Ending the engagement was easy to say but sorting the accounts was far less simple.
Early the next morning the Zhao family carried a wooden tray to the village committee compound. On it lay two lengths of red cloth a parcel of pastries half a bottle of malted milk and a written list claiming eight hundred and sixty yuan.
Ma Guifen’s eyes were swollen from crying. To everyone who passed she said “We have spent everything we have to bring a bride into our home. Shen Qinghe turns her back on us without a moment’s hesitation. If she wishes to leave let her return the betrothal gifts first.”
Eight hundred and sixty yuan.
Exactly the amount the Cao family had demanded the day before. They intended to use her money to fill the hole left by the Cao family.
Shen Qinghe stepped into the yard as Zhao Chengliang finished reading the list aloud “Two hundred yuan for the engagement ceremony Eighty yuan in grain coupons sent during festivals converted to cash Three hundred yuan borrowed when Aunt Yumei fell ill Two hundred and eighty yuan for the wedding feast and clothing. Total eight hundred and sixty yuan.”
He spoke clearly as if every figure had solid proof behind it.
Luo Youtian turned to her. “Qinghe do you acknowledge these amounts?”
“I acknowledge only what I truly received.”
She picked up the cloth first. The red floral length had been sent by the Zhao family the previous year. The other utilitarian cloth had been earned by her mother sewing winter coats for them.
“The red cloth I return. The work cloth was payment for labour not a gift.”
“Family making clothes for each other demands payment?” Ma Guifen protested.
“That was before any engagement was agreed. You promised three feet of cloth per coat. Aunt Sun was there.”
Aunt Sun nodded. “I heard it.”
“One parcel of pastries was given. My mother and I shared them. I will pay one yuan and twenty cents the store price. The malted milk was never for me. Chengliang brought it for Doctor Bai saying it was medicine for my mother then took it away the next day.”
Doctor Bai confirmed the bottle had been returned to the Zhao home.
Item by item the tray was cleared until only the list remained.
“What of the festival grain coupons?” Luo Youtian asked.
Zhao Chengliang answered “There were many occasions. We did not ask Qinghe to sign each time.”
“Who delivered them?”
“I did.”
“Who else was present?”
“Must every exchange between families be witnessed?”
He relied on the same pattern. Closer relationships meant fewer records. Fewer records meant more room to claim whatever suited him.
Shen Qinghe stayed calm. “Let us begin with the three hundred yuan loan said to be for my mother’s illness.”
Zhao Chengliang produced a written note.
The paper was yellowed dated September of the year before and signed Shen Yumei beside a thumbprint.
Shen Qinghe took it and her chest tightened despite herself.
In the final months of her mother’s life she had spent nearly every day at the clinic. Money slipped through their fingers like water. Zhao Chengliang had brought meals and handled paperwork. Everyone said he was a fine choice. In her past life she had accepted that debt without question. Married to the Zhao family she had worked every shift for two years to pay it back. By the time she learned to examine accounts the note had been burned and the records rewritten. Nothing remained.
Now holding it again she studied the date then the handwriting.
“This is not my mother’s writing.”
“You would deny your own mother’s handwriting just to avoid paying?” Ma Guifen shouted.
“When my mother wrote the character yu the final stroke always slanted left. This one slants right.”
Zhao Chengliang said evenly “When someone is gravely ill their hand weakens. Writing changes.”
“And the thumbprint?”
“She pressed it herself.”
“In September of that year my mother’s right index finger was badly burned and bandaged for half a month. This note is dated the seventh of September yet the print is from her right index finger.”
People in the yard exchanged looks. Many remembered Shen Yumei spilling medicine and burning her hand. Aunt Sun had brought food to the clinic during those weeks.
Zhao Chengliang paused. “It could have been her left hand. How can you tell from a print?”
“It can be told.”
She held the paper toward the light. The ridges were smudged and hard to tell apart but she did not need an immediate verdict. She only needed him to speak further.
“How was the money given?”
“In cash.”
“What denominations?”
“After two years how can I recall?”
“Where was it given?”
“In the clinic room.”
“Who was there?”
“No one else.”
“What day exactly?”
“The date is written.”
“On the seventh of September my mother was not at the clinic. She was transferred to the county hospital that morning at nine o’clock. Doctor Bai’s referral note and the driver’s log are both on record. If you gave her three hundred yuan in a clinic room which empty bed did you give it to?”
For the first time he did not answer at once.
Shen Qinghe had not remembered every date from memory. The night before she had found an old hospital receipt among her mother’s things dated exactly the seventh of September. That paper had helped her piece everything together.
A second chance did not mean carrying every account in her head. It meant learning to examine every claim before accepting it.
Luo Youtian took the note. “This will be investigated. Until then it is not considered a debt.”
Ma Guifen grew frantic. “What of the feast? Meat vegetables wine everything was paid for!”
“The feast was your choice and your guests ate it,” Shen Qinghe said. “I did not eat a single bite. The Cao family overturned tables. If there is loss seek payment from them.”
“The clothing at least was made for you!”
“Who provided the cloth?”
“We did.”
“The red cloth was left by my mother. The black trousers were my own. All you gave were three buttons.”
Someone in the crowd could not help laughing.
Ma Guifen’s face turned purple. “Do buttons cost nothing?”
“They do. I will pay the store price.”
Shen Qinghe untied a cloth purse and laid out the money she had counted beforehand. Red cloth returned as received Pastries one yuan and twenty cents Buttons six cents Plus twenty yuan she had truly accepted at engagement.
“Total twenty two yuan and six cents. If there is anything else with my signature or confirmed by witnesses please produce it.”
Eight hundred and sixty yuan reduced to twenty two yuan and six cents. She was not refusing payment. She was stripping away inflated claims feast costs emotional obligations false loans and debts owed to others all hidden beneath the name of betrothal gift.
Zhao Chengliang watched the coins on the table his expression darkening. “When did you become so sharp with money?”
“I learned after others counted mine.”
“Qinghe there is no need for us to become enemies.” His voice softened as if yesterday’s events were merely an unpleasant misunderstanding. “The three hundred yuan can be sorted slowly. Come home now. Once talk dies down—”
“Without the Zhao family debt shrinks to twenty two yuan.” She pushed the money to the centre of the table. “That is already a better life.”
Luo Youtian asked both to sign a record of settlement. When it was her turn she held the pen and paused. In her past life she had signed countless receipts contracts and loan papers but never one choosing her own future.
Shen Qinghe written firmly more steady than when she was twenty three.
Zhao Chengliang stared at the signature a flicker of doubt crossing his face. Her handwriting too had changed.