Chapter 11: The Foster Father of the Wan Family

In three days, the other three sets of cotton-padded jackets were finished.

Zhong Yuxiu stretched lazily and, full of gratitude, said, “I haven’t done this in so long—it's really exhausting. Sister Hong, Sister Jiangmei, you’ve worked so hard.” After all, they had helped her with needlework for three days, and she herself felt tired.

“It’s not that hard, much easier than farm work,” Jiang Mei shook her head as she put away the needle and thread.

Sun Ruhong threw back the covers, got out of bed, and stretched. “Yuxiu, the fabric for these clothes is of good quality—they’ll last for years. You won’t need to make new clothes or quilts for a long time.”

Zhong Yuxiu nodded, smiling without a word. The good days were still to come.

As they spoke, a commotion sounded outside—not from the yard itself, but beyond it.

“Let’s go take a look.”

The three of them quickly tidied up and stepped out, only to see the male educated youths gathering in the courtyard.

“You’re coming out too? Perfect, let’s go together,” Luo Jianmin said excitedly, and headed towards the gate.

Wang Yishan nodded and quickly followed; Feng Jianjun smiled shyly before hurrying after them; finally, Yan Rushan glanced at the girls before joining the rest.

“I wonder what’s going on in the village, it’s so lively. Should we go see?” Jiang Mei tilted her head to ask.

“Let’s go.”

Since both had said so, Zhong Yuxiu naturally followed.

The group arrived to find more than half the brigade present, forming layers of onlookers.

They squeezed their way in to see three elderly men with graying hair at the center. Dressed in thin, shabby clothes, their backs were stooped, and their appearance spoke of hardship; yet the scholarly air lingering about them was unmistakable—one look and it was clear these were old academics.

Zhong Yuxiu’s gaze fell on one whose temples were streaked with white, and she paused imperceptibly. As she stared, fragments of the original host’s memories surfaced, and in an instant she understood: this was her adoptive father.

Wan Xuetang.

He looked nothing like the upright, elegant figure the original host remembered. In the past, Wan Xuetang had radiated scholarly grace; now, most of his hair was white, he seemed a decade older, his back was hunched, and he looked dispirited.

“Yuxiu, Yuxiu…”

“Huh?” Zhong Yuxiu snapped out of her daze, blinking in confusion. “What is it?”

Sun Ruhong said, “We should head back. These are all the ‘old nine’ sent down from the city—nothing much to see.” Compared to the sent-down youths, those who were exiled had it much worse. At least the educated youths were treated the same as villagers, but the leftists being sent down had their work points halved, lived in poor conditions, and were perpetually hungry and cold, scraping by day after day.

“Let’s go, let’s warm up under the covers,” Luo Jianmin called out, and the male educated youths headed back.

Zhong Yuxiu had no choice but to nod, glancing back at the downcast Wan Xuetang and the others before following the group back to the educated youths’ compound.

Back in the compound, Jiang Mei and the others, who had come down to the countryside earlier, had seen scores of exiled intellectuals before, and the novelty had long worn off. Each returned to their rooms—after all, wasn’t it nicer to chat with roommates under the warm covers?

Zhong Yuxiu leaned against her pillow, her thoughts restless. According to the original host’s memories, the Wan family had been red capitalists, with a vast family business. All their domestic assets had been donated, earning them the protection of several powerful patrons. Logically, they shouldn’t have been sent down. What, in just a few months, had changed?

“Sister Hong, Sister Jiangmei, I’m going out for a bit,” Zhong Yuxiu said, getting up.

Jiang Mei nodded. “It’s cold out, don’t be long.”

“Mm.”

She hurried out, crossed the compound, and went first to the place where the crowd had gathered. But Wan Xuetang and the others were gone; the villagers were dispersing in small groups, gossiping animatedly. From their chatter, she learned that Wan Xuetang and his companions had been taken to the cowshed. Changing direction, she hurried there.

