Chapter Thirty-Five: The Five-Fingered Glove

An Yi paid no mind to these idle words, but Madam Luo, who treasured her children above all else, was furious. She glared at Aunt Zhou, her face cold as she asked, “Aunt Zhou, what has my Xier ever done to you for you to speak of her like this?”

Before Aunt Zhou could respond, someone outside called, “The village head is here.”

Children fighting was no major issue, and Luo Shikai, the village head, hadn’t come specifically for this. He was simply here to inform the villagers that it was time to pay the poll tax. However, since he had already arrived, he couldn’t just ignore what was happening. Stroking his beard, he asked with a stern expression, “What’s going on here?”

It all began when Zhou Dun and Zhou Lian were playing with stones by the roadside. An Jian happened by, carrying a bamboo basket, and accidentally kicked the stones scattered on the ground without noticing them. Although he apologized, the two brothers were the sort who would make a fuss even over nothing. Recalling the gossip their mother had been spreading, they repeated it as well.

An Jian had intended to ignore them, but when they slandered his beloved younger sister, his anger ignited, and he fought back. Luo Mingliang, returning from outside the village, saw the two bullying his brother. Fearing An Jian would suffer a loss, he didn’t even ask questions—he simply swung his fists and joined the fray.

The four boys tangled together in a brawl. The onlookers couldn’t pull them apart or stop them, so someone hurried off to fetch their parents.

After hearing the story, Luo Shikai’s expression darkened. Aunt Zhou, forcing a smile, began, “Village head, children are too young to understand, they said—”

Luo Shikai waved her off, cutting her short. “Enough, Sister Zhou, spare me the excuses. Your two boys aren’t so young anymore—give it a couple years and they’ll be marrying. Do they really not know what can and cannot be said? Even if they didn’t, how would they know to say such things unless adults were gossiping behind their backs? I’m telling you, at your age you should know to watch your tongue and gather some virtue.”

Aunt Tian, who had been watching from the crowd, shrank her neck at these words and quietly slipped away.

Aunt Zhou’s face burned bright red. She tried to defend herself, “It’s just children talking nonsense, I wouldn’t say such things. You two rascals, hurry and apologize to Aunt An! All you do is stir up trouble, never anything decent. You won’t study properly, running wild all day—just wait till your father comes back, see if he doesn’t beat you within an inch of your lives!”

Luo Shikai ignored her and swept his gaze over the gathered villagers. “We all live in the same village, seeing each other every day. Let me make this clear—anyone caught gossiping again, pack up your things and leave Jingtang Village.”

With that, the matter was considered settled. Once the Zhou brothers had apologized to Madam Luo, everyone dispersed and returned home.

“Mother, softer, softer, that hurts!” An Jian lay face down on the bench, wailing.

Madam Luo snorted, but her hand gentled its force. “You didn’t seem to feel pain when you were fighting, did you?”

An Jian, sniffling, replied, “I was too angry to notice the pain in the heat of the moment.”

“There were two of them and only one of you, and you still dared to fight? If Mingliang hadn’t come by, you’d have suffered badly today,” Madam Luo scolded.

“They insulted my sister! If I didn’t teach them a lesson, they’d think our An family is easy to push around!” An Jian retorted stubbornly.

“Those old gossips have nothing better to do than wag their tongues. If I hear such talk again, I’ll take a kitchen knife to their door, or my name isn’t Luo!” Madam Luo threatened fiercely.

Sitting beside them, An Yi pressed her lips together to contain her laughter. So that’s where her second brother got his violent streak—from their mother.

An Jian chuckled. “Mother, you’re not Luo anymore, you’re An now, Madam An Luo.”

With a sharp smack, Madam Luo slapped his raised backside and scolded, “You rascal, always slick-tongued! Get up and put your clothes on.”

After dinner, An Jian quickly finished the homework assigned by his teacher and began sorting the snow grass they’d harvested.

“Second Brother, you’ve torn the roots off again,” An Yi remarked anxiously, watching his clumsy hands. She wanted to help, but Madam Luo’s stern gaze kept her in check.

“Little Sister, you keep talking and I can’t concentrate,” An Jian complained.

An Yi pouted, but her eyes soon lit up as she spotted the two pieces of cotton cloth their mother had used to bandage her hand that morning. She smiled and said, “Mother, could you find me some sturdy rough cloth?”

Madam Luo wiped her embroidery needle on her hair and replied, “All the cloth remnants are in that chest over there. Find what you need yourself.”

An Yi dashed over, rummaged through the chest, and pulled out four small, similarly colored pieces of rough cloth. She laid them on the table, placed her left hand on top, and traced its outline with a charcoal pencil.

“What are you making, Little Sister?” An Jian asked curiously.

“Never you mind—just focus on sorting your herbs and don’t break any more roots,” An Yi said without looking up.

An Jian stuck out his tongue and bent back to his awkward herb sorting.

An Yi finished tracing, cut out four pieces, then took two and began sewing them together.

“Xier, what are you making?” Madam Luo couldn’t discern what it was.

“Gloves,” An Yi replied, biting off the thread after finishing a finger. “If I wear these while working, my hands won’t get rough.”

“Little Sister, that’s not how gloves are made. If you want a pair, we’ll buy some after selling the herbs—don’t waste cloth,” An Jian said.

An Yi raised an eyebrow. “These are five-fingered gloves, not like the ones they sell in town. Wait till I finish—you’ll see how useful they are. I’m not wasting cloth at all.”

An Jian wanted to argue further but fell silent under Madam Luo’s glare.

The next day, An Yi stayed home to sew her gloves, while Madam Luo asked Luo Dongping to take the poll tax for the four of them to Shangtang Village. Though the An family lived in Jingtang Village, they were still registered in Shangtang.

By noon, An Yi had sewn both gloves. She slipped them on and showed them to Madam Luo. “Mother, look.”

Examining the neat stitches, Madam Luo smiled. “Very nice.”

“With these five-fingered gloves, I can work without any trouble at all,” An Yi demonstrated, picking things up nimbly.

Madam Luo watched her dexterous movements and nodded with a smile.

An Yi edged closer, grinning. “Mother, does this mean I can go dig herbs with Second Brother this afternoon?”

Madam Luo tapped An Yi’s forehead. “You’re always thinking about digging herbs. If your hands get rough, how will you learn embroidery?”

“Motherrr,” An Yi whined, feigning a sulk. “I promise I won’t let my hands get rough. Please let me go dig herbs. Only with money can we buy a house in town.”

“You child, always dreaming of buying a house in town. What’s so good about the city? No land, no fields, and even a bit of vegetable costs money.” Madam Luo put on her stern face. “Listen here: if these gloves really keep your hands smooth, I won’t stop you from digging herbs. If not, you’re not allowed to go—let your second brother do it.”

“They’ll definitely work,” An Yi declared confidently.