Chapter 9

Two more days passed.
Yang Siqiong drove a load of soybean meal, bran pellets, and cornmeal home. Passing the big banyan, the aunties and uncles drinking tea under it called her over again.
After a couple of sentences, they brought up matching Yang Bufan with local young men. Yang Siqiong politely declined. Was about to leave when she heard Yang Guangyou muttering: “Parents should keep an eye out. Afraid she’ll find another outsider and get scammed. Someone like her, hard to find someone later.”
Yang Siqiong cut the engine. The setting sun outlined her angry profile in gold, making her look unassailable, aloof and stern.
She spoke slowly, word by word: “Guangyou Shu, I respect you as an elder. Why are you gossiping about a junior in public?”
“I’m telling you now: Yangzi broke up because she didn’t want to be together. She quit because she didn’t want to work. She wasn’t scammed. If she’d been scammed, I’d definitely get justice for her. She came home to help me and her dad. Such a filial child. Why are you talking nonsense about her?”
The crowd fell silent.
“And how is Yangzi not doing well? She’s been polite since she was little, sensible, hardworking. Her dad and I didn’t study much, but she got into Chenghai High, got from this small village to Sichuan University, went to her dad’s hometown for college. In college, to ease the family burden, she worked part‑time. Made her first money, bought Sichuan specialties for me and her dad, sent them home.”
“After work, my Yangzi got outstanding employee two years in a row. Last year bought a big three‑bedroom in Chenghai. Monthly property fees 389 yuan. Said it was for me and her dad to retire. My birthday, she bought me a gold necklace. Got insurance and checkups for me and her dad. Such a hardworking, excellent child. How can you say she’s not doing well?”
“She’s grown up, I can’t bear to say a harsh word. How can you say she’s this bad, that bad? She went to a top university. Worked at a big company. Since she was little, she’s called you ‘Guangyou Gong.’ Why do you keep saying these harsh things? Why bully an honest child? Because she’s a girl?”
Everyone was silent.
Yang Guangyou’s old face cracked. His previous arrogance visibly deflated. Mumbled for a while, said “oh.”
Before, some things had happened that made Yang Siqiong think this uncle was essentially good. But that didn’t stop him from laughing at the poor, envying the rich, being vain and competitive, liking to watch others’ misfortune.
Many people were like that. Not exactly harmful. But never missed a chance to be mean.
“Guangyou Shu, no one wants to compete with your family. My child especially doesn’t want to compete. Less gossip.”
Yang Siqiong threw down these words fiercely, drove her three‑wheeler majestically into the brilliant sunset.
She’d written this speech in her phone notes. Had been memorizing it while moving goods today. There was a long section she hadn’t even said.
Yang Guangyou patched in two awkward laughs. “Listen to that. So unreasonable. When did I compete? Those words came from that tall one. Not my fault.”
He seemed to remember something. “Tch.” Muttered defiantly: “How does she keep saying ‘top university’? Says I’m showing off. Is there a big gap between Shenzhen Vocational and Sichuan University?”
Second Uncle smiled. “Basically no gap. If you really look, Shenzhen Vocational is even better.”
The neighbors laughed.
Yang Guangyou couldn’t save face. Shooed them away: “What are you laughing at!”
Everyone scattered home.
That morning it rained again. The world’s resolution dropped. Fine rain mixed with the rising and falling calls of lion‑head geese. The sheep joined in, not to be outdone. The world boiled with noise.
Yang Bufan pulled back the curtains. At a glance, there was a pastoral, poetic haziness. Safe and warm.
Remembered the sheets were still drying on the roof. Went up. Didn’t expect Dad had beaten her to it, was already holding the sheets, about to come down.
“This rain. Good thing we loaded a cart of corn stalks yesterday. The sheep have enough.”
Father and daughter went down, hung the wet sheets on the drying balcony. Xu Jianguo stretched out the sheets. Asked: “Pretty?”
The set was silver‑white, with tulip jacquard patterns. Elegant, understated. Yang Bufan said: “Pretty. New?”
Xu Jianguo said proudly: “Know who bought it?”
“Who?”
“Xiaoxi.”
Yang Bufan froze. Looked down at her toes, didn’t respond.
“You two, when you were little, close as sharing pants. Now? Have a fight and won’t see each other. Before you came back, Xiaoxi visited me and your mom on holidays, bought this and that. This year herb prices are good. She told us to plant some early. Now look at these prices—like a rocket. Made money thanks to her… Now you’re back, she hasn’t come once.”
“Sigh. I don’t want it this way either.”
“Still about that thing before?”
Yang Bufan was listless. “Not really a fight. Just different values.”
Xu Jianguo coaxed: “Daughter, the old saying goes: gentlemen seek harmony but not sameness. Xiaoxi speaks directly, but her heart’s so good. A friend like that, you couldn’t get one even praying to the Earth God.”
After coming home, Yang Bufan and Cui Tingxi had run into each other several times. After all, her family’s Chinese medicine shop was near Wanmei Market. Hard to avoid. But both sides tactfully avoided each other.
Yang Bufan opened Wen Junjie’s chat, carefully typed a message.
After cleaning up, she took an umbrella to the morning market, planned to buy two jin of braised goose for lunch.
The sky got darker. Rain got heavier. The four‑season osmanthus in the yard swayed. The noisier the world, the quieter it felt.
