Jiang Yuan returned to her room and changed into dry clothes, then carried the soaked quilt and sheets out to the yard to dry.
She had gone to bed early the night before and skipped dinner. By now her stomach was hollow and aching with hunger. She wandered into the kitchen, only to find the pots cold and the stove dead — clearly everyone had been waiting for her to rise and cook breakfast. She rummaged through the cupboards and found everything she needed. Deciding she would eat first and worry about the rest later, she set about making herself a bowl of noodles.
Generous as ever with herself, she fried two eggs, added a hearty spoonful of lard, tossed in fresh greens and chopped scallions. When it was done, the aroma was so rich it made her mouth water. Starving as she was, she devoured the large bowl in moments, slurping up every last strand and feeling almost reluctant to finish.
Meanwhile, Song Yuhua, soaked from head to toe — and quite possibly fearing Jiang Yuan had spat into the water — had locked herself in the bathroom and scrubbed herself from top to bottom. Before stepping in, she had ordered Aunt Liu to wash her clothes.
“The fabric is delicate,” she had instructed. “Wash it gently, bit by bit. Do not rub too hard. Rinse it thoroughly — if the soap remains, it will ruin the material…”
By the time the two women finished and remembered Jiang Yuan, she had already eaten, washed the pots and dishes, and was heading for the door — only to be stopped by Song Yuhua.
“Lu Ze has not returned. Where are you going?”
“I have legs,” Jiang Yuan replied coolly. “There is no need to wait for Lu Ze to return and cut off his own feet just to hand them to me so I may walk. I am perfectly capable of leaving on my own.”
Her words were so confounding that Song Yuhua stood seething, unable to find a single retort. She raised her hand, ready to strike — and in that very moment, Lu Ze walked through the door.
In an instant, Song Yuhua transformed. From a wolf ready to tear her apart, she became a frail, helpless little white rabbit — or more accurately, an old white rabbit — her eyes glistening red as though tears would spill any second. It was as though she had never lifted a hand at all. Lu Ze, appearing not to notice, stepped forward in concern.
“Mother? What is wrong?”
Song Yuhua kept up the act perfectly. She brushed away her tears with feigned strength, resting her hand lightly upon her son’s arm. “I was only worried the canteen food might not agree with your stomach, so I meant to prepare your favourite breakfast and have you come home to eat. Unfortunately… an accident occurred. It could not be helped. You have not eaten yet, have you? Go quickly to the mess hall. I am perfectly well — do not concern yourself on my account.”
Jiang Yuan had known Song Yuhua was a practiced actress in her past life, but she had never imagined she could be this convincing. And yet she was the very one who had telephoned Lu Ze and called him back. Truly, they were mother and son — bound by the same cord. Lu Ze completely ignored the hand she had just raised, and instead latched onto the words she had chosen for him to hear.
“An accident?” Lu Ze glanced instinctively at Jiang Yuan, then turned back to Song Yuhua with a placating smile. “Yuan Yuan only arrived yesterday. She does not yet understand our household rules. If she has done anything improperly, Mother, you must teach her. Only — do not let it trouble your health. I shall speak with her presently and see that she offers you a proper apology.”
It was a clumsy, half-hearted attempt to smooth things over — one that pleased neither woman. Truly, he was doing his best with what little he had.
“…” Song Yuhua had not expected Lu Ze to defend her. She clenched her hands, nails digging into her palms, and held her rage in check. “There is no need for apologies. Truly — it is quite all right.”
It was impressive, in its own way, that she managed to restrain herself.
Aunt Liu, long practiced in playing her part, stepped smoothly into the breach. “Comrade Song was only concerned that Comrade Jiang might not care for my cooking. She kindly sent me to ask what foods she prefers. It seems I disturbed Comrade Jiang’s sleep. She rushed downstairs without a word, fetched a basin of cold water… and poured it all over Comrade Song, from head to foot. Fearing what Comrade Jiang might do next, I telephoned Comrade Lu Ze in alarm. Just now, Comrade Jiang was preparing to leave. Comrade Song, concerned she might lose her way in an unfamiliar place, spoke a few words of concern to her. Comrade Jiang showed no gratitude — instead speaking wildly of cutting off your feet. As a mother, how could Comrade Song bear to hear such things? It was only in her distress that she raised her hand.”
