Chapter Twenty-One: The Eleven-Day Holiday (Part One)

“That’s right. The capital city is truly different from here—so much bigger, so many more opportunities…” Dong Yanyan animatedly recounted tales of her teachers and classmates, and the various places she’d visited, chattering on until breakfast was nearly finished. Only then did she casually bring up the shantytown next to her school. “There are these old single-story houses beside our school, and the property prices there are dirt cheap right now. For just a few thousand yuan, you can buy a house with its own yard. In a couple of years, when they demolish the area, you’ll get at least several hundred thousand in compensation. I was thinking of asking my dad about it, but I don’t know if he’d give me the money.”

“That’s not something you should get involved in. Buying a house in the capital, even in the old districts, isn’t that cheap—at least ten or twenty thousand, if not more. And there’s no guarantee about the demolition or compensation. Don’t just take people’s word for it. You should focus on your studies,” her fourth uncle dismissed her idea.

“But the demolition is certain. One of my classmates has inside information. I know my dad probably won’t give me the money, so I wanted to mention it to you both. If you have any savings, think of it as an investment. I live nearby, so I can keep an eye on the house for you. Once they start demolishing, you’ll get your money back several times over,” Dong Yanyan said with a sweet smile.

“Yanyan, you really do have a head for business. But your uncle and I just bought a house and our finances are tight. We’ll have to wait at least another year or so. When we have the money, we’ll help you buy one. Who knows, maybe after you graduate you’ll work in the capital, and then you’ll have a place to stay,” her fourth aunt replied. She was shrewd enough to recognize Yanyan’s ulterior motive and gently declined while still leaving the door open. Her way of showing love to her husband was by caring unconditionally for his family.

Sensing that the conversation had run its course, Dong Yanyan quickly changed the subject, not wanting them to think she was only after money. She clung to her aunt’s arm and laughed playfully, “I think it’s time for you two to start saving. Now that your jobs are stable and you’ve got a house, who knows—maybe by next year I’ll have a baby brother! There will be plenty of expenses then!”

The absence of children had always been a sore spot for them, something no one dared mention. But Dong Yanyan didn’t mind, because soon it would no longer be a source of pain.

Her fourth uncle burst out laughing, “Yanyan, you’re quite the charmer! Your teachers must be teaching you well!”

“I’m not just saying that. Last night I had a dream—dreamt that all the flowers on your windowsill were in bloom. And today, when I came, they really were! This house has good feng shui. I bet that within six months, Aunt will be pregnant!” Dong Yanyan said confidently. She had already calculated the timing—her little cousin brother would be conceived this winter and born around this time next year.

Over the past half month, she’d noticed that aside from some changes she had actively made in her own life, everything else and everyone else remained almost exactly as she remembered. So her little cousin brother would certainly be born!

“You’re just a young girl, talking about feng shui and pregnancies—what’s going on in that head of yours?” Her fourth uncle laughed, tapping her on the forehead before getting up to clear the table.

But Aunt’s eyes brightened. She was now considered an older mother-to-be, and time was running out. Deep down, Yanyan’s words made her happy.

“If only it were true. But after all these years, I’ve almost given up hope,” she said with a faint, wistful smile.

“Your good days are just beginning—why give up hope? Auntie, haven’t you noticed you’re much healthier now? You used to be exhausted all the time; now your job is easier and life is better. Having a child shouldn’t be a problem. The real question is what to name him. I’ll have to think carefully!” Dong Yanyan squinted her eyes in a mischievous grin. She already knew his name, of course. Before she’d returned to this time, her little cousin had grown taller than his own brother-in-law.

“Yanyan, you’re full of it,” her uncle teased, handing her a big apple. “Here, have some fruit—maybe it’ll keep you quiet.”

“I just ate,” Yanyan laughed as she played with the apple. “But eating more apples really is good for you! I should write you a meal plan. If you want a healthy, high-quality baby, you need to prepare now. Auntie, when you have time, go to the bookstore and get some books on early pregnancy. It’ll do you good!”

“Now you’re meddling in our affairs too? How have you changed so much, Yanyan? Who taught you all this?” her uncle asked, frowning in mock annoyance.

“Our teacher, of course! She just had a baby, so she knows all about childcare,” Yanyan replied, pulling out pen and paper from her backpack and jotting things down with a seriousness that belied her years. In truth, you didn’t need anyone to teach you these things—once you’d been a mother, you understood everything. The thought of Lulu made her heart ache for a moment.

At noon, her fourth uncle had to attend a meeting at the township government, so Dong Yanyan hitched a ride with him back to town to find her parents. It was market day, and they were selling corn at the fair.

Relying on her memories, Dong Yanyan found her uncle’s shop. Out front, a thin, dark-skinned old woman with a half-sack of corn on her back was peering in her direction. When she saw Yanyan, her face lit up and she called her name happily.

Yanyan froze for a moment, then felt a sting in her nose. That was her mother. But why did she look even older than she remembered from fifteen years later? In her memories, her mother had always been neatly dressed, with stylish hair—a beautiful older lady, a little timid, a little quick-tempered, but always looking younger than her years. What had happened? Now she was dark and thin, stooped and weary, dust on her face, fatigue in her eyes—as if a gust of wind might knock her over.

“Mom, let me carry that for you.” Yanyan tried to keep her expression natural, reaching for the sack. But as soon as she tried to lift it, she nearly stumbled, and the bag fell to the ground.

“You can’t manage it—let me,” her mother laughed, hoisting the sack back onto her own shoulders before leading Yanyan to the roadside to wait for her father. Before long, her father arrived, driving an ox cart. His clothes were covered in dust and rice husks.

Yanyan called out, “Dad,” but then just stood there, unable to say anything else.

“My big girl is back! Just in time, everything’s sold. Hop on—let’s go home!” Her father’s face was wreathed in smiles as he sat on the cart, flicked the whip, and the old ox plodded slowly down the road.

But Yanyan wanted to cry. She remembered that their family had gone through some hard years, but the memories were blurry—had she really forgotten? Now all she could picture was her father riding his motorbike around town with Lulu, so relaxed and spirited. He’d once handed her tens of thousands of yuan to help with her apartment down payment, bought Lulu toys and clothes by the bundle. But all that money had been earned through such hard work—had she really forgotten?