Chapter 75: Aunt

Chapter 75: Aunt

Cock-a-doodle-doo—

In the early morning, just as the sky was barely light, the two-year-old rooster in the old Song family’s backyard started its daily duty, stretching its neck and crowing insistently to wake everyone up.

But Granny Song of the Song family rose even earlier than the old rooster. Almost as soon as it was light, she was up and busy, diligently taking out the day's food supplies from the cabinet.

Around the same time, the four daughters-in-law of the Song family began to stir one after another. It was the third daughter-in-law’s turn to cook. She called out, “Mother,” took the bag of grain, and slipped into the kitchen. Soon, wisps of cooking smoke rose, and the smell of rice filled the air, making everyone's mouth water.

The aroma was so rich, and the rice was of the finest quality—not for them—they ate coarse grains instead. This was cooked specially for the Song family’s most precious youngest daughter, Song Pushu. The only other person treated this well was Dalang, Song Huaian, but he was at the academy and hadn’t returned.

Soon after breakfast was ready, the men of the Song family got up. In the past few days, the fields needed to be turned over again. With over twenty acres of land, even with an ox to plow, it still had to be broken into neat plots—hard labor. The men of the family worked like oxen themselves, exhausted and breathless.

There was still a bit left to finish. They figured it would rain in a few days. Once the plowing was done and the rain came to moisten the ground, they could plant the seeds. It was spring plowing season, and the work was nonstop.

“This is leftover meat from last night mixed with vegetables, made into meat-and-vegetable cornmeal cakes. Dad, you and the others have to go to the fields, so eat these,” said the third daughter-in-law as she brought a basket to the table, containing eight cakes.

She would have loved to eat them too. She had even added oil—you could tell from the smell how good they were. But the men of the family had to do heavy labor; eating well and having some fat in their diet would keep them from collapsing from exhaustion. Lots of villagers had gotten really sick from overworking.

The Song family had a lot of land and many workers. Plus, Old Man Song had carpentry skills, which he passed on to his sons, bringing in extra income. Life was decent.

Compared to others in the village, the Song family was pretty well off. They had meat every few days and a new set of clothes once a year. Some families had never seen new clothes, especially in winter. To survive a winter, they took turns going outside—when one person went out, they'd pile on every piece of clothing they owned, while the others huddled around the fire.

Better not to think about it—dwelling on it only brought misery. Except for the wealthy, common folks probably lived about the same, not much different.

The Song family hadn't split up yet. Old Man Song was still the head of the household. When he was young, he had supported the whole family and built up their property. He was quiet but carried a lot of authority.

“Take one each,” Old Man Song said. Only then did his four sons dare to reach for the cakes. The other three went to the grandsons—eight, nine, or ten years old. Young, but village kids that age were already strong enough to work.

Granny Song didn’t mind. She knew what was important. She had lots of goodies locked up in her cabinet. She would boil an egg for her daughter to eat when she got up.

After the men finished eating, they wiped their mouths, grabbed their tools, and headed to the fields one after another. The women of the family also started their chores. Meanwhile, the other children got up. Those who didn’t work in the fields were the girls and the younger boys. The Song family had many members. The old couple had five children, and their four sons had married and had children one after another. Only the fourth son’s family had two so far, but the wife was pregnant with a third.

The eldest daughter-in-law took some girls to weed the vegetable garden. That was part of the family’s food supply. The second daughter-in-law took others to the mountains to dig wild vegetables—the more they dug, the more they saved. Watching others dig while they didn't would be dumb—they'd just be missing out.

The third daughter-in-law was to take all the quilts out and wash them. The weather had been good for a few days, and after being musty all winter, they needed a thorough washing to feel cozy.

The fourth daughter-in-law was pregnant. Granny Song wasn’t a harsh, malicious mother-in-law, just sharp-tongued, so she didn't give her any heavy lifting. She just had to clean the house.

After the Song family's noise died down, Granny Song slipped into the kitchen, boiled two eggs, and then opened her youngest daughter's door to wake her. The doctor had said to eat on time, or she'd get weak and sick. She could go back to sleep after eating.

“Mother?” Song Pushu was already awake. Even if the family tried to keep quiet, the noise of such a big family was unavoidable. She had woken up groggily.

