Chapter 17: Gourmet Zhou Si Nian (Part One)

The commune's front courtyard was in an uproar. The older educated youth took an oil lamp and led the three with pig-head-like swollen faces back inside. Noticing their clothes were still tidy and they showed no sign of preparing for bed, Zhang Xiaojun realized they had been dealt with. But the pain was too intense for any other concerns right now.

The elder examined them by the light, analyzing their injuries.
“This time they really got beaten badly, tsk tsk, must hurt like hell.”
“Yeah, even the girl hit hard this time. Before, the girls used to go easier on them.”
“Hey, where’s that other short one?”
Ming Dai, in her heart: Your whole family’s short!
“No idea. Did they kill her?”
“Should we go check?”
“I’m not going! You go!”
Fang Mingyang’s eyes flickered, but he said nothing.

In the end, nobody went to check on Ming Dai. Fang Mingyang lay in the mud-brick house, thinking of the spacious tile-roofed house in the back. If Zhou Sinian had really killed someone, he’d probably be sent away, right? Then maybe they could move in there.

Since they’d been thrown out, Liu Daye and his two companions had no bedding and had to borrow padded jackets from the others to get through the night. Low, hoarse groans and cries of pain sounded throughout, but no one felt annoyed or disturbed.
They fell asleep to those sounds, regaining the balance they’d once lost.

The next morning, someone in the front courtyard got up early, poking their head out to check the back, but nobody dared circle around the screen wall to look. Ming Dai had also woken up, washed in her space first, then got off the heated brick bed and neatly folded her bedding. With those troublemakers gone, she could finally tidy up her room tonight.

But first, she needed to solve the firewood problem.

Stepping outside, she surveyed the still messy little yard. Heading into the kitchen, she saw that after Liu Daye's group had eaten last night, they hadn’t washed the pot, though they’d scraped the food clean. Absolutely shameless! She glanced at the pile of firewood on the ground—most of it looked freshly chopped, probably by Zhou Sinian yesterday. The water vat was empty too; apparently, the three hadn’t refilled it before leaving.

After a moment’s thought, she turned towards the eastern wing. Facing the tightly shut door, she knocked.
“Can I use your firewood in the kitchen? I’ll make breakfast and share it with you.”
No answer.

She knocked again and repeated her request.
“I’ll return the firewood tonight. If you don’t come out, I’ll take it as consent, okay?”

Still no response. Ming Dai turned and went to the kitchen. She took the damp firewood and set it in a corner to dry, picked up a water bucket, and headed to the well at the edge of the yard.

The house had its own well—previously, the educated youth often came to fetch water here. After Zhou Sinian occupied the place, none of them dared come anymore and had to fetch water from the village instead. That was one reason they wanted Zhou Sinian gone.

The well wasn’t frozen yet, and the sound of the bucket hitting the water was especially clear in the morning stillness. She only drew half a bucket at a time—her body had improved, but she still lacked strength. Since she planned to gather firewood on the mountain later, she didn’t fetch much. Even so, after four or five trips, she was exhausted, but at least got the pot washed.

She tidied the stove, scooped out the ashes and dumped them in a corner, making it much easier to light. After adding water, Ming Dai clapped her hands. Fortunately, she’d experienced rural life during a previous trip; otherwise, she wouldn’t even know how to start a fire.

She pumped the bellows to feed the flames, added more firewood, and let it burn. Then she went back to her room to bring the food she’d received yesterday into the kitchen.

Just as she set the food down, a shadow loomed at the kitchen door. Ming Dai looked up to see a tall, gaunt man—easily over six feet—staring at her. This was Zhou Sinian.

He was extremely thin, skin stretched tight over bone, his face distorted and sharp. Yet he was very clean. His hair looked as if a dog had chewed it, but wasn’t messy or greasy. His clothes were ragged, with cotton wadding poking out of many tears, but they were spotless, albeit uneven in color.

Something was off!