Chapter 92: Returning to the Village for the New Year — Part 2
Everyone in the cart kept lobbing questions one after another, and Mother Sheng did her best to answer them in a polite, roundabout way.
“Yes, he’s a soldier. His exact rank isn’t what matters, though. The main thing is that he treats our daughter right.”
“Is it true your son made battalion commander, then?” someone else pressed.
There was no point in hiding a matter of public record. The moment Mother Sheng nodded in confirmation, a collective gasp rippled through the cart.
The villagers could hardly believe it. Among all the young people who had ever left their village, not a single one had proven more successful than Sheng Wanze. To reach the rank of battalion commander at such a young age required immense capability.
By comparison, the village chief’s grandson had served in the military for five whole years just to become a company commander, which the entire commune had considered a legendary achievement—especially since he had used that rank to marry a city woman. Yet, the Sheng family’s boy had completely outstripped him, securing a higher command and marrying a girl from the Capital.
the Capital was the nation’s capital. It was a place the locals had only ever heard whispers of but could never dream of visiting.
The villagers couldn’t help but marvel at the Sheng family’s incredible turn of fortune. When they were young brides, Grandma Sheng had suffered the most under the thumb of a cruel mother-in-law, yet today she had officially become the most envied matriarch in the entire village.
After a grueling hour and a half, the ox cart finally plodded into the village. Uncle Sheng drove them straight to the village chief’s house to collect their keys.
The moment the chief of the Red Flag Second Team saw the family arrive, he immediately turned to his wife. “Quickly, go fetch the keys for the Sheng family.” He turned back to the travelers, a wide smile on his face. “Since the whole clan has made it back this year, you must celebrate the New Year properly. How many days do you plan to stay?”
The village chief and Grandpa Sheng were old friends, and the two patriarchs immediately fell into a comfortable chat right on the threshold. The chief’s wife soon emerged, warmly ushering the travelers inside to sit down, and generously poured five piping hot cups of sugar water for them.
“Auntie, you’re far too hospitable,” Mother Sheng said, trying to decline politely as the woman set out bowls of dried melon seeds and wild walnuts. “Plain boiled water would have been more than enough.”
“Think nothing of it! We don’t have much else in these mountains except for wild harvest,” the chief’s wife replied with a wave of her hand. “Oh, by the way, the village is about to slaughter the communal pigs and distribute the pork. Do you want to purchase a portion?”
Since it was the first day of the Lunar New Year, it was the traditional day to distribute pork, and the locals were already gathering in the village square.
Grandma Sheng nodded. Because their household registry had long since been transferred to the city, they were technically disqualified from receiving a standard communal ration. However, while they no longer labored in the local fields, the village administration had no objections to them purchasing meat out of pocket at standard commodity rates.
“We should absolutely buy some,” Grandma Sheng agreed. “It’s a holiday, after all. Every household should have a bit of fresh meat to enjoy the festivities.”
The village chief nodded, and noticing how thoroughly exhausted the family looked from their long commute, he handed over the keys. “Go on home and get some rest first. My wife and daughters-in-law swept and aired out the rooms two days ago, so you can move right in.”
“Thank you so much, Chief.”
Grandma Sheng made a mental note to assemble a handsome package of city gifts for the chief’s family before they departed. After all, they had watched over the empty property for decades.
Sheng Wanyan followed her family down the snowy lane to the very edge of the village, where their old home stood. It was a classic three-room mud-brick house enclosed by a quiet courtyard, complete with a utility shed, a front yard, and a back yard. The kitchen and shed occupied the rear space, while the front yard was wide and open, traditionally used for drying laundry.
Inside the utility shed, rows of firewood were stacked in neat, tight walls. Before leaving the previous winter, Grandpa Sheng had wisely left a sum of cash with the village chief, commissioning a few local laborers to gather and cure a massive supply of wood for this very trip. Thanks to his foresight, they wouldn’t have to scramble to forage for fuel in the knee-deep snow.
It was Wanyan’s very first time seeing a traditional brick kang bed, let alone sleeping on one. Mother Sheng opened the built-in wardrobe to retrieve the bedding. The quilts and linens were decades old and had lost all their plush softness, but they served perfectly as heavy base layers to ensure the platform wouldn’t feel too rigid against their backs.
Father and Mother Sheng unpacked the three fresh quilts they had carted from the city, dressed the kang, and organized their luggage.
Once the house was settled, the family headed down to the square to join the excitement. Wanyan had never witnessed a traditional countryside pig slaughter before, and her curiosity was thoroughly piqued.
