Chapter 2: A Home Stricken by Hunger and Want

Because Du Yun was still weak, she wasn’t required to do any work. Though her grandmother grumbled and cursed a bit, in the end, she didn’t drag Du Yun to do anything. After breakfast, the adults went to the fields, the children went out to play, and Du Yun lay back down on the kang to sleep, under the pretense of recuperating.

But for Du Yun, sleep was nothing but an illusion—if only she could eat a full meal, especially some meat, she believed she would quickly regain her strength. Unfortunately, the family didn’t even have extra grain, so she could only sleep.

She slept straight through to the afternoon. The crackling sound of firewood burning and the scent of smoke drifting in the air told her that her mother was cooking.

Because it wasn’t the busy farming season, and in order to save money and food, most families in the village only ate two meals a day. So even though it was just past three in the afternoon, the Du family began to return home one after another.

“Mother, let me help you,” Du Yun said, holding her forehead as she got off the kang. After sleeping all morning, her head still throbbed dully. But looking at her mother’s slightly hunched back as she crouched in front of the stove, Du Yun felt a piercing ache in her heart, as if a hand was squeezing it tightly. She squatted down beside her mother and reached for the fire stick.

“Oh!” Du Yun’s mother turned to her, eyes flashing with pain. She opened her mouth as if to say something but didn’t know what to say, only muttering, “If only we had white flour, I’d make you some noodle soup.”

“Mother, I’m fine. Didn’t I have steamed egg this morning?” Du Yun looked at her honest, meek mother, not yet forty but already with wrinkles at the corners of her eyes and white in her hair. Her hands, rough and callused from years of labor, stung Du Yun’s heart with a wave of sorrow.

She finally had a mother who loved her—how could she let her suffer so much? Guilt and helplessness welled inside her as she gazed at the flames in the hearth. The two of them sat in silence, broken only by the crackle of burning wood.

Soon, the water in the pot began to boil. Du Yun watched as her mother scooped out half a basin of cornmeal to make dinner for the whole family and felt a pang of sadness. This family was truly too poor.

In the three mud-brick rooms crowded with over a dozen people, they ate just two meals a day to save grain, and every meal was thin and watery. Even this runny cornmeal porridge had to be carefully measured—if they used too much, they would go hungry come spring, when food was scarcest.

Du Yun took the basin of cornmeal from her mother, fetched two ladles of cold water from the cracked vat, and stirred it in. Her hands moved quickly and heavily, the sound almost like beating a drum, as her heart ached.

“Yun, don’t be upset. You know what our family’s like—we can barely afford to eat, let alone prepare any dowry for you. Without a dowry, it’s hard to get a good match…” Her mother wanted to comfort her, but seeing Du Yun’s clear, bright gaze, she suddenly felt choked and could say no more.

Her mother sighed, cheeks flushing with shame, hating herself for her earlier thoughts—how could she have considered marrying off Du Yun just to get money to marry off her son? If not for that, Du Yun wouldn’t have suffered so much and taken so long to recover.

No matter what she said, she couldn’t erase the guilt in her heart, and being tongue-tied as she was, she could only awkwardly wipe her face with her sleeve and go to the chopping board to silently prepare the vegetables.

Du Yun fell silent too, stirring the cornmeal porridge with a large ladle. With half a basin of meal to a huge pot of water, the porridge was as thin as gruel. Stirring it with an iron-headed spoon tied to a tree branch, she could feel no thickness at all—it was like stirring plain water.

Du Yun sighed softly and looked at the vegetables her mother was preparing. At least there were still plenty of beans, eggplants, and peppers from the garden. There was no meat, but they weren’t short on vegetables—unlike winter, when they would have only stored cabbage and potatoes, and, if lucky, sauerkraut dumplings during the New Year. Otherwise, there would be nothing else to eat.

Looking around the three mud-brick rooms, Du Yun felt a deep melancholy. The whole family worked hard all year, only to barely avoid starvation. Life was so impoverished; no wonder her grandmother wanted to use her marriage to improve things.

For dinner, everyone got a bowl of cool cornmeal porridge. It was served cool because, once cooled, it thickened and was more filling. Even so, with a side of oil-free stewed beans and eggplant, this was the meal everyone had been looking forward to since breakfast.

Space was tight in the house: over ten people lived together, but there was only one kang table, so not everyone could sit at it. Only her grandparents, her father, and her second and third uncles were allowed to sit at the kang table; the rest had to find spots wherever they could.

The older boys were more forthright: they took big bowls outside, found a corner in the yard, and squatted down to eat noisily. The younger children either stood or squatted along the kang’s edge.

Although Du Yun had been here for half a month, she still wasn’t used to this cramped way of living. She stood dazed in the kitchen, watching everyone find their own place, not knowing where she should sit.

“Sis, here’s a little stool for you!” A small hand tugged at her. Looking down, she saw her little sister, Du Yin, only four years old.

Little Du Yin gazed up at her with hopeful eyes. Seeing Du Yun obediently sit on the stool she’d brought, her dark eyes curved into a smile, and she snuggled up beside Du Yun, looking up to her with adoration.

“Du Yin is such a good girl.” Du Yun stroked Du Yin’s yellowed, limp hair, malnourished as it was, and felt uncontrollable sadness flow through her. She blamed herself for being too helpless, for not having recovered yet, and for having done nothing to earn money.

“Yun, what are you thinking? Eat up!” Her mother shoved a coarse porcelain bowl into her hands. The bowl, yellowed with age, was filled with half a bowl of nearly solidified cornmeal porridge.

“Oh, okay.” Du Yun responded reflexively. Seeing Du Yin already eating happily, she took a sip herself. The porridge was thick and cool but utterly tasteless. Du Yun reached for chopsticks to take some vegetables, but in the kitchen, with six or seven women and children, there was only half a plate of stewed vegetables on the stove.

She glanced around. She and Du Yin had stools, but her mother and second aunt didn’t even have a place to sit—they stood by the stove and ate their half bowls of porridge.

Holding her bowl, Du Yun looked at the meager, flavorless stew and felt her mouth go dry. Yet, judging by the satisfied looks around her, everyone else seemed to find it delicious, making her feel yet another pang of sorrow and an even stronger urge to earn money. If only she could activate her smart brain.

With so many people and so little food, the meal ended quickly. As Du Yun silently helped clean up, she heard the neighbor’s dog begin to bark wildly outside. Then, from inside, her grandmother’s booming voice announced, “The matchmaker Mrs. Dong is here!”