Chapter 3: Queue Jumping Grows Mushrooms

Chapter 3: Waiting So Long We'll Grow Mushrooms

"Dad will go back to wash," Qin Yizhou cleared his throat. He and Song Fenglan had only been together once. After that night, even if they lay together, it was just innocently talking under the covers.

Qin Yizhou wasn’t unwilling to deepen things with Song Fenglan—he wanted to, desperately. But he was afraid of hurting her, knowing she didn't have feelings for him, so he thought to take it slow. Yet he rarely got leave, and there were always tasks pulling him back before his vacation even ended.

"Dad, you smell bad, you..."

"You only have one dad, your only dad. No changing," Qin Yizhou cut off his son, not wanting to hear any more talk about replacing him.

"Can’t I change dads?" Qin Zihang tilted his head. "Some kids do. No dad before they turned two, then a dad after—first dad, second dad, birth dad, stepdad... You can have lots of dads."

He started counting on his fingers, "I'm three now, I..."

"You’ve only got this one dad," Qin Yizhou said, exasperated. Where had his son even learned this?

Song Fenglan couldn’t help but laugh. Kids were like this—innocent and unfiltered. Near her aunt’s place, there was a child whose mother had remarried. The kid had no dad before turning two, then got one later. The neighbors were always gossiping, and Qin Zihang had picked up bits here and there. He’d even asked her when she’d wear red clothes and flowers (a Chinese wedding tradition), saying he wanted a dad—and that if the dad was bad, they could just throw him away.

"Are you sleepy yet?" Qin Yizhou helped Qin Zihang into his clothes, then glanced at Song Fenglan. "The trip from the capital still takes a long time, even without transfers."

"Yeah, it really does," Song Fenglan agreed.

"We’ve been waiting so long we’re growing mushrooms," Qin Zihang pouted, fiddling with his fingers. "Dad, why do other kids' dads come home, but Mom had to come find you?"

"I..."

"Because your dad has very important work—keeping our country safe," Song Fenglan crouched slightly to explain to her son. She couldn’t let him think his father wasn’t a good dad.

Even if Song Fenglan didn’t have much affection for Qin Yizhou, she never spoke ill of him in front of their son. Qin Yizhou was a soldier, usually stuck on base with hardly any time off. He might have failed their small family, but he hadn’t failed the nation.

Song Fenglan wouldn’t give him the wrong idea by blaming Qin Yizhou for not being by their side.

"Then Dad’s super cool," Qin Zihang said.

"Sleepy? Go lie down first," Song Fenglan said. "I need to talk to your dad about something."

"Not sleepy," Qin Zihang refused, wanting to hear what his parents would discuss.

Song Fenglan sat by the bed, and Qin Zihang immediately climbed up to sit right next to her. His dad smelled bad—he wasn’t going near him. Song Fenglan had washed her hair but hadn’t showered yet. She’d planned to bathe Qin Zihang first, then rinse off herself.

But now that Qin Yizhou was here, she figured they should talk first.

"What kind of base housing can you apply for here?" Song Fenglan asked. "Are there any single-level houses with yards?"

"Yes," Qin Yizhou said. "But most would rather live in those new walk-up apartments—those are newly built, and there are still vacancies."

Song Fenglan looked at him in surprise. "You know quite a bit."

"Just heard things, just heard things," Qin Yizhou said nervously. Once, he’d thought Song Fenglan would never join him on base, but a small hope lingered—if she ever did, what kind of house would she like?

So whenever others talked about base housing, he listened and remembered.

Before, when they hadn’t seen each other for so long, Qin Yizhou had missed his wife but thought, since she didn’t have feelings for him, maybe he should let go. But seeing her again, he realized he couldn’t—his heart would pound the moment he laid eyes on her, as if it wasn’t even his own anymore.

"Apply for a single-level house with a yard," Song Fenglan said. "Preferably a standalone one—it’ll be more convenient. We can put out toys for your son in the yard, maybe plant some green onions and ginger."

Song Fenglan couldn’t grow vegetables well like greens or beans, but green onions and ginger were hardy—good for seasoning. If there was space, they could scatter some easy-to-grow flower seeds. If not, well, maybe Qin Yizhou could handle the planting. He could till the soil, and she’d just handle the watering.

"Alright," Qin Yizhou said. "There are houses like that. Some people don’t want them, preferring to live in the new apartments instead."

If Song Fenglan wanted to live in a communal apartment, that would be fine too. Qin Yizhou's rank wasn't low, and there were still vacant rooms in the communal apartments, though fewer now. With many applicants, allocation would be tricky.

During the Cultural Revolution, Song Fenglan went through many hardships—her parents were reassigned to rural labor, her older siblings were sent to the countryside, and only she, the youngest, remained in the city. She didn’t want to share a courtyard with others, but if there was no other choice, she'd make do.

