Reborn in 1982, the prodigal son returns

It was the 29th day of the twelfth lunar month, just as dawn was breaking.

Lin Nuo came out of the east room, and a cold wind rushed into his collar, making him shiver. He rubbed his hands together, exhaled a puff of white breath, and was about to go to the kitchen to get some hot water when he looked up and saw Lin Weiguo already standing on the ladder.

The old man was wearing a black cotton-padded jacket with the collar turned up, and a gray towel wrapped around his head with the two corners tied in a knot at the back. A ladder leaned against the doorframe; he stood on the third rung, one hand holding the doorframe, the other holding a pair of red Spring Festival couplets. He had bought the couplets at the market yesterday.

The old Spring Festival couplets from last year are still pasted on the gate frame of the courtyard, the red paper has faded to pink.

Lin Weiguo heard footsteps, but didn't turn around. The sound came down from the ladder, muffled:

"Tear the old things away clean."

Lin Nuo responded and walked over, standing on tiptoe to tear the old Spring Festival couplets. The paper was brittle and would tear at the slightest touch. He gripped the edges with his fingernails and tore the paper downwards.

Lin Weiguo stood on the ladder and gestured the positions of the new Spring Festival couplets.

He moved slowly, as if afraid of pasting them crookedly. In previous years, Zhao Xiuying had done these things. She was more efficient at pasting Spring Festival couplets than Lin Weiguo; she could align them accurately at a glance without needing to gesture.

This year, the old man insisted on putting up the paper himself, probably because he had something on his mind and wanted to do something.

As Lin Nuo was tearing up the old paper, Lin Weiguo asked a seemingly random question:

"What happened to the third brother?"

The voice wasn't loud, as if it were a casual question. But Lin Nuo understood; her father already knew that her third son had probably gotten into trouble, though he didn't know what it was. He could tell from Lin Jian's dejected appearance when he returned yesterday, looking as wilted as a frostbitten eggplant.

The two brothers didn't talk much during the meal. After finishing, Lin Jian went back to his courtyard and never came back.

Lin Nuo held onto the ladder and remained silent for two seconds.

He knew his father was worried about the third son.

But talking about such nonsense now? During the Lunar New Year, isn't this just adding fuel to the fire?

Lin Nuo looked up at Lin Weiguo. His father stood on the ladder, one hand holding the door frame, the other pressing on the Spring Festival couplets, waiting for his answer.

"It's nothing, Dad. We'll talk about it after the New Year."

Lin Nuo's voice was not loud:

Lin Weiguo didn't ask any more questions. He pressed the Spring Festival couplets against the door frame and used his palms to press them out from the middle to both sides, expelling the air bubbles. Lin Nuo knew that her father understood. He just didn't want to pressure his third son.

The Spring Festival couplets were pasted up. The first line read, "Amidst the crackling of firecrackers, the old year departs," and the second line read, "The spring breeze brings warmth to the New Year's wine." They gleamed moistly in the morning light. Lin Weiguo climbed down the ladder, took two steps back to look at the couplets, tilted his head, and squinted, as if examining the harvest of an acre of land.

Lin Weiguo nodded, said nothing, and turned to go into the kitchen.

Lin Nuo stood in the courtyard, looking at the Spring Festival couplet.

A breeze blew by, and the edges of the Spring Festival couplets curled up slightly.

He thought to himself, tomorrow is the 30th. I hope this year will pass peacefully.

In the kitchen, Zhao Xiuying had already begun preparing the oil.

The iron wok was heated to a high temperature, the bottom of which turned a dark red. Zhao Xiuying put a large piece of pork fat into the wok. The white fat slowly melted in the hot wok, turning from solid to liquid, from white to transparent, and sizzling at the bottom of the wok.

The aroma wafted out quickly.

Today is the day for "frying oil"—frying meatballs, twisted dough sticks, fish pieces, and pig liver. A whole basinful is fried, enough to last until the Lantern Festival. This is the most important thing in the twelfth lunar month.

