Reborn in 1982, the prodigal son returns

It was the third day after Lin Jiang's father-in-law passed away.

According to custom, if the funeral is not held on the seventh day of the month or the burial is not on the eighth day of the month, then the funeral should take place.

The Shan family's mourning hall was set up in the main room. The coffin, the very one Lin Nuo had bought from town, sat in the center. In front of the coffin was an offering table, and the old man in the black-and-white portrait smiled slightly, as if he were still watching over everyone in the room.

Lin Nuo had only met this old man a few times, so they didn't have much interaction.

The offerings consisted of several plates of steamed buns, a bowl of braised pork, and a plate of scrambled eggs.

The eldest sister-in-law knelt before the coffin, her eyes swollen like walnuts from crying, her voice hoarse. Two other women supported her, one on each side, whispering words of comfort.

"Don't cry, your health is important. Uncle is gone, but you still have children."

Dan Jun stood at the entrance of the mourning hall, his eyes red, not from crying, but from staying up all night, having spent the entire night at the mahjong table.

With a cigarette dangling from his mouth, he didn't care that the ash had fallen onto the front of his mourning clothes. He yawned and thought about the few cents he had lost the night before.

He saw Lin Nuo walk in from the courtyard gate, his face darkened, he threw his cigarette butt on the ground and stomped it out.

What are you doing here?

Lin Nuo ignored him. He walked to the altar, took three incense sticks from the altar, lit them on the candle, held them with both hands, and bowed respectfully. He then placed the incense sticks into the incense burner.

Dan Jun followed him over and stood beside him, his voice rising a significant amount:

"I'm asking you a question! What are you doing here? Showing off your money? Or just here to watch the show?"

Lin Jiang strode over from the side of the mourning hall and stood in front of Lin Nuo:

"Shan Jun, today is our father's funeral, stop making trouble."

"Am I making a fuss?"

Dan Jun poked Lin Jiang's chest with his finger, causing Lin Jiang to take half a step back.

"He's your brother, so you're protecting him! How many times did the Lin family come when Dad was alive? They bought a few bottles of medicine, and now they think they're his benefactors? Let me tell you, the Lin family isn't getting involved in this funeral!"

The elder sister-in-law raised her head from before the coffin, her voice hoarse:

"Shan Jun! That's enough!"

"Is that enough?"

Dan Jun turned around and pointed at his sister-in-law:

"Sister, are you siding with outsiders? You're letting a stranger handle Dad's funeral? Don't you even respect me as your brother?"

Several relatives nearby began to whisper among themselves. Some said, "That kid Shan Jun is outrageous," while others whispered, "The Lin family really shouldn't get involved too much, after all, they're outsiders."

Lin Nuo turned around and looked at Shan Jun.

His voice wasn't loud, but everyone in the main room could hear it:

"Shan Jun, I'm not here to argue with you. I didn't visit your father often when he was alive, but what right do you have to talk to me like that?"

"When your father was sick, my elder brother was there to take care of him, but you weren't; when your father became paralyzed, my elder brother took care of him, but you weren't; now that he's gone, I bought the coffin, the burial clothes, and the paper money. And you?"

He paused, his gaze sweeping over Shan Jun's dark circles:

"Besides playing cards and drinking, what have you been doing?"

The mourning hall was much quieter.

All eyes were on Shan Jun. Shan Jun's face turned a deep purplish-red, his lips trembled, and he tried to say something, but something seemed to be stuck in his throat, and he couldn't squeeze out a single word.

He suddenly reached out and grabbed Lin Nuo by the collar:

"Say that again, you fucking idiot!"

Lin Nuo didn't move, looking at Shan Jun:

"I'm asking you, where were you when your father was alive?"

Dan Jun raised his fist, ready to strike.

Lin Jiang grabbed his arm, and several relatives rushed over to pull him away. Even while being held, Shan Jun still managed to speak:

"Lin Nuo! You just wait! This isn't over yet!"

Lin Nuo straightened his collar, which had been pulled askew, and walked to the side without saying a word.

It wasn't that he was afraid of Shan Jun, but he was considering his sister-in-law. Making a scene at the funeral was disrespectful to the deceased. Shan Jun was a scoundrel who didn't even deserve respect.

The eldest sister-in-law knelt on the ground, looked up at Lin Nuo, and mouthed "thank you."

When the funeral procession emerged from the main hall, the coffin was lifted onto a carrying pole, supported by eight strong laborers. A white cloth was wrapped around the pole, fluttering in the wind.

