Faced with Lin Moyang’s question, Shen Youwei’s brows furrowed, and she fell into deep thought.
Seeing this, Lin Moyang didn't press her further and returned to gently securing the tarp on the roof.
However, only a moment later, she cried out, "Ugh… my head… it hurts!"
Shen Youwei clutched her head with both hands. Seeing her in such distress, Lin Moyang hurried over and pulled her gently into his arms. But Shen Youwei was visibly resistant; she struggled, then huddled against the wall, crossing her arms over her chest and gripping her own shoulders, her eyes clouded with confusion.
For as long as she could remember, a dark shadow had been lurking in her mind, impossible to shake. Every time she tried to see that shadow clearly, a splitting headache would follow, suffocating her until she was forced to give up.
"I’m sorry, Xiaowei. I shouldn't have asked you that," Lin Moyang said, feeling a pang of guilt at her devastated state.
At the same time, he realized this was a tricky situation. Shen Youwei must have learned about those arsenides when she was with her biological father. It was only after a series of events led to their separation that she lost her memory. Such psychological trauma required time to heal.
Lin Moyang decided he would first focus on curing her stutter. If she could regain her confidence, her mental resilience would naturally grow stronger.
Shen Youwei seemed not to hear him; she remained huddled in the corner like a kitten trying to heal itself. Lin Moyang didn't disturb her. With the sky growing dark, he moved quickly and efficiently to finish securing the tarp. He filled an aluminum basin with water and set it on the stove he had just lit. Then, he rinsed a ceramic basin, grabbed a kitchen knife, and headed outside.
After placing the basin and the knife on the chopping block next to the Lin Family Old House, Lin Moyang walked to the corner of the yard, crouched by the chicken coop, and gently opened the door. The old hen seemed to sense something; it clucked uneasily and flapped its wings in an attempt to escape. Lin Moyang’s reflexes were sharp—he grabbed its wings and pulled it out. The hen struggled for a moment, but he held it steady.
He returned to the chopping block, pinned the hen down, picked up the knife with his right hand, and held the bird’s head with his left. With a swift, gentle stroke, the blood flowed into the waiting basin. The hen’s struggles gradually faded until it went completely still.
Once the blood was collected, Lin Moyang began to pluck the feathers. He scalded the body with hot water and used his nimble fingers to strip the feathers away with clean, precise motions. Soon, the chicken was plucked clean. He then gutted it and carefully washed the meat.
Shen Youwei stood up from the corner, her eyes slowly clearing. As she watched Lin Moyang’s skillful work, her gaze fell on the processed chicken. Her lips parted: "Moy—Moyang ge, this... this hen could still... still lay eggs every day. If you... kill it, what will we... what will we do later?"
Lin Moyang stopped what he was doing and turned to look at her, his expression tender yet firm. "Don't worry, Xiaowei. This old hen hasn't laid an egg in ages. That’s the only reason that old witch Liu Huiru would have let me have it. It’s perfect—nothing could be better for celebrating our new marriage!"
She had braced herself for a life of hardship when she came here, but she hadn't expected him to be so considerate. She lowered her head, twisting the hem of her shirt, her voice dropping lower. "But... my father... he used to say the same thing. Even when we were poor, he would always make sure I had meat during the holidays. Before he... before he left, he even gave me all his savings."
Memories of the large earthenware bowl her father used to serve her meat in surfaced, even though he now lay buried under six feet of earth. Her voice choked, and tears welled in her eyes.
Lin Moyang felt a pang of heartache. Shen Youwei’s father—her adoptive father—had been her only support. Now that he was gone, her world had nearly collapsed. He picked up the basin of chicken and walked over to her, whispering in her ear: "Don't be sad. I’ll look after you for him from now on. Tomorrow, I’ll head into the mountains to hunt some game and trade it at the black market for money. We’ll have meat at every meal!"
After saying this, he brushed past her and walked into the house. At his words, Shen Youwei couldn't help but think of the dark green uniforms she had seen at the Commune entrance earlier that day, and her eyelids twitched uncontrollably.
Regaining her senses, she followed him into the house, her tone resolute. "I... I will go... with you!"
Lin Moyang paused, surprised for a second, then gave a soft smile. "All right. We’ll go together."
He began to marinate the chicken, stir-fry it in the pan, and add water to stew it. Watching him move with such fluid, practiced ease, Shen Youwei couldn't help but look at him with newfound respect. In this day and age, how many men cooked with such refinement? In the flickering light of the kerosene lamp, her eyes suddenly sparkled as she looked at him.
Meanwhile, in the Lin family’s main room, the air smelled of scorched brown rice. Liu Huiru stuffed a cloth pouch filled with silver dollars into the secret pocket of her trousers, her fingers twisting the blackened cotton thread to pull the opening tight.
On the table where the family had been divided that morning, three chipped bowls held thin congee, and the dish of pickled radish strips in the center had been poked into a mangled mess by their chopsticks.
"Mother, he is the eldest son, after all." Lin Changming frowned, favoring his leg, which had been bruised by a pillar at the old house. "With all this silver, the money meant for the eldest brother's wedding, it should at least..."
Before he could finish, a piece of radish skin was slapped onto his nose.
Liu Huiru glared at him, her face grim. "Still making trouble while you eat? If you hadn't gone to sleep with Widow Wang last night, could that brat have taken so much from the house? This money has to be used to bribe Director Qian so he can get Changsheng a decent job." She glanced sideways at Lin Zhensheng, who was silently shoveling rice into his mouth. "Isn't that right, husband?"
Lin Zhensheng chewed the gritty brown rice, his jaw muscles working. His Adam's apple bobbed twice, and he grunted a sound from his nose: "Mm."
Lin Changming fell silent, but his eyes were filled with resentment. If that pillar hadn't crushed his leg, these silver dollars wouldn't have even been here. Now that he had to watch them stay out of his reach, he felt bitter.
He was about to complain again about being injured by the beam when he suddenly froze on the wooden bench as if struck by lightning. "Do you smell that? The scent of Sichuan peppercorns being fried!"
Four pairs of chopsticks stopped simultaneously at the edges of their bowls. The evening breeze wafted in, carrying the rich, oily aroma of soy sauce, mixed with the mellow fragrance of chicken stewed with dried tangerine peel.
Liu Huiru’s throat spasmed, and her mouth filled with saliva. This wasn't the smell of mere pork cracklings; it was the unmistakable, deep scent of real meat drifting through the cracks in the mud walls.
Lin Changsheng stood up abruptly, his nostrils flaring as he looked toward the east. Finally, his eyes locked onto the direction of the Lin Family Old House, and he knew exactly where the smell was coming from.
"Damn it! It's the second son stewing a chicken! They just split the family at noon, and they’re eating meat by nightfall?"