Chapter Two: A Room Filled with Warmth

Mrs. Luo worked swiftly, soon finishing the meal. The family gathered around the table, warming themselves by the charcoal brazier, savoring this rare, sumptuous dinner.

“Xier, here, have some more pig’s heart,” Mrs. Luo said, placing a chopstickful of food into Anran’s bowl.

“Sister, isn’t the white rice delicious?” Anjian asked.

Anran swallowed her mouthful, looked up at him, and nodded. “Yes, it’s delicious.”

“This white rice is good, but it’s just too expensive. It takes three days of chopping wood to buy only ten—” Anjian’s sigh was cut short as Ankang stuffed his mouth with vegetables.

Ankang glared at him. “Can’t even a table full of food shut you up? Don’t say these things to your sister.”

Anjian hurried to swallow, explaining, “Sister, your second brother isn’t saying you can’t have white rice. I just mean those rice merchants are wicked, raising the price. But don’t worry, if you like it, I’ll go up the mountain every day for wood so you can have white rice.”

Only then did Anran notice that Mrs. Luo and her two brothers had only a little rice in their bowls, with bean cakes underneath. Only her own bowl was filled with white rice. Her eyes flickered and she said, “Mother, Eldest Brother and Second Brother work hard chopping wood. Before, I was young and didn’t understand, so I cried for white rice. Now that I’m older, I can eat other things, I don’t need white rice every day. I had three bean patties for lunch today, they were delicious, I like them.”

At these words, Mrs. Luo’s eyes instantly reddened. Her daughter had become so sensible after recovering from her illness. Voice trembling, she said, “Xier, with you thinking like this, your brothers’ love for you is not in vain.”

“Sister, when I make something of myself, I’ll make sure you eat white rice every day,” Ankang solemnly promised.

Anran nodded. “Alright.”

“Sister, when Second Brother gets rich, you’ll have meat every day,” Anjian pledged, not to be outdone.

“Okay,” Anran replied with a soft laugh.

Looking at her three understanding children, Mrs. Luo felt deeply gratified. She gave each of them another serving and said, “Enough now, eat up. The food won’t taste as good once it’s cold.”

After dinner, Ankang helped clear the dishes. As he worked, he said, “Mother, I want to take another load of firewood to town tomorrow, so next year we won’t owe Mr. Duan for tuition.”

“The snow’s heavy and the road to town is even harder. Better not go. I’ve already set aside what’s needed for the academy,” Mrs. Luo said, looking at the cracks on Ankang’s face left by the cold wind. Her heart ached. Poor families’ children grow up early; if only their father were home, the children wouldn’t have to suffer so.

“It’s not about the tuition, Mother. The heavy snow is a good thing—the colder it gets, the higher the price for firewood,” Ankang explained.

Anran looked at Ankang’s patched and clearly too-short cotton coat, recalling Bai Juyi’s poem “The Charcoal Seller”: “Pity the man in thin clothes, praying for the cold so his charcoal sells.” She sighed inwardly; depending on selling wood to feed the family was painfully hard.

Before Mrs. Luo could respond, Anjian burst out, “Mother, I’ll go with Eldest Brother tomorrow. If we sell more wood, we can buy you some cloth for a new coat.”

“Mother, you haven’t had a new coat in ages,” Ankang added.

“I have enough clothes. What you two need is new winter coats,” Mrs. Luo said with a twinge of sorrow. Wiping her eyes with her sleeve, she continued, “Tomorrow, I’ll go with you. Zhuanzi will stay home to look after Xier.”

“Mother, you forgot, you’re helping Grandma make tofu tomorrow,” Ankang reminded her.

“Oh, I nearly forgot!” Mrs. Luo patted her forehead, hesitated a moment, then said, “Well, you two be careful on the road and come back early.”

“Mother, we’re grown now, don’t worry,” Anjian said with a grin.

Witnessing this warm scene of maternal love and filial piety, Anran’s heart was full of gratitude and warmth. Her eyes sparkled, lips curved into a gentle smile. In her previous life, she had no family left, nothing to make her stay. In this life, she once again had a loving mother and two considerate brothers. She vowed to cherish it all, to live well for the girl who had died young. From now on, she was Xier.

Winter days were bitterly cold and darkness fell early. There was nothing to do after dark, so to save lamp oil and firewood, the family washed up and went to bed. Anran shared a quilt with Mrs. Luo, while Ankang and Anjian shared another.

Having slept too much during the day, Anran found it hard to fall asleep. As the breathing beside her grew steady, she opened her eyes, turned on her side, and gazed quietly at the fine lines at the corner of Mrs. Luo’s eyes, lit by the pale glow of snow outside the window.

She had not seen Mrs. Luo’s husband these days, nor heard her brothers mention him. She didn’t know if he was dead or working away, and, fearful of revealing herself, dared not ask. But whatever the case, from their poverty, it was clear he was not capable of supporting the family. If their life was to improve, she would have to rely on herself.

Anran frowned slightly. But how?

In a farming village, growing crops was the obvious choice. But the old saying went, “No idle land under heaven, yet farmers still starve.” Earning money from crops was difficult. Besides, she had not studied agriculture and was unfamiliar with farming. She’d be better off cultivating medicinal herbs.

Medicinal herbs!

Anran’s eyes lit up, and she nearly sat upright in excitement. With no modern pollution, wild herbs must be abundant here. Growing herbs could wait; for now, she could gather and sell them from the mountains—a good way to earn money. Perhaps she wouldn’t even need to go deep into the wilds to find valuable ones. People always fall ill; selling medicine would surely make money.

With this plan, Anran closed her eyes peacefully and drifted off to a dream where the mountain was covered in herbs.

The next morning, Anran awoke to find Mrs. Luo already up, and Ankang and Anjian had long since left for town with their buckwheat cakes and loads of firewood.

Without Anjian’s help, it took Anran a long time to get dressed. She had just climbed out of bed when Mrs. Luo came in carrying a metal bucket of fire tinder.

“Xier, you’re up.” Mrs. Luo poured the fire into the brazier. Seeing Anran head for the door, she said, “It’s cold outside, stay in and keep warm. I’ll fetch water for you to wash.”

“I need to use the privy,” Anran said urgently. She’d woken needing to go, and if it weren’t so cold and fearing illness, she’d have gone out in just her underclothes.

Watching her daughter hurry out, Mrs. Luo couldn’t help but laugh. Once the fire was going, she too went out to the kitchen.

By the time Anran returned, feeling much better, Mrs. Luo had already prepared hot water for her to wash. With practiced hands, she washed Anran’s face and combed her hair, then brought in a bowl of hot lean pork porridge and an egg.

“Mother, I’m well now. I don’t need to eat eggs; we should save them to sell,” Anran said sweetly.

Mrs. Luo was so pleased she couldn’t help but smile broadly. “My good girl, you really have grown up. We’ll save all the eggs to sell—buy a dowry for Xier.”

Anran was both amused and exasperated. How did it come to dowries already? She was about to speak when a knock sounded at the door.

“Zhuanzi’s mother! Zhuanzi’s mother!” Someone called from outside.

“Coming, coming!” Mrs. Luo replied as she went to open the door. “Who is it?”