Chapter Forty-Six: The Butcher’s Feast and the Debt of Gratitude

As the end of the year approached, the snow-covered village grew more lively. Every household began slaughtering pigs for the New Year—a grand tradition in Northeastern rural communities, marking the most important event of the year.

On the day the village chief, Brother Sun, slaughtered his pig, the sky was still dark, yet the courtyard was already crowded. The men held the pig down, heated water, and scraped off the hair; meanwhile, the women inside prepared sauerkraut and blood sausage. The entire village was suffused with a festive aroma—a mingling of meat and firewood.

“Doctor Jiang! Yi Yi! Don’t just stand there, come in and sit!” Sister Sun, quick and sharp-eyed, spotted us at the door and called out warmly.

Inside, neighbors who had come to lend a hand were already gathered around the heated kang, chatting as their hands busily worked.

“Doctor Jiang, you’re too thin! You need to eat more meat!” an uncle said, slapping my shoulder.

“That’s right! Look at Yi Yi’s little face—she needs to eat more of our delicious pork to grow strong!” another aunt chimed in.

They pressed me down onto the kang and stuffed a handful of sunflower seeds into my hands. Yi Yi was pulled aside by several aunties, who taught her how to fill blood sausages. At first, she was a bit frightened, but soon she was swept along by the bustling energy, clumsily learning the process.

At noon, the most authentic slaughtered pig dishes were served. Huge slices of pork belly, sauerkraut, and blood sausage, all heaped into a vast basin and placed on the table. No delicate bowls or plates—just big basins and bowls, exuding a hearty sense of abundance.

“Come on, don’t be shy, eat your fill!” Brother Sun raised his glass. “Doctor Jiang, you don’t drink, so tea for you! On behalf of the whole village, thank you for these past months—treating our illnesses and saving us so much trouble!”

“Yes, Doctor Jiang, my old rheumatic leg hasn’t acted up at all this winter, thanks to your ointment!”

“And my boy, last time he had a high fever—if you hadn’t come at midnight to give him an injection, he’d have been in real trouble!”

The villagers spoke up one after another, sharing small stories from their lives, but the gratitude was genuine and heartfelt.

I raised my teacup, feeling warmth inside. What I did was simply my duty as a healer, but to them, it was a kindness worth remembering.

After the meal, Sister Sun insisted on packing us a large piece of the best pork belly and a whole blood sausage.

“Sister Sun, we’ve already eaten. How can we take anything more?” I hurried to refuse.

“You’re too stubborn!” she pushed the packages into my arms. “You treat us, and sometimes we can’t pay, but you never complain. What’s a bit of pork? If you don’t take it, you’re looking down on me!”

In the Northeast, “favor” is a currency more valuable than money. If you help me once, I remember it and always look for a chance to repay you. This exchange of favors isn’t a burden, but rather a series of warm threads binding the village together.

Carrying the heavy pork along the snowy path home, Yi Yi suddenly said, “Dad, I think I’m starting to like it here.”

I smiled. “Why?”

“Everyone here seems to have a fire in their hearts. When you get close, you feel warm,” she said earnestly.

Yes, a fire.

The next day, Yi Yi sat at the kang table reading. The curtain fluttered and Grandpa Wang, who delivered tofu, came in.

“Yi Yi, studying again? Let Grandpa test you!” He set down the tofu and plopped onto the edge of the kang, pointing at her homework. “What’s this—triangles and circles—what’s the use? Can it get me two kilos of bean oil?”

Yi Yi was startled and explained carefully, “Grandpa Wang, this is geometry. It trains logical thinking. Later, when building houses or bridges, it’s very useful.”

“Building houses? Our log cabins are built by eye, and I’ve never seen anyone’s house crooked!” Grandpa Wang scoffed.

Just then, Carpenter Li, who’d come for ointment, joined in. “Hey, that’s not right! When I make carved window frames, I need to measure the angles; otherwise, the joints won’t fit. Isn’t that geometry?”

“Yes, yes!” Yi Yi, finding an ally, nodded enthusiastically.

“What’s the use? In the end, you still rely on your hands!” Grandpa Wang insisted.

So, a lively debate erupted on the kang in my little clinic: one championing “practical experience,” the other defending “theory guiding practice,” both arguing with gusto.

I sat to the side, listening with a smile, not intervening.

Scenes like this played out daily at the "Guandong Clinic."

When Yi Yi read history, Sister Sun would come over, saying, “Oh, that First Emperor of Qin—what a fuss, building the Great Wall! Wouldn’t it be better to build more kangs so folks wouldn’t freeze in winter?”

When Yi Yi read biology, the village chief pointed at the cell diagrams, “This thing isn’t even as big as the mosquitoes I swat—why study it? Better to figure out how to get more grain from our black soil!”

They used the most direct, simple life experience to deconstruct the knowledge in Yi Yi’s books. These “crooked arguments,” though rough, brimmed with wisdom and the warmth of daily life.

It taught Yi Yi that knowledge isn’t just cold words and formulas on the page—it must return to life and serve people.

She began learning to use language they could understand to explain complex ideas.

“Grandpa Wang, if you calculate geometry precisely, you save materials when building tall buildings. The money saved can buy lots of bean oil!”

“Sister Sun, because the First Emperor built the Great Wall, he kept northern invaders out, so we can stay warm and safe at home.”

“Uncle Village Chief, by studying cells, we learn why crops get sick—so in the future, we can prevent losses and even increase yields!”

Back and forth, Yi Yi not only honed her eloquence, but also learned how to communicate with different people, connecting abstract knowledge to concrete life.

This was a priceless lesson no school could teach her.

Watching her on the kang, debating with a group of elders until her cheeks flushed, yet laughter shone in her eyes—the once melancholy girl from the rainy alleys of the south had been completely healed by the sunshine and warmth of the north.