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

"...What about my third uncle?" she asked, her voice trembling with barely contained excitement.

"If you have time, you might as well go into town for a bit and bring them some millet," her father said with a smile.

Tears streamed uncontrollably down Dong Yanyan's face. Just before she crossed over, her third uncle had taken his own life because of her aunt's repeated infidelities. He was always quiet and withdrawn, never confiding in anyone or keeping in regular contact with her father and his brothers. They had all assumed he was doing well, but then, one day, he left them without warning. When she rushed back overnight from the provincial capital, all she saw was his shattered, unrecognizable body and a black-and-white portrait. He hadn't left a single word for any of his family. That night, it snowed heavily, and the next day, as they sent him on his final journey, the woman who had betrayed him couldn't even feign a shred of sorrow. Only his family grieved for him—her father and fourth uncle, both grown men, would break down in tears whenever they thought of him, drowning themselves in endless rounds of drinking, too heartbroken for anyone to comfort. She herself was filled with regret; after more than a decade away from home, she'd regularly kept in touch with her uncles, aunts, and cousins, yet somehow, her quiet third uncle had slipped away from her life. Though he cared for her often at their grandmother’s house when she was young, after she left for school and struggled to build a life in the city, then had her own child and countless worries, she never reached out to him. The distance grew until, when he was gone, she realized she didn’t even have his phone number. If they hadn’t all neglected him because of his silence, maybe the tragedy could have been avoided.

"This chili is just too hot! All right, I’ll go see them this afternoon, and tomorrow I’ll go work in the fields with you," she muttered, pulling a tissue from her bag to wipe her nose and eyes.

That afternoon, Dong Yanyan went to her grandmother’s house. Her grandparents greeted her with joy, delighted that their college girl had returned.

Looking at their wrinkled faces bright with smiles, her heart filled with happiness. "Grandpa, Grandma, I’m not a college student yet, but I promise I will be one day!"

No matter which university, she was determined to go. That was her first dream upon coming back.

Now, her other dream was to avert the storm and prevent her third uncle’s suicide, years in the future.

Her third uncle’s home was a single-story house in town. When she was in middle school, she’d often stayed there, so she found her way easily. Her aunt was in the yard picking mushrooms and greeted her warmly. "Yanyan, you’re here! Come in, have you eaten?"

Yanyan forced a smile and went inside. She couldn’t bring herself to be affectionate toward this woman who had driven her uncle to his death.

Her third uncle was inside preparing lessons. When he saw her, he put down his book and came out to greet her.

Dong Yanyan rushed forward and hugged him tightly, her voice choking with sobs. "Uncle, I missed you. I really missed you! From now on, you have to call me every week, write to me, no matter where I am or how many years pass, don’t let me lose touch with you! If anything troubles you, you must tell me, and not keep it bottled inside. No matter how unhappy you are, remember there are so many family members who care about you. You can’t just leave them behind!"

He was stunned by her outburst, but managed a bewildered smile. "Yanyan, since you came back, you seem to worry about everyone!"

"I care about you because you’re my uncle! You’ve promised, so you can’t go back on your word. When I return to school I’ll write to you, and you have to reply promptly or I’ll be upset!" She wiped her tears, willful as a child.

"When did you get so close to your uncle? It’s only been a month and you miss him this much? Don’t go home tonight, stay here for dinner," her aunt said, smiling in the doorway.

Yanyan turned to look at her and spoke clearly, word by word. "Auntie, as long as you treat my uncle well, I’ll treat you well. But if you don’t, I won’t forgive you!"

"As long as he doesn’t bully me, that’s good enough. I know I don’t have any status in this family," her aunt said, feigning annoyance but smiling as she rolled her eyes.

Yanyan just shrugged indifferently.

Just then, her five-year-old cousin woke up and began wailing in the next room. Her uncle and aunt hurried off to comfort him.

Of course, Yanyan couldn’t stay for dinner—she had to get home to cook for her parents. By the time she rode her bicycle back, dusk was falling. Her parents were unloading things in the yard, and Nannan was tending the fire at the kitchen stove.

Yanyan watched as Nannan stuffed a whole armful of straw, still bearing several bundles of rice, into the stove.

"Nannan, you can’t waste food like that! Recite ‘Hoeing at Noon’ for me," she said, gently tapping Nannan’s hand.

"Hoeing at noon, sweat drips to the earth; who knows that the food on our plate, each grain comes with hardship," Nannan recited, tears brimming in her eyes, feeling wronged.

Yanyan’s heart suddenly ached. Back then, Lulu also loved playing with rice in the kitchen, scattering it everywhere. Each time, Yanyan would smack her hands and make her recite this poem—the very first one Lulu learned.

"Elder sister, I finished reciting," Nannan pouted.

Looking at the little Nannan before her, Yanyan couldn’t believe she would one day become the spoiled, willful girl she remembered.

"Nannan, you must understand how hard our parents work. If you ever insist on only drinking branded milk, wearing name-brand clothes, and spending their hard-earned money on boys, I’ll never forgive you, do you hear me?" She gripped the fire poker with determination. If Nannan ever became that thoughtless girl again, she would stop her, no matter what.

Nannan, startled by her fierce expression, burst into tears. Hearing the commotion, her father hurried in.

"Dad, big sister hit me!" Nannan ran to him, crying.

"Yanyan, why are you picking on your little sister again? It’s only been a short while and you’re already fighting?" Her father scooped up Nannan, wiping away her tears and comforting her gently. "Don’t cry, Nannan. Dad will get revenge for you—whoever bullies my girl will answer to me!" He jokingly swatted Yanyan with the fire poker.

Yanyan stuck out her tongue, feeling a pang in her heart. No wonder her father liked Xu Cheng so much—the way these two men doted on their daughters was so alike.

Dinner was simple, only cabbage and potatoes. Still, Yanyan made a feast of it—a potato stew, a cabbage and potato soup, and a spicy shredded potato salad. The leftover sauerkraut dumplings from last night she fried into crispy patties.

Her parents ate with great emotion, praising her over and over: their child had grown up, become sensible, and knew how to help with work.