Reborn in 1982, the prodigal son returns

The sky was just beginning to lighten.

Lin Nuo couldn't sleep, so he pushed open the door.

The courtyard was a vast expanse of white.

The snow stopped and the wind died down; it was dry and cold.

The kitchen light was already on, a thin, yellowish glow seeping through the paper windows.

Mom got up really early.

On the 27th day of the twelfth lunar month, chickens are slaughtered and people go to the market.

Lin Nuo walked through the snow toward the kitchen. The fire in the stove was burning brightly, and the flames licked the bottom of the pot, making a "whooshing" sound. The kitchen was warm and cozy, a completely different world from the outside.

Zhao Xiuying was standing in front of the stove. Hearing footsteps, she peeked out to look at him.

"You're up? Perfect timing. Go to town and check the price of chickens. Buy one if they're cheap, otherwise forget it."

She paused, lifted the lid of the pot again to take a look, and steam rushed up, so she put the lid back on.

"Last time your third aunt said that live chickens in town were 3.5 yuan each, but I don't know if the price has gone up. Go and ask around, but don't just buy one right away. Ask at several places and compare prices."

Lin Nuo hummed in agreement, without saying whether he would go or not. He added a piece of firewood to the stove, the firelight casting a reddish glow on his face. He had planned it yesterday: to go to the lake to catch turtles today, instead of going to town.

As for buying chickens, you can ask the older brother to go to town and check. He's quick and efficient, and can get to town faster than you can.

Zhao Xiuying watched him walk towards the courtyard gate, carrying only a burlap sack instead of a basket. She looked at him with a puzzled expression.

"You're going to town empty-handed?"

"Let's go take a look around first."

Lin Nuo pushed open the courtyard gate and went out of the courtyard.

Zhao Xiuying stood at the kitchen door, watching his figure disappear outside the courtyard gate, her brow furrowing slightly. This child... lately, his actions have become increasingly incomprehensible.

Let's take a sack and go for a stroll. What's there to see? It's freezing cold, what's there to see?

She shook her head.

……

Three people were standing under the old locust tree at the entrance of the village.

Wang Lao Er squatted at the front, a hoe on his shoulder, blade facing upwards, gleaming with an iron-gray light in the morning light.

Li San and Zhao Dana were also there.

The three men hunched their shoulders, puffs of white breath rising from their mouths. They had planned yesterday to go up the hill behind the village to dig up wild sheep today.

Previously, Wang Lao Er had specifically asked Lao Sun about it, and Lao Sun said, "That guy sold it for at least three or four yuan." Wang Lao Er's eyes immediately turned red. Three or four yuan was enough to buy several kilograms of meat.

Those earth sheep are everywhere on the mountain. Whoever digs them up gets to keep them. Why should Lin Nuo be able to dig them up but he can't?

But just as they were about to go up the mountain, Lin Nuo arrived.

When Wang Lao Er saw Lin Nuo approaching, his expression immediately turned sour. It was like trying to steal melons from someone else's field; he'd just reached out when the owner showed up.

Somewhat embarrassed, he took the hoe off his shoulder and planted it on the ground.

When Li San saw Lin Nuo, his gaze lingered on him for a moment, his lips moved but he didn't say anything, and he turned his head to look at the old locust tree at the entrance of the village.

Zhao Dana was even more straightforward, turning his back to Lin Nuo.

After all, this was practically digging for work right in front of them. They had laughed at Lin Nuo for digging up the sheep, but now that they were going to do it themselves, they felt a little embarrassed when they saw Lin Nuo.

Lin Nuo didn't pay any attention, just nodded and walked straight towards the east of the village without stopping.

Wang Lao Er breathed a sigh of relief, but still felt aggrieved. He tapped his pipe on the sole of his shoe.

"unlucky."

He muttered a curse under his breath, not very loudly.

Li San leaned closer, craning his neck as far as he could, and spoke in a low voice:

"How about we go somewhere else? To the north slope of the back mountain? There are plenty of sheep there. Last time I went up the mountain to chop firewood, I saw several mounds of earth."

"Why change it?"

Wang Lao Er rolled his eyes at him:

"The mountain doesn't belong to him. If he can dig it up, why can't we?"

Zhao Dana turned his head, glanced at Wang Lao Er, and said slowly:

"That's true, but they dug it up first. It wouldn't look good for us to go now."

"What's wrong with it?"

Wang Lao Er tucked his pipe into his waistband and stood up:

"Does he raise the sheep? Does he own the mountain? We'll dig it up by our own skill, and what we find is ours."

