Reborn in 1982, the prodigal son returns

Lin Nuo was awakened by a rooster crowing.

wrong.

He suddenly opened his eyes and stared at the yellowish roof above him.

The roof, made of reeds and covered with old newspapers, had the corners of a 1979 edition of the People's Daily curled up, like mouths that seemed to want to speak but couldn't.

Who can raise chickens in their neighborhood?

The thought had barely crossed his mind when he realized something was wrong. A residential community? What community?

It was as if there were two tangled threads in his mind. One tangled thread contained tall buildings and elevators; the other contained adobe walls, kerosene lamps, a heavy wooden pole, and the disheveled image of Lin Nuo, in his early twenties, being dragged home by the ear from the kang (a heated brick bed).

He sat up abruptly.

The wooden edge of the bed hurt her palms. She was wearing a coarse cotton-padded jacket with blue and white flowers, patched at the elbows with crooked stitches—sewed by Su Wanqing. No, that's not right, it was Su Wanqing from her past life who sewed it. Still, that's not right.

After his headache subsided for a moment, he took a breath and turned to look at the windowsill.

The window had a wooden frame covered with white paper, with a small pane of glass about the size of a palm in the middle. Outside, everything was a vast expanse of white. Snow. Heavy snow. The snowflakes fell thickly and rapidly, hitting the glass and melting into water that trickled down.

On the windowsill sat a bronze mirror, rusted green, its surface as blurry as a foggy river.

Isn't this the east room of the old house?

The year my mother was seriously ill, wasn't I sold to someone else?

It's long gone now.

Lin Nuo threw off the covers and got out of bed. The ground was rammed earth, icy cold against her feet. She staggered to the table and picked up a mirror.

The mirror reflects a young face.

He had thick eyebrows, a high nose bridge, and a sharp jawline. His skin wasn't particularly fair, but his features were naturally beautiful. His eyes had a shape that conveyed a hint of a smile even when he wasn't smiling; in his past life, Su Wanqing described them as having "eyes that could attract bees and butterflies."

However, he still looks about twenty-three or twenty-four years old.

Lin Nuo's heart skipped a beat, and his hands began to tremble. He almost dropped the mirror he was holding. He quickly put it back on the table, the metal hitting the wood with a dull thud.

He didn't care about any of that and quickly turned to look at the calendar hanging on the wall.

Those old-fashioned calendars, you tear off one page each day, with the weekend marked in red. At the top are the numbers "1982", below that is a picture of a harvest, and below that is the date.

January 17th. The 1rd day of the twelfth lunar month.

Little New Year.

Lin Nuo's mind went blank for a moment.

In 1982, on the eve of the Lunar New Year, there were still three days left before my family decided to raise Angora rabbits.

There are less than three months left before the rabbit plague outbreak wipes out all our savings.

There are still half a month until Su Wanqing completely gives up on him, moves out of the east room, and never comes back.

His eyes flickered.

I remember when the rabbit plague struck, the yard was full of dead rabbits, and my dad squatted in front of the rabbit cage, smoking one cigarette after another without saying a word.

When the creditor came to the door, Mother wiped away her tears and took out eggs to pay off the debt, but the creditor didn't want them; he just wanted the money. The third brother, Lin Jian, hid in the county town and never returned, while the eldest brother, Lin Jiang, worked silently without saying a word.

Then came the journey south to work. A slow, green train, standing room only, over thirty hours. Su Wanqing fell asleep on his shoulder. He looked down at the tears clinging to her eyelashes and thought to himself that he would treat her well for the rest of his life.

But he didn't.

Once he arrived in the South, he would gamble away all his money, and then he would ask her for it back. She would never say a harsh word, but would carefully fold the money and place it in his palm, her fingertips icy cold.

When was she diagnosed with cancer?

Lin Nuo couldn't remember. He only remembered that he was carrying steel bars at the construction site that day when the foreman called him to answer the phone. It was a nurse from the hospital on the other end, saying, "Are you Su Wanqing's family member? The patient's condition is not good. You need to come over as soon as possible."