The eldest sister-in-law walked at the front, holding the portrait in her hands. She was crying so hard she could barely walk. Two other women supported her from either side until their arms ached.

This job was originally supposed to be done by Shan Jun, but since no one asked him, his sister-in-law had to take it.

Lin Jiang followed behind, his eyes red-rimmed. He didn't cry out loud, but his lips kept trembling, as if he wanted to say something but couldn't.

Dan Jun walked beside the coffin, his eyes fixed on Lin Nuo, his gaze as if he wanted to gouge a hole in him.

As we approached the village entrance, a person suddenly darted out from behind the bushes by the roadside.

Er Gouzi, a notorious scoundrel in Zhao Village. He wore a shiny cotton-padded jacket, the collar open, revealing a filthy undershirt. He blocked the way in front of the coffin, completely shutting it out, and shouted at the top of his lungs:

"You can't leave! Shan Jun, your father still owes my father money! The money isn't being paid off today, and the coffin isn't being carried out!"

Dan Jun was stunned for a moment, feeling somewhat embarrassed. He quickly walked over, his voice trembling:

"What nonsense are you talking about? When did my father ever owe your father money?"

"It's all in black and white! The IOU is right here!"

Er Gouzi pulled a crumpled piece of paper from his pocket and waved it in his hand. The paper was yellowed, the edges were curled, and a few lines of writing were crookedly written on it, along with a red handprint.

Lin Nuo walked over, took the IOU, and glanced at it. The handwriting was messy, and the date was from three years ago. He returned the IOU to Er Gouzi.

"Why didn't you come to ask for help when Uncle was alive? Now you're causing trouble at his funeral; are you trying to make sure he rests in peace?"

Er Gouzi choked for a moment, but stubbornly insisted:

"Paying back debts is a matter of course! If you don't pay today, nobody's taking your coffin out of here!"

Lin Nuo took out ten yuan from his pocket and stuffed it into Er Gouzi's hand.

"I'll pay for it. Is that enough? I can add more if needed. But you have to kneel down and kowtow three times to your uncle."

Er Gouzi opened his mouth, as if to say something, but looking into Lin Nuo's eyes, he swallowed his words back.

Without much hesitation, he knelt down and kowtowed three times toward the coffin, "thump, thump, thump." After finishing, he got up, patted his knees, and ran away.

Dan Jun stood to the side, his face even more grim.

The coffin was transported to the cemetery. The grave had already been dug; it was a rectangular pit with piles of yellow earth beside it, the fresh smell of soil mingling with the scent of grass.

As the coffin was lowered, eight strong laborers pulled on the ropes, slowly lowering it down. The ropes rubbed together in their hands, making a hissing sound.

The elder sister-in-law knelt by the grave, scooping up handfuls of soil and scattering it onto the coffin. Lin Jiang squatted beside her, his hands resting on his knees, not moving, just watching as the coffin was gradually covered.

Fill in the soil and erect a monument.

After the ceremony ended, the relatives gradually dispersed. Several aunts came over to pull the eldest sister-in-law away, but she refused to leave. They were forcibly dragged back, and she kept looking back as she went.

Lin Jiang squatted in front of the grave, with Lin Nuo watching over him.

Dan Jun walked up to Lin Nuo, reeking of alcohol. He had apparently taken several swigs at some point. His eyes were bloodshot. He pointed at Lin Nuo's nose, his voice vicious:

"Lin Nuo, you've really shown off today, haven't you? Let me tell you, the Shan family's affairs are none of your business, you surnamed Lin! Who do you think you are!"

His finger almost poked Linno's nose.

Lin Nuo looked at him, without backing down:

"Shan Jun, I'm not arguing with you. If my sister-in-law is in trouble, my elder brother won't ignore it, and neither will I."

"No need!"

Dan Jun spat, his saliva landing on the ground.

"I'll handle my sister's affairs myself! Stay away from the Shan family from now on!"

Lin Jiang stood up, his voice hoarse:

"Shan Jun, Nuozi meant well..."

"Kindness my foot!"

Dan interrupted him:

"He just wants the whole village to see that Lin Nuo is rich and powerful now, and he's using our Shan family as a stepping stone!"

Lin Nuo didn't say anything more. He turned around and strode out of the village. Behind him, Shan Jun was still cursing, but he couldn't hear what he was saying anymore. He had done what he needed to do; he didn't care what Shan Jun thought.

It's also clear that Shan Jun was after money from funeral gifts.

I'm afraid my older brother will take a share.

Although it is customary for the wedding gift money to go to the groom's family, funerals are usually paid for by the men, with the bride's family only contributing a wedding gift money. In this particular funeral, the eldest brother probably contributed more money than Shan Jun.

