Chapter 10: Everyday Life

In his previous life, he never went home. The leader granted him half a year to recuperate from his injuries, but after only a few days in the hospital, he checked himself out and stayed in the dormitory, never telling his family about what had happened. With the help of an attendant, he nursed his wounds for a month and a half; once the injury had mostly healed, he resumed his duties, leading the team in drills.

Because of this, he became famous throughout the regiment, earning the nickname “Gu Third Brother”—meaning he was as relentless as a madman. Time passed, and looking back, many things seemed rather foolish now.

At twenty-five, Gu Tingzhou’s only ambition was to climb higher and higher, paying no attention to the scenery along the way. At fifty-five, his desires were simple: healthy parents, children playing happily at his knees, growing up in good health and joy.

Gu Family Ridge Production Brigade

Da Bao crept quietly off the kang bed, preparing to relieve himself.

“Da Bao, what are you doing?” Li Qingyun was awakened by Da Bao’s movements and sat up as well.

“Nothing, nothing at all.” Seeing he had disturbed his mother, Da Bao feared a beating and slipped on his shoes to run away.

Li Qingyun smiled helplessly and got up to tidy the house. Most of the home was clean now, but there remained boxes of miscellaneous items that needed sorting.

Relying on Li Zhaodi’s memories, she found the place in the kang cabinet where the money was hidden. She pulled out a thick wad of cash and counted it—over a hundred yuan. She had thought at most there would be a few dozen. There were also some ration tickets.

Over the past few years, she had received about five or six hundred yuan in total, half of which had gone to her parents’ home. What Li Zhaodi kept for herself was at most two or three hundred yuan. Saving over a hundred was already quite an achievement. Li Zhaodi, suddenly richer, wanted at times to indulge herself, yet always feared waking up penniless someday.

So, though she often dressed herself up and bought things she’d never enjoyed before, she never spent a single cent where she shouldn’t. Her son’s clothes and shoes mostly came from his grandparents, handed down from others—old garments, patched and worn. Only a few items were brought by her own parents when they came to collect money, carrying her younger brother’s ragged childhood clothes just for show.

In short, these two pitiful children wore ill-fitting, threadbare clothes all year round—some so faded you couldn’t even tell their original color.

This hundred yuan and more was all saved by neglecting her children, no wonder people looked down on her. What kind of mother was she, worse than pork? Her own clothes filled an entire box, all brand new, while her children only had a handful of ragged, misfitting garments, too short or too long.

Li Qingyun felt furious just looking at it.

She took all those tattered clothes and threw them away, keeping only enough for the next few days’ changes. She would make new clothes for them, several sets to swap. She herself didn’t need anything—Li Zhaodi, though rotten, had a good eye. The styles she made were the most fashionable and attractive of the era, so there was no need to sew more.

Li Zhaodi had even hidden a pack of twisted pastries and a bag of fruit candies in the kang cabinet, not worrying at all about attracting insects.

Li Qingyun pulled out everything messy from the kang cabinet, slipped the money secretly into her space, folded the clothes and put them back.

Da Bao helped earnestly to fold the clothes, sneaking glances at the oiled paper packet nearby, wondering what delicious thing his mother had hidden—it smelled good.

“Do you want to eat it?” Li Qingyun coaxed.

“Da Bao won’t eat, Mommy eats.” From past experience, these treats were always for his mother alone; even longing for them would earn him a beating.

That ingratiating little look on his face made Li Qingyun feel uncomfortable, and she lost the urge to tease him. She simply opened the packet of twisted pastry and handed him one.

“Here, eat it. Once you’re full, keep an eye on Er Bao.”

Seeing her genuine expression, Da Bao realized she really meant to give it to him. In that instant, his sallow face lit up, eyes squinting into crescent moons.

Cradling the big twisted pastry, he took a small bite, grinning like a cat who’d stolen cream.

Such an easily satisfied child.

Li Qingyun took out paper and pen, listing the supplies to buy (or retrieve) tomorrow.

Rice, flour, oil, seasonings—these were necessities; she’d take a portion of each. She needed several bolts of cotton cloth to make new clothes for the two children, diapers for Er Bao, and fabric for other household needs.

