Chapter 032: Father Chi and Mother Chi

This story is purely fictional.

From a distance, Zhao Ming saw his mother hurrying home. She was walking quickly along the narrow path between the fields, moving so fast that she nearly stumbled.

When she appeared before him, tears welled up in his eyes.

He looked his mother up and down. She held a sickle in her hand, still damp with bits of grass clinging to the blade.

Her face was tanned dark by the sun, beads of sweat trickling down her forehead, deep wrinkles etched into her bronzed features—a testament to the years she had endured.

She wore a shirt that had faded from years of washing, its once red pattern now the color of earth. The fabric had grown thin, and her sleeve fluttered in the breeze. Her long pants were rolled up to her knees, the lower legs stained and soaked with muddy water, and she was barefoot.

Zhao Ming noticed that his mother seemed even thinner than during his last visit, her health diminished from previous years. The realization of his parents growing old filled him with a quiet sorrow.

In his memory, just a few years ago, his mother had been robust and strong, unfazed by any amount of hard farm work. But recently, her strength had waned day by day, and she suffered from unexplained dizziness, which often disturbed her sleep and filled her nights with restless dreams.

Zhao Ming, Du Juan, and Wu Zhengzhe moved forward to greet her. Zhao Ming called out, “Mom.”

Wu Zhengzhe followed, saying, “Hello, Auntie.”

“Oh, Zhengzhe, you’re back as well. How is it that you two decided to come home together today?”

“You don’t know yet?” Wu Zhengzhe began, but Zhao Ming quickly cut him off.

Wu Zhengzhe, catching Zhao Ming’s intention—not to make a fuss—quickly added, “Yes, it’s been a long time since I last visited you. I happened to have some free time, so I came back with Zhao Ming. He’s also here to visit his parents’ graves.”

“Yes, it is time for that. You didn’t come home for Qingming last year, so I tended your parents’ grave for you and burned plenty of paper money for them. Qingming is almost here again. Just a couple days ago, I cleared the weeds around your family’s grave. I thought for sure you would come home this year,” she said, looking at Wu Zhengzhe.

“Where’s Dad?” Zhao Ming asked.

“Oh, he’s been working as a laborer, digging a fish pond for someone.”

“At his age, can he really handle such hard work?” Zhao Ming asked.

“Well, what else can he do? The household still needs some income. While he’s still able to work, he wants to save a little money for old age. We can’t put all our hopes on you children.”

“You have three sons and a daughter. Surely you don’t think you’ll be left with no one to rely on in your old age? Don’t you think that’s a bit harsh? Besides, how much can you really earn digging fish ponds?” Zhao Ming asked.

“Don’t underestimate it. You can earn a hundred or two yuan a day. Just as he finished with that job, your uncle started building a new house, so your father went over to help. I heard today’s the last day. He should be home sometime later,” she replied.

Du Juan, standing to the side, noticed her mother-in-law was barefoot. “Aren’t you afraid of stepping on something sharp?”

“It’s nothing. We’re used to being barefoot all year round. The soles of our feet are tough,” she replied, then took Du Juan’s hand and guided her to stand on smoother ground.

“You know, lately I’ve been thinking about you all the time,” she said. “Just the other day, I dreamt that you were all coming home. I’ve been keeping an old hen in a cage for two days now. I’ll make a pot of chicken soup for you all in a little while.”

Du Juan beamed at the mention of the soup—her favorite was country-style chicken cooked over a wood fire. “That’s wonderful! I love wood-fired chicken soup the most.”

Seeing her delight, Zhao Ming quickly said, “If you like it, have as much as you want.”

“Great, I’ll take some of your share as well,” Du Juan replied, making a playful face.

The group, with Wu Zhengzhe, stood at the doorstep, chatting and laughing. Villagers passing by greeted Zhao Ming and Wu Zhengzhe warmly.

By the river in front of the house, a wooden boat was moored at the bank. Du Juan spotted it and grew excited. “Look, the boat’s right there! I want to go rowing!”

“Want to row? I’ll get the oars for you. Let Zhao Ming and Zhengzhe take you out. Just be careful,” Zhao Ming’s mother said, turning back into the house to fetch the oars.

Handing the oars to Zhao Ming, she said, “You and Zhengzhe take Du Juan for a boat ride. I’m off to the market to buy some pork and liver for lunch.”

With everything arranged, she picked up her basket and set off for the market.

Zhao Ming, at the helm, struggled to control the boat, which rocked from side to side, making Du Juan shriek in fright. “Let Zhengzhe row instead! You’ll have us all in the water at this rate!” she cried, her face pale.