By the time I returned from Zhao Village, it was already getting dark.

The setting sun hung on the western mountain ridge, like a fried egg yolk, lazily sinking downwards.

Lin Nuo didn't go home; instead, he turned a corner and headed towards Song Village. He hadn't visited the old foreman for several days and felt uneasy.

Song Village remains the same as before. Scattered houses dot the foot of the mountain, and the gate to the old village chief's house is ajar.

The courtyard was dark.

The stove in the kitchen was cold, the pots were warm, and the lids were on. I lifted one to take a look. There was no movement in the room; the silence was unsettling.

Lin Nuo's heart skipped a beat, and she quickly walked into the main room.

The kerosene lamp was not lit. There was only a small oil lamp by the kang (a heated brick bed), its flame the size of a soybean, illuminating the room dimly. The old man lay on the kang, covered with an old, faded quilt.

His breathing was heavy and rapid, like a bellows, and could be heard very clearly in the quiet room.

"Uncle Zhang?"

Lin Nuo walked over and called out softly.

The old leader didn't move.

Lin Nuo reached out and touched his forehead. It was frighteningly hot.

"Uncle Zhang! Uncle Zhang, what's wrong?"

The old foreman slowly turned over, his face ashen. He saw Lin Nuo and said in a hoarse voice, "It's nothing... I just... caught a bit of a cold..."

"This isn't just a cold! You've had this fever for days!"

The old foreman didn't answer, and closed his eyes again.

Lin Nuo lifted the blanket. The old foreman was wearing only a thin shirt, and his shoulder bones felt like a layer of skin directly covering his bones. Lin Nuo touched the old foreman's hand; it was ice cold.

Lin Nuo covered him with the blanket and turned to go to the kitchen. There were still some embers in the stove, dark red, flickering like charcoal that was about to go out.

He added firewood, and the flames leaped up with a "whoosh," licking the bottom of the pot and making a "whooshing" sound. He boiled a pot of water and then rummaged through the cupboard.

The cupboard was completely empty, except for half a bag of rice and a packet of salt. Medicine? Forget about it; there wasn't even a medicine bottle in sight.

He carried a bowl of hot water back to the main room and helped the old foreman sit up. The old foreman's body was frighteningly light, as if it had no weight; Lin Nuo steadied him with one hand. He held the bowl to the old foreman's lips:

"Uncle Zhang, have some water. I'll take you to the clinic tomorrow."

The old foreman shook his head, his voice weak:

"No need... lying down is fine..."

"No, you can't do that. You'll get into trouble if you try to tough it out like that."

The old foreman stopped talking, drank the water, and lay down again, facing the wall, showing Lin Nuo only his thin, bony back.

Lin Nuo sat by the kang (a heated brick bed), feeling both heartbroken and anxious. The old man had always been a loner, relying on no one and owing no one anything, but now he was sick and didn't even have anyone to bring him water.

He remembered what Zhou Laoshuan had said: when the old foreman was young, he had saved someone in the mountains and was shot in the leg, leaving him with a chronic condition that would flare up every time the seasons changed. This time, he guessed that the cold weather at the beginning of spring had triggered his old ailment, and with no one to take care of him, he had toughed it out, and it had become a serious illness.

He stood up and walked around the room. On the cupboard were two cold steamed buns, so hard they could kill someone if you tapped them; they made a "bang" sound when you tapped them. On the stove was a bowl of leftover porridge, with a hard crust on top; when you got close enough to smell it, it was already spoiled, and the sour, foul smell assaulted your nostrils.

Lin Nuo threw the cold steamed buns into the stove and poured the leftover porridge into the slop bucket. She rinsed the rice again, cooked a pot of porridge, and boiled two eggs. The fire in the stove burned brightly, and the porridge in the pot bubbled and steamed, filling the kitchen with the aroma of rice.

The porridge was ready. He ladled out a bowl, carried it to the edge of the kang (heated brick bed), stirred it with a spoon, blew on it, and then held it to the old foreman's lips.

"Uncle Zhang, have something to eat."

The old foreman barely opened his eyes, looked at the porridge in the bowl, and then at Lin Nuo.

His lips moved slightly, as if he wanted to say something, but in the end he just opened his mouth and let Lin Nuo feed him the porridge. He ate half a bowl, then half an egg, and then couldn't eat anymore. He waved his hand and lay down again.

Lin Nuo put down the bowl and stayed by the kang (a heated brick bed) all night. He leaned against the wall, half asleep and half awake, touching the old foreman's forehead every now and then.

