As Mi Niang entered the room, she heard the sound of a sheep. She followed the sound to the doorway and turned to ask, “Can I come in?”
“Come in if you want, but there’s blood on it.”
As she pushed the door, Mi Niang thought that in two months, there would be lambs born at home. She exerted force on the door, and it opened. This was the kind of thing they raised at home, and it wouldn’t be appropriate to avoid it just because of a fear of blood.
The mother sheep lay on the straw, and there was blood on the ground behind it. It must be uncomfortable, but it was still chewing on the hay, looking quite spirited.
“How do you treat this situation?” Mi Niang asked the man supporting her shoulder.
Now it was a medical question. Bahu considered and said, “I boiled two kinds of herbal medicine and fed them to it. You’ve also drunk these two herbs before bicolor bloodtonifying herb and mountain dan root. They replenish blood, stop bleeding, and disperse blood stasis.”
Mi Niang stared at him wide-eyed, “You also know the efficacy of herbs?”
The man nodded modestly, touched her head, and humbly said, “You’ll learn in the future.” So there was no need to look at him with surprise and admiration; he quite enjoyed it.
“Come out; it’s scary when we stand here.” Bahu closed the door, went into the kitchen, and poured a bowl of hot water for MI Niang. “For lunch, do you prefer fried fish or stewed fish?”
“Um, stewed fish then, just add ginger slices and green onion leaves, and skip the other spices.” After gulping down the water, Mi Niang approached the man, urging him to share more about his school days.
“If you look at my relationship with County Magistrate Hu, you’ll know that I was a student who made Master proud when I was a child—obedient and honest.”
“You must have been intelligent too. Masters always love students with quick-witted minds.” Mi Niang continued his words; her younger brother had mentioned several times that his Master favored those who were clever.
Bahu scratched his neck without refuting. When Mi Niang asked further, he began to mumble, claiming he couldn’t remember and diverting the conversation to other matters.
“Did you tell Mu Xiang about the BaGen matter?”
“I did. Mu Xiang said if I didn’t mention it, she would forget about BaGen.” But her expression turned sour upon hearing it.
“Then don’t bring it up again in the future.” Bahu wasn’t optimistic about this match. The main issue was his dislike for BaGen, a lad of sixteen or seventeen who, if wanting to marry, would only throw tantrums at home like a child wanting new clothes. Even running away from home turned into a drama. Unfortunately, he had the ambition but lacked the capability. Enduring a few nights of cold weather was already too much; how could he confront his family?
Mi Niang had done her best. From now on, no matter what happened, she wouldn’t inquire or ask. After all, she only knew this much about the situation, and she wouldn’t be clear if someone approached her with questions.
In the winter of the northern frontier, the nights got dark exceptionally early. So, after lunch, Mi Niang, accompanied by Da Huang, was sent by Bahu to the relief center, carrying paper and charred wooden sticks this time.
“Mu Xiang, how do you write the character ‘yan’ in ‘Dayan’ (wild goose)?” Mi Niang leaned over and asked.
“I’ll write it for you. Learn it from Bahu when you go back and then come teach us.” Mu Xiang noticed that Mi Niang didn’t know many characters, and her handwriting was quite ugly, quite conspicuous.
“I can write too; let’s write together.” Wan’er felt the itch in her hands. Since leaving Hu’s residence, she hadn’t touched paper.
Mi Niang felt relieved, clapped her hands to get rid of the black ash, and attentively listened to Master’s teachings.
When Bahu saw a densely written paper full of characters, he had a momentary palpitation. “Why didn’t you go ask the Master? He’s the Master, and he should be the one teaching you.”
Mi Niang carefully wiped off the snowflakes on the paper and shook her head. “It’s better to ask you. That old Master spits when he talks, and he might not care about dental hygiene. His breath doesn’t smell good.”
Bahu was glad he still recognized the characters from the Central Plains. In the evening, he lit an oil lamp, sat on the kang, and taught Mi Niang the corresponding pronunciation in Mongolian. Occasionally, during idle chatter, he could effortlessly switch to Mongolian and repeat what he had said. In Mi Niang once’s sparkling eyes, he gradually lost himself.
