Chapter 5: Cleaning Up, Moving In Tonight?

Chapter 5 Cleaning Up

Are We Moving in Tonight?

"Sleep by myself?" Qin Zihang froze. He wanted to sleep with his mom, not alone.

"You'll have your very own room," Qin Yizhou said. After he and Song Fenglan got married, even if they occasionally shared a bed, it was rare. Now that their son was this old, if the boy still stayed in their room, Qin Yizhou figured he’d just have to listen to constant cries of "Mom! Mom!" from his son.

As he spoke, Qin Yizhou deliberately glanced at Song Fenglan a few times.

Song Fenglan didn’t insist on keeping their son in her room. A boy his age really should have his own room. But since they’d just arrived, there was no rush to make him sleep alone yet.

"Mommy," Qin Zihang turned to his mother looking crestfallen. After thinking it over, he still wanted to sleep with her.

"You're a big boy now, aren't you?" Qin Yizhou asked.

"I am..."

"Then you—"

"We'll discuss it later," Song Fenglan couldn’t bear to see her son upset. "We just got here. It’s too soon. Let’s wait a bit."

"Alright, a few more days then." Qin Yizhou realized he was being too hasty. His wife and son had just arrived—expecting the boy to sleep alone right away was unrealistic. "Let him get used to it first."

After all, this was a new place. Qin Yizhou didn’t want his son crying loudly at night, keeping everyone awake. That wouldn’t be good.

When breakfast was over, Song Fenglan and her son followed Qin Yizhou to clean the yard. As they arrived, they happened to see their neighbor Auntie Fatty hanging laundry. She stopped dead when she saw the family of three.

Well, that's odd!

Auntie Fatty had figured they'd move into an apartment building. Instead, they were settling next door. The place next door had stood empty forever—most people preferred apartment buildings. Even those in single-story homes were applying to switch.

With Qin Yizhou’s position, moving into an apartment would’ve been effortless.

Auntie Fatty studied Song Fenglan. She’d heard Regiment Commander Qin’s wife had some shady background, and that leaders had advised him against marrying her. She wondered if Song Fenglan had chosen this place to avoid gossip. Auntie Fatty herself lived here to dodge judgment.

No matter how pretty or educated someone was, problems always followed.

"Regiment Commander Qin!" Auntie Fatty called out loudly. "You’re moving next door?"

"Yes, right next to you." Regiment Commander Qin recognized her—he’d eaten at Zhang Chenghai’s place before.

"Not the apartment building?" Auntie Fatty pressed. "These houses are damp. Most people can’t stand it."

Better to move directly than suffer and relocate later. Back-and-forth would only invite more talk.

Auntie Fatty studied Song Fenglan over the fence. She looked so refined—could someone like her handle this place?

"I’m not most people! I’m superman!" Little Qin Zihang thumped his chest. "Super strong!"

Song Fenglan smiled at her son's showboating. "We’ll stay here. It’s nice."

"Well... if you like it, then stay." Auntie Fatty held back further comments. Pressing the point might seem hostile.

Truthfully, she didn’t dislike Song Fenglan—she called things as she saw them. That put a lot of people off. People called her crude, tactless, she couldn’t keep her mouth shut. Even well-meant words came out harsh.

This being their first meeting, Song Fenglan kept conversation minimal. There was cleaning to do.

The hot weather helped—laundry dried in no time. The house already had furniture—tables, chairs—perfectly serviceable. Wooden beds and planks needed scrubbing. Replacing everything new would raise eyebrows.

Even though the policies have changed, we’ll still have to wait a few years before things really get better. For now, we should be more careful and try to avoid any trouble. We need to scrub the bed planks clean and leave them out in the sun to dry. We’ll also need to stock up on pots, pans, bowls, sleeping mats, quilts—the basics.

Song Fenglan brought their luggage with her, thinking they might stay here tonight if possible.

Nancheng’s got mountains all around, and these houses are located near the hills. Getting to the city is relatively convenient—there’s a bus, but it doesn’t run regularly. To save time, taking a connecting bus would be quicker.

"First, let’s wash the bed planks and get one room in order," Song Fenglan said. "The other areas can be organized later. We’ll also need to buy mats and blankets."

"I’ll call someone to deliver them," Qin Yizhou paused. "Or would you prefer to go take a look?"

"No need," Song Fenglan replied. "These are for indoor use, not outside. What matters is comfort, not looks. If they can deliver them, that’s fine. It’ll give us more time to clean the house."

Song Fenglan wanted to hang the clothes she had washed yesterday, but there were no hangers or poles. Right then, Auntie Fatty showed up hauling two bamboo poles.

"These poles are new—I cut them a few days ago," Auntie Fatty explained. "They don’t have the forked ends that’d make ’em sturdier. For now, you can rig it up by propping one end on the fence and the other on the window or a nearby tree—just rig it up for drying clothes."

She was afraid Song Fenglan might turn her nose up at them. Many people preferred metal poles, saying bamboo ones were uneven, hard to hang hangers on, prone to cracking in the sun, or even attracting bugs. Some even snickered that she was being cheap and 'backwoods.'

"Just what we needed," Song Fenglan said with a smile. "I was just worrying about how to dry the clothes. Yi Zhou—Qin Yizhou!"

She turned to Qin Yizhou, who was carrying planks into the yard, and took the poles from Auntie Fatty. Before long, Qin Yizhou came over and took them, quickly propping them up in place.

Having running water right in the bungalow was a real plus.

Before, Auntie Fatty used to wash blankets and such at the tap near the apartment buildings, where there was more going on. She often carried a basin of clothes there to chat while washing. She grew vegetables in her yard and had bamboo poles for drying clothes—she’d wash them there and bring them back to hang.