Zhao Xiuying prepared two kinds of meatballs. One was radish meatballs. She grated white radish into thin shreds, salted it to draw out the water, squeezed it into balls, and squeezed it tightly. When she squeezed it, the water squeezed out from between her fingers and dripped into the basin, making a pattering sound.

Add chopped green onions, minced ginger, salt, and Sichuan peppercorn powder to the shredded radish, mix well, then roll into small balls and arrange them neatly on the cutting board.

Sweet potato balls are made by steaming sweet potatoes, mashing them into a paste, mixing them with flour, and adding a little white sugar. They are then rolled into small balls, smaller than radish balls, and have a brighter color, resembling little suns.

The dough for the small twisted dough sticks is prepared in advance with eggs and sugar added. It is kneaded until smooth, rolled into thin sheets, cut into strips, and twisted into twisted dough sticks.

Zhao Xiuying's skill in twisting dough sticks is well-known in the village. Her fingers move so fast that a small dough stick is produced with a twist and a press, faster than anyone else.

The fish pieces were made from grass carp cut into chunks. The grass carp was bought by Lin Jiang from town yesterday; it wasn't big, weighing about two pounds. It was cleaned, scaled, cut into sections, and coated with batter. Eggs were added to the batter, which was stirred until it was thick enough to stick to chopsticks.

The pork liver was sliced ​​and marinated with cooking wine and salt to remove any unpleasant odor. The pork liver was a gift from Lin Weidong.

Once the oil was hot, Zhao Xiuying squeezed the radish balls one by one into the frying pan. She didn't use chopsticks; instead, she used her hands, squeezing a lump of dough between her thumb and forefinger, then scraping it with her other hand to drop a ball into the oil. The balls immediately developed a golden-brown crust, sizzling and rolling in the oil, splashing oil onto the stove and her apron, quickly covering it with oil droplets.

Lin Ping stood on tiptoe, leaning against the stove, his chin resting on the edge, his eyes fixed on the pot without blinking.

Lin An stood behind, a little taller than his younger brother, and could see what was in the pot, but he didn't say anything. He just watched, his hands behind his back, like a little adult.

Zhao Xiuying used chopsticks to make a radish ball, blew on it until it looked very hot, and twirled it twice in her hand before handing it over.

"Be careful, it's hot."

Lin Ping took it and tossed it back and forth between his hands, hissing from the heat, his mouth agape, his eyes squinting, but he couldn't bear to let go. He transferred the meatball from his left hand to his right, and from his right hand to his left, several times, before finally stuffing it into his mouth.

His eyes immediately narrowed to slits, and his cheeks puffed out like a squirrel stuffed with nuts. He chewed a couple of times and mumbled, "Grandma, delicious!"

"Call Grandpa to eat."

Zhao Xiuying said.

Lin An ran out to call Lin Weiguo. She ran fast, her braids swinging behind her head, her cotton shoes crunching on the snow. Lin Weiguo came out of the main room, still holding the half-finished bottle of baijiu in his hand.

Zhao Xiuying fried pot after pot. Radish balls, sweet potato balls, fried dough twists, fish pieces, and pork liver were all scooped out of the oil and drained onto an iron strainer. Oil dripped into the pot, causing wisps of smoke to rise again.

The mesh of the iron strainer is fine, and the oil leaks through the mesh, splashing tiny oil droplets in the pot.

The New Year's goods piled up in the basin, like a small mountain. The radish balls were yellowish-green, the sweet potato balls were golden and shiny, the twisted dough sticks were tightly twisted, the fish pieces were coated in crispy batter, and the slices of pork liver were curled up at the edges. Steam rose from the basin, a white blob, the aroma so rich it was almost overwhelming.

Lin Weiguo picked up a sweet potato ball, took a bite, chewed it, and smacked his lips.