He rushed from the construction site to the hospital, and when he pushed open the ward door, Su Wanqing was leaning against the headboard looking out the window at the sky. She was so thin that her cheekbones were protruding, but she still smiled when she saw him and said, "Why have you lost weight again? Have you not been eating properly?"

She worried about whether he had eaten properly until her death.

Lin Nuo's heart skipped a beat, and he realized that his palms were covered in sweat.

Footsteps approached from outside the door. They crunched on the snow, the sound growing louder as they drew nearer. Then came the sound of knocking on the door, not loud, but quick and rhythmic, with the crispness characteristic of a country woman.

"Nuozi? Nuozi, are you up yet?"

It was the voice of her mother, Zhao Xiuying.

Lin Nuo's Adam's apple bobbed. In his past life, Zhao Xiuying had died before him from a cerebral hemorrhage; she was taken to the hospital but died before she could go on.

When he rushed back, the body was already cold, with a white cloth covering its face. He knelt in front of the bed and kowtowed three times, his forehead bleeding from the effort.

"Noko?"

Zhao Xiuying called out again, her tone slightly impatient:

"Your dad wants you to go to your uncle's house for dinner! Get up now, what are you dawdling for!"

Lin Nuo took a deep breath.

The air in my nostrils smelled of cold air mixed with the smell of firewood smoke—dry, pungent, but undeniably real.

He is alive.

He is back.

"Hey, here it comes!"

He responded with a sound, his throat tight and his voice cracking.

There was a moment of silence outside the door. Zhao Xiuying probably sensed something was wrong with his voice, and paused before speaking:

"Hurry up, your father went a while ago. He said the third one is back. The third one came back from the county with some good things. Your eldest uncle wants us to come over and discuss something."

The third son.

Lin Jian.

Lin Nuo's pupils contracted slightly.

This meal in his past life was the beginning of Lin Jian's encouragement for his father to raise Angora rabbits. He talked a lot of things, such as "The workers at the fertilizer plant in the county earn several hundred yuan a year by raising rabbits," "The supply and marketing cooperative buys them all, so there's no worry about sales," and "Dad, what can you possibly achieve by farming all your life?" His little mouth was full of witty remarks, which made Lin Weiguo's eyes light up.

Lin Nuo was also at the dinner table. But he was so engrossed in gnawing on chicken that his mouth was greasy, and he didn't say a word.

It's impossible in this lifetime.

He bent down to look for his shoes. The cloth shoes were under the bed; the toe of the left shoe was worn through, revealing a bit of cotton underneath.

He stuck his foot inside and his teeth clenched in the cold. He quickly put on his cotton-padded trousers and jacket, haphazardly tied his belt, and opened the door.

A cold wind whistled in, and snowflakes stung my face.

The courtyard wasn't large; a muddy patch separated the east and west rooms, where snow had already piled up to half a foot thick. Zhao Xiuying stood under the eaves, wearing a dusty gray headscarf, her hands tucked into her sleeves. She frowned as soon as she saw him come out.

"Look at you! Your hair looks like a bird's nest, and you don't even wash your face. Are you going to your uncle's house looking like this?"

Lin Nuo didn't reply, just stared at Zhao Xiuying.

At forty-seven or forty-eight years old, the wrinkles around her eyes weren't that deep, her hair was still black, and she stood up straight. In her previous life, she became hunched over before she was sixty, needed a cane to walk, and complained of headaches for the two years before her cerebral hemorrhage, but no one took it seriously.

"What are you looking at? Is there something on my face?"

Zhao Xiuying felt uneasy under his gaze and slapped his arm.

"Go wash your face quickly, there's water in the tub and hot water on the stove."

"daughter."

Lin Nuo called out.

Zhao Xiuying was taken aback.

"you……"

Lin Nuo wanted to say something, but his throat felt tight, and after a long while, he managed to choke out a sentence:

"Wear more clothes, don't get cold."

Zhao Xiuying looked him up and down, her eyes like she was looking at a stranger.

"Are you still half asleep?"