Wanmei Village market wasn’t far from home. About ten minutes. On the way, met several uncles and aunties, greeted them all. Their expressions were different from a few days ago. Couldn’t say exactly how.
At the market entrance, several mobile stalls, two basins in front, selling fresh seafood. Clams, oysters, shrimp. Vendors all hiding under identical outdoor umbrellas. When people walked by, they smiled, used Chaoshan‑accented Putonghua to attract customers.
Wanmei Village was a famous overseas Chinese village. Generation after generation surged to Southeast Asia like tides. Coming home in previous years, it felt like all industries were declining, population constantly ebbing.
This year felt different. Population seemed to be flowing back. Strangers speaking Putonghua wandered the streets. Previously empty stalls were all rented. Overflowed to the market entrance. The small market was full of vitality.
A granny in a palm‑leaf hat sold basil at the other side of the market entrance. Stuff piled on fertilizer bags full of water. Market price 35 yuan per jin, she only charged 25, plus half a jin of scallions.
A customer buying basil complained it was all water, weighed too much. The granny apologized, shook off the rainwater, added another big handful to the bag. Said she forgot her umbrella in the rain.
Yang Bufan bought 10 yuan worth. Told her to get under the eaves or an umbrella. The granny said it all cost money, wouldn’t let her in. Gave her two bunches of tender green scallions.
When scanning to pay, the granny asked if she could pay cash. Yang Bufan didn’t have any. Looked down, saw the payment code was a man’s name and photo.
The granny said it was her son’s. She couldn’t use it. Sold things, asked her son for living expenses.
Her expression wasn’t desolate. But the rustling rain mist wet the silver hair under her hat. Made your heart feel cold.
Actually, Yang Bufan’s family grew basil too.
After buying, went into the market, to A‑Bing’s Suzhou braised goose shop. Weighed goose, cut some goose intestines, packed garlic vinegar and braising liquid, went home.
Pushed open the door. Saw Wen Junjie at the tea table, winking at her.
She followed his gaze. At the kung fu table sat a long‑unseen familiar face.
In Yang Bufan’s mind, some people’s beauty came from styling, atmosphere, effort. Other people’s beauty was a direct, unreasonable visual assault.
She had dark circles. Her face was sour. She wore rags and Crocs. But seeing that face, her eyes were hit by color. Had to marvel: some people even had attractive pimples.
Cui Tingxi was the latter.
She was flipping through a book, head slightly lowered, like a swan lowering its neck. A faint classical beauty. When she looked up, those eyes were sharp and deep. Gave a sanguine, burning feeling.
All the signals her looks sent about gentleness and quiet—all illusions. She killed rats and roaches with lightning speed. Always had arsenic in her mouth. Never tamed. The most badass woman in Wanmei Village.
Yang Bufan met her eyes. Both looked away at the same time.
Wen Junjie tapped the tea tray. “Tea, tea.”
Yang Bufan silently put away her umbrella, set down the braised goose and basil, sat down a little awkwardly. Caught a glance in her peripheral vision. Looked up. Met Cui Tingxi’s eyes again.
“Back?”
“Mm.”
After that, nothing.
The air went quiet again.
Wen Junjie was making tea. Somehow his movements were careful.
In the days they’d been at odds, he often thought of the past.
The three of them had walked to and from school together since they were little. For the college entrance exam, filled different applications. Afraid of growing apart from separation, Yangzi bought three white shirts. He stole Granny’s fabric dye, smeared it on his palms and inner arms, then hugged each other in white shirts. The hug would print on their backs, showing precious friendship.
They hadn’t expected the stolen dye to be blood red. The white shirts printed with blood‑red hands. Not only did they fall silent, even the police’s expressions changed.
After coming home, he found the old white shirts. Yellowed now. The blood‑red hugs faded. Like the feelings between them.
The three poured and drank without speaking. Wen Junjie sipped tea. “Wow, orchid aroma’s strong. Honey’s strong. Good tea. Yangzi, what do you think?”
“Huh?”
“You just came back. Say something.”
“Oh.” Yang Bufan thought. “Can a 26‑year‑old female college student switch to farming?”
“Farming has a low barrier to entry, but starting from college is still a bit hard. Suggest re‑reading vocational school.” Cui Tingxi said.
The other two laughed dryly. Familiar flavor.
Just then, Xu Jianguo’s lively voice came from the kitchen, told them to clear the table, time to eat.
The three hurried into the kitchen, came out carrying cups, bowls, plates.
Food filled the table. Xu Jianguo was happy. Said the kids were all here. Opened a bottle of yellow wine, a bottle of plum wine.
In front of the elder, the three clinked glasses, laughed and talked. Like there’d never been any grudge.
Cui Tingxi picked up a piece of goose, dipped it in garlic vinegar. Salty and rich in her mouth. Thin layer of goose fat. The more she chewed, the more the fat filled her mouth. Vinegar cut the greasiness. Nothing in the world tasted better.
Somehow remembered when Yang Bufan was in college in Sichuan.
Freshman year, whenever they talked, Yang Bufan said she wanted braised goose. Even secretly bought an electric rice cooker, cooked in the dorm, used a braising pot she’d brought to make sauce, braised bean skin, kelp. The smell moved the neighbors. Finally alerted the dorm supervisor.
Now eating braised goose, Cui Tingxi could see Yang Bufan hanging her head, being scolded by the advisor.
She also remembered their last fight. It was about that asshole ex‑boyfriend Jiang Qishen.