Chapter 139

Chapter 139

Zhao Xiaobao strutted back, chest puffed out, hands clasped behind her back, mimicking her dad’s way of doing things, keeping her little face all serious as she greeted every house one by one.

In Sunset Village, the Zhao family’s main branch was two or three generations beneath her in the family tree. As Xiaobao walked along, her little mouth ran nonstop: “How’s it going, big nephew? Any problems at home, nephew’s wife? Your grandson looks skinny, and your granddaughter’s even skinnier—are you folks playing favorites, not giving your girl enough flatbread?” and so on. The Zhaos, no matter their age or gender, found it funny and heartwarming, keeping straight faces and answering serious-like.

In the countryside, seniority was a big deal. During New Year’s, it wasn’t weird for thirty- or forty-year-old nephews to kowtow to a two-year-old uncle. Age didn’t mean squat next to seniority. Back in the day, Old Zhao’s family hardly ever hung out with their kin, lacking those customs. But now, every Zhao in the village, no matter how old, had to duck their heads and take little Xiaobao’s scolding.

Nobody thought this was weird; instead, seeing her little hands behind her back and her chubby face full of worry, it warmed their hearts.

In front of Old Man Zhao, they didn’t dare act up, and they weren’t bold enough to throw an arm around Dashan and his brothers. The elders’ past screw-ups had left them feeling awkward and guilty, even more than with outsiders in the village.

But Xiaobao, not knowing about those old grudges, treated everyone the same, making things way more comfortable.

Everyone felt that in just a few days, Aunt Xiaobao’s tongue had gotten slicker, and she seemed more grown-up, talking with a new kind of authority.

Their answers weren’t just going through the motions anymore: “The kids are skinny from all the work. We can’t say they’re stuffed, but there’s no playing favorites—sons and daughters eat the same, one flatbread or half a one, no extra, no less.”

Then they’d joke with her: “Aunt Xiaobao, you’re way too biased! Why only notice the grandkids are skinny? Don’t you see your nephews and their wives are skinnier too? We’ve lost more weight—the little bit of fat on our bones got sweated out by the sun, and we’ve slimmed down a lot.”

“You are skinny,” Xiaobao said, tightening her little face to play the elder role serious, her voice full of worry. “Dad said we should let you rest a few more days. Nephews, take the time to eat good and put on some weight—there’s still a long road ahead.”

She’d heard her parents talking. Everyone had been pushing themselves to run, their bodies barely hanging on. If they didn’t rest and relax, they’d get sick soon. And getting sick now meant one foot in the grave.

With so many people, they couldn’t stop for just one or two. How could the sick keep up? Walking meant dying.

She didn’t want anyone to get sick, and she didn’t want to see anyone die from being sick. Living was better—she loved the hustle and bustle, the liveliness, the flowers, the rivers, the mountains, and the nonstop noise of the village every day.

She never got tired of caring for the worn-out crowd.

She paid extra attention to Old Lady Zhou’s family, watching as Santou, whining about being tired, tried to get out of digging the latrine with the other village kids. Old Lady Zhou chased him through the woods with a stick, and Xiaobao couldn’t hide her smile. Even Old Lady Zhou’s wrinkled, annoying face looked a little nicer.

She asked Chūnyá on the sly, “Did you go hungry on the road? Did your grandma hit you or Chun Miao? Did Datou and Santou pick on you?”

The two girls held hands, and Chūnyá, when she saw her, broke into a warm smile—one she never showed her family—on her sunburned face. “Xiaobao, I’m so glad you’re okay. I’ve been worried about you this whole time.”

“Nah, Grandma doesn’t hit me or Chun Miao anymore.” Like she remembered something funny, she covered her mouth and giggled, glancing around to make sure no one was near. “Santou’s been beaten a lot, though! He got it for slacking off and rolling on the ground, refusing to walk and wanting to be carried; for complaining the flatbread was too small; for spilling water from his bamboo tube; and just now for not wanting to dig the latrine—Grandma chased him with a stick!”

There was no joy of revenge in her eyes. Though Datou and Santou often bullied her and her sister at home, they were still family. When she couldn’t run anymore, it was Datou who had dragged her along. The resentment had worn away in the exhaustion of the journey.

Maybe that’s what family was, she thought sadly. As a child, she’d often fumed over Grandma’s favoritism. But now, as long as Grandma wasn’t too biased and treated her and her sister a little better, she felt Grandma was good enough.

Forget it, she decided. Which family in the village didn’t value sons over daughters? As long as Grandma wasn’t too extreme—didn’t let them go hungry, didn’t abandon them, wouldn’t sell them for half a sack of grain—she’d be content.

