Xing Jiafu gave a vague grunt. He hadn’t planned to make such a big fuss—if it weren’t for Third Brother stirring things up, and his own wish to ease tensions with Baolan, he wouldn’t have gritted his teeth and taken down the cured pork leg for Baomei to stew.
Otherwise, how could he bear to use it? That was one of the last good things in the house, meant for gifts or entertaining guests.
Baolan glanced at Xing Jiafu in surprise. So he’s really going all out.
Third Uncle kept chattering, “Even the duck your grandma raised—your third aunt slaughtered one. Tonight we’re all benefiting from you, getting a proper feast.”
Old Madam Chen snorted.
Baolan sat beside her, gently squeezing her shoulder. “Then thank you, Grandma. Once I get paid, I’ll buy you a jin of milk candies.”
“That’s more like it,” Old Madam Chen huffed.
Baoliang congratulated Baolan, happy for her. Seeing this, Third Uncle said, “Baolan, you’re smart—teach your second brother more. All he knows is farming, no prospects.”
Baoliang rolled his eyes. His own father is lazy and greedy—how dare he talk about me.
“Third Uncle, Second Brother is very capable. I just got lucky—like a blind cat stumbling upon a dead mouse. But I’ll keep an eye out. If I hear about job openings, I’ll let the family know.”
Baolan remembered a man she’d met at the docks who said they were hiring porters. Someone like Baoliang might manage it.
She tucked the thought away, planning to ask around once she got to Mingfeng.
Hearing her considerate words, Third Uncle beamed. “Exactly! You’ll be in the city, well-informed—you must watch out for opportunities for your brothers and sisters. You’re all blood relatives; you help me, I help you, and our Xing family will only get better, right, Mother?”
Old Madam Chen replied flatly, “Don’t ask me. My surname is Chen.”
Baoliang grinned.
Baolan laughed softly in agreement.
Xing Jiafu, listening closely, felt that his third brother actually made a good point. Maybe the pork leg hadn’t been wasted after all.
From the kitchen came the rich aroma of stewing cured pork.
Baozhen kept darting in and out, busier than anyone. After managing to get a piece of pork skin from Baomei, she ate it contentedly and stood beside Baolan. “Second Sister, you’re going to work in the city?”
“Mm.”
“Then can you buy me a headband? The kind with a bow?”
“No.”
“So stingy! What’s one headband to you?”
“It’s nothing—I just don’t want to buy it for you.”
“Hmph! I’ll tell Mom!” Baozhen stomped off into the house.
“Baolan, what kind of factory is it? How much do they pay?” Third Uncle asked.
Xing Jiafu perked up his ears.
“It’s a cannery. I don’t know the pay yet. At first I’ll be an apprentice, so it won’t be much.”
“Right, right—apprenticeship for a few years. Zhang Erwa said so. Maybe a dozen yuan? That’s already good. In the countryside, earning two or three yuan a month is considered high income. Being a worker really is better,” Third Uncle smacked his lips, then added dreamily, “Maybe I should try to become a worker too. I’m only in my thirties—still young.”
“Mom, how much money do you have? Take some out and buy me a temporary position, like Zhang Erwa.”
Old Madam Chen spat. “What money do I have? I’ve got a fire poker! If I had money, wouldn’t I spend it on Baoliang? Why would I spend it on you? What have you done to deserve it?”
Nearly forty, Third Uncle still pouted at his mother, muttering, “You could just write to Second Brother and ask him to send some money.”
Old Madam Chen raised her fist. “You want a beating?”
Mentioning the second son soured her mood.
Of her sons, the eldest was stingy and narrow-minded, the third all sweet talk but useless. The second was capable, but didn’t care for the family—he’d been transferred to Heilongjiang for four or five years and had only come back once.
What was the point of having so many sons? None of them were considerate.
At the mention of Second Uncle, Baolan drifted off for a moment. She had written to him before, asking for help finding a job. She didn’t know if he’d received the letter.
Now that she’d found work herself, she wasn’t so eager for his reply anymore.
Listening to the conversation, Xing Jiafu increasingly felt that his wife had been too hasty in forcing Baolan to hand over her wages.
Just as Baolan said—being in the city, she would naturally have better access to job opportunities. If Baosong or Baomei could follow her into the city, their family would become one of the best in the village.