By daybreak, the old man's fever had subsided a little, but he was still burning up. Lin Nuo touched his forehead, his brows furrowing even more.

He stood up and pushed open the door. The morning light was dazzling, and the eastern mountain ridge was tinged with an orange-red hue. He took a deep breath and ran towards the village. He needed to find a vehicle to take the old foreman to the clinic. He also needed to find Zhou Laoshuan; the old foreman was closest to him.

By the time we reached Xiahe Village, it was already broad daylight.

Old Zhou was squatting in the yard feeding the chickens, holding a broken basin in his hand, scattering handfuls of corn grits on the ground. The chickens circled around him, clucking. He was startled when he saw Lin Nuo run in, covered in sweat, and almost dropped the basin in his hand.

"Nuozi? What happened?"

"Uncle Zhou, Uncle Zhang is sick and has a high fever. I need to take him to the clinic. Please come with me."

The chicken feeder in Zhou Laoshuan's hand fell to the ground with a clatter, scattering corn grits everywhere. The chickens flapped their wings, scrambling for the food. He wiped his hands on his apron, his voice changing:

"Let's go! That old man isn't feeling well. We tried to keep him here last time, but he wouldn't say anything!"

The two men borrowed a donkey cart, laid out bedding, and lifted the old foreman onto it. The old foreman was delirious with fever, mumbling something incoherently, as if he were talking nonsense.

The donkey cart swayed and rattled as it made its way to the town.

Zhou Laoshuan sat in the car, his hands gripping the old foreman's hands so tightly his knuckles turned white, his eyes red-rimmed, and his nostrils flaring.

"That old man, he never says a word when he's sick, he just toughs it out. He'll never change his temper. He was like this when he was young, he broke his leg but didn't go to the doctor, he just applied herbal paste himself, and almost had it amputated."

Lin Nuo drove ahead without turning around, but his voice was tense:

"Uncle Zhou, Uncle Zhang will be alright."

"Um."

Zhou Laoshuan responded and gripped the old foreman's hand even tighter, as if afraid that if he let go, the man would be gone.

The town's health center was small, a two-story gray-white building with a white wooden sign with red lettering hanging at the entrance that read "Red Flag Commune Health Center." Lin Nuo jumped out of the car, ran inside to call for a doctor, and two nurses pushed out a stretcher and carried the old man inside.

The doctor was an elderly man in his fifties, wearing glasses and a white coat, with a stethoscope hanging around his neck. He took the old man's temperature; it was a high fever. He then listened to his lungs, his brow furrowing deeply.

"Pneumonia. If you had come two days later, it would have been dangerous."

Lin Nuo paid the hospital fees and completed the formalities. It was thirty-eight yuan, plus a deposit, totaling fifty yuan. He took the money out of his pocket and paid.

The old foreman lay in the hospital bed with an IV drip in his arm.

Old Zhou sat by the hospital bed, refusing to leave.

Lin Nuo patted him on the shoulder: "Uncle Zhou, you go back and rest first, I'll stay here and keep watch."

Old Zhou shook his head, his voice hoarse: "I'll stay. You go back and attend to your business. Your elder brother's funeral isn't over yet, and your wife is home alone; don't let her worry."

Lin Nuo hesitated for a moment, then nodded. He walked to the bedside and gently tucked the old man's exposed hand back under the covers.

"Uncle Zhang, I'll cover your shift again tomorrow."

The old foreman didn't respond; it's unclear whether he heard us or not.

Lin Nuo walked out of the clinic, the sunlight shining on his face, a little dazzling. He stood at the door, exhaled a long breath, the white mist dissipating in the morning light, and then quickened his pace towards the station.

When she arrived home, Su Wanqing was squatting at the entrance of the chicken coop, feeding the chickens. Hearing footsteps, she looked up, saw Lin Nuo's appearance, and paused for a moment:

"What's wrong? You look terrible."

Lin Nuo squatted down:

"Uncle Zhang is sick; he has pneumonia. He's hospitalized at the health center."

Su Wanqing paused for a moment, the chicken feed bowl in her hand hovering in mid-air:

Is it serious?

"The doctor said it would have been dangerous if we had come two days later. Now we're fine, and we'll stay in the hospital for observation for a few days."

Su Wanqing placed the chicken feeder on the ground and reached out to hold Lin Nuo's hand:

"Don't worry too much. The old man is in good health, he'll get better."

Just then, Liu Jianguo ran in from outside: "Nuozi, Shan Jun is causing a drunken scene at your older brother's house."