“No Master is like you.” The light in Mi Niang’s eyes changed, but she still complied with the man’s intention, cupping his face and giving a kiss to his ear.
Bahu felt at ease and found joy in being a teacher. Speaking nonsense, he said, “How many Masters have you met? Masters are not serious people.” As he spoke, he even took out an erotic painting from under the pillow to illustrate, “Who do you think wrote and painted this? Aren’t they educated people?”
While talking, he flipped it open to see what was inside. Mi Niang pressed down the man’s hand, pointing to the characters on the paper, saying, “We haven’t finished learning yet.”
“Let’s continue tomorrow night; learning too much at once, you won’t remember it all.” Bahu reopened the erotic painting, pulled up the blanket, and muttered, “Let’s try this posture; it definitely won’t press on your stomach.”
Throughout the night, with the wind and snow outside, the room was warm with sweat. The papers, which didn’t please Master Tiger, were the first to be thrown onto the ground and illuminated by the flickering candlelight.
The next day, Bahu escorted Mi Niang to her studies. Before she got off the carriage, he asked for the paper in her hand. “Teach Mu Xiang and the others what you remember. If you can’t recall something, review it again at noon when you go back. Don’t teach them wrong.”
Making sense, Mi Niang placed the paper filled with characters in the carriage, asking Bahu to take care of it and not let it get damaged.
“Trust me with this.” But he immediately handed the paper to County Magistrate Hu, suggesting that the teaching Master wasn’t competent. “I still remember when I first studied, learning ten characters in a day was a struggle. It’s like trying to force-feed water to a sheep; it can’t even finish a bowl of water but is forced to drink from a bucket, risking getting bloated and dying.”
County Magistrate Hu shook the paper in his hand. He just found out that among the refugees, there was a girl who wrote characters quite well. “Alright, I understand. I’ll inform the others at noon.”
Bahu felt relieved in his heart and asked again, “How long do you plan to teach Mongolian?”
“Mix in some teaching, and later, I’ll also teach them how to identify herbs.” County Magistrate Hu frowned, reprimanding, “You’ve been in private schools for nearly ten years and still haven’t mastered your studies. Do you expect to teach these people in just one winter?” What kind of talk was this? He only intended to organize it for a month.
“So, you plan to do this again next winter?” Bahu was shocked to the core.
“It’s not like I’m asking for your money. Why do you care so much? Anyway, there’s nothing to do in winter, and the old men and women have time on their hands. Give them something to do, and I think they’ll be quite happy.” County Magistrate Hu recalled that Bahu’s family had few people but many matters to attend to. Seeing that Bahu seemed unwilling for Mi Niang to go to school, he added, “The government’s orders from above are for everyone to learn Mongolian and how to raise cattle and sheep. If you find it too time-consuming, affecting your other tasks, just teach your wife Mongolian at home. Once she passes the assessment, she won’t need to go anymore.”
After going around in circles, it all came back to Bahu. Hesitating, he asked, “Do you have any books here? I mean the ones used to teach writing when she first started school.”
County Magistrate Hu sized him up, “For your wife to use?”
In front of an old acquaintance, Bahu didn’t hide anything and said openly, “Yes, for myself. I want to practice writing.” He didn’t want to reveal his intentions as soon as he picked up a pen.
“I’ll have my eldest son check if his old books are still around. Come back in a few days.” When he was a child, like a piece of rolling meat, no matter how many kind words were said, he couldn’t be persuaded. Now, suddenly wanting to practice writing, as an experienced teacher, County Magistrate Hu had to meet his request.
“Alright, I’ll come back in a few days.” Bahu took the paper from County Magistrate Hu’s hand; this couldn’t be overlooked.
When Mi Niang returned in the evening, most of the characters on the paper were gone. Bahu was secretly pleased; he could continue to idle away some more time.
“How are the sheep?” Mi Niang was still concerned about the pregnant ewe.
“Much better, no more bleeding. In a few more days, she can be put back in the sheep pen.” But whether the lamb in her belly has been affected is hard to say. It might be born lifeless, or more likely, it will be weak and may not survive until the thaw next year.
As long as it’s alive, Mi Niang peeled some steaming chestnuts and stuffed one into Bahu’s mouth. “County Magistrate Hu came this afternoon, and he said we get a break every three days. So, the day after tomorrow, I don’t have to go to class again.”
