Chapter 18: Let Fate Decide

Wen Nong helped Wen Yao carry the eggs back, but didn’t see Wen Xiuyi or Wen Jun. Instead, from inside the house came Wen Xiuyi’s intermittent cries of agony.
Had some bad person broken into their home?
The young man was so startled that he quickly set the eggs down, his face tense as he shielded Wen Yao and Da Tou behind him. His voice trembled as he said, “W-what’s going on in there? Don’t… don’t be afraid. If anything seems wrong, run and call for my father and the others.”
Wen Yao looked at the half-grown youth before her. Despite his own fear—he was shaking—he still thought to protect her and her little brother. For that alone, she would remember the kindness of those who lived in the old house.
But what in the world were her father and eldest brother doing?
“Father? Big Brother, what are you two doing?” Wen Yao called into the house.
The cries stopped at once. Wen Jun opened the door and saw Wen Nong with two small heads peeking out from behind him.
Shaking out his arms, Wen Jun said, “Giving Father a… a massage.”
Wen Yao replied with an “oh” and tugged at Wen Nong’s sleeve. “Nong, my brother’s just giving my father a massage. It’s nothing, really, don’t be nervous.”
Wen Nong scratched his head. What was a massage, and why did his uncle cry out so miserably?
But judging by the scene, Wen Jun must have been helping his uncle with something. As long as it wasn’t a bad person, everything was fine.
“I’ll be heading back, then.” He had delivered both the eggs and the people, so Wen Nong prepared to leave.
Wen Xiuyi, just then finishing dressing, happened to hear this.
“Hey, slow down and watch your step,” he called.
Hearing this, Wen Nong nearly tripped over a stone on the ground. He turned back, his face full of surprise, to glance at Wen Xiuyi.
Was his uncle actually worrying about him? Telling him to watch his step and walk slowly?
How strange. Truly, too strange.
The family of three, oblivious to Wen Nong’s inner turmoil, went about their day—Wen Xiuyi swinging his arm, Wen Jun putting away the eggs, and Wen Yao stuffing Da Tou into Wen Xiuyi’s hands before rolling up her sleeves to prepare the meal in the kitchen.
Her father and elder brother were in charge of earning money outside the home; she would take care of the meals inside.
She chopped up the leftover half pound of pork into minced meat, used the cabbage on hand for the filling, kneaded the dough, and began making dumplings.
Da Tou abandoned playing with Wen Xiuyi and ran to the kitchen, curious, to learn how to make dumplings from Wen Yao.

“Our Da Tou is really smart—only taught him twice and he’s already making such pretty dumplings.” Wen Yao winked at the father and son as she spoke.
No wonder, she thought, that this child was one of the antagonists in the original novel—he truly was clever.
Praised, Da Tou grinned even wider, working with even more enthusiasm. He was so adorably soft and silly that Wen Yao couldn’t resist giving his cheek a playful pinch, leaving two white floury fingerprints on his face.
The little fellow only thought Wen Yao was playing with him, his smile so broad his eyes disappeared.
Wen Yao mused: in the original book, this character was always described as stone-faced, stern, cold and aloof, with icy eyes—never once was there a description of him smiling.
Recalling all those greasy, overwrought adjectives, Wen Yao felt that this silly, soft, and cute child was much more real.
Wen Xiuyi tended the boiling water, Wen Jun stoked the fire, and Wen Yao and Da Tou made dumplings. Soon, a potful was cooking, their aroma wafting far from the kitchen.
When the dumplings were done, Wen Xiuyi served a bowl and handed it to Wen Jun.
“Take these to your grandparents.”
Wen Jun walked off with the bowl. Wen Xiuyi then scooped a small bowl for Da Tou, smiling as he handed it over: “This is for my good son. Eat slowly, be careful—it’s hot.”
Da Tou’s big eyes blinked at him for a long while. Just as Wen Xiuyi thought he’d frightened the boy again, Da Tou broke into a grin, snatched the bowl, and ran off to eat in the corner.
“This child,” Wen Xiuyi sighed with a helpless smile. He served himself and Wen Yao, set aside a bowl for Wen Jun, then started eating in big, satisfied mouthfuls.
The first dumpling he tasted, Wen Xiuyi gave Wen Yao a hearty thumbs-up.
Delicious!
When Wen Jun returned, he was carrying a big bowl full of pickled radish.
“Grandma made this herself. She said we can take it to the stall tomorrow—cut it into small pieces, and it’ll make a nice side dish for the customers.”
Wen Xiuyi grabbed a piece for himself. He had to admit, his mother’s pickling skills were exceptional; the radish was sweet and sour, and deliciously crisp.
“Not bad at all! Yao, give it a try—it’s as good as the stuff you used to pickle,” Wen Xiuyi said, gesturing at the dish.
Wen Yao tried a piece.
“You’re right, it’s tasty.”
Wen Jun also ate a small piece. The three of them didn’t notice that, just as they were talking, Da Tou paused in eating his dumplings—then, as if nothing had happened, continued eating with his head down.

After the meal, Wen Yao began preparing the rice and vegetables they’d need for the next day, with Wen Jun helping. Wen Xiuyi, meanwhile, took Da Tou into the yard, where he used a stick to write out characters on the ground, teaching him to read and write.
There was nothing else to do, and it was good to give the child some early lessons. Besides, as a scholar, Wen Xiuyi’s teaching wouldn’t arouse suspicion.
“At what age did Da Tou start talking, anyway? Did the book ever say?” Wen Jun couldn’t help asking.
Wen Yao shrugged. “It never said.”
Well, fate would decide.
The next day, before dawn, Wen Yao got up to steam rice. Judging by how much they’d sold the previous day, she made half a bucket more this time. If they didn’t sell it all, the family could eat the rest themselves.
When the sun rose and it was fully light, Wen Xiuyi and Wen Jun packed up their things, loaded the small cart, and set out.
Today, Wen Yao and Da Tou didn’t have to go. It would be too much to make the child sit at the stall all day.
Wen Yao planned to use the fine weather to thoroughly clean the house and air out the quilts. These past few days, sleeping under them, she’d nearly been suffocated by their mustiness and dampness.
Da Tou stayed in the yard, using a little stick to secretly practice the characters Wen Xiuyi had taught him. When Wen Yao approached, he’d quickly erase them, only to start writing again once she left.
When Wen Di and Wen Ying, two young girls from the family, arrived, they saw the sunning laundry in the yard and Da Tou squatting on the ground.
“Da Tou, what are you doing?” Wen Ying, the eight-year-old daughter from the second branch, ran over to him.
A flash of panic crossed Da Tou’s face as he hurriedly wiped away the writing, pretending to idly scratch at the ground with his stick.
Wen Ying pulled him to his feet and patted the dust off him. “Where’s your sister?”
Da Tou pointed behind the house.
When Wen Di and Wen Ying led Da Tou around to the back, they found Wen Yao digging the earth with a hoe.
“Yao Yao, what are you doing?” the two girls exclaimed in shock.
Before, their aunt—a lady from a scholarly family—never worked in the fields, and neither did Wen Yao. Her mother had always said girls should stay inside, embroidering and doing needlework, never performing rough labor.
Even their grandmother couldn’t do anything about it, so they’d always envied Wen Yao.