“I’m telling the truth, not joking around.” Bahu kicked the shovel with determination, looking earnestly into his mother’s eyes. She had endured for so many years, raised her child, and the man still hadn’t grown up at all. It was time to give up.
His mother was stared at, her eyes drooping, and her face seemed stiff and blank, like a stretched drumhead. She made an effort to lift the corners of her mouth and said, “I’m this old, I don’t bother with those flashy things.”
“If you don’t want to remarry, you can also live…” As the words were about to come out, Bahu remembered his promise to Mi Niang. He pointed towards the open snowy area to the west and changed his statement, “I’ll build a new house for you. If you want peace and quiet, you can live by yourself. When my child is born next year, you can help me take care of the baby. You don’t need to raise cattle or sheep; I’ll buy everything you need. If you don’t want to cook, you can eat with us.”
The woman lifted her eyes to look at her son. Fifteen years ago, her elder and second brothers had said similar things to her. She had refused, and they had cut ties with her.
“Let me think, I need some time.” She wiped the corner of her eye, forced a smile, and said, “Agula hasn’t married yet, and Sandan hasn’t found a husband. If I leave, there will be no one to worry about them.”
Bahu chuckled. Those two were smarter than anyone else, and they were well aware of what would benefit them. “You don’t need to worry about them. Sandan won’t have trouble finding a husband, and Agula won’t have trouble getting married.”
The woman remained silent, using her foot to crush the accumulated snow on the ground. She glanced at Bahu as he turned to shovel snow, and only then did she lift her eyes.
“Miss, you go inside and stay warm; I’ll shovel the snow.” Uncle Muren rushed out of the house and eagerly took the shovel that hadn’t touched much snow.
Bahu glanced at him and told her to go inside and teach Mi Niang the Mongolian language. His mother had endured beatings that ordinary women hadn’t, but she also hadn’t experienced the hardships ordinary women faced. At least, she never had to worry about cattle and sheep. She rarely got involved in washing clothes and cooking. Judging by her awkward movements with the broom in the morning, it seemed she hadn’t swept the floor much either.
As he watched his mother go inside, he glanced at Uncle Muren and couldn’t help but remind him with a lack of patience, “My mother has gone inside; there’s no need to pretend and show off. No one is watching.” The continuous huffing and puffing were giving him a headache.
“What nonsense are you talking about?” The old man’s face flushed, and he reluctantly shook off some snow with a few shovels. He had to admit that he was getting old; exerting too much force made his eyes bulge, and he saw stars. He coughed twice, lowered his eyes without daring to look directly at Bahu, and asked in a muffled voice, “How long will your mother stay this time?”
Oh, not calling her “Miss” every other word now?
“Two or three months, I guess. She can stay until the freeze-up next year if no one comes to take her.” Bahu glanced to the east; the snow had piled up about half a wall deep. The old man couldn’t get up, and Agula hadn’t visited his house, probably not daring to come.
“During this time my mother is here, make sure to spend more time with her. Since you’ve learned the horsehead fiddle, play it for her. Don’t go back unless necessary. Make a fire pit for her to roast chestnuts and lamb. Remember, with all this snow outside, build her a snowman every day. Pour water on it at night and take her ice skating during the day.”
Uncle Muren stared at his young master in astonishment and bewilderment. Was he being treated like a son now? Even in his old age, he was unexpectedly hit by a pie.
“What are you looking at? Go back and check on your Miss.” Bahu felt a bit embarrassed; his father was still alive, yet he was busy finding another home for his mother. It was not something easy to talk about. But it was also fortunate that his father hadn’t died. If he had, he might have crawled out from the underground to find him in the middle of the night.
Now that he had the son’s approval, if he didn’t put in the effort, he would be worse than a turtle. Uncle Muren plunged the shovel into the snow, bowed slightly, and although it was difficult to put it into words, in his heart, he thought of Bahu as his real son from now on.
Uncle Muren went back to his own home, changed into new clothes, trimmed his nails and beard, and gathered everything he needed. He picked up his horsehead fiddle, full of spirit, and headed west. The old man was also cunning; afraid that Miss Arun would be displeased if she noticed his intentions, he used Mi Niang as an excuse to go into the house and play the horsehead fiddle.
“Uncle Muren, you’ve learned to play the horsehead fiddle too? I haven’t touched it for years,” the woman stared at the horsehead fiddle with a sense of nostalgia.