He spoke with conviction, but his voice was much lower than before.

Zhao Dana didn't say anything more, put the stool away, and tucked it under his arm.

The three men, carrying hoes and sacks, walked along the village road toward the back of the mountain.

……

There is a lake three miles east of the village.

It's called a lake, but it's actually just a big water pit. It was dug in the 1960s when water conservancy projects were being built, and it was used for water storage and irrigation.

In summer, the aquatic plants are lush, with reeds growing taller than a person, rustling loudly in the wind. There are plenty of fish and shrimp; turtles like to stay where there are many aquatic plants, where there is food and good hiding places.

Lin Nuo walked through the snow to the lakeside and squatted down. His knees crunched under the snow. He put the sack aside and brushed the snow off the ice. The ice was bluish-gray, and the water was visible beneath.

The ice layer along the lake is not thick.

We stopped at a sunny spot on the shore.

Brush away the accumulated snow.

There are several tiny bubbles gathered together under the ice surface, unlike the scattered bubbles that rise from decaying seaweed. These look more like a small bunch of grapes.

Lin Nuo squatted down, put the sack aside, and took out a pickaxe from his pocket. He gripped it tightly and smashed it down onto the ice.

With a "crack," a fissure appeared on the ice. The crack extended from the pickaxe blade to both sides, like a gaping mouth.

After smashing it seven or eight times, a hole the size of a bowl finally broke in the ice. The water underneath surged up, overflowed onto the ice, and quickly froze into a thin layer of ice.

It's so cold here.

Lin Nuo gritted his teeth and reached his hand directly into the ice hole.

The water was bone-chillingly cold. The moment Lin Nuo touched the water, it felt like being pricked by needles. He endured the cold pain and continued to touch the water.

The mud was like clay; when you sank your fingers in, you could feel pebbles and withered grass roots underneath. After touching it for a while, Lin Nuo's expression changed.

He touched a hard shell with a slight curve.

Lin Nuo's heart skipped a beat.

He carefully inserted his fingers under the hard shell, gently prying upwards, using his fingertips to press against the edge of the shell, lifting it up little by little.

I was surprised to find that they actually had the goods; I was so lucky.

It's about the size of a palm, and its shell is bluish-black.

Chinese soft-shelled turtle.

Lin Nuo picked it up and weighed it in his hand.

It's estimated that eight ounces can be used.

It's not a pound, but it's not small either. Take it to town, and you could sell it for seven or eight yuan. If it were bigger, over a pound, it could sell for over ten yuan. But eight ounces is still pretty good; enough to buy several pounds of pork.

He carefully placed the turtle into the burlap sack.

I wandered around the lake again. I walked most of the way along the shore and found two spots with bubbles, but when I touched them, there was nothing there.

The water was too deep in other places to touch.

Catching these is purely a matter of luck; turtles are hibernating right now. You can only look at the bubbles; you can't know if there are any underneath without breaking through the ice and feeling around. Catching one today is already considered lucky.

Lin Nuo hoisted the sack onto his shoulder and headed back, still feeling somewhat disappointed. An eight-ounce turtle wouldn't fetch much. If only he could have caught a two-pound one.

He remembered that in his past life, this thing was once sold for hundreds of yuan per kilogram. Wild soft-shelled turtles were more valuable the bigger they were. Back then, the villagers went crazy catching soft-shelled turtles in the river. Once they caught one, they would take it to the city to sell. One soft-shelled turtle was worth a year's worth of farming.

Of course, it can't be sold for that price now.

Thinking this, I walked halfway and passed by a stack of hay.

The haystacks were piled up next to the threshing ground at the east end of the village after the autumn harvest. After the rice was threshed, the remaining straw and stalks were piled together, more than a meter high, covered with straw. When snow fell on them, they formed a large, white, round bale.

A few short trees grew around the haystacks, their branches bare and adorned with icicles. The threshing floor was covered with a thick, smooth layer of snow, without a single footprint; no one had been there today.

Lin Nuo didn't pay any attention at first, carrying the sack past the haystack. After taking two steps, he stopped. He exclaimed "Huh?" and then walked towards the haystack. There was a patch of fine footprints on the snow around the haystack.

Judging from the footprints, it must be a pheasant.

In winter, food is scarce in the mountains, and the snow is thick, so pheasants can't dig through the snow to find food, so they run to the vicinity of the village to look for food. There are scattered grains of rice under the haystacks, which were left over during the threshing.

Lin Nuo approached the haystack quietly, his steps light. He placed the sack on the ground and moved to the leeward side.

