Chapter Twenty-Two: The Eleven-Day Holiday (Part Two)
The ox cart rumbled along unhurriedly for more than an hour before finally reaching home. The house was newly built in 1995. That very year, right after construction, a flood came, not only toppling the old house but also submerging over a dozen acres of their fertile fields. From then on, their once-prosperous life became a daily struggle to make ends meet.
For farmers whose livelihood depends on the whims of nature, a single year of disaster can take three or five years to recover from. Yet after that flood, two years of drought followed, and the harvests were poor. The fact that her parents could still scrape together several thousand yuan a year for her tuition and living expenses was already no small feat.
She stepped into the house. The new home had walls adorned with shiny tiles, bright white walls, and beautiful ceramic tiles on the floor. Yet the furniture was still the same battered set of wardrobes and tables and chairs that had served the family for over a decade. Standing at the doorway, she tried hard to recall how home had looked in her memories.
“Yanyan, what are you daydreaming about? Come inside!” Her mother gave her a gentle push, jolting her from her reverie.
“Mom, I’m thirsty. I’ll go grab an ice pop,” she said, heading straight to the kitchen. Only when she entered did she remember—there was no refrigerator at home at this time. In fact, not even a gas stove; all the cooking was done on the two big pots set on the brick stove.
“You want an ice pop? I’ll have your dad buy a few from the store in a bit. I’m going to your aunt’s house now to fetch Nannan,” her mother said, changing clothes and quickly running her fingers through her hair before heading out.
Her father was in the yard unloading the cart and leading the ox into its shed. Dong Yanyan never forgot this ox, for just a few days before she started school, her father had sold its newborn calf to scrape together her tuition. When the tiny calf, only a few days old, was led away, the mother ox wept, and the calf wailed and dug its hooves in, refusing to get in the cart. In the end, when the calf was finally taken, her father's eyes turned red. For years afterward, whenever he mentioned it, he still felt guilty toward the old ox. He was the kind of person who grew attached to everything.
Soon, little Nannan came back holding her mother's hand, her hair in two neat braids. Dong Yanyan rushed over and hugged her, her eyes brimming with tears. Lulu resembled their aunt the most, especially her eyes—those glances were almost identical. Seeing Nannan as a child really felt like seeing Lulu.
“Nannan, big sister brought you so many treats! Let me get them for you!” She eagerly rummaged in her bag, stuffing snacks into Nannan’s hands. Overjoyed, Nannan tore open a bag of fries, then skipped over to the yard and stuffed a mouthful into their father’s mouth.
What a thoughtful, lovely child! If only children could stay little forever—so sensible, so adorable.
That evening, Yanyan sat with Nannan in the room, doing homework, while her parents chopped fillings and made dumplings in the kitchen. The amber glow of the lamp cast a warm light; the black-and-white television on the table was tinged with nostalgia. This time, Dong Yanyan truly relived the feelings of those years—she was really back! Everything was so vivid, so warm.
After dinner, her mother pulled a pink sweater from the wardrobe and held it up against Yanyan. She recognized it instantly—it was the sweater she’d worn for four years straight.
“My daugh