After fleeing the famine, my older sister and I married the brother next door.

The day after the autumn harvest, both the old Chen family house and the new courtyard were unusually quiet until late morning.

The courtyard was quiet. The chickens and ducks in their coops clucked hungryly, and the old ox in the cowshed flicked its tail impatiently. Mother Chen was the first in the family to wake up. She opened her eyes to find bright sunlight streaming through the window paper. Father Chen slept soundly beside her, his snores even. There was no sound from the new house next door.

Mother Chen sat up gently, put on her coat, and felt no resentment whatsoever. For a whole month of autumn harvest, the whole family had been like a fully drawn bow, going to the fields before dawn and returning in the dark. Even the four young children were sensible enough not to cry much. Now that the grain was in the granary, the taut bowstring finally relaxed.

She tiptoed off the bed, first opening the courtyard gate to release the chickens and ducks that had been cooped up all night, then adding some dry hay to the cattle trough. The old ox snorted gratefully, its warm tongue licking her palm. Chen's mother stroked the ox's horns and whispered, "You're exhausted too, take a good rest these next few days."

In the kitchen, she washed the pots, added water, and lit the fire, her movements much lighter than usual. The first breakfast after the autumn harvest didn't need to be rushed like during the busy farming season; it could be prepared more meticulously. She took an old pumpkin from the cellar; when she cut it open, the flesh was a honey-yellow orange. She finely stirred cornmeal into the boiling water, cooked the pumpkin chunks until soft, and a pot of golden porridge simmered, releasing a sweet aroma.

She then scooped two thoroughly pickled salted duck eggs from the pickled vegetable jar, cut them in half, and let the red oil slowly drip down the egg whites. She placed a small earthenware pot on the embers of the stove, cracked two eggs, added warm water and whisked them, covered the pot and steamed them over a low flame—this was for the four children, to make them tender, smooth, and easy to digest.

Once the food was on the table, the others gradually got up. As he fastened his belt, Chen's father peered into the kitchen, his voice still hoarse from sleep: "It's already this late?"

"It's rare to get a full night's sleep, what's the rush?" Chen's mother brought the bowl of porridge to the table. "Wash your faces and eat."

Chen Dashan and Chen Xiaohe came from the new courtyard, their faces still showing signs of sleep, but they were noticeably more relaxed. Su Xiaoyin and Su Xiaoqing each led two children, bringing the four little ones over. Shitou rubbed his eyes, Qingqing was still drowsy on Su Xiaoyin's shoulder, and Aji and Afu were being led by Su Xiaoqing, walking unsteadily.

"Here, we have steamed egg custard today." Mother Chen brought the small earthenware pot to the children. The tender yellow egg custard trembled slightly, and with two drops of sesame oil, it smelled delicious.

Four little heads immediately crowded around. Shi Tou already knew how to use a wooden spoon, scooping up a spoonful, blowing on it for a long time, and then putting it in his mouth. Chen's mother looked at her grandsons, her eyes full of love: "Eat slowly, no one will take it from you."

The family sat around the table, the morning light streaming through the window paper, enjoying a leisurely breakfast.

After taking a couple of sips of his porridge, Chen's father put down the bowl and said seriously, "I'll go to the village head's house later to inquire when the taxes are due. This year's harvest is good; after paying the grain tax, there will be enough left for us to eat for two years."

Chen's mother said, "Then I'll go take a walk in the fields. After the autumn harvest, there must be fallen bean pods and ears of grain in the fields. Picking them up will also yield food."

Su Xiaoyin chimed in, "Mom, we'll go with you. We'll bring the children too; they can play in the fields, it won't be a problem."

"Okay." Chen's mother nodded. "They're all grown up now, it's time for them to go to the fields and learn about the crops."

After breakfast, the family members went about their tasks. Father Chen, carrying his pipe, headed out towards the village head's house in the center of the village. Chen Dashan and Chen Xiaohe spread out mats on the threshing floor and poured out bags of new grain to dry. The golden grains and reddish-brown beans glistened in the autumn sun, rustling as they were raked – the most reassuring sound of farmers.

Carrying a large bamboo basket, Chen's mother led her two daughters-in-law and four children to their fields. On both sides of the road were fields that had just been harvested, the rice stubble neatly arranged, the soil freshly turned over. Several figures in the village were also bent over, picking up scraps in the fields; they were all diligent women.

"Mom, is this the place?" Su Xiaoqing pointed to her family's soybean field, which had just been harvested.

"Hmm, let's start with this." Chen's mother bent down and parted the bean stalks, immediately picking up a few plump beans that had fallen. "How can we harvest 100% clean in the autumn? These fallen ones can be picked up to feed the chickens."

Qingqing and Afu followed behind the adults with their short legs, excitedly picking up every bean they saw and carefully placing it in their basket. Shitou, on the other hand, was more composed, holding Aji's hand and intently watching the ground, looking quite serious.

Watching the children's small figures busy in the field, Su Xiaoyin said softly, "Mom, it's actually a good thing to let them know that food doesn't come easily."

"That's right." Chen's mother straightened up and wiped the fine sweat from her forehead. "Farmers rely on the land for their livelihood, and they must never forget their roots."

---

Chen's father sat at the village head's house for half an hour, and when he returned, he didn't look too good.

Chen Dashan was turning over the grain with a wooden rake when he saw his father enter the yard. He put down what he was doing and asked, "Dad, what did the village head say?"

Chen's father sat down on a stone by the threshing ground, took out his pipe, lit it, took a puff, and then said in a deep voice, "Ten days later, taxes will be paid uniformly. This year, keep enough of the good quality grain for rations, and pay what you owe, without any discounts."

Chen Xiaohe leaned closer: "Dad, what else did the village head say? The way you look..."

"He also said," Chen's father took another drag of his cigarette, his thick eyebrows furrowed, "that after paying the taxes, they might impose corvée labor."

"What?!" Chen Xiaohe's voice suddenly rose. "Didn't we just finish our corvée labor after the Dragon Boat Festival this year? It's only been a few months! And now they're conscripting again?"

Chen Dashan frowned as well: "Dad, is it a county-wide conscription, or just a portion of the population? What kind of work will they be doing?"

"It's not finalized yet." Chen's father tapped his pipe. "It's the new magistrate's decision. The specific work sections, the construction period, and how many people to recruit are all under discussion. The village head told us to be prepared."

Chen Xiaohe asked anxiously, "Then can we do it like this year and pay with silver?"

Father Chen shook his head: "It's still hard to say. The new official has no background, and we don't know if he's corrupt or harsh. If he still allows us to pay, our family can grit our teeth and pay; if he doesn't, we'll have to send someone..." He didn't finish his sentence, but his gaze had already fallen on Chen Dashan's injured leg.