There was a small hole on the side of the haystack, probably made by a pheasant that crawled in. The grass stalks around the hole were bent to one side, as if they had been squeezed by something.

He squatted down, brought his arm close to the cave entrance, and took a sniff.

A faint, pungent smell, mixed with the dry fragrance of grains and grass, and a touch of warmth wafted out of the cave, brushing against my face, making me feel all warm and cozy.

Exactly.

There must be something inside this haystack.

Without hesitation, Lin Nuo took off his cotton-padded coat and wrapped it around his arm. The coat was thick enough that even a pheasant couldn't peck through it. He then put his coat-wrapped arm into the hole.

The haystack was empty. The straw and stalks had created a small, warm space, a completely different world from the outside.

As he fumbled around, Lin Nuo found a few long feathers. Something was huddled in the corner, motionless.

pheasant.

This thing was freezing, so it crawled inside to warm up, and once it got warm, it didn't want to move anymore. It's much warmer inside the haystack than outside.

Lin Nuo's fingers quietly traced the feathers, reaching the base of the wing. The pheasant didn't react much; it must have been freezing.

Finding the right spot, Lin Nuo suddenly grabbed the base of both wings and pulled them outwards.

The pheasant only then realized what was happening.

It suddenly flapped its wings, making a loud "slap slap" sound as it struck the grass, sending bits of grass flying. Its claws kicked wildly, striking his arm; he could feel the force even through his cotton-padded coat.

The sharp beak pecked at the back of his hand, once, twice, three times, making a "thud-thud" sound, making him wince in pain.

But since I've already grabbed on, how can I let go?

Lin Nuo became furious, pulled the pheasant out of the hole, stuffed it into a sack, and hurriedly tied the opening shut.

Inside the burlap sack, the turtle was at the bottom, and the pheasant was on top. The turtle was hibernating and wouldn't wake up anytime soon, so it huddled in a corner, motionless. The pheasant, on the other hand, was hopping and jumping around happily inside the sack. The sack was tied tightly, so it couldn't escape and could only struggle inside.

Lin Nuo picked up the sack and weighed it in his hand; it was heavy. The pheasant weighed three or four pounds. He turned the sack in the middle to separate the two things, afraid that the pheasant would peck the turtle to death.

This turtle is more valuable, so we can't peck it too badly. He doesn't want to eat Farewell My Concubine yet.

Having done all this, Lin Nuo patted the snow off the sack, hoisted it onto his shoulder, and walked forward.

He made a rough calculation on the way.

An eight-ounce turtle can sell for seven or eight yuan in town. A live pheasant can sell for five yuan, while a dead one is only worth two yuan. This pheasant, though half-frozen, is still quite energetic.

five yuan.

That's enough to buy several kilograms of meat.

However, he did not want to sell.

Su Wanqing's body is too weak and she needs to be nourished.

Besides, the 27th of the twelfth lunar month is the day for slaughtering chickens. They'd only fetch three or five yuan a month, so it's better to stew them for Wanqing. Add some hazel mushrooms, and after a bowl, you'll feel warm all over.

Having made up his mind, he decided to go and get some hazel mushrooms. He turned around and headed towards the west end of the village instead of going home.

At the west end of the village lived a family with mud-brick walls and a gate made of a few planks of wood. It was crooked and the hinges were loose, so it creaked when the wind blew in.

Lin Nuo knocked on the door.

Who is it?

A deep, honest voice came from inside. It wasn't loud, and it had a slightly nasal quality, as if the person had just woken up.

The door opened, and a young man in his early twenties stood behind it. He had a round face, a big nose, and small eyes. He wore a drab gray cotton-padded jacket and cloth shoes with worn-out toes that revealed the cotton filling inside.

Qi Dawu.

He saw Lin Nuo, paused for a moment, and then grinned.

"Brother Nuozi? What brings you here?"

"I need to buy something from you."

"What is it?"

"Hazel mushrooms. Dried."

Qi Dawu scratched his head and stepped aside to let Lin Nuo in. The courtyard wasn't large, and the woodpile was stacked neatly.

He did all the work.

Qi Dawu's older brother, Qi Dayong, wasn't home; he'd probably gone to the market in town. His wife wasn't home either; the house was quiet.

Qi Dawu carried a cloth bag out of the house. The bag was made of coarse cloth and had been washed until it was whitish. The character "Qi" was embroidered on it in crooked stitches. He untied the rope, and inside were dried hazel mushrooms, brown in color, with curled caps and a strong mushroom aroma.

"Brother Nuozi, how much do you want?"

"Just a few ounces will do. For stewing chicken."

