Chapter Thirty-Three: The Li Siblings

“Oh my, it’s Shuanzi and Xi’er! Where are you coming from? And what are you carrying on your backs?” a middle-aged woman in a floral blouse called out loudly.

“Aunt Tiao,” Anjian greeted her, then called out to the other woman, “Aunt Zhou.”

Aunt Zhou eyed the bamboo baskets and back carriers, asking, “You two siblings, why are you bringing back so much grass? Is your family planning to raise pigs this year?”

Over the past couple of months, although Anyi had changed somewhat thanks to Mrs. Luo and the Ankang brothers, as well as the kindness of the Luo family, this change only extended to her family members. With outsiders—especially gossipmongers like these—she still had no desire to interact.

“We’re not raising pigs,” Anjian replied quickly, displaying his wit. “We’re collecting it to feed the rabbits.”

“How many rabbits do you have to gather so much grass?” Aunt Zhou pressed further.

Anjian just chuckled awkwardly, and when he saw Anyi striding ahead, he hurried to catch up.

The two women watched the siblings walk away. Aunt Zhou frowned and muttered, “That Xi’er is odd. She doesn’t even greet people. Ask her a question and she won’t answer—like a mute.”

“She fell into the pond in the twelfth lunar month,” Aunt Tiao added. “When they pulled her out, her face was bloodless. Doctor Lu said she wouldn’t survive, and told Qiumei to prepare for the worst. Who knew she would make it?”

“Look at her now—her brain must have filled with water. She’s turned simple,” Aunt Zhou speculated.

Aunt Tiao nodded in firm agreement.

Little did Anyi know that, in the blink of an eye, she had been branded a fool by these two women—a label that would soon even spark a quarrel.

That evening, after dinner, the family of three sat under the lamplight: Mrs. Luo embroidered pillow covers, Anjian practiced his writing, and Anyi sorted herbs.

The next afternoon, the siblings went up the hillside to dig for shepherd’s purse. Suddenly, the sound of sobbing drifted over the wind. Anjian tilted his head and listened. “Sister, do you hear that? It sounds like someone’s crying.”

Anyi merely grunted, indifferent, keeping her head down as she continued digging for herbs. She had no intention of meddling in other people’s business.

“Let’s go see who’s crying,” Anjian said, picking up the bamboo basket and setting off.

“Second Brother,” Anyi called after him, but when she saw he was already far ahead, she shook her head helplessly, slung the basket on her back, and followed.

Rounding a thicket waist-high with brush, they found a thin, frail girl in patched clothing sitting on the ground, her head buried between her knees, sobbing softly.

Anjian peered down and tentatively called, “Sister Yuan?”

The girl lifted her tear-streaked face, eyes wide and startled. Seeing them, she hurriedly wiped her cheeks and asked in a trembling voice, “Shuanzi, Xi’er, what are you doing here?”

“Sister Yuan, why are you crying here? Did something happen?” Anjian asked.

At the mention of the name, Anyi’s eyes flickered. Could this girl be Li Guoyu’s elder sister, Li Yuan?

“It’s nothing. The wind here is strong—it got dust in my eyes,” Li Yuan forced a smile. “What are you two doing here?”

“We’re gathering grass for the rabbits,” Anjian replied.

Li Yuan stood and dusted off her clothes. “It’s getting late. There are lots of snakes on the hillside. You’d better head home.”

“Sister Yuan—”

“Second Brother, let’s go,” Anyi tugged at Anjian’s sleeve. Li Yuan had chosen such a secluded spot to cry—clearly, she didn’t want to be seen. Their presence had already made her uncomfortable, and since she didn’t wish to talk, there was no need to embarrass her further under the guise of concern.

Anjian hesitated, then turned to leave with Anyi. Not far off, they ran into Li Guoyu approaching. Anjian called out, “Li Guoyu!”

Li Guoyu stopped, looking at the siblings.

“Are you looking for your sister?” Anjian asked.

Li Guoyu nodded.

“She’s over there,” Anjian said, gesturing in the direction.

Li Guoyu hurried past them.

“Second Brother, don’t tell anyone about this,” Anyi instructed.

“Why not?”

Anyi shot him a glare. “Big Brother says that spreading others’ troubles is the act of a petty person.”

“Did Big Brother really say that?”

Anyi raised an eyebrow. “If you don’t believe me, ask him when he comes back.”

“I believe you, no need to ask,” Anjian replied with a flattering grin. “Sister, it’s getting late. Let’s go home.”

The next morning, Xinliu, who had been stumped for ten days by Du Fu’s quatrain, returned with little Zhusheng. Seeing several baskets spread out in the courtyard, filled with snow vegetables and shepherd’s purse, she remarked, “Xi’er, the stuff that’s fallen can’t be eaten. Why are you gathering so much? And dried shepherd’s purse doesn’t taste good—you should eat it fresh.”

“Have you learned to write all the characters?” Anyi deflected. Still, Xinliu’s words reminded her of something: she really shouldn’t be drying herbs in the front yard where others could see and question her.

“I have,” Xinliu replied. She hadn’t come for supplies these past few days, so her siblings had to go hungry until evening when they could eat wild vegetable cakes. She’d been so anxious that she practiced writing even in her dreams, but finally managed to master the characters for “egret” and “oriole.”

Hearing voices, Mrs. Luo came out, recognizing Xinliu and her brother. She set aside her embroidery, picked up little Zhusheng, and went to play with him, leaving Xinliu to concentrate on her lessons with Anyi.

Anyi chose the first poem from Huang Tingjian’s “Ascending Yueyang Tower in the Rain, Gazing at Junshan.” The characters for “ten thousand,” “temples,” “Qu,” “pass,” and “tower” were all complicated in their traditional forms—quite difficult to write.

Partly, Anyi didn’t want Xinliu coming over every day to scrounge for things, but she also wanted to give her a challenge.

When Xinliu finished copying the poem, she said, “Xi’er, tomorrow let’s ask Da Ya and the others to go dig bamboo shoots in the mountain bamboo grove.”

Anyi preferred peace and quiet, and if not for gathering herbs to earn money, she’d rather stay home every day. Her temperament was now quite different from the original Xi’er, but fortunately Mrs. Luo simply thought she’d grown up and become sensible, never suspecting a thing.

As for Da Ya and the others, now a year older, they had to help with more chores at home and didn’t have as much free time as the previous year. They assumed Anyi was also kept at home by Mrs. Luo, learning embroidery, and didn’t notice her change.

Xinliu’s suggestion to dig for bamboo shoots at first made Anyi want to refuse, but then she considered: bamboo shoots are available year-round, but spring and winter shoots taste best. Spring bamboo shoots also have medicinal value—they can dissolve phlegm, clear heat, relieve restlessness, and aid urination and defecation. Even if the pharmacy didn’t want them, they’d make a good dish. So she changed her mind and smiled, “Alright, let’s meet at the village entrance tomorrow.”

“I’ll head back then,” Xinliu said, taking the millet buns and two eggs that Mrs. Luo gave her, and carrying little Zhusheng as she left.

—End of excerpt—

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