“Mi Niang, have you ever heard your mother-in-law play the horsehead fiddle? You don’t know, Miss Arun was famous for singing and dancing in our Mamyin River when she was as young as you.” Uncle Muren handed the horsehead fiddle to her with a discerning eye. “I made this instrument myself. It’s not as good as Miss’s fiddle, but you can try playing it.”
“I haven’t touched it for years,” the woman adjusted her earlobe-length hair and took the fiddle, plucking the strings. A smile immediately appeared on her face. “I’ll play a tune for you. Let’s see who plays better between me and Muren.”
Mi Niang nodded, her eyes wandering over Uncle Muren. This old man had some tricks up his sleeve, and he had a bit of courage, daring to flirt with the old master’s wife in the master’s house. But she enjoyed watching it and pretended not to notice.
After finishing a tune, Mi Niang applauded in a half-hearted manner, exaggeratingly saying, “I don’t understand these things, but when my mother-in-law holds the fiddle, I can tell it’s extraordinary. When the music starts, I can imagine how talented and beautiful she was when she was young, definitely admired by many.”
“The craftsmanship of this fiddle is a bit rough. I may not have touched a fiddle for many years, so my skills are a bit rusty.” Bahu’s mother didn’t argue, her eyes bright. In a good mood, she wanted to play another tune.
“Anyway, we have some free time. Miss, you should make one yourself.” Uncle Muren nudged her and pointed to her belly, saying, “When you have a granddaughter in the future, it would be nice for you, as her grandmother, to give her a horsehead fiddle.”
Mi Niang, with a smile on her face, listened to the banter between the two, exchanging remarks. After a few sentences, she went out, holding a stick, and went to cut horse tail hairs and twist the strings for the fiddle. When they left, she took a sip of water, then mysteriously walked out with the stick, looking for Bahu.
“What’s up?” Bahu noticed her coming out and walked over to greet her, lowering his gaze as he asked, “Why do you look like you’ve been holding back something bad?”
Without mind, Mi Niang clutched his wrist and asked, “Did you just hear the sound of a fiddle coming from inside the house?”
“Yes.”
“It’s Uncle Muren and your mother playing the horsehead fiddle.” Mi Niang tried to keep a straight face, complaining, “I feel like Uncle Muren is like an old tree blossoming again.” Could he understand her implication?
Bahu covered her eyes that were eager to watch the excitement. “I instructed and encouraged him.”
Uh, Mi Niang pulled away the man’s hand, and when she saw him looking away, with a tense jaw, she said a truthful sentence, “Your mother is fortunate to have a son like you.”
Bahu didn’t say anything. He also noticed that Mi Niang didn’t want to interfere in the house. He went inside, brought out a chair, and said, “You sit down. Today, you’ll be the supervisor, watching me work.”
The quality of the horsehead fiddle remains unknown, but every day Mi Niang could hear the sound of the fiddle coming from the backyard. Every morning, there was a snowman in the front yard and another in the backyard. Oh, Uncle Muren also asked Chaolu and the others to flatten the snow on the slope to the west and sprinkle water to make it freeze. Her mother-in-law was happy all day long, but her attention was not on teaching Mongolian anymore.
“It seems like your trick is working. Mother hasn’t mentioned going back these days.” Lying in bed at night, the two whispered to each other. “She’s just afraid that your father will come, and if she sees him, she’ll sober up immediately.”
“He can’t come; he can’t even get up from the bed. Eating, drinking, and going to the bathroom all require someone to take care of him.” Bahu said with certainty, volunteering information, “I broke his legs.” He didn’t know that some ribs were broken too.
“Don’t mention it in front of Mother; she’ll get confused again if she finds out.” He cautioned.
“Mi Niang thought I wouldn’t say much about this matter. Bahu is the one who pushed it forward, and if it were her, she feared that if her mother regretted it later and blurted it out, she would really be scolded when she walked out.”
As the days entered the end of December, in Dakang, it was time to prepare for the New Year. However, the most important event in the Northern Wilderness was the worship of AoBao. Before this, the family boiled herbal water, and everyone, young and old, washed from head to toe, putting on clean clothes.
In the east, drums and gongs resounded, followed by the jingling of bells and the singing of harmonious voices with a distinctive style. Mi Niang reluctantly understood only a few sentences.
“What is this?”
