Those few small fish were soon enjoyed by Shushu. The children gathered dry twigs and built a small fire. They gutted and cleaned the fish, threaded them onto sticks, and roasted them until their skins turned crisp and golden.
The fish were tender and nearly boneless. Shushu could eat two at a single bite, and finished them in just a few mouthfuls. Nor was that all. The shrimp they had caught were tipped into an enamel basin and boiled in their own savory juices. They required no salt. Their natural sweetness was flavor enough.
There was an abundance, and every child received a share. Shushu’s hands were still small and chubby, her fingers clumsy with youth. She could not peel the tiny shells. She ate only those peeled for her by others, then pushed the rest away.
“Brothers and sisters eat. Shushu is full.”
In truth, those few tiny fish and shrimp could scarcely satisfy even the smallest appetite. The little one was simply being thoughtful and did not wish to trouble anyone further.
“What a dear good child,” Ke Xiaohua said fondly. Her hands were still sticky from peeling shrimp, otherwise she would have swept Shushu up and pressed a kiss to those round rosy cheeks. Once every shell was cleared away, the group turned toward home. Chen Dafei walked Shushu to the household where she was to stay that night. Their path led part of the way alongside the returning procession of adults who had delivered the public grain.
“Shushu come here! Look what Uncle Chen has brought you!” called a man from among the group. He was a kinsman of Chen Dafei and had marched with the grain convoy.
“What is it?” Shushu trotted forward curiously at the sound of her name. Uncle Chen crouched down with a warm smile. From within a woven pouch he drew forth a bundle of thick white rubber bands and held them out to her.
“Rubber bands. So many,” Shushu breathed. She knew what rubber bands were. She used them every day to tie her hair. Yet never had she seen so many gathered together at once.
“For making flowers. Lots of flowers,” she said happily. She could not yet count and had no idea how many hair ornaments such a bundle might yield.
“Hehe. These are not only for making hair flowers,” Uncle Chen laughed gently. “They are meant for playing games.”
Skipping rubber band games were beloved by every child of this generation. Uncle Chen had seen the bundle at the supply and marketing cooperative and bought it at once, thinking of Shushu who had not yet learned the game. A single length could keep a large group happily occupied for hours.
It was in truth a gift meant for everyone to share, yet Shushu felt entirely cherished all the same. She clutched the bundle to her chest and ran back to find Ke Xiaohua and the others, calling out eagerly that she wished to learn how to play. She knew with certainty that her older brothers and sisters would understand the rules perfectly. In her eyes, every person in the village was wise and capable beyond measure.
She was not disappointed. Seeing that daylight still held, the children decided to delay their return home and find a smooth stretch of ground nearby instead.
The rubber band was knotted at its ends and stretched taut between two children standing as posts. Others leaped within the two parallel strands, dancing and twisting their feet in practiced patterns.
The most skilled leaped with such grace and rhythm that they seemed to be weaving flowers in the air, chanting rhymes in time to each step. The long elastic band could hold many players at once.
“Would Shushu like to try?” Ke Xiaohua asked carefully. Remembering her earlier hesitation with the swing, she guided Shushu to stand beside her and watch the others first. Only when Shushu appeared eager and confident did she invite her to join in. Shushu had already been watching with longing eyes. She nodded eagerly and reached for Ke Xiaohua’s hand.
“Shushu would like to play. May we play together?” she asked politely.
“Of course you may. Come here. I shall teach you,” said a girl of six or seven who stepped forward with a smile and held out her hand. The two children standing as posts silently lowered the band to its lowest setting, level with their ankles. Even so, Shushu kept catching her toes against the elastic.
Her legs were still short and her stature small. Yet the game was wonderfully delightful. To Shushu it felt far more enjoyable than the swing. With skipping she herself decided how high to leap. She held her own balance. The swing had swayed beyond her control fun yet also a little frightening.
“It is nearly time to go home. We shall be scolded if we delay further,” Chen Dafei called out. Everyone paused at once. They folded the rubber bands neatly away and walked Shushu to her lodging for the night. The bundle was placed inside Shushu’s small knitted backpack. It was a charming little bag stitched in the shape of a doll, which she carried everywhere. Inside she kept her tiny treasures.
The backpack had been sewn and given to her by a clever young woman of the village. Shushu had heard it said that in past lives this young woman had earned a fine living through her craft, recording her work and selling handmade treasures through something called a video and an online network.