“What happened? Are you tired of studying?” He had only attended classes for two days, and he was already looking forward to a break.
Not really, it was quite interesting listening to lectures with many people. However, she also had private matters to attend to, and she felt embarrassed to mention wanting a proper meal to Bahu when he was taking care of everything at home.
“The chives in the wooden trough are ready to eat. Tomorrow night, I’ll make two bowls of noodles for us to have. The day after tomorrow, I’ll steam buns and lamb and chive dumplings.” Mi Niang picked up water to rinse her mouth. “Once we’re full, the rest is all yours.” If she didn’t mention being full, Bahu wouldn’t touch the dried fruits he bought.
Bahu understood her intentions as soon as he heard her words. “You want to eat buns?”
“Yes, plain buns without anything added. Take a bite, and it’s chewy; chew it soft, and it’s sweet and delightful, not the kind of sweetness from sugary water.” Mi Niang swallowed saliva; otherwise, she wouldn’t be able to sleep.
“Also, I want to take a bath. While the buns are steaming, let’s both take a good bath and then wash the blankets on the bed.” Mi Niang lay down on the bed. When Bahu came up, she read under the lamp in his arms.
“These are characters written by Mu Xiang, aren’t they beautiful?” Comparing her handwriting with Mu Xiang’s, it looked like a broom had swept across the ground.
Bahu remained silent, afraid that the conversation might turn to him. “I’ll teach you to read them once. Remember them sooner, and we can go to sleep early too.”
On the day of rest, after getting up, Mi Niang dismantled the cotton bed sheet and quilt she had spread. Taking advantage of the warmth on the kang head while steaming the buns, she laid the cotton quilt on the kang head. In winter, even though there was sunlight, the light that came down was still cold. This method of warming clothes and bedding helped get rid of dampness.
“Mistress, the master asked me to tell you not to touch the dough. He will do it when he comes back.” Uncle Muren walked in through the snow and said.
“Okay, I understand.” Hearing voices outside that didn’t sound like those of male servants, she asked, “Who’s outside?”
“People who came to reserve lambs and calves came from the County Magistrate Hu. The master is showing them the ewes.”
Mi Niang changed into knee-high cowhide boots to avoid slipping. She also carried a stick in her hand for support.
Uncle Chaolu and other male servants gathered the cattle and sheep together. Bahu brought seven or eight people to stand among the sheep, explaining the skeletal structure and body size of the ewes. When he saw Mi Niang coming out, he paused for a moment but continued speaking with a cold expression.
“What’s going on? Looks like there might be a fight?” Mi Niang asked quietly to Uncle Muren.
“Those people want to rent a hundred and eighty sheep and cows. That’s impossible. Even if they’re acquaintances, they won’t rent out so many.”
“Okay, you guys check out other places.” Bahu’s voice approached. As soon as he came out of the sheep group, the others dispersed, and the cattle and sheep immediately ran away when no one was holding them.
When the visitors on horseback left, Mi Naing followed Bahu back to the house. “What’s the situation?”
“They’re not here for a sincere business talk. They probably want to make a quick profit. If they make a fortune at once, that’s fine, but even if they lose, they’ll still make a profit by selling themselves for labor. I won’t rent the cattle and sheep to people who are not reliable workers.” Bahu embraced Mi Niang and walked into the house. “I won’t rent the cattle and sheep to people who are not reliable workers.”
The two entered the house, and Bahu secured the door from the inside. The water in the pot was already hot. He cleaned the bathing tub and carried it into the kitchen, scooping more than half a bucket of water into it. “You go ahead and wash; I’ll knead the dough.”
Mi Niang wasn’t shy at all. She stepped on a stool and got into the bathing tub. The pleasantly warm water enveloped her body as she leaned back against the tub, watching the man vigorously knead the dough.
“Let me test you, my wife. How is it said when a lady bathes naked and stares straight at the strong man cooking?” Bahu took a couple of steps forward, looking down from a higher vantage point at the alluring figure submerged in the water. He made a clicking sound with his tongue and said, “Softer than the dough.”
Mi Niang blushed, but she retorted without hesitation, “You’ve got an eye for things.”