Families like Old Zhao’s, who doted on daughters, were rare. Chūnyá held Xiaobao’s chubby little hand, listening to her chatter on with concern, her heart softening like dough. She thought Xiaobao’s being cherished had little to do with being a girl or boy. A girl like her, even born into the Zhou family, would still win Grandma’s favor.

It was just that Xiaobao was naturally lovable.

“Here, for you.” Xiaobao secretly slipped her a few red ground fruits. Seeing Old Lady Zhou return after beating Santou, she leaned in and whispered as she stood up, “Share them with Chun Miao. Eat them secretly, don’t let anyone see.”

Chūnyá, used to Xiaobao’s secret gifts, instinctively curled her hand to hide the fruits and stood up, mouthing silently: Xiaobao, thank you.

Xiaobao winked at her, waved for her to stay quiet, then turned to greet Old Lady Zhou, whose face was plastered with a smile. Before the old woman could invite her to stay, Xiaobao bounced away happily.

“What were you two whispering about? Afraid Grandma would hear?” Old Lady Zhou, unusually kind to her granddaughter, smiled with wrinkles creasing her face. “Xiaobao’s still closest to you! I saw she barely spoke to Li’s Huaihua and Li Hua, or Wu’s Xiaohua and Xiaocao, but she stayed with you the longest! Chūnyá, you need to keep a good relationship with Xiaobao, just like in the village. Our family’s future depends on hers now!”

Chūnyá pursed her lips, annoyed by her grandmother’s words.

“Don’t just stand there like a fool. Be more proactive, say nice things, coax her—don’t let those other village girls get ahead of you.” Old Lady Zhou rarely spoke patiently, but seeing her granddaughter’s wooden face, she angrily poked her forehead. “Are you listening? There are so many little girls around, and kids are easily swayed. Xiaobao’s not short of playmates. If you can’t sweet-talk her, she’ll stop playing with you!”

“Xiaobao won’t!” Chūnyá snapped back, clutching the fruits tightly. She turned and walked away without a word.

Old Lady Zhou, shocked at her defiance—was the world turning upside down?—was about to scold her when she noticed the crowd around them. Every family had spread straw mats on whatever flat ground they fancied, and Lv Xiuhong was curled up nearby, sleeping with her two sons in her arms.

She held back, pinching her own thigh twice to regain composure. That widow was close to Old Zhao’s family. Ever since the refugees entered the village, Old Lady Zhou felt the woman had changed, her eyes turning sinister. Anyone who dared bully her sons would find her standing at their door with a sickle in no time.

The villagers were wary of her, whispering that the bodies in the pigsty might be her doing. Why else would she be the only one alive when others were caught and killed?

But these were just rumors, never spoken openly. In times of great disaster, who cared about the dead? Just surviving was hard enough. Now, far from home, the past had blown away with the wind. Whatever grudges or hatreds existed, let the dead argue them out in the underworld—it had nothing to do with them.

Old Lady Zhou finally calmed down, afraid of waking the widow, who might badmouth her to Old Zhao and ruin her chances of currying favor.

“Zhou Santou, you dig that latrine properly! Don’t come back for your flatbread until it’s done!” Not wanting to show weakness in front of her granddaughter, she yelled toward the other end of the woods.

Santou, hoe on his shoulder, sniffled through tears but dared not slack off. Zhao Xi, that damned overseer, was pacing nearby with a switch in hand. If he tried to loaf, his butt would get a sting—not painful, but humiliating!

“Zhao Xi, why aren’t you digging?” a boy from the Li family protested. “We’re all working, so why not you?”

“One person per family. My second brother’s digging, so why should I?” Xi’er shot back, hands on his hips, smug. “I’ve got brothers—four of them to dote on me. What, jealous? Tell your mom to have a few more brothers to dig for you!”

The boy, frustrated, dug into the earth with his hoe as if it were Xi’er’s annoying face, sweat dripping with every swing.

Thirsty, so thirsty. Their bamboo tubes were long empty, and last night’s half bucket of water wasn’t enough—their family got just a small bowl, one sip each.

Work made you sweat, and sweat dried your mouth fast. At first, there was some banter, but soon no one spoke. Even Santou resigned himself to digging the latrine seriously.

“Dig faster. When you’re done, I’ll take you to find water this afternoon.” Zhao Xi, swinging a soft branch he’d picked up, found a flat spot to sit cross-legged—standing too long tired his legs. “My grandpa knows where the water is. After lunch, I’ll lead you there.”

“Really? Does this mountain have a spring too? Do we have to queue?” The Li boy, who’d complained about Xi’er not digging, brightened and turned to him.