Li Sanniu was too short-sighted.
In truth, Baolan was a filial and good child—they shouldn’t have pushed her.
Xing Jiafu secretly decided that if Baolan handed over ten or so yuan from her wages, that would be enough. Right now, winning her heart back to the family mattered most.
As for the Chen family—no need to mention them anymore. Their Baolan was now a worker; Chen family’s third son was no match.
As for finding a wife for Baosong—with Baolan around, would they still worry about no one wanting to marry into their family? Look at his brother-in-law’s family as an example.
After Li Li became a worker, she became a living advertisement for the Li family. Having a daughter in the city gave them face; her brothers had no trouble finding wives.
The more Xing Jiafu thought about it, the more reasonable it seemed. He lost interest in the Chen girl.
That evening’s meal was lavish: a basin of old pea and cured pork trotter soup, a plate of braised duck, stir-fried cured pork with green peppers, fried potato slices, stir-fried green beans, fried glutinous rice cakes, and mashed eggplant with garlic.
It rivaled a New Year feast.
Li Sanniu claimed she felt unwell and stayed in bed.
No one coaxed her. Only Baomei filled a bowl with soup and dishes and brought it to her.
Third Aunt brought out her homemade rice wine. Everyone at the table except Baozhen got a cup.
Third Uncle raised his cup first. “Come, let’s all toast Baolan for becoming a worker!”
Third Aunt added, “Baolan, work hard.”
Xing Jiafu said, “Baolan, you’re the first in our family to go out. Be sweet-tongued and clever at the factory. From now on, our family will rely on you and Baolin. Baolin, your second sister got in without schooling—you must work harder, get into a technical school, and become a cadre.”
Old Madam Chen rolled her eyes. “You’re good for nothing yourself, yet you keep lecturing. Why don’t you take the exam? Yakking and nagging endlessly—are you going to drink or not?”
Xing Jiafu choked, and Baolan almost laughed. She had never realized her grandmother could be this funny.
Everyone raised their mismatched cups—chipped porcelain, dark bamboo cups, small clay bowls—and clinked them together in a chaotic mix.
They drank together.
Baolan took a sip of rice wine. Under the dim kerosene lamp, she watched Xing Jiafu awkwardly trying to please her by putting food in her bowl, and her feelings became complicated.
If not for the arranged marriage exchange, they would still be a loving family.
A gentle, capable father. A sharp-tongued but skillful mother. A reliable elder sister. A clever younger brother. A spoiled but somewhat cute younger sister.
Compared to some chaotic households in the village, Baolan had always felt lucky. Though not as well-off as Dingqing’s family, they lived harmoniously, and she had gladly contributed to the household.
But now…
It was like swallowing a fly—not harmful, but revolting.
Her parents and elder brother had shown her a cold, selfish side she had never seen before. She even began to doubt whether those happy days had ever been real.
She didn’t know how to treat her parents anymore.
A duck leg was placed into her bowl. Meat like this had always gone to Baosong and Baolin.
How ironic. They were born entitled to duck legs, while she had to struggle and pass an exam just to stand at the same starting line.
Even if she didn’t know how to face her parents, working hard was never wrong.
Only with a job would she earn respect.
The meal lasted until the moon was high. After cleaning up, Third Uncle’s family left.
Xing Jiafu gathered the children in the main hall.
Under the dim kerosene lamp, his gaze swept over them one by one.
Baomei—obedient and gentle. Baolin—smart and studious. Baozhen—mischievous, but the prettiest.
Baosong, the eldest, wasn’t home. Though somewhat slow and calculating, he held a special place in Xing Jiafu’s heart as the first son.
And Baolan…
“Baolan will start work tomorrow. She’s the first in our family to earn wages,” Xing Jiafu began.
Here it comes. Baolan sat quietly, listening.
“Our family has five children, none married yet. There are many expenses ahead. I can already list them: Baosong’s marriage, Baomei’s dowry, Baolin and Baozhen’s schooling, and later, the marriages of Baolan, Baolin, and Baozhen.”
“You’re all members of this family. The older ones should support the younger, and the younger should repay the older. We must work together. To put it plainly, raising you wasn’t for each of you to go your own way. You must help your mother and me support this family. Don’t you agree?”