Chapter 21: A Night of Spring Snow

As dusk settled over the land, An Chen’s mother stood on a chair by the entrance of the work shed, head tilted back as she unscrewed the broken light bulb and replaced it with a new one.

“Looks like it’s going to snow again, doesn’t it? Another cold snap this spring...”

After forty years of life, An Chen’s mother knew the weather in Xingqiu Town like the back of her hand. She could read the night sky, watch the morning clouds, and know what the day would bring. Now, in the west, dark, scaly clouds gathered—clouds heavy with snow.

With a shake of her head, she hefted the chair and turned inside.

From the stove, the iron pan sizzled. She hurried to lift the lid, scooping out the golden, crisp dumplings onto a plate, and called out into the house:

“An Ning, go call your father home for dinner.”

“I’m not going,” came the reply.

As An Ning spoke, the movie magazine covering his face slipped to the floor. Before he could stoop to pick it up, An Chen kicked it under the iron bunk bed.

“An Chen, you go then.”

The elder son was rebellious; the younger, more reliable. An Chen’s mother preferred not to force An Ning, so she called for her younger son to fetch her husband home, and sent him to deliver some fried dumplings to the neighbors, the Ding family next door. Yet, despite her calls, An Chen didn’t appear. She pushed open the door to the back room and raised her voice:

“You two little rascals, fighting again!”

An Ning and An Chen were tangled together, rolling on the iron bunk. An Chen’s mother rushed to pull them apart, finally managing to separate her sons.

“An Ning, you’re the older brother. Why are you fighting with your little brother again?”

“He started it!” An Ning shot a resentful glare at An Chen, a mix of affection and exasperation for his brother, eight years his junior.

“An Chen, you just got a perfect score. If your dad sees it, he’ll be over the moon. Go call him back for dinner.”

“My brother won’t share the magazine with me,” An Chen retorted, sticking his tongue out at An Ning and silently mouthing “charcoal head.” Furious, An Ning lunged for him.

He raised his hand, ready to slap, but when it fell, it was as gentle as a breeze. Their mother caught An Ning’s arm, and his hand dropped.

An Chen slipped behind his mother, who urged him to go next door to find his father and deliver some fried dumplings to the Ding family as well.

Hearing that he was going to the Dings, An Chen no longer protested. He obediently grabbed the mesh bag containing two aluminum lunchboxes packed by his mother.

“An Ning, set the table. Your father wants to talk to you about the tofu shop. We’ve rented the old blacksmith’s, and once the mill arrives, we can start making tofu.”

As she spoke, An Chen’s mother untied her floral apron, scooped a large bowl of freshly fried dumplings, and held it close to her chest as she prepared to head out.

When the tofu shop opened, they’d need the support of their neighbors. Only with a good reputation would folks from farther away come to buy their tofu.

Truth be told, Han the blacksmith’s shop was a bit out of the way, but for the price and location, it was the best choice.

As An Chen pushed the door open, a blast of cold wind swept in. An Ning let out a thunderous sneeze, so loud it made his own ears ring.

“Mom, just how many dumplings did you make? Will there be any left for me after you give them all away?”

An Ning lifted the lid from the rice pot, only to get a swat on his hand.

“There’s plenty. Eat as much as you want. Would I let you go hungry? The flour’s from Granny Li’s—much better than what they sell at the grain store.”

An Chen’s mother sighed to herself.

An Ning didn’t want to work in the tofu business, but there were no other prospects in town. At his age, it was easy for boys to go astray. For now, she had him escort An Chen to and from school—he was at least obedient in that. But what he did after dropping An Chen off, she had no idea.

Now that she was alone, there was no time to waste. She needed to find Li Jixiang quickly, her heart pounding as she hurried to the corner.

Out the door, a left turn onto the town road, not ten meters further, another left, and the sign for Xingqiu General Store came into view. In the dim light at the door, a chubby little figure peered inside.

The store’s door had been boarded up, leaving only a narrow gap for air.

An Chen tried to squeeze through, but his plump legs got stuck halfway. He had to pull back, and instead called into the store, “Jixiang, Jixiang,” several times before footsteps sounded from within.

It was Granny Li who appeared, not Li Jixiang. Disappointed, An Chen nonetheless pulled a lunchbox from the mesh bag and handed it to her, explaining that his mother had made fried dumplings for them to try.

“Ah, thank your mother for me.”

Granny Li opened the lunchbox, a little puzzled. That afternoon, before closing shop, An Chen’s mother had bought flour and mentioned she’d be making fried dumplings for dinner, using the fresh meat An Chen’s mother had brought the day before.

“Be careful on your way home, An Chen—don’t fall.”

With those words, she extinguished the light by the door, fitted the last board in place, and headed inside with the lunchbox. She knocked gently on her granddaughter’s door to remind her that the power would go out at eight, so she shouldn’t stay up late doing homework.

Li Jixiang responded absentmindedly, reading over an anonymous letter she’d just written. The words were sharp—certain to give Zhang Chunfen’s husband a hard time.

A scoundrel is only dangerous if left unchecked. As long as Zhao Kai wanted to keep teaching at the county high school, he’d have to consider his conduct as a teacher.

Tap, tap, tap—

Three light knocks at the back window. The windowpane was papered over, so she couldn’t see who was outside. The narrow alley behind the window was seldom used—at this hour, who else could it be but An Ning?

Clearly, An Ning had a knack for being a detective—he knew how to find her without being told. Through the papered window, she tapped back three times. Then she sealed the letter in an envelope, writing “Report Letter” in neat Song typeface.

Tucking the letter away, she crept out of her room. From the next room came Granny Li’s soft soliloquy—no doubt talking to the photograph of her son again.

She opened two boards, slipped outside, and quietly closed up again. As she turned, she nearly collided with An Ning.

Startled, An Ning took two steps back. Li Jixiang shivered.

An Ning had come so quickly, running through the alley like a gust of wind.

“I didn’t mean to bump into you…”

Hands in his pockets, An Ning tried to look nonchalant, but couldn’t hide his nervousness.

“I know. I need to ask you a favor.”

“Just say the word—if I can do it, I will.”

A cold flake brushed her cheek. She looked up. The sky seemed almost bright, as drifting snowflakes began to fall. It was the first spring snow she’d ever seen—Li Jixiang lifted her face and smiled.

A flake landed on An Ning’s cheek. He quickly wiped his face, looked up in surprise at the snow falling from the night sky, then at Li Jixiang’s smiling face, and stared in wonder.