Chapter Fifteen: A Chance Encounter with a Ruffian

Soon, Mrs. Yang and Mrs. Luo brought in four steaming bowls of sweet rice wine with eggs. As An Yi sipped the sweet concoction, she couldn't help but reflect on the treatment she'd received these past days—how different it was, though both houses belonged to uncles. Just by looking at the furnishings inside and the clothes worn by the families, it was clear that Luo Fugui’s household was not as well off as An Younian’s. Yet Luo Fugui received his niece’s family with genuine warmth, while An Younian schemed to seize his nephew’s land. The difference in character was as stark as night and day.

After enjoying a sumptuous lunch at Luo Fugui’s, the family lingered in pleasant conversation. Then Mrs. Luo took her leave, leading the children around to the back to pay New Year’s respects to Fourth Uncle Luo Yaozu and Fourth Aunt Fang, who lived a hundred meters away. Fang’s maiden home was far away—going there and back was a two-day journey—so she’d sent New Year’s gifts before, but wouldn’t return after the holiday.

An Yi received another red envelope, this one containing six small coins. The dinner at Luo Yaozu’s house was equally lavish. After the meal, Mrs. Luo gathered her children and headed home.

As the saying goes, “The first day is for sons, the second for men, the third and fourth are good for New Year visits.”

On the third day, Mrs. Luo took the children to Hetang Village, where her two uncles lived, and where An Qinghe’s mother, Lady Liu, now remarried to Mrs. Luo’s cousin, also resided.

There were two roads from Jingtang Village to Hetang Village: the main road took two hours, the shortcut only one. But the shortcut passed near Letang Village, and Mrs. Luo worried about running into Zhou Dagen. She wanted to take the main road.

“Mother, we always take the shortcut and have never met him. You worry too much,” An Jian said with a laugh.

Mrs. Luo thought it over and decided the family would take the shortcut. Unfortunately, this year they encountered Zhou Dagen, drunken and staggering, though no one knew where he’d been drinking.

Mrs. Luo’s heart lurched; she quickly lowered her head and quickened her pace, hoping to avoid him. But Zhou Dagen had already spotted the An family. He let out a strange laugh and blocked their path with outstretched arms. “Well, little sister, where are you going, dragging the children along?”

Mrs. Luo ignored him and tried to slip past.

Zhou Dagen blocked her again, leering. “Don’t rush off, little sister. Your man’s not home—why not let big brother keep you company? I promise to make you happy.”

“What are you up to, Zhou Dagen?” An Kang put An Yi down from his back and demanded in a stern voice.

Zhou Dagen’s eyes roamed with vulgar intent, his grin lewd. “What do I want? I want to sleep with your mother, sleep with—ah!”

Suddenly, An Jian lunged and locked onto Zhou Dagen’s left arm, biting down hard. Despite being burly and dressed lightly for winter, Zhou Dagen didn’t expect this attack. An Jian’s jaws clamped onto his flesh, and the pain sobered him instantly. He tried to shake An Jian off with force.

An Jian, though young, was strong; he gripped Zhou Dagen’s arm tightly and bit with all his might. Zhou Dagen couldn’t shake him off and nearly dislocated his arm; his face twisted with pain, making him look even more sinister.

At that moment, An Kang and An Yi charged in together, their actions perfectly synchronized. Both aimed a flying kick at Zhou Dagen’s shins—one struck the left leg, the other the right, each with different force.

Zhou Dagen never imagined the three siblings would be so fierce. Even a strong man can’t stand against four hands, and Zhou Dagen was no strong man. The An brothers knocked him to the ground.

An Yi was small and not strong, but women are adept at pinching and scratching. She clawed at Zhou Dagen’s face with her fingernails, which had grown since she last trimmed them before the New Year, leaving bloody streaks across his cheeks.

Failing to harass them, Zhou Dagen was instead beaten, howling for his parents.

“Enough, Zhuzhi, Shuanzhi, Xier, stop hitting him,” Mrs. Luo called.

An Kang stopped first, but An Jian and An Yi, still furious, each kicked Zhou Dagen twice more before stepping back.

“Let’s go,” Mrs. Luo said, not wanting further entanglement. Though it was a shortcut, many people passed this way.

“Brats! An Qinghe is dead, just like his father—died far from home!” Zhou Dagen shouted this venomous curse, only daring to do so from a distance.

Saying such ominous things was taboo during the New Year, especially since it concerned An Qinghe, who was fighting at the dangerous border. Mrs. Luo trembled with rage and cursed, “Zhou Dagen, you damned miscreant, spouting nonsense—you’ll die a miserable death! My husband will not die! He will not die!”

“Mother, he’s talking nonsense. Don’t listen,” An Yi hugged Mrs. Luo’s waist, fearing she might faint from anger. In her haste to protect her mother, An Yi forgot she was only seven—if Mrs. Luo collapsed, she couldn’t support her.

An Jian wanted to chase after Zhou Dagen, but An Kang held him back. “Big brother, let go, let go—I want to beat that scoundrel to death!”

An Kang shot him a stern look.

An Jian pressed his lips tightly, swallowing his anger.

“Mother, Zhou Dagen is a rogue. Don’t believe anything he says. Father will be fine, he will come home safe,” An Kang reassured Mrs. Luo, who was still cursing.

Mrs. Luo’s tears streamed down her face. She looked at An Kang, her eyes showing rare vulnerability. “Zhuzhi, your father will come home, he will come back and our family will be reunited.”

“Yes, Father will come back, he definitely will,” An Kang said firmly.

Mrs. Luo, who had carried the family alone with a quiet resilience, looked from her eldest son to her little daughter hugging her, took a deep breath, steadied herself, wiped her tears, and said, “Don’t tell your uncles and aunts about this, and don’t mention it when we get home, understand?”

“Mother, Zhou Dagen was too wicked, we can’t—”

“Second brother, listen to Mother,” An Kang said in a low voice.

Seeing his elder brother’s stern expression, An Jian replied, unwillingly, “All right.”

An Yi looked in the direction Zhou Dagen had gone, a cold gleam of murderous intent flashing in her clear eyes.

At Hetang Village, Mrs. Luo’s family received a warm welcome, and An Yi collected several more red envelopes. After lunch, Mrs. Luo’s eldest uncle had his son drive them home in a bullock cart, along with gifts from the Zhang family uncles and cousins: two rabbits, a basket of eggs, twenty rice cakes, ten winter bamboo shoots, five pounds of white radish, and three pounds of cabbage—nearly half the cart was filled.

Visiting Hetang Village felt less like paying New Year’s respects and more like plundering. Country folk aren’t given to flowery words; Mrs. Luo’s uncles demonstrated their support with practical gifts, showing that even though their sister had passed away, they would not abandon their orphaned niece, pledging to be her strong support.

Back home, Mrs. Luo held her three children’s hands and spoke earnestly, “You must always remember the kindness of your uncles and aunts.”

“Mother, rest assured, I will never be ungrateful,” An Kang said solemnly.

An Jian added with determination, “Mother, when I succeed, I will repay our uncles and aunts, and all our relatives.”

“Mother, I’ll remember,” An Yi replied simply. She had always distinguished gratitude and resentment clearly.