Chapter 28 New Year’s Eve

Chapter 28: New Year’s Eve

Meng Wan ate two steamed buns and a large bowl of food. As he was leaving, he smiled and greeted Aunt Tian, "Auntie, I'm heading home now."

There was still some food left in the pot, enough to refill any table that ran short. Aunt Tian had been busy all day and hadn't yet sat down to eat herself. She was ladling out more food for the guests when she heard Meng Wan was leaving. She quickly set down the ladle and brought out a basket from the house.

"Wan Ge'er, you've helped your auntie all this time. I'll keep this favor in mind. After the New Year, when your family holds the banquet, I'll bring your sister-in-law along to help! Take these—they're not worth much, just a little token of my gratitude." Aunt Tian's words sounded nice, but if you listened closely, they didn't sit right.

She was an elder, and to pave the way for her daughter-in-law, she had used Meng Wan's name to take credit. It wasn't the right thing to do, but it wasn't a big deal either—certainly not worth apologizing to a kid.

The basket had two marrow bones and two pieces of backbone with some meat on them, like she was trying to placate a kid.

If it had been Aunt Song Liu giving him something, Meng Wan would've taken it without a second thought. But Aunt Tian's move felt a bit cheap.

Meng Wan's smile didn't reach his eyes. "Such a small thing, Auntie—no need to dwell on it. I'm too embarrassed to take these. Please take them back. I'm off now." He only refused the gift, not saying a word about the post-New Year banquet.

Using his family's banquet as practice for her eldest daughter-in-law, huh? Really taking advantage of familiarity—the closer you are, the more they take liberties.

Aunt Tian thought he was just too young and shy to take it, so she kept trying to shove it on him. "Kid, why be so polite with your auntie? Just take it and go home."

Meng Wan's smile almost cracked. Couldn't she take a hint? Did he really give a damn about a few bones?

"Wan Ge'er."

Someone called out to him from outside the yard.

Meng Wan leaned out and saw Song Tingzhou coming to get him. Taking the chance, he set the basket on the ground. "Auntie, my cousin's here for me. I'm heading out now."

Without waiting for Aunt Tian to say another word, Meng Wan took off.

"Hey, Wan Ge'er—"

Meng Wan headed straight for the gate to meet Song Tingzhou.

"Good thing you came to get me, or I'd have been stuck arguing with her for a while longer." Meng Wan caught his breath, calming down.

Song Tingzhou frowned. "What's up?"

His face was naturally stern, and with that frown, he looked even meaner, like he was about to storm in and throw down.

Meng Wan tugged at his cotton robe as they walked. "It's nothing serious. I'll tell you at home."

Song Tingzhou let himself be dragged along. There was no real physical contact between them, yet his thoughts seemed to be pulled away by Meng Wan, for a moment forgetting what he'd been thinking, his legs unconsciously keeping up with Meng Wan. It took him a while to come back to himself.

Back home, Meng Wan, like a little kid reporting to his mom, told Chang Jinhua everything that happened at the Tian house.

"It's just a pot of food—no big deal. But I don't like how Aunt Tian handled things."

Meng Wan sat on the kang, looking bummed. He thought she was a respectable elder, but she turned out to be so shady.

Chang Jinhua was also on the kang, doing needlework. She wasn't surprised. "Did you think she was your real family, that she'd treat you with genuine sincerity? If it were our family, I'd side with you too." But she wouldn't be so low as to steal a kid's credit.

Still, she understood. Villagers relied on their few acres of land to get by, and every extra coin counted. Aunt Tian made money year-round cooking for banquets, and that income added up. If she could train her eldest daughter-in-law, the two of them could earn double—a rare pride among village women. If her family didn't have the tofu business Meng Wan had brought, she'd envy them too.

Chang Jinhua's words weren't meant to comfort Meng Wan, but they made him feel much better. He grinned and sidled up to her. "So how would you side with me?"

Chang Jinhua was afraid of poking him with her needle. "Shoo, shoo. You're grown now, stop clinging to me all day. Aren't you going to paint lanterns after the New Year? Go to the little room and practice with paper and brush."

"Oh."

Meng Wan hopped off the kang and headed to the little room. He even knocked politely. "Cousin, I'm coming in?"

"Yeah."

Meng Wan lifted the curtain and entered. Simple animal sketches were easy for him, but his handwriting definitely needed practice.

"Can I borrow your old scrap paper for practice?" Meng Wan no longer stood on ceremony with Song Tingzhou.

"I'll get it for you." Song Tingzhou set down his book.

Meng Wan suddenly thought of something and asked, "Can I take a look at the book you're reading now?"

Song Tingzhou turned back in surprise. "The ones I've been reading lately are stacked by the book chest. Pick whichever you like."

Meng Wan didn't touch the one Song Tingzhou had just put down. Instead, he grabbed a random book from the chest. Opening it, he saw it was in Song Tingzhou's own handwriting—a copied text, with small annotations in the margins. The insights were unique and not rigid.

