Reborn in 1982, the prodigal son returns

Lin Nuo got up early that day, just as dawn was breaking.

Yesterday, Qi Dawu returned from Xiahe Village and told Zhou Laoshuan to come to the village entrance this morning to see Zhang Batou.

He carried the crossbow on his shoulder, with a hemp rope tied to the crossbow stock so that it wouldn't hurt his shoulder when he walked a long distance.

She was carrying two bottles of liquor, not the leftover Fenjiu bottles from last time, but two bottles of Lao Baigan that Zhao Xiuying had found in the cabinet. She had specially wrapped the bottles in red paper to make them look festive.

These two bottles of wine are the only decent ones at home; I need to bring something when I become an apprentice.

Zhao Xiuying stood at the kitchen door, wiping her hands on her apron:

"When you meet someone, be sweet-talking, don't be like a wooden stake."

"Okay, Mother."

Old Zhou was already waiting at the village entrance. He was wearing a gray cotton-padded jacket, an old headscarf wrapped around his head, his hands tucked into his sleeves, and his neck hunched. When he saw Lin Nuo arrive, he nodded, said nothing, and turned to leave.

The road was difficult to walk on. The snow hadn't completely melted; a little had melted during the day, but it had frozen over again at night, leaving a thin layer of ice on the road surface that was slippery underfoot. Lin Nuo followed behind Zhou Laoshuan, the crossbow on his shoulder swaying back and forth, and the wine bottle in his hand rattling and making a soft tinkling sound.

Old Zhou wasn't walking fast. When he reached a section of uphill road, he stopped and looked back at Lin Nuo:

"Watch out, it's slippery here."

Lin Nuo let out a soft "Hey," and became more careful with his steps.

Zhang, the head of the team, lives in Song Village.

The closest villages to Liujiagou are Suzhuang and Zhaocun, and then Songcun.

Song Village is small, with only twenty or thirty households scattered at the foot of the mountain. Zhang Batou's house is at the eastern end of the village, closest to the mountain, beyond which lies the old forest.

The house was built of stone, with walls made of broken stones and gaps filled with yellow mud. The gate was a wooden plank tied to the door frame with wire, and it was crooked.

A stack of firewood stood by the door, neatly chopped and stacked, all roughly the same length, as if measured with a ruler. A plastic sheet covered the top of the stack, weighed down with stones, so it wouldn't be blown away by the wind.

Old Zhou walked to the gate of the courtyard, raised his hand and knocked on the door. There were two dull thuds from the wooden board.

"Old Zhang, are you home?"

There was no sound inside.

Old Zhou called out again, but there was still no response.

He stopped shouting, reached out and pushed open the door. The hinges creaked, and the door panel scraped against the snow on the ground, tracing an arc.

The yard was empty. The snow had been swept, revealing the pebbles underneath; the broom marks were still there, one after another, indicating careful sweeping. An axe stood in the corner, its blade gleaming iron-gray in the morning light.

The door to the main room was closed, and the curtain hung down. The curtain was made from an old bed sheet, washed until it was faded, and the edges were frayed. A corner of it was lifted by the wind, and then it fell back down.

Old Zhou walked over, lifted the curtain, glanced inside, and turned to Lin Nuo, saying:

"I'm here, just come in."

Then I went in first.

Lin Nuo followed behind, bending down to step over the threshold.

The room was dark, with only a small window covered with thick paper, letting in very little light. A few branches were burning in the stove, the fire small and crackling. The room was cold, not much warmer than outside.

An old man was sitting on the kang (a heated brick bed).

He was in his sixties, thin, with deep, sculpted wrinkles on his face—no, it really was like they were carved by a knife. His cheekbones were high, his eyes were sunken, and his stubble was thick and white.

He was wearing a black cotton-padded coat, patched in several places with varying shades of color and rough stitching. He held a pipe in his hand, unlit, the filter between his teeth, which were already yellowed and blackened.

He saw Zhou Laoshuan, nodded as a greeting.