"sweet."

Lin An and Lin Ping squatted at the kitchen door, each holding a meatball and eating it in small bites. Lin An ate slowly, taking tiny bites as if reluctant to finish it. Lin Ping ate quickly, finishing one meatball and then staring at the ones in the bowl, licking his fingers.

Lin Nuo squatted in front of the stove adding firewood. The firelight reflected on his face, making it look red, and cast his shadow on the wall behind him, sometimes large and sometimes small.

"Hey, Nuozi-ge!"

A roguish voice came from the courtyard gate.

Lin Nuo looked up and saw a person standing at the gate of the courtyard. The person had their hands tucked into their sleeves, their neck hunched, and they were wearing a half-new military overcoat with the collar turned up, revealing a section of greasy fur collar.

In his past life, Yang Sanshun was Lin Nuo's cronies. At least Liu Jianguo had helped him, but Yang Sanshun was different; he was a good brother if he got something from him, but disappeared if he didn't.

In his past life, Lin Nuo lost all his money at the card table and asked him to borrow five dollars. He said, "My pockets are emptier than my face," and then went to the convenience store to buy a pack of good cigarettes, Daqianmen. He put it in his mouth, walked past Lin Nuo, and blew smoke rings one after another.

Yang Sanshun rubbed his hands together and walked in with a grin:

"Brother Nuozi, it's the Lunar New Year, and we can't even afford meat at home. I heard you're doing well selling 'blindly catching mice' and have some extra cash. Want to borrow some?"

As he spoke, he rubbed his fingers together, as if hinting at something.

Lin Nuo looked at him without saying a word.

In his past life, Yang Sanshun had also come to him to borrow money. At that time, Lin Nuo had no money in his pocket, but for the sake of face, he insisted on borrowing five yuan from his older brother. Yang Sanshun took the money, didn't even say thank you, and turned to leave.

When we met again later, they acted as if they didn't know each other and didn't even greet each other.

This life is different now.

That bastard thinks he can take advantage of him, dream on.

Lin Nuo chuckled, came out of the kitchen, and dusted off his hands.

"San-shun, you know my family isn't well-off. When your sister-in-law's father was sick, we owed a lot of money. How much can you get for just catching mice? The little money we get isn't even enough to buy meat."

He paused, looking at Yang Sanshun's face:

"How about... you lend me some money? Ten or eight yuan is fine, three or five yuan is fine too. I'll pay you back when I have some extra cash."

Yang Sanshun's face froze completely.

His lips still held the shape of a smile, but they wouldn't move. This guy had already planned how to spend the money once he got it, but he couldn't borrow it.

His gaze lingered on Lin Nuo's face for two seconds, as if he hadn't reacted yet.

a long time.

"...Brother Nuozi is really joking."

Yang Sanshun chuckled dryly twice, his voice hoarse, and then turned and left, walking much faster than when he came.

The door closed behind him, the wooden gate slamming against the frame with a dull thud.

Lin Weiguo stood at the kitchen door, a wine cup in his hand, watching Yang Sanshun's figure disappear outside the courtyard gate. He picked up the cup, took a sip, smacked his lips, and a slight movement appeared at the corner of his mouth.

"You've really improved, kid."

The sound wasn't loud, but Lin Nuo heard it. He didn't reply, but squatted down to continue adding firewood.

Lin Weiguo didn't say anything more, downed the wine in his cup in one gulp, and turned to go into the main room.

The old man was always more action than words. When Su Wanqing's father was seriously ill, he didn't hesitate and took out all his savings. Zhao Xiuying asked him if he had thought it through, and he said, "Yes, I have." Just three words. Su Wanqing remembered this her whole life, and Lin Nuo remembered it too.

If Lin Nuo hadn't been so good at disguising himself, and if Lin Weiguo hadn't been so kind and righteous, how could Su Wanqing have married Lin Nuo and stayed by his side through thick and thin?

