RBI1960 Chapter 8

The first ones up in the Jiang household were Granny Miao and Da-Ni. Granny Miao never trusted anyone else to handle the kitchen—she was convinced the girls would sneak bites while cooking. If she could, she’d measure every family member’s food with a ruler, just to make sure not a single grain was wasted.

Every morning, Da-Ni’s job was to help Granny Miao light the stove. Once the fire was going, Granny Miao would give her two rough grain buns, each about the size of a baby’s fist. That was breakfast for all four sisters.

Grain back then wasn’t processed like it is today. It wasn’t soft or sweet. The cornmeal they had was ground at home with a stone mill, and no one had the time to grind it fine. Even rice was milled with the husks still on.

To make the buns more filling, they were mixed with lots of wild vegetables. The result was a hard, lumpy mass that scratched the throat going down, like chewing on sand.

Every day, Da-Ni would take the two buns and boil them into a porridge. It went down easier that way—and besides, the youngest, Si-Ni, could only eat soft, liquid food.

Just thinking of her baby sister made Da-Ni’s eyes dim. When Si-Ni was one, their mother got pregnant again. Her already scarce breast milk dried up completely. And Granny Miao? There was no way she was going to spend five cents a day for milk from the local farm. That tiny girl had survived on nothing but boiled cornmeal mash. Now two years old, she hardly looked any bigger than her newborn baby brother.

But thinking about the fall harvest gave Da-Ni a sliver of hope—she could start school then. Once she graduated, she’d find work and earn money. She’d buy her little sisters as many white flour buns as they wanted.

Granny Miao finished handing out breakfast without caring if her granddaughter ate it dry or turned it into porridge. She had to cook a proper meal for the family’s “pillars”—the men.

The jar of cornmeal was nearly empty, and there was still over a month to go before the mid-year grain ration arrived. Fortunately, Old Jiang’s monthly subsidy would come in a few days. That would help tide them over.

As she stirred the pot, Granny Miao mentally budgeted everything: Jiangcheng’s thirty-something yuan stipend, the forty-five jin grain ration, a half jin of meat tickets, and two feet of fabric coupons. If she calculated it right, she might even have enough cloth left to make a few cotton bibs for her precious grandson—something light and cool for the summer.

Since she never expected her daughter-in-law to actually give birth to a boy, all the clothes were old hand-me-downs from Da-Ni and her sisters—patched to death and so washed-out the colors had faded to pale gray.

But to Granny Miao, her darling grandson couldn’t wear what a bunch of girls had used up! Back when the second son’s kids were born, she and Old Jiang each pitched in for a new outfit. And this was the eldest son’s only child! Of course, he had to have more than his cousins.

She liked her eldest son more than the second—naturally, she doted more on his son too. And this grandson was the one she had hoped and prayed for. Her feelings for him were like no other.

Miao Sanfeng, content with her financial planning, carefully removed the freshly steamed egg custard from the stove. She sprinkled chopped scallions on top—an aroma so rich and tempting that Da-Ni, who was still squatting by the stove stirring her porridge, couldn’t help but swallow her saliva.

“Take this to your mother,” Granny Miao said sternly, her face tight. She still hadn’t gotten over the fact that these girls were going to school, her expression sourer than a donkey’s behind.

Obediently, Jiang Da-Ni fetched a tray, gently placed the egg custard on it, grabbed a few bowls and chopsticks, and added a bowl of wild veggie cornmeal porridge. She carefully carried everything into the other room.

The sisters never ate at the table. Granny Miao’s pickled vegetables were reserved strictly for the men, and the girls never got a bite. So they always ate in their room.

When Da-Ni entered, the rest of the family was already awake.

Jiang Dahai was still groggy, his hair a mess. He looked down at his son, who was half-asleep nursing, and broke into a wide smile. His big palm playfully patted the baby’s chubby little butt.

“Waaahhh!” Little Jiang Laidi immediately burst into tears, milk forgotten, wide awake in an instant. Even though he was a boy now, his soul still carried the instincts of his former life as a woman—and that slap set him off.

“Look what you’ve done! He was nursing just fine!” Gu Dongmei scolded, giving her husband several punches in the chest while cradling the crying baby, cooing to calm him down.

Jiang Dahai was completely flustered. He had just touched the kid and somehow made him cry. He had no idea what to do.

“Mom, let me soothe the baby. Grandma made you steamed egg custard—eat it while it’s hot,” Da-Ni said as she set the tray on the table by the bed and gently took the baby from her mother.

Little Laidi shifted into a more comfortable position in his sister’s arms and quickly stopped crying.

