The afternoon sunlight slanted across the courtyard. Without the heavy footsteps of Wang Dashan and his son, the yard felt unusually quiet, with only the rustling of autumn wind through the treetops and the contented grunts of the black pig in the pen.
Before heading into the mountains with his eldest son Tiezhu, Wang Dashan had said to Li Lanxiang:
“Keep an eye on Shizhu. Don’t let him run off.”
Then, speaking sternly to the youngest, Shizhu, who was fiddling with his slingshot under the eaves:
“Stay and listen to your mother at home.”
Shizhu nodded quickly, though a gleam of “finally free” shone in his eyes.
Li Lanxiang first set Shizhu to work:
“Go feed the pigs, scatter some more grain for the chickens, and check if any eggs are in the nests.”
The boy was full of energy; she had to give him tasks to keep him from getting into trouble.
“All right!”
Shizhu dashed off to the backyard like a streak.
Li Lanxiang then turned back to her own and Wang Dashan’s room.
She still had the few dozen copper coins she had collected and needed to find a safe place for them.
Relying on her memory of the original owner, she walked to the old wooden cabinet against the wall.
The cabinet was dark, its corners worn from years of use.
Wang Dashan had built it himself long ago, using miscellaneous mountain wood—not delicate, but sturdy.
She crouched and felt along the inner corner near the bottom, her fingers brushing a slightly movable wooden panel.
Carefully lifting it, she revealed a small hidden compartment.
Inside was a small, flat clay jar, its mouth tightly plugged with an old cloth.
Li Lanxiang lifted the jar; it had some weight to it.
She removed the cloth and held it to the light streaming in from the window.
The bottom was lined with small pieces of silver, varying in size, giving off a muted silver-white shine.
She carefully poured them out onto the edge of the kang and counted: altogether just over three taels of silver.
Beside them were two strings of copper coins tied with hemp, each string holding roughly a hundred coins, worn smooth at the edges from years of accumulation.
This was the household’s entire savings.
In a place like Kaoshan Tun, for a hunter’s family with little farmland, having this silver meant Wang Dashan had risked his life for years in the mountains and scrimped with his family—it was considered respectable.
The original Li Lanxiang had been thrifty; every coin was precious.
Li Lanxiang now had a clear idea.
She counted the few dozen copper coins she had brought today, strung them neatly on another piece of hemp, and added them to the two original strings.
The remaining loose coins and small silver pieces were placed back at the bottom of the jar.
Three taels of silver sounded like a lot, but with the long winter approaching—coal to buy, warm clothes to prepare, enough grain to stockpile, plus Xinghua recovering from childbirth and the newborn needing nourishment—this money would not go far.
She replaced the jar in its hidden compartment, closed the wooden panel, pushed the cabinet back, and smoothed the dust on the floor. Everything looked as if untouched.
She finally exhaled.
Just as she was straightening up, she heard Shizhu’s excited voice from the kitchen:
“Mother! Mother! I found some eggs! The chickens are really doing well today!”
Li Lanxiang stepped out and saw Shizhu holding an old bamboo basket. Inside lay a few freshly laid eggs, still warm with the hen’s body heat and specks of straw. The eggs weren’t large, but their shells were smooth.
Nearby, the shallow basket reserved for eggs by the wall was nearly full, a bright white cluster of about twenty.
This was the family’s “small change jar,” normally rationed for trips to the market to trade for salt or sewing supplies, or in times of real need.
Since they had fresh eggs today, Li Lanxiang calculated in her mind.
She decided to make something special tonight—adding a little treat for the family, and nourishing Xinghua as well.
“Put these fresh eggs on the stove,” she told Shizhu. “Tonight, I’ll make you all fried egg cakes, and for Xinghua, a bowl of soft steamed eggs.”
“Really? That’s great!”
Shizhu’s eyes lit up; he looked like he might drool. Carefully, he placed the eggs in a corner of the stove and asked eagerly:
“Mother, can we make them now?”
“No need to rush; the sun hasn’t set yet.”
Li Lanxiang smiled and lightly scolded him, then glanced at the sky.
The sun was already slanting west, tinting the clouds red, and the courtyard shadows had stretched long.
After a day of activity, her body felt sticky with sweat, slightly uncomfortable.
In her memory, mountain villagers weren’t too particular about cleanliness, but Li Lanxiang herself, whether in her previous life or in her inner habits, liked things clean.
“Shizhu,” she instructed,
“Go fetch two buckets of water from the village well and fill the water jar. After that, wash yourself too—get rid of all that sweat.”
“Okay!”
Shizhu didn’t mind fetching water; he hoisted the yoke and buckets and went out.
Once he left, Li Lanxiang bolted the courtyard gate.
She scooped the leftover hot water from the large pot used at midday into a half-old wooden basin, added some cool water, and tested the temperature—it was just right.
Carrying the basin into her room, she closed the door.
She loosened her clothes, dipped a cloth in warm water, and carefully washed herself.
The warm water washed away the sweat and fatigue.
She avoided the wound on her temple, only gently wiping the surrounding area with a wet cloth.
Though the conditions were simple—no fragrant soap—she used a small piece of cheap, sharp-smelling soapberry. After washing, she felt refreshed, as if some of the lingering heaviness from her past life had been cleansed.
She changed into clean old underclothes, soaking the worn ones in another basin.
Opening the window, she let the cool autumn breeze sweep through, clearing the air of steam and soap scent.
With her body dry, her mind felt brighter too.
She tidied her half-dried hair, looking out at the dusk settling over the distant, ink-dark mountain ridges.