Most important were meat and eggs for nutrition. Unfortunately, with it being summer and no refrigerator, she dared not take much meat—it wouldn’t keep.

Milk was essential; Er Bao needed formula and bottles, which she’d bring out openly in front of Da Bao, claiming they were bought with milk tickets sent by his father. That way, she wouldn’t have to hide while feeding Er Bao formula.

Da Bao needed nutrition too, so she’d give him children’s milk powder.

It was hot now, so the kang bed was covered with straw mats, but soon the weather would turn cold. She needed to prepare sheets and quilts ahead of time; the old quilts, after years of use, were filthy, worn, and no longer warm, with sheets patched here and there, stained beyond washing. She had just set them aside for winter padding.

Since moving in, the thatched roof hadn’t been repaired, and leaks had appeared occasionally, which Li Zhaodi had ignored.

This needed fixing, and she’d buy some whitewash to freshen the walls and tidy up. Though conditions were harsh, one must always strive for happiness.

The kitchen knives needed replacing—the blades chipped and dull, barely able to cut vegetables.

Fortunately, when sorting her personal items, she’d packed a full set of knives from her own home into her space, which she could now use.

She’d also bring out some snacks for times when cooking wasn’t possible.

That was about it; she’d add anything else as needed. After all, the only ones at home were Da Bao and Er Bao, and Da Bao was still young—easy to fool.

After finishing the list, she checked the time—it was already five o’clock. Er Bao was awake; she changed his diaper, and it was time for him to feed.

Li Qingyun sent Da Bao away and fed Er Bao. The little one, having drunk from the bottle twice already, was accustomed to it, sucking down a bottle in two or three minutes, then happily chewing on his fingers.

Li Qingyun packed up the bottle and handed Er Bao to Da Bao, grabbing two fruit candies from the cupboard for him.

“This bag of fruit candies will stay in the cupboard. You can only have two a day—no more. If you eat too many, worms will gnaw at your teeth.”

“No, Da Bao is good. Worms won’t eat Da Bao’s teeth.” Da Bao covered his small mouth comically, making Li Qingyun laugh aloud.

Having indulged her mischievous impulse, Li Qingyun was about to start dinner when a peeled fruit candy was offered to her lips.

“Mommy eats.”

Li Qingyun looked at the child’s innocent eyes with mixed feelings. He had never received warmth from his mother, yet still chose to forgive her with kindness.

Such a pure child—how hard it was to link him to the heartless villain described in the book.

Li Qingyun ate the candy from Da Bao’s hand; its sweet flavor melted in her mouth, warming her heart.

“Da Bao should eat too. After you finish, play with your brother for a while. Mommy will go make dinner.” She rose to cook.

At the door, she turned back to warn, “Don’t ever give your brother candy. He can’t eat it yet, and it could choke him.”

Da Bao hadn’t had candy for a long time; the last was when his father returned. Er Bao was even more pitiful—never having tasted candy. Da Bao intended to split his sweet in half, but his mother’s words stopped him.

In the countryside, people ate dinner early and went to bed early to save lamp oil.

Li Qingyun lit the stove and started cooking porridge, picked some cucumbers from the garden for a cold dish—just a simple meal.

For Li Qingyun, it was an everyday meal; for Da Bao, it was puzzling. Wasn’t his mother being wasteful? Rice porridge in the morning, egg noodles at noon, rice porridge again at night.

If they finished the rice, his brother wouldn’t have rice soup.

“Mom, let’s eat sweet potatoes and save the rice for my brother’s soup. He cries when he’s hungry.” He watched her face carefully.

What a good child—so young, yet already thinking of his brother while he himself was hungry. What had he endured to become so cold and ruthless, as described in the book?

“Eat your food. Your brother won’t go hungry,” Li Qingyun said, feigning sternness.

“Oh.” Da Bao bowed his head, disappointed.

“I’ll go to the commune tomorrow for supplies. Your brother won’t run out of food, so eat without worry.”

Da Bao immediately flashed a pleasing smile and started on his porridge.

After dinner, tidying up, she sat in the courtyard for a bit, then it was time for bed.

Thus ended her first day inside the book.