The sun was sinking behind the hills, painting the millet fields in dull gold glow. The ripe stalks bent under the weight of their grain; every now and then a dry husk cracked open and scattered seed into the soil.
At the Chen family gate, a postman braked hard on his bicycle. He hesitated before calling out, "Is Lim Qingya here? There's a registered letter for her from Xiping City, Jidong Road Sub-Bureu."
Inside the yard the air was thick. Lim Degang stood with a sickle in one hand and a tobacco pipe in the other, veins pulsing on his temples. Zhou Min sat on the ground, her face streaked with dirt, while her husband hunched beside her like a scolded child. Even the postman felt the tension.
Lin Chen darted out first, eyes wide. "Uncle postman, is it really for my mom?"
"Yes, little one." He passed the envelope through the half-open gate, curious but too wary to linger.
Qingya took it from Lin Chen tore and tore it open. Inside was Han Yuzhe's crisp handwriting. Short, formal and direct.
Meet me at the county bus station three morning from now. Bring your ID, introduction letter, household registration, and the Homestead Transfer Certificate.
Degang also reda through the contents. He exhaled a cloud of smoke. "Good. He's handling it pretty fast. At least tge house title will soon be settled under your name."
His younger brother seeing an opportunity, hopping to calm things, forced a grin. "See, isn't that wonderful? Yuzhe's a good catch. Better than that coal fool. Our sister's heading back to the city soon anyway-"
The words barely left his mouth before Degang's pipe flew across the yard. It struck him square on the forehead with a crack.
Blood trickled down the shiny latch if his scalp.
Zhou Min shrieked and clutched her son.
Degang's eyes blazed. "You sold out your own blood for money!"
Dejun wiped the blood with his sleeve, muttering, "I only took what should've been mine. She helped you build a house but ignore me. The money was going to her anyway, why shouldn't I use it?"
That shameless reasoning made Degang raise his sickle again, but Qingya caught his arm.
"Enough, brother," she said quietly. "People like him will lay for their foolishness one day. This ends here."
Her tone was calm, but her heart had hardened. She finally understood: kindness without boundaries only breeds greed. From this day, she would protect only the people who deserved it.
She gathered the cash, bank book, and what clothes were still hers from Zhou Min's chest. Degang helped, shaking his head."Qingya, if the city life turns sour, send word home. I won't let you suffer again."
Qingya nodded and asked flatly, "What's the password to this bankbook?"
"I-I don't know any password, "Zhou Min stammered.
Qingya's eyes didn't waver. "Four digits. Tell me, or I'll report it lost with your ID and withdraw it myself."
The gleam of Degang's sickle flashed once more.
"Four-three-two-eight!" Zhiu Min screamed, curling up like a frightened chicken.
Neighbours peeked through the cracks in theri fences as her wails echoed across the courtyard.
When the shouting finally died down, Qingya tucked the bank book safely into her blouse and left from their courtyard. She had no more pity left for the pair.
...
Before down the next day, she and Lin Chen boarded the first bus to Jinyang. The windows rattled, wind smelling of diesel and dust. At tge County Bank she withdrew every yuan from the account. The 9,700 and added the 2,700 in cash she'd taken back.
After depositing most of it again for safety, she kept a thousand yuan in her bag. For the first time in her life, she carried money that truly belonged to her.
The town streets were alive with new pulse of late nineties. Shops blared music from tiny speakers, vendors sold skewers, and children crowded around arcade machines flashing bright lights.
Qingya bought two steaming white buns and a handful of spicy bean sheets from a glass case glowing red with chili oil. She tore one bun open, stuffed rge spicy stripe inside, and handed it to her son.
Lin Chen's eyes sparkled. "It's spicy but good!"
The laughter of passing strangers blended with the movie theme spiling from a nearby video hall. Outside, men craned their necks to catch glimpses of kung-fu fights they couldn't afford to watch.
A barbershop nearby played the "Shaolin Temple" song on loop. Lin Chen hummed along in a clear, sweet voice.
A woman passing by smiled. "Such a nice voice! He should be singing on stage."
Qingya's heart softened. "After we move to the city, Mama will enroll you in music classes. You'll sing properly then."
"Really? It's much more nicer now, Mama."
"We will be even better," she said, squeezing the little hand in hers.
In her past life she had poured her soul into other people's children. This time, every dream would begin and end with her own.
They continued walking around and eventually followed the scent of soy and ginger to a stall where free-range chickens simmered in a black iron pot. The broth bubbled thick with oil; steam carried the smell halfway down the street.
"How much for one?" She asked.
"Eight yuan," the man replied, surprised by her clean accent.
"Wrap two."
His eyes widened. "Two whole chickens?"
She smiled. "My son has to eat well."
The man laughed and carefully wrapped the fattest chickens in oiled paper.
Farther ahead, a tailor shop displayed dresses copied from Hong Kong magazines.
Racks of bright Dacron skirts swayed in the fan's breeze.
A sky-blue blouse and matching shirts caught her eye. When she tried them on, the tailor- a middle aged woman with quick fingers clapped in delight. "Conrade, you look like you stepped out of a magazine!"
The she rushed to fetch a camera. "May I take a few pictures for advertisement? You make my work look first-class."
Qingya chuckled. "If I agree, does that earn me a free set?"
"Deal!" The woman agreed instantly.
An hour later, Qingya left the shop carrying two new outfits, a creamy white dress, and even a pair of open shoes for Lin Chen. The tailor had added a tiny glass brooch shaped like a star to the child's collar.
They walked last the shop window, and for a second Qingya didn't recognise the woman reflected there. Bright eyes, neat curls, and confident smile. Not the weary divorcee of yesterday.
She bent down to her son's level and carried him, "Let's go home, my little start."