Upon seeing Lin Nuo, her gaze lingered on him for a moment, but she said nothing.

Old Zhou walked straight over and sat down on the edge of the kang (a heated brick bed). He didn't stand on ceremony and immediately began to speak:

"Old Zhang, this is Lin Nuo from Liujiagou, my son-in-law's brother. He's an honest man and wants to learn from you how to identify medicinal herbs and hunt."

Zhang didn't answer. He put the pipe in his mouth, fumbled for a match on the edge of the kang (a heated brick bed), struck it, but it didn't light. He struck it again, and it lit. The flame jumped on the match head, and when he brought it to the pipe, the tobacco burned, making a hissing sound.

He took a drag, exhaled a puff of white smoke, and the smoke dissipated in the dimly lit room.

Before he could speak, Lin Nuo placed the two bottles of wine on the table. Then he took out a cigarette from his pocket, pulled one out, and handed it to him with both hands.

"Uncle Zhang, have a smoke."

Zhang glanced at the cigarette but didn't take it. The cigarette hovered in front of him for two seconds, but Lin Nuo neither pulled his hand back nor offered it forward; he just held it there.

Zhang didn't take the bait.

Lin Nuo wasn't embarrassed. He placed the cigarette on the edge of the kang (a heated brick bed), right next to Zhang Batou, then took a step back, stood with his hands hanging at his sides, and remained silent.

Old Zhou wasn't in a hurry. He just looked at his old friend for a while, then spoke again:

"Old Zhang, give us an answer. Is it okay? If not, we're going back."

Zhang finally spoke. His voice was hoarse:

"Why would you need to learn that?"

Lin Nuo said:

"I want to make money."

Zhang didn't reply, but took another drag of his cigarette, and two plumes of white smoke billowed from his nose.

Lin Nuo continued:

"My niece needs to go to school, so I have to earn money to support my family."

Zhang, the foreman, paused for a moment while smoking his pipe. He took the pipe out of his mouth, tapped it on the edge of the kang (a heated brick bed), and the ash fell to the ground.

He remained expressionless.

Old Zhou chimed in from the side:

"Old Zhang, we're both getting on in years. We need to leave behind some skills. You can't take them to your grave, can you?"

silence.

The fire in the stove crackled, a branch broke off, and sparks flew out, landing outside the stove and extinguishing in a flash.

Zhang put down his pipe and bowl, shifted his body, and got off the kang (a heated brick bed).

He walked to the corner, where a pile of odds and ends lay—an old wooden box, a tattered burlap sack, a rusty hoe, and a stool with a broken leg. He squatted down, pushed the hoe aside, and pulled out a yellowed notebook from the bottom.

The notebook cover was so faded that its original color was no longer visible; the corners were curled, and the pages were brittle. He held it in his hand, flicked the cover with his finger, and a layer of dust came off.

He walked back and handed the notebook to Lin Nuo.

"Take it. Come back after you've identified them all."

Lin Nuo took the book with both hands and opened it. Inside were hand-drawn illustrations of medicinal herbs, page after page. Each illustration was meticulously drawn, showing the roots, stems, leaves, and flowers of Codonopsis pilosula, Astragalus membranaceus, Schisandra chinensis, Asarum heterotropoides, Bupleurum chinense, and Saposhnikovia divaricata.

Next to the picture, the name and efficacy were written in neat calligraphy, each stroke precise and clear.

Lin Nuo closed the notebook, carefully tucked it into his pocket, and thanked him.

"Thank you, Uncle Zhang. I will definitely study hard."

Zhang didn't look at him again. He turned around, sat back on the kang (a heated brick bed), picked up the pipe, and lit it again. It took two strikes of the match to light. He lit the pipe, took a drag, and the smoke blurred his face.

She's not saying anything again.

Zhou Laoshuan winked at Lin Nuo, meaning "You can go now."

