Chapter 72

Xie Tingyu spoke while rummaging through his own belongings. From inside he pulled out a bundle, wrapped haphazardly in a few sheets of newspaper, looking as though it was nothing special.

Ye Qingshui’s attention was immediately drawn to it.

Slowly and deliberately, Xie Tingyu unfolded the newspapers one by one. From inside, he revealed a piece of snow-white mutton-fat jade, glossy and translucent like congealed fat, with a lustrous, delicate surface.

The moment Ye Qingshui’s eyes fell on it, her gaze froze, unable to shift away. She stared at it, utterly entranced.

Ye Qingshui had always loved jewelry, jade, porcelain—especially antiques with historical depth. In her previous life, she had even taken time to study antiques and treasures to cultivate her taste.

Seeing the dazed look in her eyes, Xie Tingyu said,

“Didn’t we still owe Elder Zhou a piece of jade?”

He remembered how, after Ye Qingshui had received the Zhou family’s bead, she had treasured it so much that she buried it behind the house and went to check on it from time to time. Something he didn’t think worth much, she had held in her heart for a long time. Ever since then, whenever she went to the county, she always carried food for Zhou Ke.

She didn’t want to take advantage of others.

Since that was the case, he could only offer up something of his own as repayment.

“Take this jade and return it to him,” said Xie Tingyu.

Ye Qingshui finally pulled her gaze back. She almost wanted to scold this man harshly. Did he not realize what a rare treasure he was holding?

Gold, silver, and gems might not fetch much in this era, but that didn’t mean one should waste them like this.

The value of true treasures never perishes; time only deepens their worth. Anything handed down from one’s ancestors should be carefully preserved.

If not for the fact that Ye Qingshui’s forebears for generations had been tenant farmers and poor peasants, leaving nothing but debts to their descendants, she would have clung to such treasures her whole life.

She put the jade away carefully, her eyes now clear and steady. With a sigh, she said,

“One day I will return what belongs to others. But as for you—our family’s treasures cannot be given away so casually.”

Compared to this man who kept handing things out of the household, she considered herself far more prudent.

When they had gone to the capital, Grandma Xie had stuffed 900 yuan of bride price into Ye Qingshui’s hands, and on New Year’s Day her mother-in-law had given her a red envelope with another 200. Together, it was 1,100 yuan.

At the end of the 1970s, how many people could even see such a large sum? That kind of bride price was only ever demanded by families selling off their daughters.

Ye Qingshui had taken only 200 yuan, and before leaving, she quietly hid the rest under Grandma Xie’s pillow.

They were young, after all. As long as they were diligent, they could carve out their own future with their own hands.

When Xie Tingyu heard her use the phrase “our family,” his heart skipped suddenly, beating faster.

He smiled. “Alright, I’ll listen to you.”

He thought that would be enough to ease her persistence, but unexpectedly, she went right back to her earlier question:

“What’s inside your chest? Can’t you let me see?”

Xie Tingyu forced a smile. “Be good, Shui’er, can we not look?”

Ye Qingshui stayed silent.

She pondered—what could Big Brother Xie have been hinting at when he told her to look inside? He must have seen it himself.

In her past life, when he was going through Xie Tingyu’s relics, he must have opened it. Later, when she went to the university to find “him,” he had managed to impersonate Xie Tingyu so flawlessly that even she could barely tell. So there must be diaries inside.

Thinking this through, she gave up the idea.

But to her surprise, Xie Tingyu relented. “Fine, I’ll let you see.”

Seeing her disappointed expression made him feel guilty. Since they were already husband and wife, there was no harm in being open.

With a click, Xie Tingyu opened the chest.

Ye Qingshui’s eyes couldn’t help but fall inside. Both of their faces turned a little odd. Quietly lying inside was…a pile of books. The chest was stuffed full of them. He opened the other two chests—same thing.

His heart lifted nervously, but also relaxed with relief.

Ye Qingshui glanced at the books, flipped through them casually, found nothing unusual, and quickly lost interest. She left the room to help with chores.

“Grandma, don’t move, let me do the work.”

Meanwhile, Xie Tingyu quietly went to his younger uncle. “Did you move my chest? Where are the things that were inside?”

His uncle thought for a long while, then said,

“Oh, you mean that pile of junk?”

Xie Tingyu’s eyelids twitched slightly.