“Da-Ni always knows what to do,” Jiang Dahai grinned proudly at his daughter.

“You need to stop bothering the baby,” Gu Dongmei huffed, shooting him a glare. She scooped half the custard into the cornmeal porridge, stirred it thoroughly. The dark yellow mash didn’t look any different, even with the custard mixed in.

“Mom—” Da-Ni started to say something, but Gu Dongmei shot her a look and pointed toward the curtain. Da-Ni immediately shut her mouth.

Jiang Dahai quietly finished dressing, gave each of his daughters a gentle pat on the head, and left the room.

Laidi, observing everything, suddenly had an idea: Why hadn’t he thought to secretly mix things into the food before? Maybe once everyone was asleep, he could try using his spiritual powers to manipulate the items in his space and sneak something into the porridge.

“Why did I hear my precious grandson crying just now?” Old Jiang asked as he slurped his porridge and picked at some pickled vegetables.

“It was my fault. I teased him and made him cry. Da-Ni just got him calmed down. That kid loves his sisters—nothing we do works,” Jiang Dahai said, sitting across from his father with a bowl of hot porridge in hand.

“Well, it’s their job as older sisters to help with the baby,” the old man said, his frown easing a bit. For the first time, he felt a tinge of fondness for the granddaughters he usually ignored.

“Dad, when are you going to the educated youth dorm?” Jiang Dahai asked eagerly. His son didn’t even have a name yet—was he supposed to go around calling him “Little Guy” forever?

“What’s the rush?” the old man said without looking up. He finished his porridge in one gulp. “Let an old man rest. Those city youth don’t wake up as early as we country folk. Show up too early, and they’ll just give you the stink eye.”

He reached for the pipe at his waist, thought about it, then put it back. Better to smoke outside.

The village had been assigned four educated youth, but none of them were good at farm work. Otherwise, the Red Flag commune wouldn’t have dumped them here. Two were from Haicheng—a far more developed city than this backwater village—and they’d been complaining nonstop since they arrived. One southern girl couldn’t stomach the local food and had taken to bed. She was still sick and couldn’t work at all.

The villagers were fed up. Were these kids here to help or to be worshipped?

Only the young man from the capital had earned some praise. He was quiet and bookish, polite and hardworking, though weak and clumsy. But he went to the fields every day with everyone else. Just fifteen or sixteen, gentle-looking, and always greeted the elders with “Uncle” or “Auntie.” When he couldn’t finish his tasks, people even helped him out.

That was the one Old Jiang needed to find.

He wasn’t going to the fields today. Hands clasped behind his back, he walked slowly toward the youth dorms, greeting everyone he passed. Most congratulated him on his new grandson.

“Grandpa! Grandpa!” Ai Guo and Ai Dang spotted him on their way to school and ran over.

“Grandpa, give us some money! We want to buy snacks!” they whined, tugging on his clothes. One of his legs was bad—he couldn’t handle that kind of pulling and nearly toppled over.

Ai Guo, his eldest grandson, was six. Ai Dang was two years younger. Because they’d never known hunger, they were healthier and plumper than other village kids. Old Jiang had always spoiled them. But now, their unruly behavior made his face darken.

He’d fought the Japanese in the war, killed his share of enemies. When he scowled, the force of it scared the boys stiff. They stopped pulling at once.

“Grandpa, give me money! I want to buy fruit peels!” Ai Guo insisted again, emboldened by past spoiling.

His mom had told him: Grandpa’s got money. Ask him for some—or else it’ll all go to that little bastard born to the eldest son.

Old Jiang frowned, patted his pockets. He hadn’t brought a single coin today. In the past, he’d wanted to pass one of these grandsons to his eldest son to raise, so he’d spoiled them with five or ten cents here and there for snacks from the county store.

Back then, he hadn’t noticed how the once sweet boys had turned into little tyrants.

They were still young. He had to fix this before it was too late.

“It’s a school day,” he said sternly. “Why are you asking for money instead of heading to class? I’ll give you some during the holidays.”

In this village, kids didn’t get pocket money. That was a city luxury. Old Jiang already felt he was more generous than most.

But Ai Guo didn’t see it that way. Mom was right, he thought bitterly. Grandpa only cares about that bastard cousin now. He yanked Ai Dang’s hand and ran off without even saying goodbye.

“You old bastard! Don’t expect me to take care of your funeral when you’re dying!” he yelled once they were out of reach.

Those venomous words from such a cherubic child—he couldn’t have come up with them himself. Adults must have taught him.

Old Jiang was shaking with rage. Pointing a trembling finger at the boys’ backs, he stood there speechless.