Chapter 27 Part 1

Following behind Second Aunt Yang came a tall, powerfully built young man, his hair somewhat long, sticking up in wild disarray.

Mid-spring was nearly over, yet he still wore his winter padded coat—too small, binding tight around him. His too-short trousers bared his ankles, and on his feet were sneakers of indeterminable color, one toe split open to reveal a big toe chilled blue.

Qiao Ning was momentarily stunned. He knew him.

In childhood, the village had three children who didn’t fit in.

The crybaby little mute Qiao Naonao, the sickly Ji Baiqing—and the third was Han Tou, who was simple-minded.

[T/N: Han Tou literally means Silly Head or Foolish Head.]

Han Tou hadn’t been born that way. His father drank and beat his wife; eventually the mother was driven off. Han Tou lost his mother young, and his father was useless besides—the housework fell on the child instead.

At eight or nine, he went to the river to wash clothes. One garment of his father’s got swept away by the current, and Han Tou, terrified of the beating he’d get at home, jumped into the river to retrieve it—and lost his footing, falling in.

If a villager hadn’t happened by and dove in to pull him out, he might have been swept away for good.

It was deep autumn by then. Han Tou soaked in the cold water, then took two slaps from his father for coming home late—and that very night, the child spiked a high fever.

His father, dead drunk and snoring to high heaven, never once checked on his son.

And so Han Tou burned his way into simple-mindedness.

What his name had once been, Qiao Ning didn’t know. He was a few years older than Qiao Ning and Ji Baiqing, and by the time Qiao Ning was dumped back in the village, “Han Tou” was already his name—everyone called him that.

“Han Tou will do—he’s strong,” Second Aunt Yang answered Granny Wang the Sixth. “And he’s obedient. Right, Han Tou?”

Han Tou nodded, half a beat slow, breaking into an innocent smile. He asked Second Aunt Yang, “Auntie, where’s Naonao? You said we’re going to Naonao’s… home…”

Second Aunt Yang smiled and pointed at Qiao Ning. “There he is.”

Han Tou stared at Qiao Ning, blank, for a while—then shook his head hard. “No. Not Naonao.”

He gestured at his own chest, saying, “Naonao was this tall.”

Qiao Ning: “…”

“Naonao grew up!” Second Aunt Yang laughed, and everyone laughed with her.

“Han Tou’s still stuck in the old days.”

“Naonao’s grown into a big tall boy too.”

Hearing that, Qiao Ning glowed inwardly. Thanks, Golden Finger, for the painless height boost.

He stepped forward, handed Han Tou two packs of the snacks in his hands, and called out: “Brother Han Tou.”

Han Tou froze—then suddenly split into a grin. “It IS Naonao. It’s Naonao!”

Auntie Xiuying teased him: “How’d you recognize him this time?”

Han Tou beamed. “Only Naonao and… and A-Qing ever call me Brother. Everyone else… everyone calls me idiot.”

He was smiling even as he said it, but Qiao Ning’s heart ached.

Han Tou, holding the two packs Qiao Ning had given him, tried to hand one back. Qiao Ning took it, tore it open, and fed him.

Han Tou didn’t know how to refuse. Qiao Ning told him to eat, so he stuffed it in, gobbling away. Crumbs rained to the floor; he bent to pick them up and feed them to his mouth—Qiao Ning hurriedly stopped him. “Don’t eat what’s fallen on the ground.”

“Oh.” Han Tou looked rueful, but henceforth caught the falling crumbs carefully in his palm.

At the end he even proudly showed Qiao Ning his palm: “Naonao, look. None dropped.”

“Brother Han Tou is so clever,” Qiao Ning praised with a smile.

Han Tou’s eyes crinkled into slits with delight. “A-Auntie! Naonao said I’m c-clever!”

Second Aunt Yang said, “Of course. Naonao’s a university student, and a university student says you’re clever—so you’re clever. Now finish eating, then help me move that stone.”

“Okay.” Han Tou hastily tipped the crumbs from his palm into his mouth, then tried to give Qiao Ning the remaining pack of little breads, forgetting he’d already tried that once and been refused.

Qiao Ning told him to keep it, so Han Tou tucked it into his pocket—bringing it home to eat, he said.

Second Aunt Yang and Han Tou went to move the stone; another strong auntie went to help. Qiao Ning wanted to join and was shooed away.

Thanks to his explanation of why he’d returned home, he was now, in the villagers’ eyes, a full-grown copy of Ji Baiqing—a great big sickly creature.

Han Tou really was strong. The three of them moved the great slab off the wellhead and over beneath the persimmon tree.

Second Aunt Yang had the stone’s future all planned: “When your persimmons fruit again, you stand on this big stone, reach out, and you can touch the ones on the lower branches.”

Qiao Ning nodded along. “Looks good to me.”

With the stone gone, everyone craned to peer inside. Unused for so long, the well grew thick with moss and algae.

“That’s got to be scooped out. I have a Landing Net at home—I’ll get it.”

“Water needs to settle a few days before use.”

“Once the net’s here and we’ve scooped it, we’ll bail the water out and dump it.”

“Lay some coarse river sand at the bottom—keeps the water clear. Little Qiao, go dig some from the river later.”

“Like he could carry it. Han Tou! You help Naonao with the heavy work.”

Before Qiao Ning could speak, the aunties and grannies had the whole plan laid out. At that last remark, he hurried to say, “I can manage myself.”

Second Aunt Yang pulled him aside, low-voiced. “Heavy chores—your health’s poor, let Han Tou handle them. His mind’s slow but he’s obedient, and strong. When he’s done, just feed him a meal. He eats a lot but isn’t picky—anything goes.”

