Transmigrated into a minor official in a county government, with children at home waiting for rice t

After the bell rang three times, Zhang Sanlang left the county government office through the side gate.

He had a large sum of money tucked in his pocket, his advance payment for next month's allowance. After deducting the deductions, he had 880 coins left. He weighed the coins in his satchel; they made a dull thud.

The door of the old house in the east of the city was ajar.

He pushed open the door and went in. Old Sun was squatting at the gatehouse, grinding his cart wheels.

"Uncle Sun," Zhang Sanlang stopped, "you must know I'm moving today. How much did it cost to haul it from the Zhang family home to here?"

Old Sun raised his eyes, then lowered them again to look at his wheelbarrow.

The wheels had just been oiled and were gleaming.

"Twelve coins."

"make a deal."

Old Sun pushed the cart and followed Zhang Sanlang toward the Zhang family's house.

The wheelbarrow creaked and groaned on the bluestone slabs.

In the west wing, happy Mei'er had already tidied up the things.

The cattail quilt was folded neatly into a square and tied twice with hemp rope.

Three linen jackets were stacked together and bundled into one bundle.

The lid of the broken wooden box wouldn't close properly, so it was tied with hemp rope. Inside were Zhang Sanlang's deceased wife's old cloth shirt and that broken wooden comb.

The low table had a crack in its surface and was upside down on the cart. Two benches were stacked on top of it, one of which was missing a leg, which Ximei had tied to the bench with hemp thread.

The iron cauldron had its handles bound with straw rope. The earthenware steamer, cracked in the middle, was bound with hemp rope and placed on top of the cauldron.

The ladle's handle broke off in half and was stuck in the pot.

A broken oil lamp sat on top of a wooden box, next to an oil can with only a ring of oil remaining at the bottom.

The flint, almost flattened, was wrapped together with tinder in a tattered cloth and tucked into a corner of the wooden box. The straw mat was bound into a pillow-sized roll with hemp rope, the hemp fibers wrapped around it.

The sewing basket was placed in the crook of Ximei'er's arm, containing a few needles, half a roll of hemp thread, and a few scraps of cloth.

The washboard was tucked under his armpit.

The winnowing basket and broom were tied together and carried in the hand.

The edges of the winnowing basket were worn rough, the broom was almost bare, and only a few stiff twigs remained to support it.

There were also two pairs of old cloth shoes that Ximei had sewn for her younger brother, tucked into his padded jacket bundle. The soles were stitched tightly, the stitches much neater than those on her own clothes. The soles of the pair she wore were almost worn through.

Zhang Sanlang and Qing Ge'er first carried the iron cauldron onto the cart. Old Sun then filled the cart with all the items.

Just as she was about to leave the hospital, Ximei suddenly turned around and ran back.

She ran so fast that the scraps of cloth in the sewing basket almost fell out.

She grabbed a three-foot-long fire poker from beside the door of the west wing. One end was gleaming from being worn, while the other end bore scorch marks. Clutching the poker, she ran back, looked up at Zhang Sanlang, and smiled.

Zhang Sanlang looked at the fire poker and nodded.

His voice was a little rough when he spoke: "I'm leaving."

The wheelbarrow creaked and groaned in the alley.

happy Mei followed beside the car, while Qing Ge tugged at Zhang Sanlang's clothes, chasing after his own shadow.

Zhang Sanlang looked at the two children, and fragments of the original owner's memories flashed through his mind.

When Ximei was born, her face was wrinkled. When Qingge first called out "Dad," his saliva dripped onto his clothes.

Despite having a high fever, the original owner still insisted on going to the yamen to report for duty, because missing a day meant missing a day of stipend.

Despite his illness, the original owner taught happy Mei'er to recognize characters under the lamp. The first character happy Mei'er recognized was "Zhang". The original owner said that this character is pronounced Zhang, and our family's surname is Zhang.

This surname is no longer associated with these three people.

The two children were unaware that the real Zhang Sanlang had already died from his injuries, and that their current father was no longer the same one.

