Now that she finally had some money in hand, Song Yuanxiang was already planning what to buy—their hut was truly lacking everything.
There’s a saying in China: “Even a broken home holds treasures worth ten thousand coins.” When settling somewhere new, the small items you need may seem inexpensive individually, but adding them all up quickly drains your purse.
Every so often, a peddler would come through the village pulling a cart loaded with sundries, calling out: “Selling goods here!” “Needles, thread, oil, salt, soy sauce, vinegar!” “Everything you need!”
As soon as Yuanxiang heard the peddler’s calls, she set off with Erguo and Sanxi. The children were overjoyed at the thought of shopping, bouncing ahead of her.
A crowd of men, women, and children had already gathered around the cart—most were faces Yuanxiang recognized, fellow villagers from their old home who’d fled here and settled in Xu Village.
The peddler had come from the village head and was now at the run-down houses at the foot of the mountain. He knew this area was home to refugees with little money; the county had resettled them here. In past visits, people had only looked without buying, so this time he’d called out half-heartedly before preparing to leave.
“Wait! Hold on a moment!” Yuanxiang waved to stop him as he started to pull away.
“Yuanxiang?” A middle-aged woman in blue cloth clothing, her hair wrapped in a matching blue kerchief, muttered in surprise—it was Jiang Cuie, her aunt by marriage.
Yuanxiang and the children noticed her too.
“Aunt Jiang,” Erguo and Sanxi called out reluctantly as they approached. Though they’d moved out to live on their own, etiquette still required them to address their uncle and aunt respectfully.
Jiang Cuie nodded curtly. Yuanxiang forced down the wave of dislike that rose in her heart.
“What would you like to buy, miss? I’ve got everything here—take your pick!” The peddler was an old hand at his trade and could tell Yuanxiang was a serious customer despite her worn clothes, so he greeted her warmly.
Yuanxiang scanned the cart, which was piled high with goods—she spotted everything she’d come looking for.
“Do you sell grain? How much is it?”
“Of course! Unhusked rice is eighty wen a dou, brown rice is a hundred and ten wen a dou—how much do you want?” the peddler replied eagerly.
The crowd showed little surprise at the higher-than-usual prices. Having fled from the south after the flood, they were used to grain prices soaring. Eighty wen a dou was nothing—they’d even seen prices over a hundred wen before.
Someone asked curiously: “Yuanxiang, why are you buying grain? Don’t you have any at home?”
Before Yuanxiang could answer, Jiang Cuie cut in:
“There’s a saying—‘Half-grown boys can eat their fathers into poverty’. Yuanxiang has three children at home, all growing fast and eating a lot. That’s only natural—unlike us adults, who’re used to skipping a meal or two.”
Seeing the crowd gathering around his potential customer, the peddler scooped up a handful of unhusked rice to promote his wares:
“Look at this rice, miss—it’s from last autumn’s harvest, still fresh and plump, not old stock. The price is fair—you’d pay the same at the county grain shop. I promise no tricks!”
It was the time of year when old grain supplies were running low but new crops weren’t yet ripe, so many families were short on food—hence the peddler carrying grain on his cart.
Yuanxiang picked up a handful of rice, let it trickle back into the sack, and checked her palm—no broken bits or chaff remained. The peddler was telling the truth about it being last year’s harvest.
“Then give me two dou of unhusked rice,” she said.
When husked, a dou of unhusked rice yields about seven-tenths brown rice and three-tenths rice bran. In hard times, farmers could even eat the bran to fill their bellies.
Though farmers worked the fields year-round, much of their harvest went to taxes, leaving only enough to feed their families. With low crop yields in this era, large families often didn’t have enough to eat. Being able to have a meal or two of white rice a year was considered good fortune—most days, they ate brown rice mixed with bran. Buying unhusked rice and husking it themselves was more cost-effective.
She thought about what else they needed—they lacked nearly everything, but their salt jar was completely empty, and salt was non-negotiable.
Coarse salt cost thirty wen a jin, fine salt fifty wen a jin—she bought two liang* of coarse salt. She also purchased a wooden bucket, a winnowing basket, needles and thread… the most expensive item was a hoe, at fifty wen. She’d already returned the one she’d borrowed from Granny Zhao and didn’t want to keep asking to borrow things—hoes were essential tools in the countryside, so she’d decided to buy her own.
After paying for everything, the peddler—pleased with the large order—waived the small change and charged her two hundred and thirty wen total. She’d wanted to buy an iron pot too, but knew such a large metal item would be too expensive for her current means, so she let it go for now.
She was left with about seventy wen.
The onlookers watched as she made her purchases.
“Yuanxiang’s really setting up her household from scratch,” someone murmured.
“What choice does she have? Her uncle split off her household—she has to buy everything bit by bit.”
“To think they really did split up! She’s just a young girl, and she has two little ones to care for—isn’t that too cruel?”
“Who knows… hey, let’s not talk too loud—her aunt’s right there.”
Watching Yuanxiang buy all these necessities, people wondered if her uncle had abandoned his niece and nephews completely. Everyone knew the money Yuanxiang’s family had brought with them when fleeing had been given to her uncle. Though Song Lianggui’s actions were unfair, no one wanted to speak openly with Jiang Cuie present—instead, they exchanged knowing glances.