Seeing her fear, Zhengzhe took over the oars. With him rowing, the boat glided smoothly and steadily. “Look at Zhengzhe—he’s a real pro! How can there be such a difference between two people from the same village?” Du Juan laughed.

“Of course! Zhengzhe’s a trained expert. He was on the canoe team at the military academy. How could I compare? He was the all-around champion in the military pentathlon that year. Not many could match him,” Zhao Ming boasted, both praising Zhengzhe and excusing his own lack of skill.

The three of them chatted and laughed as they rowed, and time passed swiftly.

Meanwhile, Zhao Ming’s mother had returned from the market with pork and Zhao Ming’s favorite pig liver, busy preparing lunch in the kitchen.

Sitting at the bow, Zhao Ming glanced back at his house and saw smoke curling from the chimney—the unmistakable sign that his mother was cooking.

“It’s getting late. Let’s go back and see if Auntie needs help,” Wu Zhengzhe said.

“Yes, we should go and lend a hand,” Zhao Ming agreed.

Wu Zhengzhe quickened his strokes, and the boat sped down the river.

Zhao Ming helped Du Juan out of the boat, worried she might slip into the water. After they landed, Wu Zhengzhe stowed the oars and carried them inside.

Zhao Ming went to the kitchen and asked, “Do you need our help?”

“Back already? Did you have fun?” his mother said to Du Juan, who stood at Zhao Ming’s side.

“It was great. But there’s such a difference between Zhao Ming and Zhengzhe’s rowing skills. Didn’t you ever teach Zhao Ming how to row?” Du Juan asked.

“He joined the army right after high school. When would I have had the chance to teach him?” his mother replied.

“No need for you all to stand here—the smoke is too much while I’m cooking. Go out and enjoy the fresh air. I’ll call you when lunch is ready,” she said, pushing Zhao Ming gently.

Zhao Ming took Du Juan’s hand. “Let’s go to the garden and see if there are any fresh vegetables you like. We can pick some to bring back—they’re delicious.”

“Let’s go! If I see anything I like, we’ll bring it back,” Du Juan replied, and after bidding her mother-in-law farewell, she and Zhao Ming walked to the vegetable patch by the fish pond.

The garden wasn’t large, but it provided enough vegetables for daily needs.

Around the plot, branches had been arranged as supports for the climbing beans and cucumbers. The dense growth formed a circle of green. In the center were tomatoes, eggplants, and green peppers.

Half the patch was planted with musk melons—a childhood favorite of Zhao Ming’s. The melons lay on the earth, but it was still too early to eat them; they needed another month to ripen.

“When I was a child, the scent of musk melons filled my grandmother’s garden every June and July. I loved their flavor. But now, even though the melons in the market look the same, they just don’t taste like they used to,” Zhao Ming said to Du Juan.

“That’s true. So many foods taste different now compared to when we were kids. Even the pork from our childhood isn’t the same. Do you know why?” Du Juan asked.

“If I didn’t know, would I still count as someone who grew up in the countryside?” Zhao Ming retorted, then explained, “Pork tastes different now because pigs are raised on feed and fattened quickly, unlike back then when they ate grain husks and wild greens and were only slaughtered after a year or more. Of course, the flavor is different.”

“Then why do you think the musk melons don’t taste the same either?” Du Juan pressed.

“Every species, as it evolves, is subject to human intervention for higher yields and pest resistance. All that grafting and selection changes their quality, and it’s only natural that the shape and flavor change too. Look—the shape of these melons isn’t quite what I remember,” Zhao Ming said, sounding every bit the agricultural expert.

“Look! The tomatoes are still green. Fried green tomatoes with eggs are so tasty,” Du Juan exclaimed, as if she’d made a great discovery.

“I know they’re good, but you might not like them—they have a bit of bitterness,” Zhao Ming said, picking two cucumbers from the trellis.

He handed several green tomatoes to Du Juan. “Here, take these. I’ll make you fried green tomatoes with eggs. We’ll wash the cucumbers and eat them raw—they’re so crisp!”

Du Juan accepted the tomatoes, eyeing the cucumbers in Zhao Ming’s hand and practically drooling.

Wu Zhengzhe, having put the oars away, saw Zhao Ming and Du Juan in the garden and was about to join them when Zhao Ming’s mother called from the kitchen, “Come in for lunch! Zhengzhe, call Zhao Ming and Du Juan back from the garden—it’s time to eat.” (To be continued)