Old Lady Li’s given name was Li Baoying. In her youth, she had been a whirlwind of a woman—decisive, headstrong, and the undisputed master of everything that happened in her household, big or small.
Now, she was old, and her leg was shattered, leaving her to linger in bed, waiting for the end.
This was an ordinary farmhouse. The courtyard held a main building with five rooms, a west wing with two rooms, and a dry latrine. Li Baoying lay in the easternmost room of the main building, eyes closed in exhaustion. That morning, she had managed only half a bowl of watery porridge, so thin one could see their own reflection in it; she had eaten nothing else.
Truth be told, she hadn't tasted a proper steamed bun since the day she broke her leg.
The bedding was damp, and a foul stench permeated the room. She calculated that it would be another five or six days before her daughter could come by to change her clothes and linens. After all, her daughter was busy at her husband's home, where she had children and in-laws to attend to.
Her stomach rumbled incessantly. She was so hungry she couldn't even summon the strength to make a sound. In a trance, she saw someone approaching with a bowl, and a surge of excitement stirred within her.
A rich, meaty fragrance drifted from the bowl.
As the person drew closer, she realized it was her eldest son, Zhang Jintian, who had died young!
His appearance hadn't changed at all. He still looked like a fifteen-year-old boy, his face as gentle as jade, his eyes crinkling with a smile.
She wanted to reach out and hold him, to ask, "Son, did it hurt when you left us?"
"Have you come to take me with you?"
Alas, she could not move her hands, nor could she speak. She was starving.
Her eldest son had always been her pride. From a young age, he had been clever, handsome, and brilliant at his studies. Of the four children she had birthed, he was the only one who truly excelled at reading and the only one in the family with a real chance at getting into university.
Who in the village didn't envy her for having been blessed with such a precious son?
But he hadn't been spared.
That year, every family in the village was poor. Her eldest son was only fifteen. In an era where everyone was struggling just to put food on the table, the worst thing you could do was get sick—but he did.
Jintian suddenly developed a cough and fever. The village doctor suspected a lung disease—tuberculosis or the like.
It was an incurable condition unless one could afford high-quality food, tonics, and long-term medication. Worst of all, it was contagious.
At the time, a family of six was crammed into a few thatched huts. To isolate him, they had to build a makeshift straw shed outside.
During the day, the family had to work the fields to earn work points; they could only build the shed in their spare time at night.
The family tightened their belts even further, all to buy medicine and nutrients for Jintian.
That night, the sky was thick with dark clouds. Li Baoying had returned from the village doctor's with her heart pounding, a sense of impending doom looming over her.
Her husband should have been out in their private vegetable plot. The other children should have been asleep, especially Jintian, who was too frail to stay up late.
Just as she neared the house, the rain began to pour. Drenched, Old Lady Li dashed into the courtyard.
A sudden thunderclap, accompanied by a flash of lightning, lit up the night sky. There, hanging from the big tree in the yard, was a person, swaying to and fro!
The medicine dropped from Old Lady Li's hands. She ran toward the tree like a madwoman, grabbing hold of her eldest son’s dangling legs...
By the time they got him down, he was already breathless. Her second son read his suicide note aloud.
He said he didn't want to be a burden on the family, that this illness could never be cured.
He told his younger brother that their parents were now in his and their third brother's hands, and that he was leaving first.
He said, "Mom, Dad, I'm sorry. Let me be your child again in the next life."
Beneath him lay a pool of blood.
Li Baoying had been lost in a fog ever since. She couldn't understand why such an excellent son had to leave them like that. What sin had she committed for the heavens to punish her so?
After burying her eldest son, she lost her mind for two years, running out every day in a frenzy to find him. Sometimes, she would wake in the dead of night and run out without her clothes on, until Old Man Zhang, exhausted, had to tie her up to keep her from wandering.
It wasn't until she ran out and smashed her head against a wall two years later that she finally regained her senses.
From then on, she poured all her love into her youngest son. No matter what others said, she didn't care, because she saw the shadow of her eldest son in him.
Zhang Jintian walked to her side, bowl in hand, and said, "Mom, you must be hungry. I brought you some meat. Eat up."
He picked up the chopsticks and fed her a piece.
"Mom, is it good?"
Old Lady Li ate the meat, her heart overflowing with excitement.
"It's good," she whispered. She realized she could speak; clearly, the meat had given her strength.
"My third brother is truly wicked to treat you this way. It's all my fault. I shouldn't have gotten sick and left you." Her eldest son said, his eyes tearing up in sorrow.
"Son, you aren't leaving again, are you? Mom misses you so much." Li Baoying wept as well.
Once the bowl of meat was finished, Zhang Jintian sat down and took her hand. "Mom, I can't stay. I have things to do. I only came back to see you this time, but don't worry—I'll come again!"
Before Li Baoying could even feel the warmth of her son's hand, he vanished, along with the empty bowl.
She felt as though she had dreamt a long, beautiful dream, one that held her eldest son, her second son, and her daughter.
"Oldest, go feed your grandmother!" Her youngest daughter-in-law's voice drifted in from outside.
Old Lady Li’s mind cleared for a moment. She listened intently, thinking she would soon have more food; she hadn't been satisfied by the meat, having only tasted its flavor.
"Oldest" was her fifteen-year-old grandson.
"I’m not going. The smell inside is disgusting. Grandma is always shitting and pissing herself—it stinks!" the eldest grandson shouted, full of contempt.
Li Baoying’s expression dimmed, a flash of shame crossing her face.
She had once been healthy. In the past, she had raised her eldest grandson, youngest grandson, and granddaughter with her own hands, saving all the best food and drink for them, and hoarding things away from the children of her second son.
Well, even the fingers of a hand aren't all the same length; wasn't it normal to play favorites? Fortunately, her second son’s family was sensible and rarely visited except for the holidays, otherwise, she would have had to guard her food from them too.
"Second, if your brother won't go, you go!" the youngest daughter-in-law shouted again.
"I'm not going! I hate the smell too!" the youngest grandson refused as well.
Old Lady Li’s complexion turned visibly ashen. That leg of hers had been broken precisely because she had slipped while trying to pull that very grandson out of the way! Even he looked down on her now?
"Second, your grandmother only fell because she was trying to help you. It won't kill you to feed her. Go!" her youngest son commanded.
The ten-year-old grandson lifted his head and said, "I never asked her to pull me. She fell on her own. Don't pin that on me."
"Exactly. Don't go making it sound like my son caused his grandmother’s injury. He’s still a child; he can't be held responsible for that," the youngest daughter-in-law sneered.
"Fine, whatever you say. Third, you go," her youngest son directed his youngest daughter. Why didn't he go himself? Because he couldn't stand the stench either. Her daughter only came by to clean up every few days, and the room must be unbearable by now.
Eight-year-old Zhang Xiaoya, hearing her father’s order, could only grab the half-bowl of porridge with resentment and walk inside. This was just the leftover porridge from the morning, saved specifically for her grandmother. *Good grief, she’s already like this, why hasn't she just died yet?*
As soon as she entered the room, Zhang Xiaoya waved her hand in disgust and trudged with difficulty toward her grandmother’s bedside.