Shushu did not understand what such words meant. She had heard adults speak of them often, yet she asked no questions. She simply kept such mysteries stored quietly in her heart. Perhaps one day when she grew older, she would understand.
Tonight Shushu was staying at the village chief’s home. Of all the households she visited in rotation, this one felt the most familiar. The village chief himself had found her as an infant and raised her from swaddling clothes until she was a year and a half old.
Thereafter other families had wished to care for her too. Disputes had arisen over the privilege. To restore harmony, the village chief had ruled that Shushu should stay in turn with every suitable household in the village. At first each household had been assigned one full month. Yet there were more than two hundred households in Fengyang Village, nearly all of them eager to welcome her. Such a rotation would have taken more than a dozen years to complete.
Still others had made improvements to their homes hoping to be counted worthy. Competition grew fierce. Discontent mounted until finally it was decided that she should stay one day with each household instead. In this way every family might host her at least once each year. Only then was everyone satisfied. Frequent changes of place were not always easy for so small a child, yet everyone treated her with such tender affection that she soon learned to feel at home wherever she went.
“Grandfather,” Shushu called out. She called him Grandfather and him alone. To other elders she always added their surname so none might be confused. Even the chief’s own sons and daughters she addressed respectfully as Uncle or Aunt. She had no father or mother of her own. In truth, every household in the village was her family.
At the sound of her beloved voice, the village chief turned at once. He had been walking slowly home with hands clasped behind his back. He crouched down with a face full of joy and opened his arms wide. The little girl ran straight into his embrace.
“There you are. Our Shushu is growing so fast,” the chief said lovingly. He lifted her up and gave her a gentle bounce. She felt heavier in his arms. She was not becoming plump, simply growing as all healthy children do.
“Grandfather went to the cooperative today and bought fresh pork. We shall have your grandmother braise it in sweet soy sauce for you. Does that sound delicious?”
Braised pork required precious sugar, a luxury most households could not afford lightly. Only because they knew Shushu was coming had the chief’s family prepared such a feast.
“Yes! Meat!” Shushu clapped her hands delightedly at the promise of sweet tender meat.
The chief made no move to set her down. He thanked Chen Dafei for escorting her and carried Shushu the rest of the way himself. Although he was head of the village, his home was modest and far from wealthy. The old timber house had stood for generations and looked worn beside newer dwellings.
This was because he had always been a good and generous chief. Whenever a household fell into poverty or sickness, he had shared his own store and grain to help them. At times his own family had gone hungry in consequence. For this reason the villagers loved and respected him deeply. In his old age when he lay bedridden, neighbors had come in constant succession to tend his needs. Yet the one person he had wished most to see was no longer there. Memories rose and filled his eyes. He pressed Shushu closer and spoke softly into her ear.
“In this life, my dearest wish is that you need not be so kindhearted. I ask only that you grow up happy and strong, and live out your days in peace and safety.”
“Is being kind not good?” Shushu asked innocently. She did not understand.
“Kindness is a precious virtue. Yet grandfather hopes you will also learn to cherish yourself and hold your own life dear,” the chief answered gently. Tears glistened in his eyes. Shushu said nothing more. She simply wrapped her arms around his neck and held him close. Just as she herself was always soothed with hugs when she wept, she now offered him comfort in the same way.
The chief’s family had not yet divided their household. His parents had passed away, yet he and his wife had raised six children together, three sons and three daughters. Their youngest son had perished during the great famine.
The remaining children were all grown and married. The eldest son had three sons and one daughter. His eldest son and second daughter were older than Shushu, his second son was Shushu’s contemporary, and his youngest son was yet unborn. The second son had one daughter and one son.
The daughter was Shushu’s friend and peer, while the son had not yet been conceived. The eldest daughter had married into a neighboring village and would in time bear two sons followed by two daughters.
The second daughter remained in the village and had recently given birth to a daughter, with a son yet to come. The youngest daughter had been married only days before to the household of the wealthy Liu family.
She was indeed the very bride wed to the fifth son. Destiny had once ordained her four children, yet the first two had been stolen by child traffickers. One had been recovered with Shushu’s help. Perhaps in this life, such sorrow would never come to pass.
“Shushu has arrived! Would the little one care for a cup of sweetened water? Auntie has prepared it especially for you,” called the eldest son’s wife. She stepped forward with a warm smile as her father in law carried Shushu across the threshold. She poured a cup of cool sweet water prepared beforehand and held it out to her.
“Thank you Auntie He,” Shushu said politely. The eldest son’s wife had been born into the He family and was known as He Aniu.