"It's quite late today. I’ll go apply with the commissar tomorrow," Qin Yizhou said.

"Mm, okay," Song Fenglan replied.

"..." Qin Yizhou stared at Song Fenglan. Those two biscuits barely helped, and his stomach growled again.

"Go home and grab a bite, then wash up," Song Fenglan said, not planning to give him the remaining food—it was for their son. After days on the train, they didn’t have much left.

"It’s fine," Qin Yizhou said, glancing around before asking, "Do you... want to wash up?"

"Yes," Song Fenglan answered.

"You go first. I’ll watch our son," Qin Yizhou said. "I’ll leave after you finish."

"I won’t be quick," Song Fenglan said.

"Take your time," Qin Yizhou replied.

Song Fenglan looked at her son and finally nodded. She went to wash up and would return afterward. The clothes in her bag also carried some odor—trains picked up all sorts of odors, and clothes easily absorbed unpleasant scents, though those in the bag were slightly better.

Zhang Chenghai returned home and described to his wife, Auntie Fatty, Qin Yizhou’s expression when he rushed to the guesthouse. "He took off like a shot—before I could even finish speaking, he was already gone. Whoever said he didn’t care about his wife was wrong. He was in a hurry, as if he couldn’t wait to see her."

"Who wouldn’t dote on such a pretty wife?" Auntie Fatty said. "If it were me, I’d dote on her too. Are you jealous of him for having such a pretty wife?"

"Well..."

"You all used to mock him, saying his wife was plain-looking," Auntie Fatty said bitterly. She had once thought Regiment Commander Qin’s wife was plain, putting them on equal footing. Now, she’d be the only one left to be laughed at.

Auntie Fatty looked down at her figure—maybe she should consider losing weight.

Just as she was thinking about eating less, her children started fighting.

"Mom, my brother hit me!"

"He hit me too!"

"He started it!"

"He tore my homework!"

"He..."

...

Auntie Fatty had two sons, both rowdy and always at each other. The boys were close in age—seven and five—thick as thieves one minute, at each other's throats the next.

With summer break here, the boys were home all day, constantly calling "Mom, Mom, Mom..." like a broken record. As a mother, she had no choice but to pacify them.

"Aren’t you two too old for this?" Auntie Fatty said. "The older brother should give way to your little brother—he’s littler."

That was how she was raised—daughters waited on sons, and among sons, the older gave way to younger. Auntie Fatty was an old-fashioned country woman, raising her sons simply: the older one gave way, and if they misbehaved, she spanked them both—the elder getting a few more hits.

Once she'd finally gotten them to settle, Auntie Fatty was exhausted.

"Zhang Chenghai," she turned to her husband.

"What's wrong?" Zhang Chenghai asked. His wife always liked to call him by his full name, and hearing it made him a bit nervous, as if being called out by a superior.

"Tell me, the regiment commander's wife... she's so delicate and frail..." Auntie Fatty elbowed her husband.

"Just say what you want to say," Zhang Chenghai replied.

"Someone as refined as her—will she be staying in the newly built communal housing block?" Auntie Fatty said. "So many people are eyeing those apartments. They say there are still vacancies, but in reality, there aren’t any. Several families are already lined up to live there. Now that the regiment commander's wife is here, given his high status, they’ll probably get a spot. That means the house next to ours will be empty again."

Auntie Fatty lived in a bungalow, not the communal housing block. It wasn’t that she disliked the apartments, but she didn’t get along well with the people there. She had little schooling and came from the countryside. Others said she was just country folk and should be more comfortable in a bungalow. So Auntie Fatty had to convince herself—a bungalow was fine. At least it had a yard where she could grow vegetables and raise a couple of chickens.

To say she didn’t envy those living in the communal housing block would be a lie. People often said bungalows were damp, that the yards were overgrown with weeds, and even if you planted vegetables, you’d have to fertilize them—didn’t that stink up the yard? Chickens and ducks would leave droppings everywhere—so dirty.

"If they move into the communal housing block, doesn’t that mean they’re cutting in front?" Auntie Fatty raised her voice. "Will others agree to that? Just because of his high status, he can snatch someone else’s spot?"

"Keep your voice down," Zhang Chenghai quickly said, afraid someone might overhear. That wouldn’t be good.

By the time Song Fenglan finished her bath and returned to the room, little Qin Zihang was already asleep. Qin Yizhou didn’t dare sit on the bed—he hadn’t changed his clothes yet, and they were still dirty. His son had stared at him for a while earlier, asking him several questions before quickly dozing off.

"Hurry back," Song Fenglan whispered, careful not to wake their son. But given how little rest he’d gotten these past few days, he was probably sleeping deeply.

"I’ll come by tomorrow," Qin Yizhou said. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to stay, but he smelled too strongly of sweat. "You... you... I... I won’t divorce you!"