She reached out and touched his forehead:

"It won't burn."

Lin Nuo smiled wryly and pushed her hand away:

"I'm not confused, I'm going to wash my face."

He turned and walked toward the kitchen, but after taking two steps he stopped and looked back at the west room.

The door to the west room was closed.

The curtain was made from an old bed sheet, faded from washing, with frayed edges. A couplet was pasted on the door frame, the red paper faded to pink, the characters blurred, it read: "Spring breezes sway thousands of willow branches, six hundred million people in the land of China are all like the sage-king Shun."

Su Wanqing lives there.

They've been living in separate rooms for half a month now.

Lin Nuo's feet seemed to be nailed to the spot. He recalled this point in his previous life when he didn't care which room Su Wanqing lived in, and even felt it was peaceful with no one interfering with his drinking and gambling.

Now he wants to slap himself twice.

Zhao Xiuying followed his gaze, sighed, and lowered her voice:

"Nuozi, tell your mother the truth, what exactly is going on between you and Wanqing?"

"fine."

"Can we sleep in separate rooms if there's nothing wrong?"

Zhao Xiuying glared at him:

"Wanqing was such a good wife, literate and well-mannered. Where else can you find such a thing? And you, on the other hand, are always running around outside, never bringing back any money. Wouldn't anyone feel disheartened in your shoes?"

Lin Nuo remained silent.

"You know your father's temper; he doesn't interfere in your affairs as a young couple. But I have to say something fair."

Zhao Xiuying sighed again:

"If you keep acting like this, your wife will run away sooner or later. Then you'll have nowhere to cry."

They can't escape.

Lin Nuo thought to himself.

I will never let her go anywhere in this lifetime.

"I'll go check on her."

He lifted his foot and walked towards the west room.

Zhao Xiuying sighed from behind, then swallowed back what she wanted to say, finally just shook her head and turned to go to the kitchen.

Lin Nuo stood at the door of the west room and knocked twice.

After a moment of silence, a voice came through, clear and cold, like a frozen river in winter.

Who is it?

Lin Nuo's throat was dry. He cleared his throat:

"I."

There was another few seconds of silence. Then, very light footsteps reached the door, and the door opened a crack.

Su Wanqing stood behind the door.

She wore a dark blue cotton-padded jacket, the collar of which was neatly buttoned, and her hair was tied into a braid that hung down in front of her chest. Her face was small, with a pointed chin, and her skin was almost too white, with pale lips.

His eyes were a clean, dark black, like a deep pool. When he looked at you, he was neither hot nor cold, containing everything within them, yet revealing nothing to you.

She has lost weight.

He was even thinner than he remembered from his previous life when he was working in the south.

Lin Nuo felt as if someone had squeezed his heart.

"What's up?"

Su Wanqing asked.

"We're going to your uncle's house for dinner tonight, are you coming?"

Su Wanqing glanced at him. That glance held no emotion, as if she were looking at a distant neighbor.

"I'm not going."

Lin Nuo had expected this. In her previous life, Su Wanqing didn't like going to dinners hosted by Lin's relatives. Due to her family background, she always felt ashamed in such situations. Besides, now that she was arguing with him, she was even less likely to go.

But he didn't leave.

"This room is cold."

He said he glanced through the crack in the door.

The west room was smaller than the east room. There was a bed against the wall, the quilt neatly folded, and a book on the headboard, its cover illegible. The window wasn't closed tightly, and drafts seeped through the paper gaps, so the room wasn't much warmer than the outside.

"Why don't you move back?"

Su Wanqing's fingers rested on the door frame, tightening slightly.

"Need not."

Lin Nuo knew she would refuse. In his past life, he would probably have just turned around and left, or muttered something like, "Take it or leave it." But now he was over forty years old, had lived two lives, and his skin wasn't much thinner than a city wall.

He grinned and smiled.

That smile was different from his usual carefree grin. It wasn't nonchalant or ingratiating; rather, it was composed.

"Late Qing".

He called her.

Su Wanqing's eyebrows twitched slightly.

