Chapter 11

Chapter 11

In recent days, Wanxia Village had bustled with a liveliness unseen for years. Every household stood with doors flung wide open—offering sacrifices to the Kitchen God, sweeping away dust, grinding tofu, slaughtering pigs, chickens, and ducks, frying pastries, and pasting Spring Festival couplets…

Children, long confined indoors, now raced wildly through the village in heavily patched cotton-padded jackets. Their cheeks glowed crimson from the cold; their hands and feet were chapped and raw—yet they still stomped through deep snow to find their familiar playmates.

A group of boys, sniffling, noses running, dashed to the Zhao family courtyard gate and shouted, “Xiao Wu! Gu Zi! Fengzi! A Deng! Xi’er! Aunt Xiaobao! Come out and play!”

“Er Lai—you’re out? Is your cold completely better?” Hearing the voices, Zhao Xiaowu hurried out from the kitchen, a steaming, freshly fried pastry still in his mouth—its fragrance intoxicating.

“Totally cured! Just two doses of medicine did the trick!” Zhao Er Lai puffed out his tiny chest, striking a pose like his boastful father—signaling he was strong and healthy. As he spoke, two clear streams of snot nearly slid into his mouth; he quickly sniffed them back up. “Mom told me to come thank Uncle and Auntie. If it weren’t for those two doses of cold medicine you gave me, I might’ve died! Xiao Wu—from now on, my life belongs to Uncle and Auntie!”

“Oh, you silly child—who taught you to talk like that? Stop saying such nonsense!” Wang Shi burst into hearty laughter from the main room. This boy was just like his father—speaking without filter, tossing around life and death so casually.

“Come in, all of you—come in and have a fried pastry!” Wang Shi beckoned warmly, then called to her eldest daughter-in-law in the kitchen: “Eldest daughter-in-law—are the pastries ready? Bring a plate over!”

“Coming, Mother!” Zhu Shi replied with a smile.

Zhao Er Lai and the other boys remained shy and hesitant, fidgeting as if about to bolt—but Zhao Xiaowu and the others held them back. A cluster of children, laughing and jostling, tumbled into the main room.

Zhao Er Lai had caught a severe cold a few days earlier, terrifying his mother. His father rushed off in the dead of night to fetch a doctor from the neighboring village—but the mountain path, long unused, was buried under several feet of snow. In pitch-black darkness, he made no progress. In the end, it was Wang Shi—who’d heard the news—who brought over two doses of medicine, saving Zhao Er Lai’s young life.

The Zhao family had many children, so each winter they always prepared several doses of medicine for emergencies—and this year, it had proved invaluable.

Zhao Er Lai belonged to the same clan and usually played well with Zhao Xiaowu and his brothers. Because his hair was sparse—only a few strands clinging to his scalp—he’d earned the unflattering nickname “Lai Zi” (Baldy). He wasn’t much to look at, but he was exceptionally clever. Today, his mother had allowed him outside—and the first thing he did was gather several close clan-mates from the village and dash straight to the foot of the mountain.

Wang Shi took his small hand and examined him carefully several times, showering him with concern.

Zhao Er Lai had a sweet tongue and a natural gift for charm. Phrases like “Thank you, Auntie—I’ll be filial to you when I grow up,” “Auntie is as dear to me as my own grandma—just as kind,” and “I’ll earn silver for Auntie to spend” flowed effortlessly from his lips, making Wang Shi laugh heartily and praise him as well-behaved and dutiful.

“You take after your father in temperament—you’ll grow up clever too, knowing just how to win people over!” Wang Shi patted his sparse hair, picked up the gleaming plate of fried pastries, and handed it to Zhao Er Lai, telling them to share. She was always generous with the clan’s children—never stingy with a few bites of food.

“Thank you, Auntie!” Zhao Er Lai and the other boys chimed in gratitude. Not greedy, each took only one pastry—then, laughing and shoving, dragged the Zhao boys off to play in the village.

Outside, snowflakes drifted down—another snowy day.

