By the time Bai Chao was heading home carrying half a basket of osmanthus flowers, the clouds in the sky had thickened. Some of the clouds near the horizon had even taken on a dull, dark color, and the air felt stuffy. He raised a hand to wipe the fine sweat from his brow and sighed without thinking.
"It's so hot."
The weather was making Bai Chao feel irritable, and Grandmother wasn't in a good mood either.
She had already come back from the fields and was in the kitchen scrubbing the pork she'd set to soak earlier, grumbling nonstop under her breath.
"That silly boy, making osmanthus cake of all things. Never mind how much sugar and flour it uses—who knows how it'll even turn out." Earlier, with Great-grandmother present, Grandmother hadn't been able to say anything. She'd brought it up out in the fields, but her daughter-in-law had agreed to whatever he said. If he wanted to make it, so be it—and that stubborn old man hadn't made a peep either, so clearly he'd agreed too.
Grandmother was very unhappy. The family's income depended entirely on what the fields produced and the wages those two earned doing hard labor. Every coin was hard-earned money; every coin in their savings had been pinched from their clothes and scraped from their mouths. How could anyone be so wasteful?
Grandmother was just thinking about how she'd persuade the little fool to give up this ridiculous notion of making osmanthus cake when Bai Chao came shouting back home.
"Grandma, the sky is falling!"
Bai Chao had only made it halfway home before his steps quickened and quickened. He kept feeling like those dark clouds were chasing him—why were they getting closer and closer?
At the sound of his voice, Grandmother snapped out of her thoughts. Noticing how the light in the house had changed, her heart jumped into her throat and she hurried outside.
"Good heavens! 'The sky is falling' indeed—it's about to pour!" Grandmother looked up at the sky, then stamped her foot and rushed over to the drying mats in the courtyard in a few strides, directing Bai Chao as she went, calling for someone to come help quickly.
Bai Chao hurriedly set his basket down under the eaves, then went to one corner of the drying mat, lifting and shaking it, though his eyes kept darting to the sky.
He thought the sky looked terrifying. Great black clouds were piling up at the horizon, some thin, some thick, and the faintly translucent patches looked like monsters opening their gaping mouths—that great maw was about to chase them right over their courtyard.
"It's been clear for days on end, and it's been muggy since yesterday. It's due for rain," Grandmother said, the panic on her face easing a little, her movements growing more deft. She talked without letting her hands slow down for a moment.
Bai Chao didn't care whether it actually rained or not—the grain absolutely could not get wet—so he nodded earnestly and hurried to help.
The grain in the back courtyard was all spread out on drying mats, which made gathering it much easier. The old woman and the boy swept the grain together on the mats and scooped it into burlap sacks, one winnowing basket at a time. All three mats took less than half an hour.
"Grandma, it's getting even darker!"
They had just finished collecting the grain when the courtyard dimmed considerably. The black clouds at the horizon had spread out in every direction, blanketing nearly the entire sky, and in the blink of an eye, fat raindrops the size of beans came pelting down.
Worry crept back onto Grandmother's face. She sighed and murmured, "No thunder. Looks like this rain is going to last a while."
As the saying goes: if thunder comes before rain, it's no better than a heavy dew. But a silent rain like this one is another matter—it won't let up any time soon.
Bai Chao reached out to catch a few raindrops. At first he was a little excited—he didn't understand how Grandmother was so uncanny; if she said it would rain, it rained—but when he heard her say the heavy rain wouldn't stop anytime soon, he panicked.
"We're done for, we're done for!" Bai Chao immediately started wailing, even hopping a couple of times, pointing anxiously at the rain now pouring down in sheets. "Grandmother, Grandfather and Mother are still out in the fields—they're going to get soaked!"
There was indeed some worry on Grandmother's face, but farm folk were used to wind and rain, and she wasn't flustered. She just gazed at the curtain of rain, where water was already streaming off the eaves, and said calmly, "Don't worry. Your Grandfather and the others aren't fools. When the rain gets heavy, they know to come back."
It was getting late now, and Grandmother needed to start rendering lard to make Minced Pork Sauce. As soon as the two of them entered the kitchen, Grandmother called out to stop Bai Chao, who had been about to light the fire for her, and pointed at the little wooden table in the kitchen. On it sat a chipped clay jar, and stuck inside the jar were the Sweet Potato Blossoms the two of them had picked earlier.
A smile instantly spread across Bai Chao's face. He turned to the wooden table and even leaned in to sniff the flowers, then shook his head and murmured, "Not fragrant. Bitter."
The fragrance of Sweet Potato Blossoms did carry a slight bitterness, but it wasn't an unpleasant smell. Bai Chao buried his face in them again to sniff, until even the tip of his nose touched the stamens.