"Thank you," Song Fenglan said to Auntie Fatty.

"Don’t mention it," Auntie Fatty said with a laugh. "There’s plenty of bamboo around here—if you know where to look, you can find three or four poles easily. For drying clothes, thinner and longer ones work best so hangers stay put..." Auntie Fatty stopped herself, realizing she was going on, and added, "Are you moving in today?"

"Yes, today," Song Fenglan replied. "With weather like this, the planks’ll dry in no time."

"It is hot today," Auntie Fatty said. "I’ll let you get back to work."

"Alright, thank you," Song Fenglan waved her son over.

Qin Zihang came to her side and said to Auntie Fatty, "Thank you, Auntie."

"Don’t mention it," Auntie Fatty chuckled. "I’ve got two wild boys at home—they can play together sometime."

She glanced at Qin Zihang, comparing him to her own kids. It stung a little—why couldn’t her boys be this polite? But then again, a little troublemaking never hurt anybody, she thought as she walked away.

Song Fenglan hung yesterday’s washed clothes on the bamboo poles. No hangers? She just threw them over the poles. In this heat, clothes left bunched up too long would start to stink.

Qin Zihang gave her puppy-dog eyes, wanting to help with the damp clothes, but Song Fenglan stopped him.

The yard was overgrown with weeds, some waist-high. Who knew what might be hiding in them? With the mountains nearby, Song Fenglan didn’t dare let her son get too close.

"Mom," Qin Zihang looked at her pleadingly, wanting to help.

"Hold on till your dad hacks through the weeds first," Song Fenglan saw right through him.

"Let’s wash the bed planks first. I’ll borrow a hoe later to clear the weeds," Qin Yizhou said.

"Can’t we just pull them?" Qin Zihang crouched to tug at the grass but only managed to fall on his bottom.

"Careful!" Song Fenglan hurried over, helping him up and dusting off his clothes. "You think a little squirt like you could yank these out? These weeds are tough—their roots run deep."

"I'm a big boy, Daddy said so." Qin Zihang's voice was small but determined, thinking he could do it, but then he fell. He rubbed his little bottom, "It doesn’t hurt, not even a little!"

It wasn’t that it didn’t hurt—he just wanted to be brave and was afraid his dad would laugh at him, so he couldn’t show it. Just a tiny bit of pain, just a little. Qin Zihang bit his lip, enduring the slight ache. He wouldn’t cry.

"You can try being brave again tomorrow," Song Fenglan chuckled, pinching her son’s chubby little cheeks. "Today, let your dad prove himself—see if he’s a bad dad or a good dad."

"Yeah!" Qin Zihang lowered his head, twiddling his thumbs, then shot a sideways glance at his dad, who was busy scrubbing the bed planks. "Let Dad be a good dad. I’m still a big boy."

"Alright, yes, you’re a big boy," Song Fenglan said, checking her son’s hands to make sure they weren’t cut by the grass before adding, "Mom’s big helper, a strong big boy."

"Mm-hmm!" Qin Zihang nodded vigorously. "Mom, can we have steamed pork buns later?"

"Ask your dad," Song Fenglan replied. She was a terrible cook—if she made the food herself, it was either too salty or burnt. Stewing soup was slightly better. One reason she had stayed at her aunt’s place was because her aunt was a good cook, so she didn’t have to cook there.

"Dad, can we have steamed pork buns?" Qin Zihang asked eagerly.

"Yes," Qin Yizhou said. "Not just steamed pork buns—we can have braised pork too."

Qin Yizhou didn’t expect Song Fenglan to cook. Even before they got married, she had told him she wasn’t good at it. He remembered that clearly and never pushed her to learn. The mess hall served meals—they didn’t have to cook themselves.

"Yay!" Qin Zihang clapped excitedly.

Kids were like that—just the promise of something tasty could make them overjoyed.

Next door, Auntie Fatty peered over the fence and saw Song Fenglan standing by with her child while Qin Yizhou was busy scrubbing the bed planks. Auntie Fatty thought that if she stood around doing nothing, her own husband would surely complain.

Regiment Commander Qin, such an impressive man, was actually washing bed planks—tsk! Auntie Fatty realized she had underestimated Song Fenglan. The commander’s wife had him wrapped around her finger.

"Mom!" Auntie Fatty’s younger son ran into the yard. "Mom, I want candy!"

"Always hungry!" Auntie Fatty scolded.

"Are the new neighbors giving out candy?" Her son’s voice wasn’t quiet, and Song Fenglan overheard from next door.

Auntie Fatty quickly ushered her son inside, not daring to let him keep talking like that in the yard.

When new neighbors moved in, some would hand out candy, and the kids remembered that, wondering if the new family next door would do the same.

"Don’t talk nonsense," Auntie Fatty said once inside the living room, lowering her voice. "You greedy thing—there’s still some peanut cookies at home. I’ll give you a piece."

She didn’t know if Song Fenglan’s family had heard, afraid they might think she was hinting for candy. That wasn’t her intention—whether the new neighbors gave gifts or not, they had just moved in and had plenty to do.

In the yard, Qin Zihang looked up at his mom. "Mom, should we give them candy?"

"What do you think?" Song Fenglan asked.

"I... I have some candy," Qin Zihang said. He had hidden a few pieces, ones he couldn’t bear to eat himself.

"Your little stash won’t be enough," Song Fenglan said. "Later, we’ll have your dad buy some to share with them. That’ll do."

"Can I save a few for myself?" Qin Zihang asked. "My candy’s almost melting."

"You can keep some openly—no need to hide it," Song Fenglan said. "But not too much. Too much candy will rot your teeth."

Just as Song Fenglan and her son were discussing candy, a loud wail erupted from next door.