Chapter 6: Cleaning Up

Li Qingyun set aside three sweet potatoes in a large bowl, then poured rice porridge into two smaller bowls. She had added an extra scoop of rice, so the resulting porridge was thick and sticky, with an alluring aroma. Not only Dabao, but even she herself felt hungry at the scent. There was still a small bowlful left in the pot—this was Erbao’s meal for today. He was already five months old, so aside from milk, he could have a small portion of solid food each day to gradually adjust; this porridge was perfect for that.

Mother and son sat at the table beneath the eaves and began their breakfast. In his crib, Erbao looked around contentedly, utterly delighted—life was peaceful and serene.

“Mom, this porridge smells so good. You eat first—I’ll feed my little brother and then eat,” Dabao said, lowering his head to inhale the porridge’s fragrance, a rare smile spreading across his face.

“You eat first,” she replied. “Feed him after; the porridge is still hot.”

Dabao glanced over to see his brother playing happily, not crying or fussing. After a brief internal struggle, he finally sat down to eat.

The plain rice porridge, tinged with the faint sweetness of sweet potato, was delicious beyond words. Both of them ate in silence, heads down, savoring every bite.

Dabao had never tasted such fragrant, thick porridge before. He cherished every spoonful, determined to remember the taste, and in the end, even licked his bowl clean.

For Li Qingyun, it had been ages since she’d eaten such simple, sweet porridge—the last time was when her grandmother made it for her in childhood.

After the meal, Dabao volunteered to clear the dishes, and Li Qingyun didn’t object. This wasn’t a time when children were coddled; here, even four-year-olds could help with many household chores. She didn’t intend to disrupt that balance—so long as it wasn’t dangerous, she would let him do what he could.

Afterwards, Li Qingyun surveyed her surroundings. She now lived in a small courtyard. At its center stood the main hall, flanked by a bedroom on each side. They occupied one room; the other served as storage for sundries and grain. Nearby, a small building functioned as the kitchen, next to which stood a lean-to of straw, piled high with firewood.

That was the general layout. Behind the courtyard was a plot of private land, not large but enough to grow a variety of vegetables—sufficient for a family of three. The entire yard was encircled by a fence, making it relatively secure.

This was to be her home for many years to come. It was now 1966; the storms of society were just beginning, and for the moment, all she could do was ensure she and her children survived.

Li Qingyun grabbed a long broom and set about sweeping cobwebs from every room, then fetched an old wooden basin and, armed with a rag, began cleaning the tables, chairs, and cabinets.

Dabao, having finished with the pots and bowls, tried to feed his brother some porridge. Usually Erbao ate heartily, but today he took only two bites before refusing more, which worried Dabao. He feared Erbao might be ill again, but his mother reassured him that Erbao simply wasn’t hungry and would eat later. Only then did Dabao relax.

By the time Li Qingyun and Dabao finished tidying the house, it was already noon, and she finally remembered lunch.

Feigning that she had retrieved it from the cupboard—but in truth taking it from her hidden stash—Li Qingyun produced a box of imperial peach crisps and called Dabao over.

“Here, have a snack first. I’ll start the fire and cook lunch soon,” she said, handing him two pieces.

Dabao, unaware of what she usually bought or kept in the cupboard, didn’t question the appearance of the pastries. He cradled the two peach crisps, each larger than his palm, as if they were treasures, terrified of dropping a single crumb—waste was shameful, especially when it came to such rare treats.

Li Qingyun hadn’t expected him to value the peach crisps so highly. Thinking of the pampered children of modern times, she sighed inwardly, resolving to raise him well.

Dabao moved to the table, carefully holding the pastries, and took tiny bites—fragrant and sweet—hardly bothering to wonder why his mother was so generous today. All he wanted was to savor this rare delight.

After he finished, he licked his fingers, then gathered every last crumb from the table and ate them too, thoroughly satisfied before hurrying off to help his mother.

Li Qingyun ate two pieces as well, then pulled out some dried noodles and three eggs from her stash, preparing to cook noodles for lunch. It’s hard to cook without rice—there was little in the house besides coarse grains and sweet potatoes.

Though her hidden supplies were plentiful, she wouldn’t let herself go without. If they couldn’t have meat today, at least tomato and egg noodles would make a fine meal.

It was summer, and the tomatoes in their garden were thriving. She picked a few, ready to start lunch.

After finishing his peach crisps, Dabao came to help with the fire, while Erbao was already napping in his crib.

Li Qingyun diced the tomatoes, beat the eggs in a bowl, sliced some scallions, and began to fry the tomatoes and eggs. There was only a tiny bit of lard left in the bottom of the jar, but it was just enough for this dish.

Dabao watched as she used the last of the lard and felt momentarily bewildered. Was his mother no longer planning for tomorrow? Lard and eggs, both at once!

He thought of all the strange things about his mother today, questions swirling in his heart that he couldn’t voice. Yet, selfishly, he wished she could be like this every day.

The fragrant tomato and egg stir-fry was set aside, and without washing the pan, she poured in water to cook the noodles.

Noodles with tomato and egg—the dish glistened with oil. Dabao devoured it ravenously; such a meal was reserved for New Year’s celebrations.

With full bellies, mother and son exchanged a satisfied smile. Dabao seldom saw his mother so gentle. He couldn’t help but say, “Mom, you look so beautiful when you smile.” Then, embarrassed, he lowered his head.

“Don’t think flattery will get you out of washing the dishes. Go on, the porridge from this morning is reheated; feed your brother with it.”

Dabao was used to these chores and immediately ran off on his short legs to tidy up.

Li Qingyun teased Erbao, who was babbling in his crib, rolled him on his stomach to play, and changed his wet diaper for a clean one.

These cloth diapers were such trouble, and they didn’t even guarantee against leaks. It wasn’t convenient to use disposable ones during the day, so she had to make do for now.

Fortunately, she had bought plenty of cotton fabric for her supplies. When she had a moment, she’d sew a few more soft, clean diapers—his old ones were patched from rags, stiff and coarse, uncomfortable to use.

During the day, with all eyes upon them, cloth diapers were a must. But at night she could secretly use disposables, making things easier and more comfortable for both mother and child.

Once the house was more or less in order, Li Qingyun began washing the heap of dirty clothes and bed sheets in the large wooden basin.

The little courtyard had its own well, so she didn’t have to haul water, which was a relief.

When Dabao wasn’t looking, she secretly added some laundry detergent to the soak—those few soap nuts alone could never get the clothes truly clean, and she didn’t have the skill for it.

Sure enough, the detergent produced plenty of bubbles, and Li Qingyun began scrubbing the laundry, slowly and thoroughly.