“It’s a shaman praying for blessings.” Afraid that Mi Niang wouldn’t understand, Bahu explained, “Buddhism was brought here from your Dakang, while Shamanism is local to us. The locals believe in Shamanism.”
Mi Niang nodded in understanding. In the continuous sound of bells, she saw a group of men dancing, kicking their feet with closed eyes, adorned with bird feathers on their hats and various bird eyes, feathers, and bones on their robes. They wore sheepskin on their shoulders and tied tree bark, vines, wolf fur, cowhide, and small bells around their waists, walking barefoot in the snow. Mi Niang couldn’t see any solemn and majestic appearance; she just felt somewhat creepy. If she encountered someone dressed like this in the middle of the night, she would probably kneel down and beg the ghost for mercy.
“Let’s go, keep up.” Bahu carried two sheep tied with five flowers each, following behind the procession. Mi Niang leaned on a stick, assisted by her mother-in-law. Their family was at the westernmost end, and they were the last in line. Walking on the footprints of others, not knowing which direction to follow, when the people in front finally stopped, Mi Niang turned her head only to see the way they came, unable to see the blue-brick-tiled houses where they lived.
“Feeling tired?” Bahu came over and asked.
Mi Niang shook her head, rubbing her nose with her fingers. She smelled the warm and bloody scent. “They’re slaughtering sheep ahead.”
When it was Bahu’s turn to carry the sheep to be slaughtered in front of the AoBao, the stone pile in front was filled with sheep still bleeding. Mi Niang thought they would bring the sheep back after the ritual, but everyone returned empty-handed after the worship.
“Are these sheep left here?” Mi niang turned to ask.
“These are offered to Changshengtian.”
But the sound of wolves had already brought wolf howls. Mi Niang tightened her grip on Bahu’s hand and whispered, “Aren’t they afraid of falling into the wolf’s mouth in the end?”
“Don’t talk nonsense. Those are offerings to the Wolf God by Changshengtian.” Bahu patted her, explaining that in winter when everything was buried in snow, tigers and wolves couldn’t find food. If hungry enough, they might attack human villages. “Changshengtian will bless us to pass the winter safely and make our cattle and sheep thrive, bringing good weather to this land.”
Mi Niang shrunk her head, patted her mouth, and dared not speak nonsense again.
Back home, Mi Niang took off her shoes and sat on the heated brick bed to rest. Just after drinking a bowl of water, she heard a shout from Master Mujen, “Mi Niang, someone is looking for you.”
“Who?”
“It’s me, Mu Xiang.” Mu Xiang entered from the doorway, first stunned by the row of snowmen and snow sheep in the courtyard, “Did Bahu build these for Mi Niang? The relationship seems really good.”
Master Mujen chuckled and didn’t explain. He couldn’t say that he had built them for Bahu’s mother.
“Come in and talk.” Mi Niang glanced at Master Mujen, allowing Bahu to benefit from this.
Once inside, Mu Xiang couldn’t help but peek outside. Her eyes were full of envy. Bahu, who seemed careless, had actually built half the courtyard of snowmen just to amuse Mi Niang.
“Did you come to see the snowmen? If you like, go back and build a row yourself. We may lack food and drink, but we definitely don’t lack snow.”
“How can it be the same? I just fancy what others build for me.” As soon as Mu Xiang spoke, she thought of BaGen. She paused and said, “I’m lying down here to ask you for a favor. I heard that Bahu’s sheep give birth to good lambs, so I thought of renting thirty or fifty next year.”
“Renting so many?”
“A bit fewer is fine. Just ask Bahu how many he can rent to me.” Mu Xiang clenched her fist, a hint of determination on her face. “I’m taking a chance these next two years. After that, even if I marry, I won’t be at the mercy of others. It’s better for me to serve as a servant in your family than in someone else’s.” She was ready to accept both good and bad, no longer willing to linger in a state of neither.
Mi Niang remained silent for a while, then nodded and said, “I’ll rent them to you. You don’t need Bahu’s approval. He gave me over a hundred sheep last year as well.” After what happened with her mother-in-law, Mi Niang felt it was more reliable to stake everything on cattle and sheep than on men.
Mu Xiang’s face relaxed, “Thank you, Mi Niang, if it weren’t for you, I really wouldn’t be able to express a thousand thoughts. Without any relatives or friends, you’re willing to turn back and help me, who was stuck in the mud. If it weren’t for fear of making things difficult for you, I’d want to kneel down and kowtow a few times.”
