Chapter 17 Snowfall

Chapter 17: Snowfall

On the way back from the market, Meng Wan rushed to push the cart. "You chat with Sixth Aunt; I'll put the stuff on the cart and push it." He still instinctively acted like a man, having been raised that way since childhood. Even after coming here, that instinct lingered.

Chang Jinhua couldn't talk him out of it, so she let go of the cart. She had bought cloth at the market and was holding it while chatting with Sixth Aunt Song. Man Geer followed behind with Meng Wan.

"Oh, it's snowing," Man Geer cried out.

Meng Wan looked up. A tiny white flake with six petals landed on his face. He reached out to catch it, but another melted in his hand.

The sky darkened, everything shrouded in mist.

Sixth Aunt Song, who was up ahead talking with Chang Jinhua, turned back to warn the two younger ones, "Hurry up, it's going to get heavier soon."

Sure enough, the snow fell thicker. They trudged along with their heads down, and by the time they reached home, the snow on the ground was already a finger deep.

The cotton-padded jacket was warm, but it wasn't windproof or waterproof. Meng Wan's shoulders and sleeves were soaked. He unloaded the cart and wheeled it into the shed in the yard. Chang Jinhua grabbed the stuff on top, and they both ran inside.

"It's snowing now," Chang Jinhua said, patting her cotton jacket with a sigh.

A timely snow means a good harvest. If it didn't snow in winter, folks would worry. They didn't understand the science, just knew that if snow covered the fields, the next year's harvest would be better.

This was the heaviest snow Meng Wan had ever seen, in either his past or present life. After helping Chang Jinhua put things away, he sat by the door and watched the snow. For a moment, he thought maybe this life wasn't so bad—peaceful and simple, taking care of Chang Jinhua like a mom, treating Song Tingzhou like a brother...

Nah, forget it. Treating him like a brother while marrying him would be messed up. But as a husband? He barely knew the guy!

Meng Wan's thoughts got tangled up again.

"Wan'er, come see the cloth Auntie bought you."

Meng Wan shut the door and went in. "Coming."

Chang Jinhua had gone all out today, buying two bolts of cloth, one apricot yellow and one bright red. They were just coarse cloth, but they cost over three hundred wen.

"Don't I already have clothes? Why'd you buy more?"

The cloth was wrapped in oiled paper, and Meng Wan realized Chang Jinhua had bought it for him.

Chang Jinhua held the apricot yellow cloth up against him. "After the Little New Year, you and Da Lang are getting engaged. Our clan has a lot of relatives, but your blood relatives are just Uncle Tingzhou and two aunts who married out. We're not inviting outsiders for the betrothal, but it's still a big deal. You only have this one cotton jacket for going out; you need another one that's more presentable."

Then she took out the red cloth. "The wedding dress and quilt covers need to be embroidered during the winter downtime."

Meng Wan was shocked. "I have to do embroidery?"

Chang Jinhua gave him a look. "I'll make the clothes for you. You go learn a few stitches from Man Geer and put some on it. How can a bride not do any stitching on her own wedding clothes?"

Meng Wan breathed a sigh of relief—so he didn't have to make the whole thing himself.

That evening, Song Tingzhou came back, covered in snow. The snow on the ground was already up to his ankles.

"Why didn't you stay in town tonight? Coming back this late with snow on the road—you can't see the path well."

Chang Jinhua brushed the snow off Song Tingzhou with a feather duster, scolding him for being careless.

The country paths were hard to walk on, not like modern concrete roads that are straight and easy. Here, there were forks everywhere, with ditches on either side. At night, with the snow covering the ground in silver, it was easy to fall into a ditch.

Village gossip often told tales of drunkards from some village falling into a ditch while traveling at night.

Song Tingzhou stayed silent. He stayed in the private school's dormitory in town, a cramped spare room with two wooden beds, shared with one other student who lived farther away. They had a mud stove, burning firewood they gathered to keep warm in the cold.

Tonight, with heavy snow, after he vacated the dorm, two others had already squeezed in.

Besides—he wanted to come home.

Song Tingzhou's gaze swept past the door. The young man was busy in the kitchen, the firelight casting a warm glow on his cheeks.

Meng Wan brought out the dishes from the pot, then cleaned it and filled it with hot water. "Cousin, the water will be ready soon after dinner."

He looked up and met Song Tingzhou's eyes.

"Thank you."

Meng Wan lowered his head. "You're welcome."

He tried hard, but still felt Song Tingzhou suited being his father more than his husband—that stern, serious face instantly reminded him of the disciplinary dean from his high school dorm.