He flipped through a few more books. All were the same.

After a moment of silence, Meng Wan couldn't figure it out. Song Tingzhou studied with serious diligence, rising before dawn every day and burning the midnight oil. If he had no talent for studying, his handwriting alone didn't suggest it.

"Cousin, what exactly is tested in the prefectural exam?"

Song Tingzhou was rummaging through a cabinet for old copybooks suitable for Meng Wan's practice. Hearing the question, he lowered his head in silence. After sorting out a stack of used paper, he said, "The prefectural exam tests the Four Books, eight-legged essays, and regulated verse."

"Oh, I see," Meng Wan said. He knew about eight-legged essays but couldn't write them. Regulated verse meant composing poems on given topics—he understood that too.

Generally, the literary tradition in the north wasn't as strong as in the south. Although admission numbers were lower, the competition wasn't as fierce. The prefectural exam was tough, but the questions came from the Four Books. If you knew them well, understood their meaning, and could apply them flexibly, it shouldn't be that hard.

"Actually, you're wondering why I failed so many times before," Song Tingzhou said, understanding Meng Wan's intent.

Meng Wan stammered, "No, I was just asking casually… Fine, I do want to know. Why?" After a moment, his curiosity got the better of him, and he admitted it outright.

Song Tingzhou's face was full of dejection, and a closer look revealed shame in his eyes. "I've never wanted to tell Mother, but the truth is, in those past exams, I couldn't even get through the exam hall gates."

Meng Wan's eyes widened in shock. "What do you mean?"

"I… I get so nervous before the exam that my stomach hurts unbearably." Song Tingzhou found it hard to say.

"How is that possible?" Meng Wan couldn't believe it.

Not only was Song Tingzhou usually steady and reliable, but with his robust build, he didn't seem like someone who'd get diarrhea from nerves.

Song Tingzhou was equally baffled. The first time he took the prefectural exam, he was still young and a bit nervous—it was the worst case. He was vomiting and had diarrhea, his legs too weak to even get out of bed, let alone enter the exam hall.

The second time, he thought he was fully prepared, but on exam day, the same stomach pain struck, and he missed his chance.

The third time was even more absurd. He didn't have stomach pain, but on the way to the examination compound, someone threw out dirty water, drenching him completely. By the time he returned to the inn to change, it was too late, and he missed the exam.

Song Tingzhou had kept these things bottled up for a long time. If he had entered the hall and failed due to lack of skill, that would be one thing. But not even getting a chance to hold a brush in the exam room—how could that not frustrate him?

After pouring out everything to Meng Wan, Song Tingzhou felt much lighter.

Meng Wan's face turned serious after hearing it all. "Who did you go with those times?"

Song Tingzhou understood his implication. "You think someone deliberately sabotaged me?"

His gaze went blank as he recalled his trips to the prefectural city. "I've suspected it too. But except for the first time, when I went with a few classmates from town, the other two times I went alone. I just found random guarantors—Linseng—to vouch for me."

"And after my stomach acted up, I immediately had the inn's waiter call a doctor. The doctor said it was dysentery caused by excessive worry."

Song Tingzhou wasn't stupid; he let the first time slide, but the second time he was truly cautious.

Meng Wan rubbed his smooth chin, deep in thought, and said, "Then this is really strange. Could it be that you're just that unlucky?"

He just couldn't believe anyone could be this unlucky!

After grabbing some stuff and heading back to the main room, Meng Wan was still mulling over the matter. He suddenly asked Chang Jinhua, "Aunt, when Cousin heads to the prefectural city in April after the New Year, will you go too?"

Chang Jinhua nearly pricked her finger. She hissed, "What would I go for? Da Lang going alone is already expensive enough."

Meng Wan chuckled dryly. "Just asking."

Chang Jinhua looked at him suspiciously, clearly unconvinced. "The prefectural city is far away, and there might even be bandits on the road! Don't go stirring up trouble."

Meng Wan buried his head in his work, pretending to be busy, and replied perfunctorily, "Oh, okay."

But inside, he thought, Guess I gotta work harder to make more money.

On New Year's Eve, Meng Wan and Chang Jinhua worked at home all day. In the morning, they made tofu. Meng Wan took some tofu to Aunt Song Liu's, and she gave him two fish in return. He then took some to Zhang Xiaoyu's house, where Zhang Xiaoyu surprisingly chatted with him for a bit and sent him home with half a basket of wild chestnuts and mountain walnuts.

At noon, Meng Wan and Chang Jinhua sat on the kang rolling tofu balls, while Song Tingzhou stoked the fire in the kitchen. Meng Wan fried a large basin of tofu balls.

The three of them ate a few balls to hold them over, and then Chang Jinhua and Meng Wan started preparing the New Year's Eve dinner.

The New Year's Eve dinner had six or eight dishes—even numbers only, since odd ones were bad luck. The Song family was small, so they went with six dishes, meaning "everything goes smoothly"—it sounded nice.