She rarely heard him call her name in that tone. Not slick, not perfunctory, but earnest, as if he were calling someone very important.

"I was wrong the other day."

Lin Nuo said:

"It won't happen again."

Su Wanqing didn't speak, she just looked at him.

I'm serious.

Lin Nuo smiled again:

"Trust me this once."

"...Are you finished speaking?"

Su Wanqing's voice was still cold, but she didn't close the door.

"That's all."

Lin Nuo took a step back, afraid of getting in the way of her closing the door:

"I'm going to my uncle's house and I'll bring you dinner tonight. My aunt is making chicken stew; I remember you love chicken."

Su Wanqing was taken aback.

She did love chicken. But how would Lin Nuo know? They had been married for three months, and they could count the number of times they had eaten together on two hands. He had never paid attention to what she liked to eat.

"you……"

"I brought back chicken legs for you."

Before she could finish speaking, Lin Nuo added:

"There's also chicken soup. Your aunt's soup is delicious. You're not in good health, so drink some soup to help you recover."

Su Wanqing's lips moved, but in the end she only uttered a soft "hmm".

The "hmm" was very soft, almost drowned out by the wind. But Lin Nuo heard it.

It felt like a piece of ice had melted in his heart, leaving him feeling warm and cozy, and the smile on his lips widened even further.

"Then I'm leaving."

He said he turned and walked towards the courtyard gate, but after taking two steps, he turned back again:

"Remember to close the door tightly, and cover the window cracks with newspaper. I can fix it when I get back."

Su Wanqing didn't answer, but she pushed the door open a little more and watched him walk across the courtyard, open the gate, and disappear into the snow.

Then she slowly closed the door, leaned against it, and looked down at her toes.

I stood there for a long time.

……

As Lin Nuo stepped out of the courtyard, snowflakes began to fall on his head.

On the 23rd day of the twelfth lunar month, the Little New Year, the snow fell extraordinarily. The snow on the ground was already above ankle level, making a crunching sound when you stepped on it. The soles of my cloth shoes were thin, and the cold air rose up from the soles of my feet.

He shrank his neck, turned up the collar of his cotton-padded coat, and walked along the wall toward his uncle's house.

The village was small, with only seventy or eighty households. The mud-brick houses stood side-by-side, their roofs all white, looking like rows of steamed buns from a distance. The air was filled with the smell of burning firewood, occasionally punctuated by the bark of a dog. Someone was pasting up a picture of the Kitchen God, a traditional custom for the Little New Year's Eve Kitchen God worship.

Lin Nuo walked and looked around.

Everything felt familiar: the stack of firewood at the base of the wall, the stone mill by the roadside, the icicles hanging from the crooked locust tree.

These things are no longer seen in the city in his previous life. The buildings downstairs in his apartment complex are planted with plane trees, which are trimmed neatly, like a row of plastic ones.

My uncle's family lived at the east end of the village. They had three large brick houses and were considered the best off in the Lin family. My uncle, Lin Weidong, had worked as an accountant in the commune. His family was well-off, and their courtyard was large, with blue brick walls that were half a head higher than other houses.

Before Lin Nuo even reached the courtyard gate, he heard people talking inside.

The voices were muffled and indistinct through the courtyard wall, but the speaker could tell who it was.

The loudest voice belonged to his father, Lin Weiguo, whose voice boomed like thunder and could be heard from two miles away. His uncle, Lin Weidong, had a slightly more subdued voice, speaking slowly and deliberately, the complete opposite of his father.

There was also a young man with a bright voice and a slightly city accent.

Lin Jian.

The third brother is back.

Lin Nuo quickened his pace, walked to the courtyard gate, and pushed open the wooden fence gate.

With a creak, the door hinge turned halfway, and snowflakes fell softly from the lintel.

The snow in the courtyard had been swept away, revealing the blue brick ground, and then a new layer fell. The light in the main house was on, and the yellowish light shone through the paper windows, casting several shadows on the window frame.

Just as Lin Nuo was about to step inside, she heard Lin Jian's voice coming from inside the house.

This guy came back really fast.