Jiang Yuan had to hand it to her — Aunt Liu was truly gifted. The way she embroidered and twisted every detail… even Jiang Yuan found herself admiring the skill of it.
Predictably, Lu Ze believed every word. He turned toward Jiang Yuan, his face darkening with displeasure.
“Jiang Yuan — I brought you here to care for my mother. Not only did you fail to rise and prepare her breakfast, but when someone asked what foods you prefer, you poured cold water over her! Autumn has already begun. Mother’s health is delicate. Water so cold… what were you thinking? Do you no longer wish to marry me?”
As he spoke, Lu Ze widened his eyes and darted meaningful glances at her — signalling her to yield, to apologize, to take the easy way out.
Jiang Yuan found it almost laughable. She folded her arms and let out a quiet scoff, saying nothing.
Her silence infuriated him. “Apologize to my mother — at once!”
Jiang Yuan held his gaze for a long moment, studying him as one might examine a strange creature. Then she looked past him, lifting her chin toward Lu Qinian standing behind him.
“Division Commander Lu… is this the sort of officer our army trains and nurtures?”
If Jiang Yuan recalled correctly, Lu Ze had been promoted to Company Commander upon his transfer back to the capital.
Lu Ze turned, greeted his father respectfully, and proceeded to recount the incident — or rather, his version of it.
Lu Qinian had already returned from morning drills. His broad, powerful frame was sheathed in a sweat-dampened army-green tunic, the fabric pulled taut over muscles that seemed ready to burst free. As the late Wang Yajuan had once described him — the kind of vigorous, formidable man who could fell a wild boar with a single blow. He stood with hands planted firmly upon his hips, listening in silence, his handsome face calm and unreadable. The contrast between him and his son could not have been more striking.
When Lu Ze finished speaking, he spoke at once with firm resolve. “I shall handle this matter properly.”
He turned, helped Song Yuhua gently to the sofa to sit, then returned to Jiang Yuan and spoke in a lowered, urgent voice. “For my sake — apologize to my mother. Let this be the end of it. If you refuse… then I shall have no choice but to send you back to the countryside.”
Lu Ze admitted to himself it was a low blow — threatening to send her away. But he reasoned it was the only way to win his mother’s approval, so that he might finally be with Jiang Yuan as he wished. Besides, he told himself, Jiang Yuan was clearly in the wrong. To ask only for an apology, and nothing harsher… he was already showing her great favour. Surely, because she loved him, she would yield.
Instead Jiang Yuan looked at him with the same expression one might wear upon seeing a child of limited intellect. Her gaze moved past him once more, settling on Lu Qinian.
“Song Yuhua had Aunt Liu pour water over me first. Even if I poured water upon Song Yuhua in return — it was simply courtesy for courtesy. An eye for an eye, and a tooth for a tooth.”
Song Yuhua pressed her lips together, putting on a perfect show of wounded innocence. “Little Jiang… I have already said I do not hold this against you. How can you lie and claim I sent Aunt Liu to pour water on you — simply to excuse your own actions? That is nothing less than slander!”
So that is how you wish to play it? Jiang Yuan thought. Very well. Fortunately, I kept my own proof.
Jiang Yuan said calmly: “My wet quilt and sheets are still hanging out in the yard to dry. They are evidence enough. And besides — I did not pour water on you. Look at you. Your clothes are fresh, dry, and beautiful. Your face is powdered, your eyebrows drawn, your lips tinted. And your hair — so dry, so smooth, so perfectly arranged. To stand there looking like that and claim I poured water over you… is that not rather impossible?”
“I —!” Song Yuhua began — and then fell silent, completely at a loss for words.