Chang Jinhua's pickled cabbage was ready to eat. Meng Wan stewed a bowl of it, along with seven or eight large marrow bones he'd bought at the market. He broke two of them and simmered them on the brazier since returning home. The aroma was already rich, spreading even farther than braised pork.

He served a pot of coarse rice, and the three sat down to eat.

Meng Wan ladled out three bowls of milky white bone broth. "People from my hometown say this is really nourishing. Let's buy more in winter; we can stew it with radish or pickled cabbage."

Chang Jinhua took a sip. "I gave you those coins to buy some fancy hair ties, not these unwanted bones."

That was just how she was—stubborn, never praising Meng Wan's thriftiness and care for the family directly.

Song Tingzhou drank the rich, bone-flavored broth, his gaze falling on the wooden stick holding Meng Wan's hair at the back of his head, frowning slightly.

After dinner, he called Meng Wan over. "Any words you don't recognize from reading that you want to ask me?"

Meng Wan said sheepishly, "Yes, but won't it disturb your studies?"

"It won't."

Chang Jinhua watched them and snatched the bowl from Meng Wan's hands. "Ask Da Lang while he's free. I'll wash the dishes—just these two bowls, no need for you."

With that, Meng Wan had no choice but to wash his hands and follow Song Tingzhou into the room. The door was left open, showing Chang Jinhua cleaning up in the kitchen.

Song Tingzhou took a book from his book chest and handed it to Meng Wan. Meng Wan took it and saw it was handmade from cut paper, very thick. The characters inside were slightly larger than those in ordinary books, starting with simple common ones and growing more complex. All were in Song Tingzhou's handwriting, which Meng Wan recognized.

"You wrote this specially for me?" Meng Wan's expression was complicated. This thick book had at least two hundred pages, nearly ten thousand characters, with annotations for the more complex ones. It couldn't have been made overnight.

Song Tingzhou simply hummed in response. He seemed distracted, and only when the kitchen fell silent and Chang Jinhua went to the main room to make the bed did he search his book chest again.

Meng Wan watched him, book in hand, as he pulled out a money pouch and took out two pieces of silver, offering them to Meng Wan. At least three taels, if not more.

Meng Wan fumbled, hiding both his hands and the book behind his back, looking tense. "Why are you giving me this? I don't want it."

"Take it for spending at the market," Song Tingzhou said calmly, without a hint of guilt for hiding his private savings.

He kept it from Chang Jinhua only because he feared she'd resent Meng Wan if she saw him giving him money. After all, no matter how much Chang Jinhua cherished Meng Wan, she still favored her own son by two degrees.

Meng Wan shook his head vigorously. "I don't lack food or clothes. Aunt Song bought me cloth today to make clothes. Put it away—I won't take it."

His tone was firm, his voice low, clearly afraid Chang Jinhua would see.

Song Tingzhou withdrew his hand, clutching the silver, which now felt hot in his palm.

Meng Wan sighed in relief when he put the silver away, then left with his book. At the door, he hesitated before speaking. "I know you saved this silver by copying books, and I'm grateful you want to give it to me. But though we have some savings now, a bit more than others—ten or twenty taels—you're just starting on the path to the imperial exams. There'll be more expenses ahead. Don't waste it on me."

Song Tingzhou’s earlier gloom instantly lifted. Meng Wan’s words felt like a warm current flowing into his heart, bringing him immense comfort.

“I understand. I’ll hit the books twice as hard and live up to your and Mother’s high hopes.”

Meng Wan thought that sounded a bit off but didn’t overthink it, and dashed off to the main house.

“You’re practically engaged, and still so reckless.”

Chang Jinhua scolded him from the kang bed, holding up the apricot-yellow cloth and measuring it, but she just couldn’t bring herself to cut it.

“Forget it, I’ll ask your Sixth Aunt tomorrow to help me stretch it out—my hands aren’t as steady as hers are.”

Meng Wan lay in bed reading, tracing characters on the pillow with his finger when he came across ones he didn’t know. The pillows in the village weren’t like the rock-hard, porcelain-vase ones from his old mansion; they were filled with husks and such, firm but still soft overall, at least they didn’t give him bumps on his head.

Books were a great sleep aid, especially the dry ones with no story—just characters to recognize.

Before long, Meng Wan was out cold. When Chang Jinhua heard no more page-turning from behind the curtain, she picked up the fabric and climbed off the kang.

The front door creaked open. Chang Jinhua pushed it to look and saw her son, wearing an outer robe, carrying out the dirty bathwater.

“Da Lang, dump that tomorrow morning—you’ll catch cold.”

Song Tingzhou replied, “It’s okay, Ma. I’ll take it to the backyard, or it’ll freeze in the kitchen overnight.”

Chang Jinhua was used to her son doing things his own way. She stood in the kitchen waiting for him to come back from dumping the water.