The moment they reached the clearing, they found the village butcher hard at work. With a practiced movement, he drove his heavy blade into the pig’s neck, utilizing a massive wooden basin to catch the rich blood. Once the carcass was drained, he began expertly cleaving the pork into distinct portions.
The local village matrons crowded the front of the line, every single one of them aggressively maneuvering to secure the cuts carrying the highest content of fat and lard.
“Give me a piece of the belly!” one auntie shouted. “Don’t you dare hand me those trotters!”
In this era of scarcity, lean meat and bone-heavy cuts like pig’s trotters were deeply unpopular because they lacked the precious fat needed to render cooking oil. Everyone craved pure, thick fat.
Wanyan, however, secretly delighted at the sight of the ignored trotters. In her mind, braised or slow-stewed pig’s trotters were an absolute delicacy.
“Mom,” she whispered, leaning into her mother’s ear. “Buy the trotters and the offal—the lungs and the intestines. We can clean them and brew a spectacular soup.”
Mother Sheng nodded understandingly. She stepped forward, counted out her cash, and swept up the massive pile of discarded offal along with a handsome set of trotters.
“And throw in two pounds of the standard belly meat as well,” Mother Sheng added.
Seeing the beautiful, fresh cuts available on the spot, she wasn’t about to pass them up; buying here meant she wouldn’t have to endure the grueling morning queues at the urban supply cooperative later.
The village chief watched her transaction in utter bewilderment. He couldn’t comprehend why a wealthy city worker would squander hard-earned cash on cheap organ meats, but it wasn’t his place to interfere in another family’s domestic choices.
“That will be exactly two yuan,” the chief tallied.
The primary advantage of purchasing directly from the clan was that the transaction required zero state ration coupons, and the prices were locked into the baseline agricultural index.
As Mother Sheng handed over the bills, the surrounding villagers whispered among themselves, entirely critical of her choices. In their minds, spending two whole yuan on useless organ scraps instead of hoarding pure fat was a sign of urban foolishness.
Yet, beneath their mockery lay a deep, burning layer of jealousy. They were intensely envious of the Sheng family’s sheer financial freedom—the fact that they could casually drop two yuan on a whim just to celebrate a holiday. Two yuan represented a fortune that a traditional farming family couldn’t hope to clear even after a full, backbreaking day of field labor. It was a bitter reminder that comparing oneself to the Shengs would only breed resentment.
Mother Sheng paid the gossips no mind. She knew her daughter possessed a magical touch in the kitchen; she was already secretly salivating at the thought of Wanyan’s signature stir-fried spicy pig intestines. When you factored in the braised trotters and a nourishing herbal soup made from the pig lungs, the New Year feast would be unforgettable. Why should she care about the uneducated opinions of the village when her own family’s happiness was at stake?
With the meat secured, the family prepared to march over to Uncle Sheng’s house for the formal New Year’s dinner. Because Grandpa Sheng and his older brother shared an unbreakable bond of blood, custom dictated they celebrate the first night of the spring festival together under one roof, regardless of any underlying historical friction.
Mother Sheng packed the two pounds of premium belly meat, two kilograms of city-bought melon seeds, and two bottles of high-grade liquor to present as their formal holiday offering.
The moment the rural branch of the Sheng clan saw the family cross the threshold balancing such expensive provisions, their initial jealousy melted into eager hospitality. No matter how much private resentment they harbored toward their wealthy city relatives, they understood the value of saving face. After all, Father and Mother Sheng were deeply entrenched in the urban industrial sectors, and their influence might very well prove vital when the time came to secure futures for the village grandchildren.
When Grandma Sheng locked eyes with her sister-in-law, she offered a perfectly measured, polite smile. The older woman could only offer a stiff nod of welcome in return. The two matriarchs had survived endless bitter conflicts during their youthful years as co-daughters-in-law, and the singular reason they could sit at the same table today was out of absolute reverence for the New Year.
The elderly Aunt Sheng stared at Grandma Sheng, taking in her radiant, rosy complexion and the pristine fabric of her custom-tailored winter coat. Though they were virtually identical in age, the physical toll of rural labor had left the elder aunt looking like a frail, broken woman in her late seventies.
Decades ago, the aunt had carried herself with immense pride, constantly gloating over the fact that she had birthed a small army of sturdy agricultural sons while Grandma Sheng had only produced one. Yet today, standing before her urban sister-in-law, all the arrogance of her youth had vanished. She was forced to swallow her pride, use a gentle tone, and cultivate their favor in the desperate hope of securing a bridge to the city for her descendants.
Aunt Sheng understood the cold utility of the relationship perfectly, yet looking at Grandma Sheng’s elegant silhouette, she still found the bitter taste of reality incredibly hard to stomach.