Qi Dawu grabbed a large handful, wrapped it in newspaper, tore off a piece, and stuffed the hazel mushrooms inside, making a neat square shape with the edges folded in, like wrapping Chinese medicine. He then handed it over.

"Brother Nuozi, take this and eat it. You don't need to pay. It's from the mountains, it's not worth much."

Lin Nuo didn't take it. He took out three yuan from his pocket and handed it over. Qi Dawu's bunch weighed more than a pound, and hazel mushrooms were expensive at this time, costing two or three yuan a pound.

It doesn't matter if you have a little more or a little less of this good stuff.

"Take it."

Qi Dawu waved his hand, his honest face showing seriousness.

"Brother Nuozi, really, no. It's nothing valuable, there are plenty of things like it in the mountains. You've helped me a lot before, and last time my brother hit me, you were the one who broke us up. If it weren't for you, I would have another hole in my head. If you give me money, that's just looking down on me."

Lin Nuo shook his head, stuffed the money into his hand, and grabbed his fingers to prevent him from pushing it back.

"Da Wu, people should always think about themselves."

Qi Dawu was stunned for a moment.

He looked into Lin Nuo's eyes, and his gaze was different from usual, as if he knew something.

"Brother Nuozi..."

"Take it."

Lin Nuo released his grip and tucked the hazel mushroom into his coat. The hazel mushroom, wrapped in straw paper, pressed against his chest, feeling hard and unyielding.

He recalled his past life, and how Qi Dawu was a kind-hearted man who would be good to anyone and never put up with anything.

Ever since his brother Qi Dayong got married, he complained that he was in the way at home, and his sister-in-law also disliked him. After discussing it back and forth, the couple decided to send him to Zhao Lao Er's house in the neighboring village to become Zhao Lao Er's son-in-law, in exchange for some dowry money.

He's supposed to be a live-in son-in-law, but all he gets to do is work and suffer. The Zhao family's daughter has a terrible temper; she's always calling him a "good-for-nothing" and a "freeloader."

Zhao Lao Er and his wife also treated him like livestock.

Qi Dawu was tormented for three years, and then fell ill, coughing up blood. The Zhao family refused to treat him, saying, "It's not a serious illness, you can just tough it out." After a few months, he succumbed to his illness.

He was not yet thirty when he died.

Lin Nuo was working in the south at the time. When he heard about this, he felt terrible.

This life is different now.

He couldn't watch Qi Dawu jump into the fire again. He had to pull him back.

"Da Wu,"

Lin Nuo walked to the door, stopped, and turned to look at him:

"If your brother hits you again, come find me."

Qi Dawu scratched his head, not quite understanding what he meant, but still nodded.

"Why."

Lin Nuo didn't say anything more, and carried the sack out the door.

He walked home along the village road, the sack swaying on his shoulder.

I hadn't walked far when I saw someone coming towards me.

Lin Weidong, his uncle, walked over from the east end of the village, carrying a bundle of firewood.

"uncle."

Lin Weidong stopped, glanced at him, and his gaze fell on the sack on his shoulder.

"What did you catch?"

"Pheasant. And a soft-shelled turtle. Grandpa, come over to my house for stewed chicken tonight. It's the 27th of the twelfth lunar month, the day to kill chickens and go to the market, so we can make a big pot of stew."

Lin Weidong shook his head, his face looking rather grim.

"No, no, Nuozi, I just happened to run into you. I have something to tell you."

Lin Nuo stopped. He put the sack off his shoulder and placed it at his feet, leaving a mark on the snow.

"Lin Jian sent a message back through someone."

Lin Nuo's heart skipped a beat.

He said he wouldn't be coming back for the Chinese New Year.

After Lin Weidong finished speaking, he looked at Lin Nuo, waiting for his reaction.

Not coming back?

Lin Nuo's face remained expressionless as he calmly said:

"Uncle, I understand."

Lin Nuo's voice was very calm, so calm that even he himself was a little surprised.

He had expected this. After returning from the county, he knew that Lin Jian probably wouldn't be able to come back for the New Year.

It's better if they don't come back.

If I come back and Dad asks, how will I explain those things?

"I'll go back and talk to my dad. You should go back and rest; it's freezing cold."

Lin Weidong glanced at him, said nothing, and turned to leave.

I'm not coming back for the Chinese New Year.

Is Lin Jian afraid to come back, or is he unable to come back?

He hoisted the sack onto his shoulder and turned to walk home.

He needed to earn more; his intuition told him that the trap Lin Jian had dug was bigger than he had imagined.