Zhao Xiaobao didn’t follow them to the village for a snowball fight. She refused to go. The paths were too slippery; her legs were too short to keep up; and she wore the new clothes her mother had sewn—the beloved new cotton-padded jacket she cherished most. She feared falling and staining it.

Sitting by the stove opening to warm herself, she held a fried pastry in her left hand and crispy pork in her right, eating with such gusto that her little mouth glistened with oil.

These days, the family lacked neither oil nor meat. In previous years, they’d only fried pastries—but this year, they also fried large quantities of crispy pork.

Yesterday, the village had slaughtered its New Year pigs. Their family’s two pigs—carefully raised for an entire year—had also been slaughtered. One was sold; Mother decided to keep the other. The kept pig would be cured, lasting a full year—serving as the family’s primary source of meat and cooking oil for the coming year, and also reserved for gifts and entertaining guests.

For the Zhao family to keep an entire pig was an extravagant move—shocking many villagers. After all, rural families lived on tight margins, relying all year on the hope that their two penned pigs would fetch a good price—so they’d have a bit more money to spare next year. Keeping even two strips of cured meat after slaughter was already considered quite fortunate.

“Old Auntie’s family is truly thriving—not much worse than the village chief’s!” many villagers remarked enviously.

The village chief’s family owned over twenty mu of fertile land and kept an old ox at home—the most comfortable household in Wanxia Village. Comparing the elderly Zhao family to the village chief’s was like comparing heaven and earth—it was simply insulting.

To this, Wang Shi merely replied calmly: “My family has many children—all growing rapidly. They need oil and meat to nourish their bodies and build strong foundations.”

Her words left the speaker speechless.

Just look at her family: three sons—all broad-shouldered, thick-waisted, with arms thicker than most men’s thighs. Their extraordinary strength was famed across ten li and eight villages. A few years ago, during a water dispute with the upstream village, Zhao Dashan and his brothers—hoes in hand—knocked down every man on the opposing side, earning instant fame in a single battle.

Dragons beget dragons; phoenixes beget phoenixes; rats’ offspring know how to dig holes. Zhao Dagen had three sons—and those three had five more: Wu, Gu, Feng, Deng, and Xi—cast from the same mold as their father: sturdy, robust, muscles solid even in youth. They’d never lost an arm-wrestling match against any villager—and when they fought, they fought rough…

Add to that Zhao Dagen’s seniority—and the nine males in the family, spanning generations—practically strutted sideways through the village, enough to give even ghosts a headache.

Which village woman didn’t watch with envy? Yet envy was one thing—none could bear to raise their own children and grandchildren as Wang Shi did. Keep an entire pig to eat next year?

Dream on! Did they think they didn’t need to survive?

So this year, the Zhao family was not short on meat. Wang Shi’s extravagance stemmed not only from the family’s many mouths to feed—but also from that box of gold buried beneath the peach tree. Unlike her husband, who only thought of those three mu of land, she constantly sought an opportunity to exchange the gold for grain. Left idle, that gold was useless. Only by converting it into grain, cloth, cotton, salt, and sugar—things that ensured the whole family ate their fill and stayed warm—could it bring real, tangible benefit.

Compared to the few taels of silver earned from selling one pig, Wang Shi currently prioritized stockpiling food. After all, no one knew what the coming year would bring.

Right now, her grandsons were still young—not yet at an age demanding major expenses. Better to secure the present first.

As long as they were well-fed, never starved, and grew strong, they’d stand a better chance than others at hauling heavy loads at the docks.

People are the foundation!

The kitchen buzzed with activity. After frying crispy pork and pastries, they also fried small dough twists sprinkled with sesame seeds—considered top-tier snacks in the countryside. Zhu Shi and her two sisters-in-law worked nonstop, faces alight with smiles, feeling life was flourishing and full of hope—even more comfortable than when they’d been unmarried girls at home.

After finishing these tasks, Luo Shi and Sun Shi began cutting leaf lard to render lard and fill the oil jars. Zhu Shi went to store the fried goods—not bothering to separate them—simply pouring everything into a small bamboo basket and carrying it to the main room. Anyone could help themselves whenever they wished.