The two went out the door. The courtyard gate creaked open behind them; it wasn't closed properly and the wind blew it open again. Old Zhou turned around and closed the door, the door panel hitting the door frame with a dull thud.

After walking a few dozen steps, Old Zhou spoke:

"He's acknowledged you now. That notebook is his treasure; he doesn't even let ordinary people see it. Last time, a herbal medicine dealer came to him wanting to borrow the notebook to make a copy, but he wouldn't even let him in the door."

He paused, then said:

"Study hard, and come back in a few days. He'll definitely teach you. Old Zhang is stubborn but soft-hearted. He just doesn't like to talk. If you memorize everything in his notebook, it will be more effective than any amount of nice words."

Lin Nuo nodded, reached into his pocket, and touched the corner of the notebook.

"Thank you, Uncle Zhou."

"Hey, why are you still talking about this? I'm going back now if there's nothing else."

"Hey, Uncle Zhou, drive carefully."

After returning from Song Village, Lin Nuo didn't go home; instead, she went directly to the old shed at the village entrance.

The shed used to be where the production team stored farm tools, but it was abandoned later. The roof had several holes, the window paper was torn to shreds, and the door was crooked and couldn't be closed properly.

Now everything is different. The roof has been repaired, the window paper has been re-papered, and it's white and lets light through. The door is also fixed; the hinges have been oiled, and it doesn't make a sound when opened or closed.

Lin Weidong stood in front of the shed, his hands behind his back, looking up at the roof as if checking if the tiles were laid evenly. He saw Lin Nuo arrive and nodded.

"You're back?"

"You're back, sir."

Inside the shed, Lin Weiguo squatted on the ground, hammer in hand, nailing a table. The table was old, its legs were broken, so he used wooden strips to join them together, nailed them in place, and then sanded down the joints.

Zhao Xiuying was holding onto the table leg, which was made of pine and had knots. She pressed her fingers on the knots.

"Father, Mother, what brings you here?"

Lin Nuo walked over.

Lin Weiguo didn't even look up:

"I've got nothing better to do. Your uncle said some of the tables and chairs are broken, so I came over to help fix them."

Zhao Xiuying said:

"I went to ask a few families in the village, and they all said they were willing to bring their tables. Old Li's family said they had an old eight-immortal table, which could be used. Old Sun's family said they had two chairs, but he had a limp, so they could just use them as cushions."

Lin Nuo felt a warmth in his heart. He squatted down to help Lin Weiguo hold the table. The other leg of the table was also a little wobbly, so he stepped on the cross brace of the table leg to stabilize it.

Lin Weidong walked in from outside, walked around the shed, looking here and touching there. He walked to the blackboard, which was already finished. It had a wooden frame, and the middle was painted black with two coats of paint. Once dry, it was shiny black.

He pressed his finger on the blackboard, getting a little black paint on his fingertip, which he rubbed with his thumb.

"The blackboard is dry; it's usable now."

Lin Weiguo stood up, put the hammer on the ground, dusted off his knees, and looked at the blackboard:

"The space isn't big, but it's enough."

Zhao Xiuying continued:

"The size of the place doesn't matter, as long as there's a place to shelter from the wind and rain. It's more important for the children to have a place to learn to read than anything else."

Lin Nuo stood in the middle of the shed, looking around. The shed wasn't big, but it was clean and tidy, which was good.

The group looked at it and nodded in satisfaction.

Once the shed is tidied up, Su Wanqing will be able to start teaching.

Lin Nuo returned to the east room.

Su Wanqing sat on the edge of the kang (a heated brick bed), with the calligraphy book and several sheets of paper spread out in front of her. The calligraphy book was turned to the middle; the pages were yellowed and the edges were curled. The white paper was what she had collected; she usually couldn't bear to use it, so she cut it into small pieces and stacked them neatly. She held a pencil in her hand and wrote on the paper.

The pencil was short, only half a hand's length long, the tip was sharpened to a point, and the lead was broken. She pinched the lead with her fingernail and pulled it out little by little, pulling out a small piece, and continued writing.

