Chapter 18: Leave It to Fate
Wen Nong helped Wen Yao carry the eggs home. He didn’t see Wen Xiuyi or Wen Jun, but from inside the house came bursts of Wen Xiuyi’s miserable cries. Had a bad guy broken in? The boy was so startled he quickly set down the basket of eggs and stood protectively in front of Wen Yao and Datou, voice trembling. “W-What’s going on? Don’t be scared. If something’s wrong, hurry and call my dad or the others.”
Wen Yao looked at this teenage boy who, even while trembling himself, still instinctively stood between her and danger. Just for this alone, she’d remember the kindness of the people at the old house. But… what was Dad and Big Brother doing?
“Dad? Big Brother? What are you two doing?” Wen Yao called toward the house.
The howling stopped immediately. Wen Jun opened the door and saw Wen Nong and the two little heads peeking out from behind him. Shaking his arm, Wen Jun said, “Giving Dad a mas—massage.”
Wen Yao let out an “oh,” then tugged Wen Nong’s sleeve. “Nong-ge, my brother’s just giving my dad a massage. It’s okay, it’s okay. Don’t be nervous.”
Wen Nong scratched his head. What was a massage? And why did Big Uncle sound so miserable? But it looked like Wen Jun was just helping with something, so it should be fine—as long as there wasn’t a bad guy.
“Then I’ll head back.” With the eggs delivered, Wen Nong turned to leave.
Wen Xiuyi emerged from the house just in time to hear this. “Hey, watch your step, take it slow.”
Wen Nong almost tripped over a rock when he heard that. He turned around, startled. Was Big Uncle… concerned about him? Told him to watch his step and walk slowly?
So weird. This was all just too weird.
The three at home had no idea what Wen Nong was thinking. Wen Xiuyi was shaking out his sore arms, Wen Jun was storing the eggs, and Wen Yao shoved Datou into her father’s arms before rolling up her sleeves to head into the kitchen to make dinner.
Dad and Big Brother were responsible for earning money outside—she’d take care of the meals at home.
She chopped the leftover half a jin of meat into minced pork, mixed it with cabbage to make filling, kneaded the dough, and started wrapping dumplings.
Datou, bored of playing with Wen Xiuyi, ran into the kitchen to watch Wen Yao and soon started learning how to make dumplings too.
“Our Datou’s really smart. Only had to teach him twice and he’s wrapping them so neatly already.” Wen Yao shot a wink at the father and son pair.
This kid was worthy of being a future antagonist in the original novel—he really was clever.
Being praised made Datou beam, his smile widening and his little hands working even harder. He looked so soft and cute that Wen Yao couldn’t help but pinch his face, leaving two floury fingerprints on his cheeks.
The little guy just thought she was playing with him and grinned from ear to ear.
Wen Yao couldn’t help but reflect—this kid, in the book, was always described as cold and expressionless, unsmiling, aloof and icy, his eyes filled with indifference. But those were all greasy, overly dramatic clichés. This dopey, soft, and cute little guy felt much more real.
Wen Xiuyi was boiling water, Wen Jun was tending the fire, and Wen Yao and Datou were wrapping dumplings. Before long, a potful of dumplings was boiling away, the scent wafting far and wide.
When the dumplings were ready, Wen Xiuyi scooped out a bowl and handed it to Wen Jun. “Take this to your grandparents.”
Wen Jun left with the bowl. Wen Xiuyi filled a small one for Datou, smiling as he handed it over. “For my good son. Careful, it’s hot.”
Datou blinked his big eyes and stared at him for a while. Just as Wen Xiuyi began to worry the kid had been scared again, Datou suddenly grinned, snatched the bowl, and scurried to sit and eat.
“This kid…” Wen Xiuyi chuckled helplessly, then dished out bowls for himself and Wen Yao, leaving one for Wen Jun. They finally sat down to eat.
One bite of dumpling and Wen Xiuyi immediately gave Wen Yao a big thumbs-up.
Delicious!
Wen Jun came back with a big bowl of pickled radish. “Grandma pickled these herself. She said we can bring some tomorrow when we go out—cut them into little pieces as a side for the customers.”
Wen Xiuyi took a piece first—he had to admit, his mother’s pickling skills were top-notch. The radish was tangy, sweet, and extra crunchy.
“Not bad. Yao Yao, try some. I think it’s even better than the ones you used to pickle.” Wen Xiuyi gestured to the radish.
Wen Yao tried one. “You’re right. Tastes great.”
Wen Jun took a small piece as well. None of the three noticed that when they were talking just now, Datou had paused in eating his dumplings for a brief moment—then resumed scarfing them down like nothing had happened.
After dinner, Wen Yao began prepping the rice and vegetables for the next day. Wen Jun assisted while Wen Xiuyi, holding Datou, took a stick and began writing characters on the ground in the courtyard, teaching him.
Might as well—idle time was idle time. It was good to give the kid some early education, and with his status as a xiucai, no one would question it.
“How old was Datou when he started speaking in the book? Did it ever say?” Wen Jun couldn’t help asking.
Wen Yao shrugged. “It didn’t.”
Well then, guess they’d just leave it to fate.
The next morning before dawn, Wen Yao got up to steam the rice. Based on the previous day’s sales, she steamed half a bucket more. Even if it didn’t all sell, they could eat it themselves.
Once the sun was fully up, Wen Xiuyi and Wen Jun packed up the cart and headed out.
Today, Wen Yao and Datou didn’t have to go. It would’ve been too tiring to keep the little guy out there all day.
Wen Yao wanted to take advantage of the good weather to clean the house and air out the bedding. The quilts were so musty they nearly made her cry every night—full of damp and mildew.
Datou stayed in the courtyard, using a small stick to secretly practice the characters Wen Xiuyi had taught him the day before. As soon as Wen Yao got close, he quickly wiped the ground clean. Once she left, he’d start writing again.
Wen Di and Wen Ying, the two young girls from the second household, arrived to find laundry hanging in the courtyard and Datou crouched on the ground.
“Datou, what are you doing?” Wen Ying, just eight years old, ran over curiously.
Panic flashed across Datou’s face. He hurried to wipe off the characters on the ground and pretended to be doodling randomly with the stick.
Wen Ying pulled him up and patted the dust off his clothes. “Where’s your sister?”
Datou pointed to the back of the house.
When Wen Di and Wen Ying led him around to the back, they found Wen Yao holding a hoe, digging at the ground.
“Yao Yao, what are you doing?” The two girls were stunned.
Back then, their big aunt had been a proper lady from a scholarly family—never did manual labor. And Wen Yao even more so. Their aunt used to say girls should stay inside, embroider and do needlework, never do coarse labor.
Even Grandma had no way to convince her otherwise. They had always envied Wen Yao because of that.