“When we moved, you had too many books. In spring the damp seeps in, and Mom was worried they’d mildew, so she put the books in your chest and moved the other stuff into the cabinet. She didn’t throw anything out.”

Hearing this, Xie Tingyu rushed back to the room, rummaged around, and finally opened the cabinet under his desk. Inside, stuffed full, were the items he’d hidden. A faint smile appeared on his face.

He reached out to touch the twenty grasshoppers he had crafted, smoothing their antennae.

The sunlight gilded them with gold, their bead-like black eyes so lifelike they seemed alive.

These were his priceless treasures.

He carefully sorted the scattered letters, diaries, and trinkets from the bottom, and placed them neatly back into the chest.

…

Before the village grew busy with spring plowing, Ye Qingshui took time to make a trip to the county.

Qian Xiangdong happily reported the New Year’s business results.

“Remember those pastries you made? Sweet things never fail. They sold out before New Year’s Eve. Business was great! Customers kept asking if we had more. We sold them for this much a pound.” He held up a finger ¹ one yuan per pound .

That was far more than what their breakfast food sold for.

Ye Qingshui nodded. At that price, they hadn’t lost out. Pastries were costly because of the sugar, and sugar was a luxury treat. Bringing pastries as gifts when visiting relatives for New Year was both decent and impressive.

Back in the capital, even neighbors in the military compound had wanted to buy pastries from them at two yuan per pound, but Grandma Xie hadn’t been willing to part with them.

Ye Qingshui collected 156 yuan—an entire stack of small bills, hot and almost burning to the touch.

She glanced at Qian Xiangdong. Even though it was the New Year, he was still dressed in rags.

“Now that you’ve got some money, you should buy some fabric and make yourself a proper set of clothes…”

Qian Xiangdong chewed on a grass stem, indifferent.

“Doesn’t matter. Looking like a beggar is easier to live with. I’m not short on money.”

Ye Qingshui bought a pound of chestnut cakes from him, then rode her bicycle toward Zhou Ke’s home.

In her schoolbag she had packed a bag of grain, heavy enough to drag down her arm.

When she arrived at the dilapidated tenement building, Zhou Ke was casually holding a bowl under a faucet, mixing water into dry rice to eat.

He hadn’t had a proper meal in days. His stomach growled, but he no longer even felt pain. Burping from hunger, all he tasted was sourness.

Still, today he had to travel ten li away to a mountain slope to hammer rocks for money. So he forced himself to eat some dry rice.

One handful of rice cooked into porridge could last two days. Cooked into dry rice, it could stretch for several days. But it was so dry now he couldn’t swallow it, so he went downstairs to fetch a little water.

When Ye Qingshui saw this “sloppy” side of Zhou Ke, she snatched the bowl from him.

“Drinking tap water will make you sick.”

Zhou Ke lowered his head and said nothing.

Ye Qingshui went upstairs, intending to boil some hot water, but discovered that the family had run out of coal briquettes—completely empty.

She glanced at Zhou Cunren, who was fast asleep on the bed, and only then realized that something about this home had changed. The house used to be messy but with some order; now it was nothing but silent chaos. On the floor lay a smashed part from the divining-rod machine.

The air was thick with the smell of medicine.

She asked Zhou Ke, “What happened here?”

Zhou Cunren slowly woke up, propping himself up and getting out of bed. He picked up the broken parts on the floor, slowly and with difficulty.

“Why did you have time to come today?”

Ye Qingshui looked at Zhou Ke, then at the old man. The boy’s face was sallow and thin, the little bit of flesh he’d gained earlier had completely wasted away. The old man’s face was ashen, carrying a hint of death.

On her way from the countryside to the county town, the festive spirit of the New Year was everywhere—except here, where there was none.

Ye Qingshui turned and left, borrowed some coal briquettes from a neighbor, and asked in passing:

“How is Teacher Zhou?”

The neighbor replied casually, “What else could it be? The old man’s got a serious illness, no money to treat it, just waiting at home to die.”

Ye Qingshui’s heart clenched. She paid two fen for the briquettes, returned to the shabby house, and cooked a pot of plain porridge.

She sat by the stove, exercising the greatest patience of her life, watching the flame lick the bottom of the pot, the round grains of rice slowly cracking open, releasing their starchy oil…

She called Zhou Ke to drink some porridge and set another bowl aside to cool before placing it by Zhou Cunren’s bedside.

