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

These days, the Zhang sisters are becoming increasingly aware that they were wrong.

Shi Tou and A Ji visibly increased their visits to the village. Before, they were lucky to come back once a month, but now they were coming home every few days. Sometimes they brought the children, sometimes they came alone. They didn't stay idle; they rolled up their sleeves and got to work—weeding, fertilizing, repairing farm tools—doing everything, as if trying to make up for all the chores they'd neglected over the years. Zhang Qiuming initially didn't pay much attention, thinking they were just helping out during the spring harvest. But as the visits became more frequent, she slowly realized—Shi Tou wasn't helping; he was "making up." Making up for the years he'd neglected his family, making up for all the sacrifices he'd taken for granted without ever reciprocating.

She told Zhang Yuming what she had said. Zhang Yuming was silent for a while, then said that she had noticed it too, and so had Aji. The two men were not talkative, but every time they came back and finished their work, when they sat in the yard drinking water, their gazes fell on their parents and grandparents with a deeper meaning than before. She paused, her voice lowering slightly: "We used to think the Chen family was good because their in-laws were good, their sisters-in-law were good, and their lives were good. But we never thought that this goodness didn't fall from the sky; it was something they kept giving, and we kept taking. Not only did we never repay them, but we also took it for granted." Zhang Qiuming didn't reply; the needle in her hand stopped in mid-air, the thread swaying back and forth in the sunlight, as if unsure where to fall.

They remembered when they married into the Chen family, Chen's mother held their hands and said, "Once you're in the Chen family, you're a daughter of the Chen family. Don't be afraid, no one will bully you." At the time, they thought it was just polite talk, but over the years, Chen's mother had never let them suffer any injustice. When they gave birth to twins, Chen's mother stayed outside the delivery room all night, only being helped back home by Chen's father at dawn. All their postpartum meals were made by Chen's mother herself; she wouldn't let anyone else do a single meal. They were orphans, without any family support, but the Chen family never used that as an excuse. Zhang Qiuming remembered one night when her child had a fever, she cried anxiously. Chen's mother came over, put on her clothes, and without a word, took the child and told her to go back to sleep. She lay in bed, tossing and turning, unable to sleep, hearing Chen's mother gently soothing the child in the next room, changing the baby's towel—so gentle, so patient. She closed her eyes, tears sliding from the corners of her eyes into the pillow, without making a sound. Where could she find such a good in-law family?

After figuring things out, they started going back more often. Sometimes Shi Tou and A Ji would leave first, and they would follow with the children. Even if they couldn't go back at the last minute, they would buy some easily digestible pastries beforehand, or go to the butcher to buy two pounds of pork belly and a jar of sweet soup to have someone take it back. The things weren't expensive, but they were all a token of their affection; they wouldn't just take things and leave nothing behind like before. Although the family relationship couldn't return to the days of open communication, this comfortable distance was actually quite good. Su Xiaoyin wasn't cold or indifferent to them, but she always offered them food, asked about their well-being, and provided the necessary courtesy. They knew that this was a matter of time and couldn't be rushed.

Shi Tou and Aji gradually came to understand some things. Shi Tou sat behind his desk at the county school, grading students' assignments. Halfway through, he suddenly stopped, staring blankly out the window. He was thinking that all these years he had been moving forward, taking the imperial examinations to become a scholar, then a provincial graduate, then opening a school—step by step, steadily and surely, but he had forgotten to look back. He had forgotten who had slipped him money for his travel expenses to the examinations, who had brought him hot soup when he failed, who had taken care of the family for him. Those things he had taken for granted were not something to be taken for granted.

Aji looked up from the piles of files in the yamen, gazing at the darkening sky outside the window. He put down his pen, tapping his fingers twice on the edge of the table, making a soft, rhythmic sound, as if trying to nail something into his heart. Then he stood up, walked to the door, and told the clerk, "I'll come a little later tomorrow morning." The clerk glanced at him, nodded, and asked nothing. Aji pushed open the door and went out; dusk had already spread over the rooftops of the county town. He needed to go back, not for anything important, just to go back and see his family. As a father, a son, and a husband, he carried three burdens on his shoulders. He hadn't felt the weight before because his family had shouldered most of it for him.

Qingqing is also very busy.

After becoming pregnant again, Madam Yang forbade her from doing any needlework. Qingqing sat on the kang (a heated brick bed), watching her mother-in-law take away her embroidery frame, her heart itching with longing, but she didn't say anything. Fortunately, her two children were being looked after by her mother-in-law and Yang Wenhu. Every day, she went to the cloth shop with Yang Wenhu, sitting behind the counter doing accounts, organizing goods, and greeting customers, so at least she wasn't stuck at home in a daze. Yang Wenhu was busy in the shop, and whenever he had a moment to spare, he would glance at her and see her moving the beads on the abacus, the sunlight from the window illuminating her face. He went back to continue organizing the goods, his steps lighter than before.

Qingqing, unable to stay still, secretly rummaged through the drawer for needles, thread, and some fine cotton cloth, sewing a little garment while Yang Wenhu was away. One day, Yang Wenhu returned early and saw her leaning against the kang (a heated brick bed) sewing a pink little jacket, with a small lace trim around the cuffs. Yang Wenhu went over and sat beside her for a while, saying that Song'er and Lu'er's old clothes and diapers were still there, washed clean and folded in the cupboard—enough for them, why bother looking at them? Qingqing didn't look up, her needlework continuing, saying that Song'er and Lu'er were boys, this was for a daughter. What if it was a girl? She needed a few new clothes; she couldn't always wear her brothers' hand-me-downs. She paused, then added, "What if this one's another boy?" She bit off the loose thread, unfolded the little jacket, and looked at it. The lace trim on the cuffs was slightly crooked, but she didn't undo it, saying she'd keep it; maybe it could be used for the next one. Yang Wenhu opened his mouth, but swallowed the words "there won't be a next one."

Yang Wenhu looked at Qingqing's earnest profile, a speck of lint still clinging to the tip of her nose. He hesitated for days, still not daring to tell her about the dream. He dreamt that two chubby babies knocked on the door, a boy and a girl. He let the boy in, but the girl didn't. He didn't tell anyone about the dream, not even his mother. He was afraid that if he did, Qingqing would hit him with the sole of her shoe, and his father and mother would help hold him down. Ever since Song'er and Lu'er were born, his status at home had plummeted. Before, his father would remember to save some good things for him, but now he always thought of his two grandsons first. Even the big yellow dog in the yard got a bone every day, more than the meat in his dinner bowl. If he told her about the dream, he'd probably be treated worse than a dog.