“Queue? No outsiders here.” Remembering queuing with other groups for water, Xi’er felt annoyed. If his aunt had been there, he wouldn’t have been feeding mosquitoes for half a ladle, and they’d glare if he asked for more.

“Can I come with you?” Santou licked his cracked lips, looking at Xi’er pleadingly. “Zhao Xi, I won’t fight you anymore. Take me along, please?”

Xi’er shot him a glare. Though they’d been at odds in the village, he was generous enough to let bygones be bygones. “You’d have to come even if you didn’t want to. Your parents, grandma, and grandpa are exhausted from pushing carts and carrying loads. Let them rest. We kids can handle fetching water.”

Santou, seeing Xi’er wasn’t lying and truly meant to include him, scratched his head sheepishly, tears still clinging to his lashes. “Zhao Xi, I’ll never go against you again.”

“Hmph.” Xi’er bit his soft branch, waved his hand magnanimously, and slanted a look at him. “Just dig your latrine well. Fill your belly at noon—you’ve got plenty of work this afternoon!”

“Mm-hmm.” Santou wiped his tears, cheered by the thought of water that afternoon. His wishes had shrunk over time: first, eggs every day; then, Grandma changing her mind and taking them back home instead of fleeing; later, fleeing was okay if Grandma didn’t make him carry the pot; now, carrying the pot was fine if he could eat his fill and have water to drink.

His wishes grew smaller and smaller, and under Grandma’s stick, his parents’ weary gazes, and his siblings’ indifference, he became more obedient.

After lunch, Zhao Xiaobao was scooped onto her third brother’s back. Zhao Sandi led a group of boys carrying buckets, heading deep into the woods under the hopeful eyes of several village elders.

Some men had been chosen to accompany them, but Da Gen said to let them rest—they were all exhausted from the journey. Let the children handle finding water.

When he spoke, the elders had no objections. They were old, and not being a burden was their greatest contribution. The young villagers had carried them this far; without them, who knew what state they’d be in?

Now, finally able to rest, they left the night watch to the old folks, who slept little. The young had guarded them on the road; now it was their turn to guard the young.

“Da Gen, what’s the next move? Got a plan?”

“I was about to discuss that with you. Qing Xuan, go fetch Shi Dalang…”

Shi Daohua and her cousin Shi Dawa brought up the back. The siblings were a bit awkward at first, figuring they'd get dirty looks and be left out—after all, these people were clearly from the same village, while they were just two strangers tagging along, likely to be unwelcome.

Shi Daohua had even rehearsed countless scenarios in her mind for how to handle being snubbed. She’d say some nice words, keep everyone happy. Although Grandpa Zhao had invited them to join, it was out of his kindness, and she couldn't just take it for granted. If folks got annoyed, a little humility wouldn't hurt—she couldn't bring trouble to Grandpa Zhao's family.

But after nearly half an hour of walking, listening to the chatter, no one seemed bothered by their brazen tagging along. The lead guy—the one Xiaobao called her big nephew, that boy—kept pausing to call out, "Keep up back there! Don't fall behind—if you do, I ain't coming to find you. Stay sharp."

"Daohua, something ain't right," Shi Dawa said, getting more nervous the further they walked. The forest was thickening, bushes taller than a man, and every step they had to whack grass higher than their thighs to scare off snakes. It was getting too remote, unsettling.

His heart was pounding, scared the group might suddenly turn on them, morph into bandits, and drag him and his sister off to some hideout. Was everything they'd seen and done the past two days a setup to steal their cart of... sugarcane?

Shi Dawa's face went blank, and he almost laughed at himself.

Shi Daohua wasn't as troubled. From her years of gathering firewood in the mountains, she figured this route wasn't about finding water—it was more about hiding it in some remote spot. She didn't understand why, but she kept her mouth shut and stayed steady. Just follow along—there's so many people, and the boys ahead carrying buckets all seemed blindly trusting.

Last night's water wasn't fake—it was sweet, all right. Grandpa Zhao must have found it in some hidden, rarely visited corner of the mountains.

If Zhao Sandi knew what she was thinking, he'd give her props: "Girl, you're sharp! But don't be too sharp—that clever little Taoist is still stuck running errands, not allowed to come."

They finally got to a shady spot thick with bushes, and Zhao Sandi stopped.

Behind him, Zhao Xiaowu cleared his throat. The brothers exchanged glances, and Zhao Gu, the second brother, stood in front of the thicket, subtly blocking further progress: "Alright, everyone back up. Pass the buckets forward. The spring's in a tight spot—can't fit many. You know how to line up? Like that night—pass empty buckets up, full ones back. We'll be living off this spring for the next few days, so don't mess it up."