Whether Han Tou heard or not, he answered without hesitation: “Mm-hm! I’ll help Naonao work.”

Qiao Ning also lowered his voice, quietly asking Second Aunt Yang, “What’s Brother Han Tou’s situation now?”

Second Aunt Yang said, “His father drank himself to death years back. It’s just him in that house now. There’s still two mu of land, but you know how it is—farmland here isn’t worth much. That drunkard father of his even wanted to sell the land for booze money! It’s state land, allocated for him to farm—no way he could sell it!”

Qiao Ning: “…”

To put it harshly: thank goodness Han Tou’s father died.

Second Aunt Yang said the same: “Good thing his father drank himself to death, or Han Tou would be worse off now. When the man was alive he beat Han Tou at the drop of a hat—and Han Tou, grown that big and strong, somehow never fought back. Beaten bloody every time.”

Qiao Ning: “…”

Too late a death.

“Han Tou can’t farm,” Second Aunt Yang went on. “He needs someone telling him exactly what to do, one thing at a time—any more and he can’t remember. The Old Village Chief decided it: his land is rented out to Wang Chenggui’s family, and every year they give him three hundred jin of grain.”

“Two mu for three hundred jin?” Qiao Ning knew village land rents were cheap, but THIS cheap?

“That’s already decent. The Old Village Chief set the terms—three hundred jin of rice; mixed grain means more.”

Second Aunt Yang explained, “Our area’s so remote. In the mountains it’s not like the great plains, where you plant one huge field and run machines over it. Farming here earns sweat money, nothing more.”

Qiao Ning fell silent. Their village sat at the mountain’s foot, and while most of the arable land was level, it was scattered—not a single large connected plot.

Second Aunt Yang’s reasoning held. The Old Village Chief had Han Tou’s interests at heart: the man couldn’t manage money; grain was safer.

“Han Tou eats a lot—three hundred jin of rice won’t feed him year-round,” Second Aunt Yang said. “But national policy is good these days. After his father died, the Village Committee got him on subsistence allowance—over four hundred yuan a month.”

“He can’t spend money, so the Village Committee manages it for him. Whatever he needs bought, Little He and Little Zhao from the committee—oh right, they’re our village’s new cadres, university students too—take the Old Village Chief along and spend the money for him, and the rest goes to buying his grain. He can cook his own meals, at least…”

“And then, anyone with a job—heavy work, no thinking needed—can call on Han Tou, feed him a few meals. He saves a bit of his own grain that way and gets a good meal besides…”

Qiao Ning listened quietly to the end, silent a moment, then said softly to Second Aunt Yang, “I understand.”

He walked to Han Tou’s side and said with a smile, “Brother Han Tou, I just got back and there’s so much to do at home. Will you come help me when you’re free?”

“Yes! Yes!” Han Tou thumped his chest. “I can work! I’m strong!”

He truly was capable and diligent. After the stone was moved and he saw everyone cleaning the house, he grabbed a rag and wiped everywhere too.

Many hands made light work. Soon the courtyard, central hall, kitchen, and little storage room were all cleaned, and the well was dredged, its walls scraped as free of moss as they could manage.

Qiao Ning’s home couldn’t host so many guests—too much was missing—and none of them considered this heavy work anyway. Wiping and scrubbing was just what their hands did. When they finished, they all left without waiting for Qiao Ning to press them to stay.

All Qiao Ning could do was cram snacks into everyone’s hands as they left—a few packs each. Not much, but it was the thought.

The blueberries he’d specially set aside for Second Aunt Yang went to her too. She demurred, and Qiao Ning coaxed: everyone else had tasted them while she was out.

Auntie Xiuying backed him up. “We all ate—delicious! Never had fruit this good. Little Qiao saved these specially for you—just take them!”

Only then did Second Aunt Yang accept the blueberries and snack packs, all smiles.

With everyone gone—even Han Tou, called off by Second Aunt Yang to lunch at her place—the courtyard, so lively moments ago, fell suddenly quiet.

Qiao Ning wandered the house alone, touching here, looking there, now and then finding traces of his childhood.

And finding them, he couldn’t help smiling.

The bedrooms, the grannies and aunties hadn’t entered. Qiao Ning used the key Ji Baiqing had left to unlock one and look inside.

The old house’s central hall connected to four rooms—at the four corners: northeast, southeast, northwest, southwest. Excepting the southeast, each of the other three corners had its own door.

The northwest and southwest doors led to two bedrooms. The two bedrooms shared a wall with each other—and that same wall was all that separated them from the Ji Family next door.

The inner room had been Qiao Ning’s bedroom since he started primary school. Through that shared wall, in the neighboring courtyard, was Ji Baiqing’s bedroom.

As a child, Qiao Ning often knocked on the wall before bed, waiting for Ji Baiqing to answer. They even had their own established code.

The outer room had naturally been Grandpa Qiao’s. In both bedrooms the bed frames remained—old-style wooden beds. Qiao Ning knew nothing about wood; he shook one, and it seemed still usable.

Mattresses and bedding were another matter—he’d have to buy those himself.

Phone in hand, Qiao Ning inspected room by room, jotting into his notes app what needed buying.

The door at the hall’s northeast corner opened onto the family’s Storage Room—grain, winter-stored vegetables, the farm tools, all kept here.

The two western bedrooms together matched the hall’s length—the house’s main body was rectangular—and the eastern Storage Room was fairly large, about two-thirds the hall’s length. The remaining third, behind a wall, was the household’s sundries room.

The sundries room didn’t open off the hall; it connected directly to the kitchen out in the yard. Through a doorway—once hung with a cloth curtain—were the cabinets, short-term grain and vegetables, and the like.