Chang Jinhua cleaned the fish given by Aunt Song Liu. Working in the dead of winter, even with hot water, it was rough on her hands, so she cleaned both fish at once and froze one for the Lantern Festival.

Song Tingzhou grabbed a cleaver and headed to the chicken coop to kill a chicken, while Meng Wan sat by the stove peeling wild chestnuts. Once peeled, they'd be stewed with the chicken, sweet and sticky.

"Aren't these usually roasted? First time I've heard of stewing 'em with chicken. You're full of ideas," Chang Jinhua said, intrigued.

The wild chestnuts from the mountain were small and tougher to peel than regular ones. Meng Wan's fingers ached from peeling, but he craved that sweet, sticky taste. "They're really fragrant when stewed. Too bad there aren't any sweet potatoes."

Outside, the wind howled, and the snow on the ground wouldn't melt all winter long. In this weather, if he could just toss a sweet potato into the stove to roast, how amazing would that be!

"Sweet potatoes? What are those?" Chang Jinhua had never heard of such a food.

Meng Wan explained, "They've got thin skins, some red, some yellow, about the size of a hand, sometimes bigger or smaller. When cooked, the inside is soft and fluffy, and it tastes really sweet."

As he spoke, Meng Wan's face lit up with longing. Before coming to this world, he never knew he could crave anything this much.

Song Tingzhou, just back from killing the chicken, overheard him.

"Done with the chicken? Good, I don't have to get up. Da Lang, take this basin of dirty water and dump it in the vegetable garden. Give the chicken to your mother."

Chang Jinhua took the chicken from Song Tingzhou, and Meng Wan swapped her basin for a new one, scooping hot water from the pot so she could pluck the chicken.

Once all the side dishes were ready, smoke started rising from the chimney.

Both the big and small pots in the kitchen bubbled away, filling the air with aroma.

As dusk fell, the smell grew stronger.

Song Tingzhou set the kang table, and Meng Wan and Chang Jinhua brought out the dishes one by one.

A pot of braised ribs sat in the center, followed by a plate of whole fish, the chestnut chicken Meng Wan made, the fried tofu balls from noon, tofu skin stir-fried with cabbage, and shredded radish salad.

The six dishes filled the table. A cloth was spread on the cabinet, and a small pot of fine rice sat on top.

Chang Jinhua scooped a little of each dish into six small bowls. On the innermost cabinet in the main room sat a wooden spirit tablet. She set the six bowls in front of it, muttered a few words, and wiped tears from her eyes now and then.

During this time, Song Tingzhou came out of the small room with some incense sticks, lit them, and stuck them into the rice bowl in front of the tablet. He knelt and kowtowed three times, his eyes reddening as he looked up.

The whole process was silent and solemn. Meng Wan curled up on the kang, barely daring to breathe. The reverence for the dead back then was something modern people just couldn't fully get.

Once this ritual was over, the mood lightened. Song Tingzhou served Chang Jinhua rice and then took Meng Wan's bowl as well.

"Cousin, I can do it myself," Meng Wan said, feeling a bit embarrassed.

Song Tingzhou stopped him. "Just stay on the kang; no need to get down."

When all three were seated at the table, Chang Jinhua took the first bite, and then Meng Wan and Song Tingzhou followed.

"Aunt, your braised ribs are delicious!"

"If it's good, we'll make them again on the fifth day of the New Year. There's plenty."

"No wonder Wan Geer kept talking about it. These wild chestnuts stewed with chicken are really sweet and fragrant. Da Lang, you should try some too."

"Okay."

"Cousin, try the fish. It's good too."

"Mm."

Meng Wan ate until his stomach was round. He forced himself to help Chang Jinhua clean up the dishes.

Song Tingzhou wiped the table clean and swept the floor, then joined Meng Wan at the table to write and draw.

Tonight was New Year's Eve, also known as the night of the year's end. The whole family was supposed to gather and stay up all night, or in other words, no one could sleep.

Meng Wan secretly wondered, What if someone falls asleep? Is there a god of sleep?

Just as he thought this, a snoring sound arose beside him. It was Chang Jinhua, who had dozed off on the quilt.

"Ha..." Meng Wan covered his mouth to stifle a laugh.

Song Tingzhou was writing an essay by candlelight. Hearing the laughter, he looked up at Meng Wan.

"If you're sleepy, go ahead and sleep. I'll keep watch."

The dim candlelight softened his features and muted his facial contours. Ignoring his worn-out robe, he looked like a gentle, jade-like scholar.

The candle flame flickered restlessly a couple of times, dazzling Meng Wan's eyes. He lowered his head. "That wouldn't be right."

"It's fine."

"Alright then."

Meng Wan was indeed too tired to resist. He didn't insist further. First, he covered Chang Jinhua with a quilt, then he slipped into his own bedding, still dressed.