“Ma, did you need something? It’s cold in the kitchen—let’s talk inside.”

Song Tingzhou could tell his mother had something to say.

She followed him into the small room and leaned against the edge of the kang, and said, “Thanks to Wan Geer teaching me how to make tofu these past few months, we’ve saved up a few more taels from the little business. I was thinking, after you two get married in the new year, maybe we could build another side room? Like Old Man Tian next door—his two sons each have their own side room. We’ve only got you, so I could live in the side room, and you two can take the main room after you’re married. The small room can store odds and ends, and later we’ll fix it up for the kids.” Chang Jinhua’s voice grew soft with longing, as if she could already see a house full of grandkids.

Song Tingzhou hadn’t expected her to bring that up. After a moment’s thought, he said, “Let’s hold off on building for now. We’ll decide after my prefectural exam.”

Chang Jinhua didn’t push it. She sighed as she left his room—Da Lang still wanted to give it a shot, but could he really pass? She might brag to the neighbors and to Meng Wan about her son becoming a scholar, but deep down, after years of disappointment, she only had a sliver of hope left.

The next morning, Song Tingzhou got up early as usual to grind the tofu, reheated last night’s leftovers, and had some soy milk. Chang Jinhua didn’t take the tofu out to the door.

“It’s cold now—let’s sell the tofu inside, or it’ll freeze out there.”

She had a point, but Meng Wan thought: Frozen tofu is great too!

He grabbed a shallow, flat basket and said, “Auntie, set aside one piece of tofu today.”

Chang Jinhua, who’d hand him a handful of coins without a second thought, had no problem giving him tofu. She cut a piece and put it in the basket, asking, “Why don’t you use a bowl?”

Meng Wan took a knife, cut the tofu into small squares on the basket, covered it with a large bowl, and set it on a stone in the yard. “We’ll freeze this piece and stew it with pickled cabbage tonight.”

Chang Jinhua just thought he was being odd. “How can frozen tofu taste good? Oh well, do as you please. Remember to ask your Sixth Aunt to come help me cut the fabric when she’s free.”

Meng Wan grabbed his small basket and headed out. “Got it.”

He might have a bit of talent for shoemaking, mainly because he wasn’t afraid to put in effort. After getting three or four blisters on his hands, he finally finished stitching Song Tingzhou’s sole. The upper part was easier—no need for embroidery on a man’s shoe.

In winter, villagers ate two meals a day. Only during busy spring and autumn fieldwork, when they didn’t return home for lunch, would they have someone bring two cornmeal buns.

He spent half the day at Sixth Aunt Song’s house with Brother Man making shoes. When he figured Chang Jinhua had almost sold out the tofu, he headed home with Sixth Aunt.

Their houses were close, both near the village entrance. Sixth Aunt’s was the very first house. As they left her place, they saw Zhang Xiaoyu on the village path, whispering with a young man.

“Second Auntie, what are you doing!!!”

Meng Wan’s shout scared the timid Zhang Xiaoyu half to death.

“You wretched kid, why so loud! Trying to summon ghosts?” Seeing Meng Wan, Zhang Xiaoyu grew even angrier, rolling her eyes repeatedly.

Meng Wan wasn’t fazed. He narrowed his eyes mischievously and said, “Does my Second Uncle know you’re chatting with an outside male?”

Zhang Xiaoyu immediately jumped away from the young man. “What nonsense are you talking? This is my eldest nephew!”

The man quickly explained, “Wan Geer, you’ve misunderstood. Your Second Auntie is my real third aunt. By rights, you should call me cousin.”

How does he know my name?

Meng Wan frowned but didn’t greet him.

Ridiculous—relatives a thousand miles away. He had too many brothers already.

The man stared intently at Meng Wan since he appeared. When Meng Wan stayed silent, he smiled shyly and said, “I’m from Yangshu Village. I’m also related to Man Geer—I came to his wedding to see him off.”

At that, Sixth Aunt remembered. “Oh, I know now! You’re Man Geer’s cousin! Why didn’t you come in and sit? I’ll call Man Geer out to see you.”

“No need, Auntie.”

The man rubbed his hands. “I came today to see my third aunt first. I’ll visit another time.”

He carried a package wrapped tightly in oil paper, likely food. One gift couldn’t serve two households—it was probably bought specifically for Zhang Xiaoyu. Her shout had put him in an awkward spot.

Sixth Aunt understood social niceties. She said politely, “Another time, then. Wan Geer, let’s go. My shoes are getting wet in this heavy snow.”

Meng Wan had only come to scare Zhang Xiaoyu, who had annoyed him before. Having achieved his goal, he had no desire to linger.