Chapter 45: Snowy Northern Village, A New Journey

When we returned home, Yi Yi had cried herself into a flood of tears.

I did not try to comfort her; I simply handed her a cup of warm water and let her lean against me, venting her sorrow as much as she wished.

It was a long time before her sobbing gradually subsided.

"Father, my heart... it hurts so much," she choked out.

"Yes, I know," I gently stroked her back. "Write it down. This feeling is also a part of life. No matter what you face in the future, nothing will ever feel as painful as today."

She nodded, her emotions slowly settling.

Gazing out into the deep darkness beyond the window, I asked, "Alright, my little crybaby. Now, tell me, where do you want to go next?"

Yi Yi lifted her swollen, red eyes and thought for a moment. The gentle beauty of the south had awakened her first stirrings of affection and let her taste the sorrow of parting. Perhaps, instinctively, she wanted to go somewhere completely different, to let an extreme landscape wash away the sadness in her heart.

"Father," she whispered, "I want to see snow—the kind that turns the whole world white, thick and heavy. I want to go to the Northeast."

"Alright," I agreed with a smile. "Then we'll go to the Northeast, to witness a thousand miles sealed in ice and ten thousand miles of drifting snow."

Before dawn the next day, Yi Yi and I quietly left Andu Town.

We told no one.

Heading north, the scenery outside the car window changed from graceful waterways to vast plains, then to endless forests.

As the first winter snow fell, we arrived at our destination—a small village deep in the mountains, known by locals as the "Snow Village."

We parked at the entrance to the village. Opening the car door, a sharp, crisp cold wind rushed in. Looking out, the world was covered in thick, flawless snow. On rooftops, treetops, and fences, adorable, round snow mushrooms piled up. All was silent between heaven and earth, broken only by the soft rustle of falling snowflakes.

"Wow..." Yi Yi stepped out of the car. Seeing this fairy-tale white world, the sorrow of parting in her eyes was replaced by immense wonder and excitement. She stretched out her hand to catch a snowflake, feeling its icy chill melt in her palm.

She turned to look at me, and at last, a radiant smile appeared on her face.

"Father, it's so beautiful here!"

I looked at her cheeks, flushed from the cold, and her eyes, bright once more, and felt a peace settle within me.

Yi Yi ultimately decided not to return to school.

Lin Mo's story was like a tiny thorn lodged in her heart. She feared facing such inevitable separation again, and instinctively resisted joining her peers.

I did not object. For our long lives, acquiring knowledge was never a problem; what she needed was life experience. I ordered a stack of books online that matched her interests, filling half the kang with them. Her "classroom" was moved from the schoolroom to the warm kang in the "Guandong Medical Hall."

Each morning, she would sit at the table on the kang and read with earnestness. Outside, the temperature plunged to minus twenty or thirty degrees, while inside it was as warm as spring. I busied myself sorting medicinal herbs or treating villagers who came by, occasionally helping her with a question—life was tranquil and gentle.

That afternoon, Auntie Zhang from next door came in carrying a basin filled with a few dark, hard objects.

"Yi Yi, come try our frozen pears!"

Yi Yi picked one up curiously. It was so cold she shivered, as hard as a rock. "Grandma Zhang, how do you eat this?"

"Silly girl!" Auntie Zhang laughed. "Soak it in cold water to soften it first! Remember, never use hot water or you'll ruin it!"

She taught Yi Yi to soak the frozen pears in a basin of water. Soon, a thin layer of ice formed around the fruit. Breaking the ice shell, the flesh inside was now soft. Yi Yi copied Auntie Zhang, biting a small opening and sucking hard. Sweet, icy pear juice flooded her mouth—a taste beyond description.

"So sweet!" Yi Yi's eyes sparkled.

"Of course!" Auntie Zhang said proudly. "You have to freeze it through to enjoy it. Here in the Northeast, everything good to eat gets left outside to freeze—the outdoors is our natural refrigerator!"

She pointed out the window, and I saw that every household's windowsills and yards were stacked with frozen tofu, frozen soy buns, even a few lonely popsicles stuck upright in the snow.

"In this freezing weather, they still eat popsicles?" I was puzzled.

"Doctor Jiang, you don’t get it," said Brother Sun, the village chief, who happened to come in for a consultation, laughing heartily. "Here we believe in fighting cold with cold! The colder it is outside, the hotter the kang inside gets. Eating a popsicle gives you 'chilling coolness that lifts the spirit'—it’s fantastic!"

This way of living was completely outside my southern experience.

What surprised me and Yi Yi even more was the Northeast's "bathhouse culture."

Sister Sun said, seeing we were new, that we would not be used to washing in the tiny space at home, insisting on taking us to the town bathhouse for a proper scrub.

"Don't worry, men and women are separated! Your Brother Sun will take you," she winked at me.

So, for the first time in my life, I stepped into a Northeast public bathhouse. The steaming pools, the cries of the bath attendants, and the burly men chatting bare-chested all gave this reclusive "old eccentric" a bit of culture shock.

Yi Yi, on her side, clearly had her own "baptism."

Afterwards, her face was bright red as she whispered to me, "Father, Sister Sun said the stuff scrubbed off in the bath is called 'scurf.' They even compete to see who has more... And there was an auntie setting off 'big sparklers' in the bathhouse!"

"Big sparklers?" I was taken aback.

"Yes... the handheld fireworks that crackle and spark!" Yi Yi gestured, her expression incredulous. "They said it's for New Year’s cheer—setting them off in the bathhouse is warm and safe!"

I pictured the scene: a group of people in a steamy bathhouse, scrubbing and watching fireworks...

I couldn't help but laugh.

Here, on this black earth, people have a talent for making the most ordinary days vibrant and full of life. Their joy is simple, direct, and wonderfully infectious.