But the sunlight was just right, and her face was buried under the cool quilt, reluctant to get up. She was being lazy. A small sachet hung at the head of her bed—a gift her eldest nephew had brought back from the county academy. Even the quilt was from him, said to be rare and expensive. She didn’t know how he got it, but that wasn’t her concern. She enjoyed it without guilt.

“Daughter, awake? Come on, get up. I’ve boiled eggs for you and asked your third sister-in-law to cook millet porridge. It smells wonderful. It’s already cooled down, so you can eat it now, warm up your belly, and then go back to sleep.”

Granny Song sat by the bed, looking at her beautiful, radiant daughter, smiling with great affection. She couldn’t get enough of her.

The family had enough workers; there was no need for her daughter to toil. Otherwise, why raise so many? If it weren’t for the fact that her youngest daughter wasn’t yet married and the brothers might not support her after splitting up, Granny Song would split up the household right away.

Having lived most of her life, she had seen more of life than the younger generation could imagine. She knew that even the most filial sons, once married, would favor their own small families. Once her daughter found a good husband and she had no more worries, she could bring up the matter of division.

“Mother, I am a bit hungry.” Song Pushu rubbed her stomach and got up, leaning her head on Granny Song’s shoulder in a lazy, playful way. Her face was like a flower, with peach-blossom eyes and rosy cheeks. “Mother, it’s getting warm. When are we going to the county? I want to eat that ice cream.”

She had dreamed of eating it last night, with raisins sprinkled on top, and had been very happy. But when she woke up, it was just a dream, and the craving only got worse.

“Oh, that ice cream is too cold. It’ll upset your stomach. And it’s only April; they might not have it yet.” Granny Song stroked her daughter’s jet-black, silky hair. She didn't dare touch her daughter's face with her rough, aged hands, afraid she might hurt her skin. “When Dalang comes back from the county, ask him if they sell ice cream there. If they do, we’ll go eat some.”

“Dalang is coming back?” Song Pushu had just woken up, with red marks on her cheek from the pillow. It took her a moment to count on her fingers to figure it out. “Oh, right! Dalang’s day off is today. According to the travel time, he should be home this afternoon. If there’s ice cream, he’ll definitely bring some back!”

Dalang was her eldest nephew, the eldest grandson of the Song family, and the eldest son of the first son's family—one year older than her.

Song Huaian was a born scholar. The Song family tightened their belts and supported his studies. He had already passed the county exam and was preparing for this year’s provincial exam. He could come home once a month for four days, or stay at the academy to study if he preferred. But Song Huaian came home like clockwork every month. Every time he returned, he brought gifts for his aunt Song Pushu. As a result, in the Song family, she was the one most looking forward to his return.

“It’s getting warm now. Even if he brings some, it’ll melt by the time he gets here. It’s two hours from the county to home. Don’t worry. If they have it, I’ll take you to the county to eat it.” Granny Song had no bottom line when it came to indulging her daughter.

Ice cream was expensive—one serving cost as much as half a pound of meat. Ordinary families wouldn't even think of buying it. But Song Pushu liked it, and Granny Song was willing to spend the money.

Song Pushu’s eyes curved into crescents, sparkling and enchanting. Anyone who saw her like this would have their heart melt. “Mother is the best. I love Mother the most. When I grow up, I’ll take care of Mother, let Mother live in a big house, with servants everywhere.” She was sweet-tongued, good at making big promises.

Granny Song didn't realize it was just empty talk. She was very pleased and laughed happily. “As long as you live safely and marry a good man, that’s enough for me.”

“That’s for sure! I’ll only marry a man who is handsome, capable, from a good family, and dotes on me. I want to wear silk and satin, eat delicacies, live in a big mansion, have servants everywhere, and ride in a fancy carriage whenever I go out. Otherwise, I won’t marry—I’ll stay by Mother’s side forever.” Song Pushu huffed. She had no shame or doubt about her goals. She was very confident.

She was the aunt of a scholar, and she was beautiful as a flower. She deserved a good life. Anyone who tried to give her a hard life would be her sworn enemy.

A complicated look crossed Granny Song's eyes, but then she nodded approvingly. “That’s right. My daughter should live a good life. Dalang is a scholar. When he comes back, ask him if there are any good families in the county.”

