Chapter Seventy-Five: What Is That Sound? (Seeking Followers)

Getting on the bus meant dumplings, getting off meant noodles, but Han Li still remembered the dumplings his mother made for him when he left Forty-Nine City. He hadn’t tasted dumplings in so long; whatever their flavor, he felt utterly comfortable as he ate.

Patting his full stomach, Han Li stepped out of the state-run restaurant, musing whether he should make dumplings with the pork he’d acquired. Pairing wild greens or mushrooms with pork would surely make delicious dumplings. Yet, the thought of rolling out dumpling wrappers and shaping each one left him a bit weary. Perhaps it was best to simply stir-fry or stew the pork; those methods suited him fine.

When Han Li arrived at the agreed meeting spot, the five young women were not yet there. Despite claiming last time there was nothing much to see in the small county town, today they hadn’t finished their stroll. Han Li wasn’t bothered; he found a place to sit, pulled a book from his satchel, and began to read leisurely.

Soon enough, the five women arrived together, smiles bright on their faces, as if something wonderful had happened.

“What’s going on here?” Han Li teased, “Look at you all—grinning so wide you could pop a bubble.”

Yang Xiuying whispered, “We just met a fellow selling pork without ration tickets. Each of us bought some. We’ll swap it for green beans and eggplant later, feast for two meals, and preserve the rest with salt for harvest season.”

Han Li asked, “Was it a wild boar that happened to fall off a cliff and die right in front of their house?”

“Not exactly, but how did you know?”

“Because I met an old man selling pork with the same story, and I bought some too.”

“Ah, what a letdown. We thought we’d cornered the market.”

“Come on, let’s pick out what we need. The road home isn’t easy.”

There wasn’t much to select among the water jars and crocks; as long as the glaze wasn’t missing or cracked, they sufficed. The Yun sisters and He Mi quickly made their choices, and Han Li bought a crock this time as well. They hired a horse cart to bring everything back to Shanghe Village, walking alongside as before.

All their baskets were loaded on the cart, so their journey was light and pleasant, chatting as they went. The trip was uneventful, and upon their return, they unloaded the cart, washed up, and fetched water.

Just as Han Li was about to head home, a postal worker in olive green rode up on a sturdy bicycle and stopped beside them.

“Han Li, Hao Hongmin, Yang Xiuying, Yun Jingjing—there are letters for you. Comrade Han Li, there’s a remittance slip as well. Please sign for it.”

The postal worker’s booming voice drew curious villagers nearby, their eyes filled with envy.

Only He Mi received no letter, but she didn’t seem too disappointed.

“Thank you,” Han Li said, looking at the remittance slip and thinking it would have been better if it had arrived yesterday. After signing, he asked, “Comrade, is there an expiration on this remittance slip?”

“You can collect it anytime within two months. After that, the money returns to the sender.”

Two months was plenty; Han Li had no desire to make another trip to town soon.

“Thank you.”

As the postal worker left, villagers gathered around.

“Comrade Han, your parents sent you money again?”

“Yes, just a little.”

“Not honest, Han Comrade! How much is ‘a little’?”

Han Li laughed, “Enough for a pack of cigarettes. I’ve got things to do at home, so you all keep chatting.”

With that, he headed home. He never bothered with those who probed too deeply, nor did he care what they said behind his back—just sour grapes, nothing more. Such people are everywhere, at any time.

He glanced at the letter, dictated by his mother and penned by his eldest sister. It was filled with family trifles, concern for his health, and so on.

After reading, he saw it was only half past three. He put the letter and remittance slip away, changed into work clothes, grabbed his basket, and toyed with the army knife he’d bought that day, ready to head up the mountain.

Since he now had plastic sheeting, he needed to gather more wood. Han Li planned to build a small bathhouse for winter bathing. Though the bathhouses in the Northeast were more comfortable than those in Forty-Nine City, once the snow fell, leaving the village was impossible.

The only inconvenience would be water. Han Li initially considered digging a well, but with only two public wells in the village, it would be too much to add a private one.

He intended to use thick tree trunks for the bathhouse exterior, and wooden planks—made from local linden trees—for the interior. The linden tree, he’d learned, was ideal: its natural oils made the planks durable, corrosion-resistant, and unlikely to crack.

He searched the mountain for suitable pine for the outer walls, linden for the interior, and gathered mushrooms and wild fruits along the way.

Yang Xiuying, after receiving her letter, remained as usual, but Hao Hongmin’s worries seemed to deepen. The Yun sisters read their letter together, then left hand-in-hand, returning with swollen eyes.

As Han Li descended the mountain, dusk had settled. His haul was good—not only wood and stone, but his basket was full as well.

Turning a corner, he could already see the village ahead. Focused on his way, Han Li suddenly heard strange sounds from the grass ahead: soft sobs, as if someone was crying quietly.

“Damn, are you trying to swallow me whole?”

“Can’t help it; you’re so tender. I want you to know my power.”

Han Li thought, Good grief... It isn’t even fully dark yet, and they’re broadcasting such things. Is this something a young man like me should be hearing for free? Has anyone considered my health—or my feelings—at this moment?

He quietly retreated two steps, circled around, and left. His heart hammered; this was more stimulating than two hours of boxing.

The day’s mountain harvest no longer seemed so appealing. He hurried home, drank a big cup of chrysanthemum tea, then took a cold shower.

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