Zhao Xiuying was frying dough twists, twisting the dough balls with both hands, her fingers turning them quickly:

"Wanqing! Come and lend a hand!"

The sound spread through the courtyard, condensing into a cloud of white mist in the cold air before slowly dissipating.

After a while, the door to the west room opened.

Su Wanqing came out of the house wearing a dark blue cotton-padded jacket. The jacket was old, and she wore a red scarf, which made her face look even whiter.

She went into the kitchen, and Zhao Xiuying glanced at the scarf around her neck, her eyes lighting up. Her hands didn't stop; she was still twisting the dough, but her gaze lingered on the scarf for a second longer:

"This scarf is beautiful, did Nuozi buy it?"

Su Wanqing hummed softly, her voice as light as snowflakes falling on a cotton-padded coat, weightless.

She washed her hands and helped Zhao Xiuying twist the dough into braids. Her movements were slower than Zhao Xiuying's, but she was very careful. She twisted the dough into neat and orderly braids, each one about the same size and with consistent tightness.

Zhao Xiuying didn't press further, but a slight smile played on her lips. She glanced at the scarf around Su Wanqing's neck, then at Lin Nuo squatting in front of the stove. The tips of his ears were a little red, whether from the fire or something else, she couldn't tell.

Zhao Xiuying turned her gaze back to frying the twists, the smile on her lips never fading.

Lin An leaned over the kitchen doorway, staring at the red scarf around Su Wanqing's neck, his eyes sparkling like two black grapes.

"Second Aunt, the scarf is so pretty."

Lin An said, "The voice was crisp and clear."

Su Wanqing's fingers paused on the dough. She pressed her fingers on the dough, didn't move, paused for a second, and then continued to twist.

"……Um."

She didn't look up, but the corner of her mouth twitched slightly.

The deep-fried ingredients were ready, filling a large basin, which was placed on the stove to cool. The basin was an enamel basin, white with blue flowers, and had several chips on the rim, revealing the black iron underneath.

Meatballs, fried dough twists, fish pieces, and pork liver were arranged one by one in a basin, steaming hot, and the aroma lingered in the kitchen for a long time, as if it had taken root in the air.

Zhao Xiuying poured out the oil, filtered it with gauze, and put it in a jar for later use in cooking. The jar was made of earthenware, and its mouth was sealed with oiled paper and tied with hemp rope. She placed the jar in the corner of the wall and patted the dust off her hands.

Lin Nuo stood at the kitchen door, looking at the New Year's goods in the basin, then at the Spring Festival couplets pasted in the yard, and calculated in his mind: the turtle sold for eight yuan, plus his previous savings, he had more than ten yuan on hand. Enough for the New Year.

We'll talk about Qi Dawu after the New Year. As for Lin Jian, we'll have a proper talk with him after the New Year.

As for making money, I'll go hunting in the mountains with the hunters next year and earn some more.

Xiahe Village.

Old Zhou sat on the edge of the kang (a heated brick bed), with a blue cloth bundle in front of him. The bundle was tied tightly and looked bulging.

His wife sat beside him, silent. She looked at the bundle, then at Zhou Laoshuan, her lips moving several times, each time wanting to say something, but then swallowing it back.

"Old Zhou,"

She finally spoke:

"Don't argue with them tomorrow. It's the Lunar New Year."

Old Zhou didn't answer. He picked up the bundle, weighed it in his hand, and then put it back on the kang (heated brick bed).

"I know."

His voice wasn't loud, but it carried a firm tone.

"I'm not going there to argue. I'm just going to ask what his third son plans to do. I accept that the crops are ruined. But we can't just let this go about our daughter's matter."

"I, Zhou Laoshuan, am not so easily fooled."

My wife opened her mouth as if to say something, but then swallowed it back.

A soft sigh came from the inner room.

Old Zhou blew out the lamp.

Tomorrow is Lunar New Year's Eve.