They simply followed, one clutching a fire poker, the other tugging at the hem of his clothes, and walked out of the Zhang family's courtyard without looking back.

They had walked that alley for several years, and they knew every uneven bluestone slab by heart.

Today is the last time.

About half an hour later, the wheelbarrow was pushed into the old house in the east of the city.

Old Sun helped unload the items from the cart and placed them at the entrance of the east wing.

He moved it nimbly, and not a single straw rope came loose when he took the iron pot off the ground.

Zhang Sanlang counted out twelve copper coins from his sleeve and placed them in Old Sun's palm.

Old Sun tucked his hand into his pocket, nodded, and pushed the cart away.

The two rooms in the east wing had already been swept by Ximei and Qingge during the day.

There was no dust on the floor, and no cobwebs in the corners. Only the window paper had a few holes; I'll have to buy some to patch them up another day.

Just as they were busy, the door to the west wing creaked open.

Neighbor Sun came out, carrying a bowl of freshly drawn well water. Her daughter, A-Yun, followed behind her, her head bowed, and took the water, placing it by the stove.

Aunt Sun glanced at the open door of the east wing, her voice booming through the draft: "Oh my, isn't this the Zhang family's distinguished guest? What brings you to our dilapidated place?"

As she spoke, she went inside, picked up a sewing basket from the wooden box lid, and began sorting.

A-Yun followed happy-Mei-Er silently and moved the washboard behind the door.

Two girls carried a low table, lifting it with four hands, working together seamlessly.

Aunt Sun carried the iron pot to the earthen stove under the eaves, still talking: "One person raising two children, the government only gives them that little bit of stipend, and the old house is dilapidated and far away. Old Zhang is really willing to give up so much."

She stuffed some dry grass into the stove, struck it with a flint, and sparks flew out, illuminating the grass briefly before it went out. She struck it again, and this time it lit. Flames leaped up, licking the dry firewood, crackling and popping.

The low table was moved into the house and placed in the center.

The bench was placed next to the table, and the missing leg was stabilized by placing an old brick under it.

The wooden crate was pushed to the corner and was still used to store clothes, bedding, and other items.

An oil lamp was placed on the windowsill, and an oil can was placed under the lamp.

Zhang Sanlang straightened the bench, glanced at her, smiled, and didn't say anything more.

Footsteps approached from the backyard.

Mother He carried a rough porcelain jar and came out from the back room.

She put it on the stove, then went back into the house to get a bowl and spoon. "The first meal after moving into a new house can't be left empty. This old woman can't manage any big feasts. These are homemade pickled radishes, Sanlang, please don't mind them."

The pickled radishes in the jar are cut into strips, soaked in a dark brown braising liquid, and topped with a pinch of Sichuan peppercorns.

happy Mei took the plate and placed it on the low table.

A-Yun brought out a small paper package from her room. She opened it and held it in her palm. Inside were several pieces of pale yellow maltose candy, with fine creases pressed into their surfaces.

She pursed her lips and handed it to Ximei with both hands, saying, "This was a gift from the master of the house when I did laundry for someone last month. Try it, little sister, it's soft and sweet."

happy Mei glanced at Zhang Sanlang, and only after seeing him nod did she cautiously take the food and take a small bite, her eyes lighting up.

"So sweet." She took another piece and stuffed it into Qingge'er's mouth, then pushed the rest into Ayun's hand, "Sister Yun, I've already tasted it, you can keep it for yourself."

A-Yun put her hands behind her back and took a step back. "There's more at home. These few pieces are for you. I eat this every day at home, and I'm tired of it."

Aunt Sun rolled her eyes and tapped the edge of the stove with a fire poker.

A-Yun blushed.

She knew why her mother rolled her eyes.

They never had a day when they could eat candy every day. The few pieces of malt candy that the host gave them last month were hidden under her pillow. She would take them out and look at them every day, but she couldn't bear to eat a single piece.

But she spoke as if it were the truth, her hands behind her back, refusing to take them back no matter what.