Zhou Cunren sighed. “Don’t think too much. I knew this day would come.”

He let out a short laugh. “What are you crying for?”

Ye Qingshui shook her head. “I’m not. I didn’t cry.”

Zhou Cunren said, “This illness can’t be cured. I won’t treat it. I just… worry about Zhou Ke. He’s still so young. If, if…”

“If possible, please help me look after him. All my books—I’ll leave them to you.”

After speaking, he slowly turned his head away. Everyone wants to survive the darkness before dawn, but some give up easily, and some don’t even get the chance to struggle.

Tears rolled down Ye Qingshui’s cheeks. She still remembered when Zhou Cunren was researching the divining machine, working several nights without sleep.

She remembered how he taught her physics hands-on, how to solder circuit boards, and how he had scoured every junkyard in the county with her to find a piece of material.

She remembered the first time she met the old man—weak and suicidal, yet still holding on to a proud and stubborn spirit.

But now, he had set aside his pride and was almost pleading as he looked at her.

Ye Qingshui asked what illness it was. Zhou Cunren, unable to resist her persistence, revealed a fragile expression for a moment before hardening again.

“Stomach cancer. Nag, nag, nag—girls really are troublesome! Go, go, go, I don’t need you here.”

“And Zhou Ke doesn’t need your care in the future either.”

Zhou Ke, sitting to the side, ate porridge while wiping away tears, sniffling softly.

Ye Qingshui broke into a watery smile and insisted, “So is it early stage, middle stage, or late stage?”

Zhou Cunren said nothing and picked up the broom by his bed to drive her away.

Zhou Ke answered for him: “Middle stage.”

Ye Qingshui wiped her tears, mashed the rice grains into a paste with her spoon, and fed them to the old man. “I know you’re in pain right now, but eat something. Only if you’re full will you have the strength to live.”

Ye Qingshui hadn’t expected it to be cancer. In this era of poor medical treatment, beyond some basic care to drag things out for a few years, all that was left was waiting for death. No wonder the first time she’d met him, the old man had been so bent on suicide.

“The three hundred yuan from before, is it already spent?”

Zhou Ke said, “Not all of it, there’s still one hundred left. Grandpa came home early from the hospital treatment.”

After feeding him porridge, Ye Qingshui worried anxiously. With that temper, the old man would rather die than accept her financial help.

Her worry deepened, and suddenly tears fell again.

After finishing the porridge, she saw him hurriedly searching for a pen, bending over to scribble formulas on a blank kraft paper sheet.

“Why not rest properly instead of doing these mentally exhausting things?”

Ye Qingshui took away his notebook, planning to let him relax with the old radio. The battered radio had been pieced together by the old man himself from discarded parts.

As she spoke, her gaze froze.

The formulas spilling from his pen were detailed mathematical derivations, with accompanying explanations of principles. He was correcting mistakes in the secondary school science textbooks! Not only that, he carefully worked through each theorem, attaching exercises.

In her mind surfaced the memory of their first meeting, his disdainful gaze.

“These books—you don’t need to look at them.”

Zhou Cunren said calmly, “It’s just to pass the time. Later, Ke’er can also self-study with them.”

Ye Qingshui’s searching gaze fell on his chaotic “bookshelf”: stacks upon stacks of kraft paper, each filled cover to cover. A thought sprouted in her heart.

In 1977, the college entrance exams would be reinstated. At that time, teaching materials and study guides were scarce and riddled with errors, causing endless hardship for candidates. If these self-compiled textbooks of the old man’s could be published, what kind of impact would that be?

Choking back tears, Ye Qingshui stared at Zhou Cunren’s earnest figure and asked, word by word:

“If you had money for treatment, Teacher, would you treat your illness properly this time?”

“What kind of dream is that!” Zhou Cunren brushed it off, but soon a wrenching pain surged from his stomach. Within moments, his forehead was slick with sweat.

Zhou Ke, sipping porridge, was hidden behind the rising steam of his big bowl. His eyes grew blurry, and large teardrops slipped down silently.

Author’s Note:

Brother Bai: My grandma hides gold for me.

Brother Yu: My grandma casually gives me jade.

Zhou Ke: My grandpa wrote me an entire set of textbooks—elementary, middle school, high school, all the way to university!

Bai & Yu: “…”

Respect, respect.

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