Outside the cowshed, the brigade leader and several cadres were giving a stern lecture, while the three old scholars listened with bowed heads. After the cadres left, the three entered the cowshed. Zhong Yuxiu approached and squatted in a hidden corner, listening for any sound.

She waited a long time but heard no conversation—only occasional sighs drifting out.

None of them had brought any clothing, not even a change of clothes, let alone bedding.

Zhong Yuxiu lingered for a while. When she saw the brigade cadres bring over three tattered quilts, she finally turned to leave; at least with the cotton wadding, they wouldn’t freeze to death.

Back at the educated youth compound, Zhong Yuxiu felt somewhat settled. The original host had already repaid the Wan family’s kindness with her life; she owed them nothing. The emotions she felt now belonged to the original host—a trace of sentiment left behind.

The original host couldn’t let go of the Wan family, but Zhong Yuxiu herself owed them nothing and had no intention of getting involved with Wan Xuetang. Yet, in the production brigade, it was inevitable they would meet again. For the sake of those lingering feelings—and to keep Wan Xuetang from speaking out—she felt she should do something.

After much consideration, she realized what they needed most was warm clothing. With two sets of cotton-padded jackets and two sets of thinner clothes, they could get through the winter.

Once the political climate shifted, these people would be exonerated and called back.

With her resolve set, Zhong Yuxiu took out the unused cotton batting and hurried to the outside of the male educated youths’ room. The door was tightly shut; she knocked gently on the window.

Knock, knock, knock.

“Who is it?”

Zhong Yuxiu pressed her lips together. “It’s me. I need to speak with Brother Yan.”

Creak—the door opened and Yan Rushan appeared, fixing her with a steady gaze. “What’s the matter?”

“Brother Yan, can we talk over there?” Zhong Yuxiu led the way to a corner of the courtyard. When Yan Rushan followed, she hesitated, then asked, “Brother Yan, do you or the others have any old clothes you don’t want?”

Yan Rushan nodded. “Yes.”

“How many?”

“I have three or four pieces, and the others should each have at least two,” Yan Rushan looked her up and down before asking, “Why do you ask?”

Zhong Yuxiu shook her head. “Brother Yan, please don’t ask. I’ll trade six new pieces of cloth for six old garments, the older the better.”

“You can have the old clothes; there’s no need for cloth in exchange. They’re just things we don’t need. But you have to be honest with me—what do you need them for?” Seeing her hesitate, Yan Rushan added, “We all live together in the compound. Even if you don’t say now, we’ll find out sooner or later.”

Zhong Yuxiu stayed silent, and Yan Rushan didn’t press her; he waited quietly until she finally spoke.

“Then, please, keep it a secret for me.”

“I’m not one to gossip,” Yan Rushan replied, casting her a sidelong glance, a little displeased.

“I do trust you, Brother Yan. It’s just…” Zhong Yuxiu gritted her teeth. “To tell you the truth, one of the people sent down today is my adoptive father. I didn’t expect he’d be sent here, and with his clothes so thin, I want to make two outfits for him.”

Yan Rushan narrowed his eyes. “Your adoptive father? I remember you only had two sets of clothes when you came down—if he’s your adoptive father…” Why were you treated so harshly, coming with so little?

“Brother Yan, please don’t ask. I’ll just do this one thing for him.” After this, they would go their separate ways.

The air grew tense and silent, their breathing the only sound.

“Remember what you said,” Yan Rushan said abruptly. Without waiting for a reply, he returned to the room, and soon emerged with a large bundle of old clothes. “I have four sets; the others have each brought out two.” In times like these, even old clothes were precious, useful for patching shoe insoles—no one would throw them away lightly.

Zhong Yuxiu thanked him, took the clothes, and returned to her room to cut fabric. Four sets from Yan Rushan meant she would cut twelve meters for him; the others, two sets each, six meters apiece—enough for them to make a new set with some left over.