Jiang Cuie had overheard the whispers. Though uncomfortable, she focused on the stack of copper coins Yuanxiang had pulled out. Fixing her with a cold stare, she demanded:
“Where did you get all this money?”
Her odd tone drew everyone’s attention. Yuanxiang turned to face her, and the crowd fell silent.
“Ah—just asking, just asking,” Jiang Cuie said quickly, realizing she’d lost her composure. She forced a smile and reached out to pat Yuanxiang’s shoulder, but Yuanxiang stepped aside to avoid her touch, frowning as she said: “Aunt Jiang, I don’t see how that’s any of your business.”
Her words were blunt. Jiang Cuie thought to herself that since Yuanxiang nearly drowned, her temper had become quite sharp—before, she’d always spoken quietly with her head bowed, never daring to defy her.
Yuanxiang had no desire to engage further with her aunt. Now that their households were split, she wanted nothing more than to keep their lives separate. Jiang Cuie’s face darkened with displeasure.
By this time, the peddler had packed up all Yuanxiang’s purchases. Erguo cradled the wooden bucket containing the grain and other items like it was a precious treasure—though it was heavy, his heart was racing with excitement. These were unhusked rice grains—food they could cook and eat. No more going hungry!
“Let’s go home,” Yuanxiang said, picking up their clay basin and shouldering the new hoe.
They’d barely taken two steps when she noticed Sanxi hadn’t followed. Turning back, she saw the little girl standing still, staring blankly ahead.
“Sanxi, let’s go,” Erguo called.
Sanxi was gazing open-mouthed at the malt sugar sticks the peddler had stuck in a straw stand, drool trickling down her chin. She wasn’t the only one—several other children were gathered around, all staring up at the sticks with identical expressions of longing.
Not a single stick had been sold—with everyone struggling just to eat, no family had extra money for sweets.
“How much for the malt sugar?” Yuanxiang asked, walking back to the cart.
“Not expensive—one wen each,” the peddler replied.
She had fifty wen left. Thinking of Sanxi’s drooling face, she decided a single wen for a treat was well worth it—money could be earned again, but a child’s cravings shouldn’t be ignored.
As she reached for her coins, the peddler—hoping for future business after her large purchase—picked out a stick and handed it to her with a smile.
“Here—this one’s for the child, on me.”
The thick, sticky syrup gleamed like amber in the sun, golden and translucent—truly tempting to behold. Yuanxiang thanked him and gave it to Sanxi.
As Sanxi had stared at the sugar sticks earlier, she’d only thought how beautiful they were—she’d never actually expected to have one. Now she wiped the drool from her chin, her eyes shining as she took it from her sister in disbelief.
“It smells so good,” she said, sniffing it closely. Made from wheat and glutinous rice, the malt sugar had a unique, earthy sweetness.
The sight of Sanxi holding the sugar stick caused an uproar among the children. They’d all been able to resist when no one had any, but seeing that Sanxi—from what they’d been told was a “penniless family” that would “have to eat the north wind”—had one was too much. One by one, the children turned to their parents, crying and demanding sugar, mixing with their parents’ impatient scolding.
The loudest crier was Zhuangshi, Jiang Cuie’s son. True to his name—which means “strong and sturdy”—he was solidly built with thick limbs. Despite fleeing the flood, he looked well-fed, unlike Sanxi who was thin for her age.
Jiang Cuie was growing frustrated with his wailing as he tugged at her sleeve, shouting at the top of his lungs:
“I want sugar too! I want it! Sanxi has some!”
Unable to quiet him, she glanced at Yuanxiang and smiled at her son:
“Mother doesn’t have money for sugar. If you really want some… go ask Sanxi for a bite, see if she’ll share.”
Zhuangshi thought this was a fine idea. He stopped pestering his mother and ran toward Sanxi.
Sanxi held the malt sugar carefully as she hopped along at the front of their group, planning to share it equally once they got home—one bite for her, one for her brother, one for her sister… and even a small bite for the unconscious man in their hut.
Yuanxiang and Erguo were walking behind when they saw a small figure dash forward and bump into Sanxi. She didn’t fall but stopped in confusion. Seizing the moment, Zhuangshi snatched the sugar stick from her hand, grinning triumphantly as he planted one hand on his hip.
“Sanxi—give me a bite of that sugar! Will you give it to me or not?”
Sanxi was startled by the sudden attack. When she saw it was Zhuangshi and realized he’d taken her sugar, panic set in.
“Give it back!” she cried.
Zhuangshi swaggered, his voice full of threat:
“Your whole family used to eat our food! What’s wrong with me taking one bite of your sugar?”
He’d learned this line from his mother, who often said: “Yuanxiang and her siblings rely on us—without our help, they’d starve.” In the past, Yuanxiang had never argued, only telling Sanxi and Erguo to give in to Zhuangshi: “Our parents are gone now—we have to depend on our uncle. We must listen to him and your aunt, and never argue with Zhuangshi. Do you understand?”
But right now, Sanxi didn’t care about any of that. She hadn’t even had a single lick of the sugar her sister had given her. “Give it back!” she shouted again, tears welling in her eyes.
“Ha! I won’t!” Zhuangshi opened his mouth wide, ready to lick the stick.
*Notes:
– A “liang” is a traditional Chinese unit of weight, approximately 50 grams (1.8 ounces).