Seeing how fond of them he was, Grandmother told him to just carry the jar straight to his room. Their windowsill was empty anyway—it would look nice sitting there, and he could look at them to his heart's content.
Hearing he could put them in his own room, Bai Chao didn't hesitate for a moment and immediately carried the jar off. But before long, he was back.
"Why are you back again?" Grandmother had already started the fire under the stove, planning to heat some water first.
The child had picked up osmanthus flowers, and she couldn't just leave them sitting there. She would boil some water and make him a little sugar water to drink. Children were easy to please—maybe once he had the sugar water, he wouldn't want the Osmanthus Cake anymore. Besides, the people in the fields would be coming home soon, and the whole family could have some together.
Bai Chao was still cheerful. He put the clay jar back in its original spot and pointed at the flowers on the table. "Grandmother, it's not good to put them in my room. I'm not in my room during the day, and once it gets dark I go to sleep and can't see them. It's better to leave them out here—then I can see them all day long."
Grandmother let out a "heh" of laughter and looked him over a couple of times. Thinking about it, it did make sense. How was this little dimwit both silly and clever at once—one moment dumb as a pig, the next sharper than anyone.
"Chao brother, check if there's any water left in the water jar. If there is, take it out and dump it, then sprinkle a few osmanthus flowers in—not too many, or it'll be cloying." Osmanthus has a strong scent; for just infusing water, a little bit to give it some flavor was enough.
Bai Chao had gone out specially to pick the osmanthus precisely for infusing in water. As for making Osmanthus Cake, that would have to wait until his big husband came back. He had told him—when he came back, he would make Osmanthus Cake for him to eat.
Thinking of Luo Yang, Bai Chao asked without thinking, "Grandmother, when is Husband coming back?"
Bai Chao remembered that in front of Grandfather and Grandmother he couldn't call the big guy "big guy"—he had to call him Husband, or he'd get scolded.
At the mention of her eldest grandson, the smile on Grandmother's face became especially pronounced. She gave Bai Chao a special look, her smile growing even wider. Not bad—knowing to think of his own husband meant he wasn't a fool after all.
Pleased at heart, her words carried a note of delight, and Grandmother said with a chuckle, "There'll be a while to wait yet, but they'll be back before the ninth of the ninth month." Pondering the dates a bit, she continued, "Even if they come back at the end of the month, they'll still have earned a fair bit of money. The two of them have plenty of strength, and they work honestly without ever slacking off or cheating their employers. Every year during the busy farming season they go out to work and bring home a good deal of money."
Last year the family had sold all their grain, and the salt and all sorts of household expenses for the second half of the year had depended entirely on the wages those two earned doing autumn farm work.
Even the firewood at home was sorted by purpose—different chores called for different fuel. For boiling water, soft fuel like straw bundles, wheat straw, or corn stalks was naturally best; they burned quickly with a strong flame, and just a few straw bundles could bring a pot of water to a boil.
In the blink of an eye, half a pot of hot water was ready. Grandmother had someone carry the water jug over, and with two ladlefuls from the water ladle she filled the jug.
The freshly boiled water steamed, and the tender yellow fresh osmanthus blossoms floating on top looked quite pretty, their fragrance drifting up along with the steam.
"Don't touch it yet—it needs to steep a while for the flavor to come out." Afraid that the little fool might gulp it down right away and scald himself, Grandmother made a point of warning him.
Bai Chao was clever enough—when carrying the jug, he held it through a cloth, so his hands wouldn't be burned at all.
With the osmanthus water he'd been longing for right in front of him, Bai Chao simply sat down at the table. Seeing how eager he looked, Grandmother's hand finally paused from cutting the meat.
What was so great about a bowl of plain water, anyway?
"Chao brother, want some roasted melon seeds? Grandmother will roast you a handful." Even with osmanthus water to drink, water alone wouldn't do—he still needed to eat something.
At the mention of food, Bai Chao nodded without a second thought. He hadn't eaten his fill that morning, because he'd drunk his fill of water before breakfast.
Melon seeds couldn't be roasted over a big fire, but fortunately they were about to render lard anyway, so the wood branches wouldn't go to waste. Grandmother went and scooped out a bowl of melon seeds, grabbed a handful of pumpkin seeds as well, set a few branches in the stove, lit a small fire, and put the melon seeds in the wok first.
Melon seeds cook faster than pumpkin seeds, so they couldn't be roasted together.
A small fire warmed the iron wok in the stove, and as the spatula flew, the melon seeds slowly changed color, and a fragrance began to rise from the wok.
These were melon seeds just harvested this year, every one plump and fresh. A simple stir-fry with nothing added was enough to release a faint nutty aroma—you could smell it without even standing next to the wok.
By this time, Grandfather and the others, who had only just entered the main room, could smell it too.