Lin Nuo leaned closer to take a look. The paper had the characters "person, hand, mouth, big, small, mountain, water" written on it. Each character was written several times, neatly and carefully. The pinyin was also marked next to it. The pinyin was written small but clear.

Are you preparing teaching materials?

Lin Nuo asked.

These days, textbooks are all handwritten, so Su Wanqing is already quite impressive for teaching children to read.

Su Wanqing hummed in response, without looking up, her pencil scratching across the paper with a soft rustling sound.

"Anzi and the others have different levels of knowledge. Some know a few characters, while others don't know any. They have to start with the simplest ones."

As she spoke, she wrote the character "人" (person) on the paper, writing it three times, and then chose the one she was most satisfied with, drawing a horizontal line under it.

Lin Nuo sat down next to her. He took out the old notebook that the foreman had given him from his pocket, opened it, and placed it on the edge of the kang (a heated brick bed).

"I got it today. Zhang, the foreman, gave it to me to identify the medicinal herbs."

Su Wanqing glanced at it. The medicinal herbs drawn in the notebook were exquisite, and the small characters beside them were also beautiful, each stroke neat and upright. Her finger lightly touched the page, she didn't speak, but the corner of her mouth twitched slightly.

"When are you going to start learning?" she asked.

"Study whenever you have free time."

Lin Nuo said:

"You taught me to read, and I learned to recognize medicinal herbs."

Su Wanqing looked up at him. Her eyes shone brightly in the kerosene lamp light. Her lips moved as if she wanted to say something, but she didn't. She just nodded, and the corners of her mouth curved up a little more.

She placed the pencil on the paper and pushed the stack of white paper toward Lin Nuo.

"Let's start with the first one," she said, pointing to the notebook, "Codonopsis pilosula."

Lin Nuo repeated, "Codonopsis pilosula."

"The root can be used in medicine to replenish qi."

"Replenish Qi".

Su Wanqing then pointed to the small characters next to her: "Write these characters down."

Lin Nuo picked up a pencil and wrote the characters "Dang Shen" (Codonopsis pilosula) on the white paper. His handwriting wasn't good, crooked and uneven, but he wrote each stroke carefully. Su Wanqing glanced at it, didn't say anything to him, only said:

"Write it a few more times."

"Okay, Ms. Su. Should I get you a ruler?"

Lin Nuo was joking.

Su Wanqing's lips curled up slightly.

……

As night deepened, the flame of the kerosene lamp flickered, a flower formed on the wick, the light dimmed for a moment, then brightened again.

Su Wanqing was already asleep. She lay on her side, her face turned towards Lin Nuo, her breathing even, her eyelashes fluttering slightly.

Lin Nuo lay on the kang (a heated brick bed), thinking about the medicinal herbs in Zhang Ba Tou's notebook—Codonopsis pilosula, Astragalus membranaceus, Schisandra chinensis, Asarum heterotropoides, Bupleurum chinense, Saposhnikovia divaricata… all of which were good things that could be sold for money, and now these were all good wild medicinal herbs.

Sell ​​some, and keep some to sell later.

Life will definitely get better.

So we need to hurry up and learn, and when spring comes, we'll follow Zhang into the mountains to search properly.

He turned over, facing Su Wanqing. Her breathing was very soft, light and gentle, like the sound of wind blowing through pine needles in winter.

Lin Nuo closed his eyes.

Outside the window, the moon peeked out from behind the clouds, its cool light spilling onto the snow, brightening the courtyard even more than the house. A dog barked twice in the distance, then stopped, and the village fell silent again.

Lin Nuo thought to herself.

Tomorrow, I need to collect the snares and see if any pheasants have run into them. I also need to practice my crossbow skills; I can't keep up with my aim.

Zhang, the foreman, should always carry his notebook with him, just in case he encounters wild ginseng? Hehe.

He reached under the pillow and touched the hard corner of the notebook.

I feel much more at ease now.