Chapter 2: Childhood Sweethearts

Night had fallen, and the howling wind and snow grew ever louder.

On the worn wooden table sat a small pot of coarse bran porridge and a single cornmeal cake.

“Ah Xing, come and eat,” Chen called softly, first ladling a bowl of the thinnest gruel, then setting aside the thickest portion for Yang Xing.

“Mother, let’s eat together,” he urged.

Gurgle!

Yang Xing sat down, cupped the bowl of bran porridge, and drank it in great gulps.

The porridge was far from refined; swallowing it felt like it scraped down his throat. But Yang Xing had grown used to it—after all, in these troubled times, having even this to eat was a blessing. Beyond the city walls, people had not even bran to fill their stomachs, surviving instead on grass roots, tree bark, or even eating clay.

Chen ate slowly and carefully, treasuring every bite. “Ah Xing, I can manage the general store. You should consider learning a craft. Your father once wished to learn blacksmithing, but he was too frail for the master to take him on.”

“Would you like to learn it? I think it’s a fine trade.”

For commoners, mastering a craft was the surest way to survive in turbulent times. Many young people in the county towns did just that.

Yet apprenticeship meant three years as a servant—three years of hard labor, without pay, treated little better than a slave.

Yang Xing was about to reply when a knock sounded at the door.

“Aunt Chen, Brother Xing!”

The voice was light and melodious—a girl’s.

“Coming!” Yang Xing started up, but Chen was quicker, hurrying to answer.

At the door stood a girl of fourteen or fifteen named Zhao Yuniang. She was not strikingly beautiful, but her features were pleasant and wholesome, her skin a healthy wheat-gold, her eyes bright and lively, her movements brisk and neat.

She and Yang Xing had grown up together—true childhood companions, innocent and close. Before Yang Xing’s father vanished, he had planned to propose to Zhao’s family, but fate had intervened.

Yang Xing cherished this gentle, kindhearted childhood friend, and she was his ideal match.

Chen’s face lit with delight. “Yuniang, you’ve come! Come in, quickly.”

“Aunt Chen, Brother Xing,” Zhao Yuniang said with a smile, stepping inside. “We made some wild vegetable cakes at home. My father sent me to bring some over. I hope you don’t mind.”

Chen’s smile grew even broader. “How could we mind? Did you have any yourself? If not…”

She faltered, her expression growing awkward. Tonight they had only rough bran porridge—hardly fare to serve a guest. How could she ask Yuniang to eat their meager leftovers?

“No, no, it’s fine,” Zhao Yuniang quickly said, waving her hand. “I just came to check on you…”

She stole a glance at Yang Xing, her cheeks flushing slightly. “If there’s nothing else, I’ll be heading back.”

Chen gave Yang Xing a meaningful look. “Ah Xing, it’s late. Walk Yuniang home.”

Yang Xing nodded and followed Zhao Yuniang outside.

The street was in disrepair, strewn with yellow-grey rubbish. The two of them walked side by side.

With a hint of grievance, Zhao Yuniang asked, “Brother Xing, why haven’t you visited me in so long? Is it because of my mother?”

Since Yang Xing’s father had disappeared, Zhao Yuniang’s mother had become noticeably colder toward the Yang family.

Yang Xing explained, “I’ve just been busy lately. I was planning to visit you tomorrow.”

At this, Zhao Yuniang smiled, but her expression soon turned anxious. “Be careful when you’re out. I heard someone on Pockmark Alley was taken in the night again.”

“Again in the night?” Yang Xing asked, puzzled. “Wasn’t the thieves’ gang already wiped out?”

“I don’t know. Maybe it’s a new group. Someone was robbed just the other day—tried to fight back, and lost a hand.”

She sighed, shaking her head. “Brother Xing, please be careful outside. If you run into those people, just let it go. If someone tries to rob you, give them what they want. As long as I’m here, you’ll never go hungry.”

At fourteen or fifteen, Zhao Yuniang not only helped with sewing at home, but also, thanks to her nimble hands, did laundry for wealthy families to earn a bit extra.

Yang Xing laughed. “You think I need you to feed me?”

Zhao Yuniang pouted. “Why not? Didn’t you say women can hold up half the sky too?”

Yang Xing gently ruffled her hair. “Alright, Yuniang can hold up half the sky.”

They chatted a little longer before Yang Xing walked Zhao Yuniang to her door.

Her home was a dilapidated flat in a narrow alley, one among a row of crumbling houses. Outside, worn clothes hung drying, the faded colors distinguishing men’s from women’s.

“I’ll be going now,” Yang Xing said.

Zhao Yuniang bit her lip and whispered, “Brother Xing, I’ll work hard to save money. When I have enough, I’ll give it all to you—then you can come and ask for my hand.”

With that, she ran quickly inside.

Yang Xing stood stunned, watching her figure vanish from sight.

As he turned to leave, a shrill voice rang from within Yuniang’s house.

“Did you give those wild vegetable cakes I just made to that Yang boy?”

“I’m telling you, keep away from him from now on.”

“I know, Mother, I know. Just eat before the cakes get cold.”

The sharp voice belonged to Zhao Yuniang’s mother, Madam Zhang.

Yang Xing shook his head and hurried home; the streets were nearly empty.

“Cough, cough!”

Just as he neared his door, he heard a fit of coughing. Looking up, he saw Old Gao the fishmonger, who lived not far from them.

“Ah Xing, stay back!” cried Uncle Wangcai, grabbing Yang Xing and pulling him away.

When they had retreated a good distance, Uncle Wangcai sighed with relief, his face grim. “There’s plague in the city these days. Old Gao seems to have caught it—he’s been coughing for days. Keep your distance from him.”

“Thank you, Uncle Wangcai,” Yang Xing said, a chill running through him. He had heard the plague was spreading outside the city, and that the gates had been sealed, but he hadn’t expected it to reach within the walls so soon.

“Best get home quickly,” Uncle Wangcai murmured. “It’s not safe at night.”

Yang Xing didn’t linger, hurrying back inside.

“You’re back, Ah Xing,” Chen greeted him by the wavering lamplight. “These wild vegetable cakes are a real treat—best eaten while still warm.”

Yang Xing sat down. “There are two pieces, Mother. You have one too.”

Chen shook her head hurriedly. “I won’t. You eat.”

Yang Xing picked up a cake and, with quiet insistence, said, “You always tell me I’m the head of the family. Well, as the head of the family, I say you must eat.”

“Alright,” Chen replied, tears glimmering in her eyes as she looked at the vegetable cake in her bowl. “I always knew, from the time you were little, that you were a thoughtful son. Not even your father treated me so well.”

Yang Xing smiled. “Come, Mother, eat it while it’s hot.”

Chen nodded, taking a careful bite of the wild vegetable cake, savoring its rare flavor.

Under the dim lamp, mother and son huddled close, leaning on each other for comfort.

After supper, Chen took a red pouch from the clothing chest and pressed it into Yang Xing’s hand. “Ah Xing, this was part of my dowry. It’s not much, but enough to pay for three years of apprenticeship.”

“I don’t ask you to be something great. I only wish you a safe and happy life.”

Yang Xing’s heart warmed as he held the still-warm red pouch in his palm.

…