"Mother, roasting melon seeds, are you?" Luo's Mother was rolling her sleeves back down just then. She and Grandfather had been drenched like drowned rats—the rain had been so heavy that their straw hats were useless, and they were soaked through.
Grandfather had already gone back to his room to change clothes, and Mother had first gone to the back courtyard to call out to them.
By the time Grandfather and the others had changed and come in, Grandmother's melon seeds were done roasting, and Bai Chao had poured them cups of warm osmanthus water. Grandmother had even sprinkled in a bit of sugar—not in the jug, though; the jug was too big, and a little sugar in it wouldn't count for anything. Better to put it in the bowls, where that bit of sweetness could come through stronger.
When Grandfather and the others came into the kitchen and sat down, they naturally spotted the Sweet Potato Blossoms on the little table. The family's sweet potato blossoms were only purple-red, and their blooming season was long past, so Mother asked casually where they'd come from. Grandmother didn't dare say the Wang family had given them, and brushed the question off with some vague answer.
Just a few flowers—Grandfather didn't mind, and Mother was the same, believing whatever Grandmother said, and even Bai Chao said nothing more. The Wang family were villagers just like everyone else, no different.
Grandfather and Mother cracked melon seeds and drank sweet osmanthus water, and most of their weariness melted away.
"Chao, brother, I'm afraid you can't eat these melon seeds. Roasted seeds are very heating, and you're not feeling well—if you eat too many, your throat will hurt tomorrow." Seeing the small mountain of shelled melon seeds piled up in front of Bai Chao, Luo's Mother hesitated a moment before saying something.
Melon seeds could be eaten anytime; the child's health came first.
"Huh? I can't eat them?" Bai Chao's happy little face instantly wilted, but he was obedient, because Mother wasn't wrong—his throat did feel a bit uncomfortable.
"Okay then." He agreed readily and divided the seeds he had shelled into three piles. "This is Grandfather's, this is Mother's, and the last is Grandmother's."
After pushing a pile to each of Grandfather and Mother, Bai Chao swept the remaining seeds on the table to the edge and caught them all in his palm, then took them behind the stove for Grandmother, who was cutting meat.
Grandmother munched on the fragrant roasted melon seeds and chuckled, "Aiyo, our Chao brother has worked for nothing!"
"Not for nothing—as soon as my throat is better, I can eat them." As he spoke, Bai Chao couldn't help swallowing. Roasted melon seeds smelled so good.
Not getting to share the roasted seeds with him, Grandmother secretly felt a bit regretful. Her mind had been slow just now and she hadn't thought of it—if she'd known the little silly one couldn't eat them, she wouldn't have roasted them. She'd roast more when her eldest grandson came back.
No one knew of Grandmother's regret, for by then Grandfather and the others had already gone to work under the eaves outside.
Farming folk couldn't stay idle. After drinking some water and eating a handful of melon seeds, Grandfather took out the family's tools and began repairing them.
While hoeing the fields today, the hoe handles had come loose several times. The family's hoes all needed replacing—none of them worked well anymore.
Mother wasn't idle either. She was making clothes for Bai Chao. Having finished work early today, she had more time to sew for the child. If she worked quickly today, he could wear his new clothes the day after tomorrow.
Bai Chao was very busy too. One moment he squatted beside Grandfather, praising how amazing he was—how he turned a pile of scattered things into hoes in no time.
Grandfather laughed heartily at the flattery. This little thing had such a sweet mouth—he could praise anything into a flower.
In the blink of an eye, Bai Chao was beside Mother again, waving his oversized sleeve and asking her to make it smaller. He said he needed to eat lots of food to grow into big clothes and become as capable as Mother.
"Aiyo, there aren't many who'd envy this build of mine." Luo's Mother was rather large-built among the village women, with plump arms and legs, though her face wasn't round but shaped like a full goose egg, and she had a pair of big eyes. She looked slow and gentle all over, the very picture of approachability.
When she was a young girl, a sharp-tongued neighbor auntie had teased her, saying her husband couldn't even turn over while holding her. But actually, he could.
Her husband was very strong.
Bai Chao, at this moment, had thoughts only for his new clothes and paid no attention to the blush secretly creeping up Mother's face. He sat at one end of the bench, leaning his head against Mother, his gaze falling on the curtain of rain before his eyes.
The sky seemed to have sprung a leak that day—the rain was dense and heavy, the drops like strung beads pounding ceaselessly against the ground. The blue tiles overhead crackled under the assault, and rainwater from the eaves poured down the tile gutters like little streams. The water that couldn't drain away in time turned the courtyard into a small river, though the water was too shallow; raindrops splashed down with a roar, kicking up a fine mist.
Bai Chao was gazing absently at the mist-shrouded courtyard when a sizzling crack suddenly sounded in his ears.
Pork went into the wok, fragrance filling the air—Grandmother began stir-frying the meat. There would be something delicious today.