Zhou Santou wanted to push ahead—no outsiders meant no lines, and he could drink first. Hearing this, he grumbled, "Didn't you say no lines? Why we lining up again?"

"Just do what you're told, or we ain't bringing you next time," Zhao Xi glared at him.

Zhou Santou shrunk back, about to argue, when he spotted a half-full bucket being passed from the thicket. His eyes lit up as Xiaowu carried it over and said, "If you didn't bring a water dipper, go grab a big leaf and roll it up to scoop. No fingers in the water—be careful, don't waste a single drop."

Before he finished, everyone scrambled into action. Those who'd planned ahead had water dippers tied to their waists; the lazy ones had grabbed leaves along the way. Only Shi Daohua and Shi Dawa, lost in thoughts of how to handle potential mockery or bandit sugarcane schemes, hadn't prepared anything.

Now, watching everyone crowd around the buckets to drink, the siblings looked around but couldn't find anything to hold water, getting frantic.

"Here, borrow mine." Just as Shi Daohua was crossing her fingers, hoping they'd leave some so she could drink straight from the bucket, a water dipper appeared.

She looked up and saw Zhao Xiaobao's big nephew—the kid named Zhao Xiaowu.

"Sorry, I forgot to tell you guys to bring a dipper," he said, pushing it closer when she hesitated. "Take it. They're all water buffaloes—if you don't grab, you won't get a drop."

Shi Daohua took it, her dark face breaking into a bright smile. Zhao Xiaowu didn't often see that look on a girl's face. "Thanks, I'll return it after I drink."

"Oh, sure." Zhao Xiaowu scratched his head, glancing again at her as she tugged her brother away.

The thicket acted like a screen, blocking the view.

Zhao Gu stood guard like a door god outside, while Zhao Xiaowu and his younger brothers passed buckets back and forth. The boys who'd drunk their fill weren't thinking about scheming—their minds were full of how this spring was better than the last, the water clear and sweet, quenching their thirst.

In just a few days away from home, they tasted a bit of their village's old well in this spring.

It really did taste familiar.

Smacking their lips, the boys passed full buckets back, the clever ones had brought poles to carry them easier. The slower ones had nothing, stuck lugging them back on the rough mountain trail—a real pain.

Zhao Sandi crouched behind the thicket, a flatbread in one hand and a pear in the other, watching his little sister trickle stream water into the bucket. The mountain breeze was pleasant, and he sighed contentedly, "Bao'er, how could our family manage without you? Your third brother can't live without you!"

Zhao Xiaobao dipped her fingers into the bucket, a steady stream flowing from her fingertips, slowly filling it.

It would've been easier to go straight to the immortal place to fill the bucket and bring it out, but her third brother insisted—he said they hadn't eaten well lately and wanted her to sneak them a little extra. Eating openly later would be hard, with people everywhere. A flatbread was fine, but meat buns? No way—someone might see and scream about ghosts or offerings.

"Next time, let big brother and second brother come," Zhao Xiaobao pouted. "They haven't eaten yet."

Zhao Sandi felt jealous: "Bao'er only cares about big brother and second brother, not third brother."

Zhao Xiaobao paused mid-reach for the rice porridge, and Zhao Sandi watched her pull it out and put it back, as if teasing him. He winced and whispered accusingly, "Bao'er, you've turned bad!"

"Hmph." Zhao Xiaobao did feel for her third brother—he'd lost so much weight. After teasing him a bit, she handed over the porridge. "It's hot, third brother. Drink slowly, and I'll let the water flow slowly—no rush."

Zhao Sandi reached out and ruffled her little head, his eyes soft.

"Here."

"What's this?" Zhao Sandi looked at the leaf-wrapped bundle, taking it instinctively.

"Meat patties," Zhao Xiaobao whispered. "Hide them in your chest, third brother, and secretly give them to third sister-in-law when you get back."

Before Zhao Sandi could feel touched by the favoritism, his little sister added, "Xiaobao had Brother Qing Xuan help pick the leaves, and Dad washed them. I packed three portions—one for big sister-in-law and second sister-in-law too."

Then, resting her chubby chin on one hand, she frowned: "Oh, how do I secretly give them to big brother and second brother? When big sister-in-law and second sister-in-law eat the meat patties their brothers sneak them, they'll be as happy as Mom when Xiaobao sneaks her one, right?"

She turned to warn her third brother: "Third brother, don't you eat them—they're for third sister-in-law."

"..."

Zhao Sandi took a big slurp of the porridge. Good thing the thicket was dense and the boys outside were loud, yapping away, so nobody heard anything weird.