The oil used for frying the New Year treats was leftover from before. This time, frying pastries and crispy pork consumed it all. Now the oil jars stood empty—perfect for holding the newly rendered lard.

For the entire morning, the kitchen chimney never ceased smoking—the rich, heavy aroma of sizzling oil filling the whole courtyard.

Zhao Xiaobao sat beneath the eaves, holding a bowl of cracklings sprinkled with powdered sugar. She looked up at the dark, heavy sky, listening to her parents, brothers, and sisters-in-law chatting softly in the main room about next year’s crops—hoping Heaven would show mercy and spare them another drought, granting those who tilled the land a chance to survive…

They also mentioned that Xiao Wu and the others were gradually growing older—and shouldn’t continue sharing one bed. Winter was fine—crowding kept them warm—but summer would be unbearably hot. They needed to add a couple more rooms…

They also noted they’d kept more meat this year. When the sisters-in-law visited their natal homes on the second day of the New Year, each could take a strip back. This year’s New Year gifts would be more generous—pleasing their in-laws too…

Zhao Xiaobao lifted a piece of crackling to her mouth—but her hand trembled, and it fell to the ground. A flicker of guilt crossed her face. Secretly, she nudged it away with her toe—ensuring her parents wouldn’t see.

She stole a glance toward the main room. Seeing her parents hadn’t noticed her small act, she sighed inwardly in relief—then picked up another piece of crackling and popped it into her mouth. Listening to her parents, brothers, and sisters-in-law chat about daily trivialities, her eyelids gradually grew heavy.

Unconsciously, she chewed the oily crackling in her mouth.

At some point, the snowflakes in the sky turned fluffy—falling heavier and heavier. The firewood in the stove crackled and popped—*pili pala, pili pala*.

With a crisp *clatter*, several sugar-dusted cracklings scattered onto the ground.

“Xiaobao—”

“Little Sister—”

Before losing consciousness, Zhao Xiaobao heard two urgent cries—and the sound of scrambling footsteps.

She only felt everything go black—then bright again. The courtyard remained the same; the snow continued falling just as heavily; even the crackling she’d secretly kicked aside still lay there.

Everything seemed normal—yet sudden catastrophe struck!

The earth shook violently. Mountains roared. The ground churned. Birds shrieked in alarm. Dogs barked in terror—

Within mere breaths, terrified screams pierced the night. From some household came a heart-rending wail.

“The Earth Dragon is turning over! It’s the Earth Dragon turning over!!”

“Waaah—Mother!”

“Help! My husband’s been struck in the back by a roof beam!!”

"Dad, Mom, Niu Zi! Wake up, don't sleep, run for your lives!"

Startled villagers, not even bothering with shoes, grabbed their wives or their men and dashed outside, shouting for their parents and children in neighboring rooms as they ran. The ground heaved, making it hard to stay on their feet. Thatch or tiles rained down from above, and beams thicker than thighs crashed right before their eyes. In just a few steps, some lost their lives while others managed to escape.

Chickens and ducks flapped wildly in the coops, only to be struck by collapsing wood and instantly silenced. The village's one and only big yellow dog, terrified, stumbled on all fours, barking frantically at the collapsed houses. Terrified, it tried to run but kept looking back, unable to bring itself to leave.

Some were silently buried under the rubble of their homes; others were struck on the head by falling beams while running, collapsing to the ground without a sound. Many more were hit by tiles, their heads covered in blood as they stumbled into the courtyards, crying out for fathers, mothers, sons, and daughters—their wails soon echoing in all directions.

Zhao Er Lai, who had come by during the day to thank them for the cold medicine, lay stiffly in the yard, his face as pale as paper, already lifeless.

The lame Second Brother, who had gone into the mountains to gather firewood, was dug out from the collapsed earthen wall by his bearded son, Donkey. His head was crushed beyond recognition.

And so many others—Aunt Li, who had picked plums for her; Granny Wu, who had secretly slipped her malt candy; Chun Ya, who had put pig feed in her basket; and the little friends who had run all over the hills with her...

In the blink of an eye, they were all lost to this sudden disaster.