Sixteen years had passed without her noticing. The child had come of age and was ready for marriage. If only... but it was a pity she was in the Song family. Still, as long as she was safe and sound, and married close enough to be under their watchful eyes, they could make sure nothing happened to her. A plain but happy life would be enough.

Song Pushu said she was hungry now. She got up, washed up, and put on a peach-pink dress. When she tied her belt, her waist was as slender as a willow, and she looked like a blooming crabapple flower, exceptionally radiant. The children playing in the yard all said Auntie was beautiful, and she rewarded them with two candies.

After breakfast, Song Pushu didn’t lift a finger for chores. The younger children did the dishes, since they had gotten candy. If they were diligent, they could have a piece every day. Whenever Song Pushu was about to do something, they would snatch the job.

Song Pushu had nothing to do, and going outside wasn’t much fun. She had walked all around the nearby village. Granny Song and the fourth sister-in-law were doing needlework; with so much work, clothes wore out quickly. They mended and patched so they could still be worn. The best clothes in the family belonged to Song Pushu, made of expensive fabric. The granddaughters altered her old clothes to wear, and when they went out, they were envied by their friends. They looked almost as good as new clothes. In fact, even new clothes made of cheap fabric couldn’t compare.

“Hmm... I wonder how the picture book that my eldest nephew took to the county to sell a month ago is doing. Did he make any money?” Song Pushu’s room was quite large. She had a desk by the window, and she was resting her chin on her hand, daydreaming about how much she had earned. If it didn’t sell, that would be embarrassing.

Local private schools and academies didn’t accept girls. But she had grown up with her eldest nephew. When he went to study characters, he came home and taught her, guiding her hand in writing with a brush. Song Pushu had beautiful handwriting.

She also liked reading storybooks and listening to storytellers in teahouses. After much thought, she decided to write one herself, even adding illustrations. She had a talent for drawing, especially people—lively and lifelike.

This booklet was written and illustrated by her. It took a long time, and her brain ached. She had spent the whole winter holed up at home working on it. If she didn’t even earn back the cost of ink and paper, she would be furious!

“Big Brother! Big Brother!”

Song Pushu was daydreaming when she heard someone shouting “Big Brother” outside. She knew it was Song Huaian returning. She immediately dropped her brush, lifted her skirt, and opened the door. There he stood.

He seemed taller, his shoulders broader. His gentle face had shed its youthful immaturity, revealing masculine contours without being harsh. On the contrary, he looked like a scholar, refined and elegant. Song Huaian had always been good-looking. In his scholar’s robes, standing there, he was like a painting of a literati—outstanding in temperament and posture.

Song Huaian patted his younger siblings’ heads. Sensing a gaze, he looked up and saw the person under the eaves. His eyes wavered, his heart sped up, and his face grew hot. Hastily, he lowered his gaze.

“Dalang! You’re back!” Song Pushu was anxious to know if the booklet had sold. She beamed, ran over, and threw herself in front of Song Huaian. Her skirt swayed, the bright color vivid in the sunlight, just like her smile—radiant and bright, imprinted in his heart.

Song Huaian curved his lips, looking down at Song Pushu in front of him. His voice was warm and pleasant. “Aunt.”

“Oh, you kids, go play. Those who behave will get candy.” Song Pushu pulled him into her room and closed the door, casually bribing the little brats. They already had snacks from Song Huaian, so they didn’t fuss. They huddled together, eating bite by bite.

Song Huaian had just steadied himself when Song Pushu touched his chest. His breath caught, and he nearly stumbled, his back pressing against the door. A fragrance filled his senses, and his body tensed.

“Song Huaian, are you sick? Why is your heart beating so fast, like a drum?” Song Pushu felt it, then pressed her hand flat against his chest, even leaning her face against it to listen. It was really loud and very fast. She felt strangely nervous.

Oh heavens... Could her eldest nephew have studied so hard that he made himself sick? She still wanted to be the aunt of a provincial graduate!

Her pale neck and profile were right before his eyes, her curved lashes blinking adorably.

Song Huaian’s gaze darkened. He swallowed hard. His hand, uncontrollably, reached for her shoulder, pressing down with some force, as if holding back something.