” Zhuang Yubai opened the door.
The boy looked at the unfamiliar Zhuang Yubai with a mix of panic and surprise in his eyes, timidly asking, “Is Brother Zhizhang home?”
“He’s not here. Do you need something from him?”
“The teacher at school mentioned a line of poetry today that I didn’t quite understand. I wanted to ask Brother Zhizhang for help.”
The boy seemed unwilling to give up, peeking into the courtyard but not seeing the person he was looking for. He then handed the loofahs to Zhuang Yubai, “Freshly picked from the garden. My mother asked me to bring some for Brother Zhizhang to try. My name is Huairen. Please pass these to Brother Zhizhang.”
With that, the boy gave a scholar’s salute and was about to run off. “Huairen,” Zhuang Yubai called out, handing him a lotus leaf-wrapped gluten ball.
*
As the shadows gradually filled the courtyard, it was time for dinner.
Living alone, one should live earnestly.
The freshly picked loofahs still had vine juice on their stems, vibrant and refreshing, bringing a touch of early summer. Zhuang Yubai planned to make a dish of stir-fried loofah with gluten.
He soaked the loofahs in water, peeled them with a cool knife, leaving the tender green flesh, and cut them into chunks. Heating oil, he added a bit of seasoning, and the aroma of Sichuan pepper and star anise instantly filled the air.
Zhuang Yubai couldn’t help but take a deep breath, feeling intoxicated.
The aroma from stir-frying with vegetable oil was a taste that belonged to every Chinese stomach. It always provided a sense of belonging and home when feeling lost in a foreign land.
In modern society, Zhuang Yubai wasn’t a picky eater. On the contrary, he was willing to try new things and was interested in the cuisines of different countries and regions. But this interest only went as far as “trying new things.”
If he had to eat them continuously, he would panic. Perhaps his primitive genetic instincts would tell him that without familiar food, the place wasn’t suitable for survival. So whenever he was abroad for more than a week, he would carry some familiar seasonings with him.
“Sizzle—”
He poured the loofah into the hot pan, stir-frying quickly, the aroma spreading. A few drops of vinegar made the loofah even more tender and green. Adding the gluten, he let it soften and absorb the broth.
The loofah was green and refreshing, the gluten golden and plump, in a small courtyard with a few cakes left by Meng Zhizhang.
Familiar food and flavors gave Zhuang Yubai, in this unfamiliar time and space, a full sense of security.
He squinted at the slanting sunlight, feeling as if he had come for this very moment.
*
When Niu Dayou opened the lotus leaf package in front of his mother, Aunt Niu was preparing to make pancakes on the stove.
“What is this?” Aunt Niu glanced at what her son was holding, her hands not stopping as she kneaded the dough.
“Gluten balls.” Niu Dayou brought them closer to his mother. “They say you can stir-fry them.”
The golden, oily balls piled on the dry lotus leaves looked indeed delightful. But such delicate things were obviously costly.
Aunt Niu was used to being frugal. The family wasn’t wealthy, and she wished she could split a copper coin in half to spend. Fortunately, they had the income from selling firewood and charcoal. If they relied solely on their few acres of land, they’d be grateful just to have enough to eat year-round.
Last month, for her birthday, her son secretly spent 20 wen to buy her a piece of fashionable fabric from town, saying it was for her to make a new dress. She understood that her son was growing up and learning to care for his parents, which made her happy. But she also worried that he might develop a habit of spending money carelessly, not knowing how to manage a household.
At her age, with one foot in the grave, wearing one more or one less new dress didn’t matter much.
Happy as she was, she still scolded her son for spending money. Of course, she secretly admired the fabric many times, liking it more each time, but only for her own joy. In the end, she carefully folded it and stored it in the cabinet.
As for these gluten balls, in this non-festive time, why buy such fancy things?
“Spending money recklessly again!” Aunt Niu took out a light brown mixed-grain dough, rolling it into a half-inch thick round pancake with a rolling pin. “Didn’t I say we still need 200 wen for the cotton to make Zhizhang’s wedding quilt? Save up so I can finish it quickly; you never know when it’ll be needed.”
Mentioning Meng Zhizhang’s marriage made Aunt Niu angry.
“Who knows if Zhizhang’s in-laws have set a date yet. The betrothal gifts were sent before Zhizhang’s mother passed, and after his mourning period, he added more. Why haven’t they agreed yet? We’re all farmers; how much can anyone afford for a dowry? This was a childhood engagement set by Zhizhang’s mother and the other boy’s mother over ten years ago. Both mothers are gone now, and even if the stepmother is in charge… what right does she have to block this?”
Aunt Niu rolled the dough vigorously, realizing too late that it was as thin as a crepe.
“And what’s with this cousin of his? How did he suddenly have a cousin after just a few days?”
Author’s Note: