In the middle of the night, the wind howled, making the roof tiles tremble and rattle. There seemed to be some movement in the dog’s kennel outside. Bahu quietly lifted the blanket, got out of bed, and dressed. He cautiously opened the door, and the wind almost pushed him back inside.
A real snowstorm was coming.
In her half-asleep state, Mi Niang heard footsteps in the courtyard. She reached out and felt around, finding no one beside her.
“Bahu? Are you outside?” she called out, sitting up.
“It’s me. You keep sleeping. I’ll add some firewood to the stove and come in,” he replied. The cold that day was so intense that even the dogs didn’t want to come out. The wind blew the accumulated snow on the ground into swirling gusts, and the night was shrouded in a vast expanse of darkness. The snowflakes stung like needles on the face.
Bahu brushed off the snow on his body, opened the door quickly, and closed it again just as fast. “The wind is getting stronger outside. There will be a snowstorm tomorrow.”
“Did you go out to check on the cattle and sheep?” Mi Niang shifted inside, making room for Bahu to lie down.
“Yes, I was worried the wind might knock down the pen, and the cattle and sheep would escape again,” Bahu said, pressing his hands beneath his buttocks to warm them before embracing Mi Niang. He joked, “If they run away on a day like this, we won’t find them back. Next year, you’ll have to accompany me in eating bran and swallowing vegetables.”
Who was he trying to scare? Rolling her eyes, Mi Niang shifted, placing her legs over the man’s body. Pretending to be fierce, she said, “Whether I live or die, you’re responsible. Even if I starve, I’ll haunt you.” Saying this, she reached up to pinch his neck, “That’s how I’ll haunt you.”
Bahu was at a loss for words, finding it difficult to articulate anything sensible. Whether he spoke with eloquence or clumsiness, his eyes closed, urging himself to sleep. In the dead of night, he was hallucinating, talking about life and death.
Later in the night, the two were awakened again. Some tiles on the roof were blown off by the wind, landing in the snow. Startled, Da Huang barked loudly. The front and back doors of the courtyard clattered in the fierce wind, and the sound of snow hitting the doors and walls was like the rustling of sand. The snowstorm had arrived.
“You stay inside. I’ll go check on the sheep pen,” Bahu, concerned, swiftly put on his clothes and opened the door. This was something they went through every winter, and although he was on edge, he had grown accustomed to it.
The roof of the sheep pen was constructed with reed poles, tied to the beams with sheep wool ropes, and hanging down to be fastened to the pillars. Whenever the wind lifted a section, the entire roof would be affected. It was unlike the tiles at home, where losing a couple wouldn’t be more than a leakage of rain or snow.
Wearing his leather boots, Bahu entered the sheep pen, systematically inspecting the stability of the beams and checking if the sheep wool ropes were loose.
“East Master? Have you come over already?” Uncle Chaolu, leaning on a stick, struggled through the wind and snow. Upon entering the sheep pen, he let out a sigh of relief, “Damn, just the beginning of winter, and we’re hit by such a fierce blizzard. Do they want us to survive?”
“We should perform the ritual for Aobao, and I’ll slaughter a couple more sheep to offer to the Longevity Heaven,” Bahu also felt that this winter was exceptionally harsh, and if it continued like this, many livestock would freeze to death. Especially the Central Plains people living in the relief house, although individually they had fewer sheep, collectively they amounted to five or six thousand.
As they spoke, three or four more people arrived. They separated to inspect the two pens, and they were even more afraid that the livestock would suffer. If the East Master faced difficult times, their situation would only worsen.
They worked tirelessly until dawn. The six people did not leave, staying in the sheep pen with a lit fire for illumination. They took sheep wool ropes and tied one end to the beams, and the other end to pieces of wood hammered into the ground, fearing the wind might flip the roof.
After Bahu went out, Mi Niang dozed off again for a while. When the sky became slightly bright, she got up to prepare breakfast. While getting dressed, she took a glance and saw that her pants were clean, bringing a smile to her face.
When Mi Niang opened the door, she shivered with cold. As soon as the door opened, the snow that had not crossed the threshold collapsed into the room. When exposed to the warmth, most of it had already turned into water by the time Mi Niang fetched a shovel.
“Woof—”
“Here, stop barking.” Mi Niang stepped into the snow, which was almost knee-deep, and used a shovel to dig the doghouse. The snow had buried half of the place where the dog, Da Huang, was sleeping, and only its head was sticking out.
The snow on the roof needed to be cleared, and the snow in the courtyard had to be shoveled. While Mi Niang was cooking, Bahu carried a ladder onto the roof. Almost lying on the ridge, he pushed the snow down from the roof.
“Mi Niang, just stay inside and don’t come out, so you won’t get hit by the snow.” Bahu on the roof didn’t forget to remind her. He couldn’t see if anyone was passing below from the rooftop.
Mi Niang responded, and she cooked a large pot of ginger soup, waiting for them to finish their work. After enduring the cold wind for half the night, even if their bodies were strong, they needed to drive away the chill.
The roof of the pen couldn’t bear the weight of a person. Chaolu and the others could only stand below and use long poles to push the snow down with this clumsy method.
“Let’s eat first. We’ll shovel the snow in the courtyard after the meal. Besides, it’s still snowing. If you shovel it now, after eating, it’ll accumulate another thick layer,” Mi Niang suggested, standing at the kitchen door, asking for Bahu’s opinion. She added, “And the snow is still falling. If you shovel it now, after eating, it’ll accumulate another thick layer.”
“Then let’s eat first. I’m too tired for anything else,” after climbing up and down, Bahu felt his limbs go weak. He took off his raincoat and shook off the snow, then took the bowl of brown soup that Mi Niang handed over, pinching his nose, and downed it in one gulp.
“Ugh, it’s really hard to drink.” He spat out a couple of mouthfuls, “Set the table; I’ll go call Uncle Chaolu and the others.”
Mi Niang warmed a pot of sheep tripe soup in the back, with chunks of radish added. In the front pot was half a pot of boiling water. As soon as Bahu went outside, Mi Niang tossed the rolled-out noodles into the water. After a few people washed their hands and faces and drank ginger soup, the noodles were just ready to be served.
“Why is there only radish in your bowl? Where’s the sheep tripe?” Bahu saw Mi Niang’s bowl and, intending to snatch some sheep tripe into her bowl, reached for his own bowl.
“Maybe I didn’t sleep well last night. I’m not very hungry, so I want to eat something plain.” Mi Niang dodged to the side, letting Bahu eat his own, paying no attention to her.
Bahu subconsciously wanted to tell her to eat first before going to sleep. However, thinking of what Doctor Zhao had said yesterday, a gentle light softened his eyes, and he looked at her belly in a very good mood.
“Host, I think the roof of the sheep pen needs to be replaced after this year. You might as well spend a bit more money to change it to tiles. Then you won’t have to worry so much about the snow next year.” Uncle Chaolu suggested as he slurped the noodles. Today’s sheep tripe soup was flavorful, both fresh and spicy, without the fishy smell of sheep intestines and lungs.
“Mi Niang, what ingredients did you add to this sheep tripe soup? I’ll have my wife learn from you when I go back. The sheep tripe we stew at home, aside from other things, the soup is always cloudy.”
“When putting it into the pot, add tea leaves and ginger slices. After it boils, skim off the foam, remove the tea leaves, and when serving, sprinkle some pepper. I think the most important thing is to clean it thoroughly. A soup that isn’t cleaned well will be cloudy.” When stewing sheep tripe soup, Mi Niang learned from Bahu, but she added a pinch of tea leaves. Tea leaves were good at removing the gamey taste.
Seeing the radish in Mi Niang’s bowl reach the bottom, Bahu didn’t say anything, naturally took her bowl, scooped two more spoonfuls from the pot, handed it to her, and then picked up his bowl to eat. These two common actions made the others quiet for a moment. The meat in their mouths suddenly lost its taste. They had been eating with Bahu for several years, and they had never seen him be so considerate.
Looking at Mi Niang again, people couldn’t judge a book by its cover. Despite her gentle appearance, she was a formidable wife. She even managed to tame Bahu, who was like a wild horse, into an obedient sheep.
“Chaolu, after you finish eating, go to Uncle Muren’s house and see if he can’t come because of the heavy snow or if he’s sick and can’t get up,” Bahu instructed. Eating with so many people together made him uncomfortable. His eyes were rolling around, annoying him. He was thinking about whether to bring Uncle Muren over to live with them. That way, there would be someone to cook, and they wouldn’t have to squeeze together to eat.
“Oh, good, I’ll go now. I just finished eating.”
When everyone left, Mi Niang washed the bowls and stood at the door, asking Bahu, “What do you think about what Chaolu said? If all the sheep pens are to be replaced with tiles, how much silver do you think is needed?”
“It’s not a small amount, and changing to tiles requires wood. The most important thing is that we don’t have the time for it.” Changing to tiles would mean lifting the existing roof, leaving no place for the cattle and sheep to stay. Moreover, lambing would occur next year, and the newborn lambs couldn’t withstand the cold.
“When was the house built? Was it in the summer or fall?”
“I’m not sure, but I wasn’t at home. When I returned in winter, the house was already built. When the government divided the Língshan Pasture, they arranged for craftsmen to come and build. We only had to pay for the labor, and they took care of preparing bricks, tiles, and wood.” Bahu only played a role in selecting the location when building the house. He didn’t understand the process of building or changing tiles.
“Let’s talk about it later. Anyway, I don’t plan to make big changes in the next two years.” If Mi Niang was pregnant, there would be even more constraints on the available manpower at home, and he alone couldn’t handle everything.
“Your menstrual cycle hasn’t come yet, right?”
Hearing this, Mi Niang smiled and shook her head, saying, “No.”
After another five days, Mi Niang’s menstrual cycle still hadn’t arrived, and the happiness on the young couple’s faces became even more apparent. Mi Niang’s taste also changed; she didn’t like eating meat or purely vegetarian dishes but enjoyed dishes stewed with meat. For example, radishes in lamb soup or bean sprouts boiled in lamb broth.
Bahu teased her about being picky, but it didn’t stop him from happily preparing food for Mi Niang. He didn’t touch a single piece of Nashi pear, leaving them all for Mi Niang.
The heavy snow finally stopped, but the snow outside had already reached thigh-high levels. The yamen were beating gongs and drums, prompting every household to come out and shovel snow.
“Master, do you see if they are coming to your house?” Uncle Chaolu pointed to a yamen runner walking in their direction, attracting the attention of the hardworking men.
Bahu squinted and glanced, then dropped the shovel. “I’ll go back and take a look.” He looked at Mi Niang as she came out.
“Jì Mi Niang? It’s you, right?”
“Yes, it’s me. What brings the government officer here, Big Brother?”
“The government has established a Mongolian school. Remember to go to the relief house for class tomorrow morning. You must go every day, rain or snow, without fail.” The yamen runner noticed the return of the male homeowner and nodded before continuing, “No need to prepare anything like writing brushes, ink, paper, or inkstone.”
“Okay, I understand.” Mi Niang had been looking forward to this. After the yamen runner left, she asked Bahu if he needed writing supplies when he attended school. She knew that buying paper and books for her younger brother when he attended a private school cost a lot of money.
Bahu moved his fingers slightly. He recognized many characters, but the ones he could write were limited. Although he had prepared a book box initially, their teacher did not require them to write; knowing how to recognize, read, and recite was sufficient. He was an honest student, always following the teacher’s instructions.
Seeing Mi Niang being so eager to learn, a sense of unease arose in his heart. Would she not come back in the future, leaving him with the responsibility of teaching?
