Chapter 13
Hours passed before he heard the voice.
Unfamiliar. Too many of them. Not his family.
Chen Guowei woke with a start, his face still pressed against the damp fabric of his blanket. He wiped his eyes quickly and sat up, listening. The voices were coming from outside the house — multiple people, talking over each other, the particular sound of a crowd that has gathered with purpose.
He wiped his face again, harder this time, trying to erase any trace of what he'd been doing, and moved quickly to the door.
When he stepped out into the main room his mother and sisters were already there, standing near the entrance. Lihua had positioned herself behind their mother's legs, small hands gripping the fabric of Lin Yue's trousers, peering out at the crowd with wide uncertain eyes.
And there was a crowd.
Villagers. At least a dozen of them, maybe more, clustered at the doorway and spilling slightly into the yard. And at the front, standing with the particular authority of someone who represents more than just himself, was the village chief.
Chen Guowei stopped.
What is the village chief doing at our door?
Then he heard it.
"Lin Yue." The village chief's voice was measured, diplomatic, the tone of a man who has had this conversation before and knows how it needs to sound. "You know the condition of our village. If you could help your fellow villagers — you know Aunt Fan Wei, by the entrance of the village? Her family has nothing left. Nothing. She's helped you many times in the past. Can't you lend her some food? Just until things improve."
Guowei felt something cold move through his chest.
This wasn't how it was supposed to go.
He'd told Auntie Lang this morning specifically so the village would know his family had legitimate work, so they'd be left alone, so no one would ask questions. That's how it went in all the dramas he'd watched in his previous life — you establish your story early, people accept it, and they leave you alone.
He hadn't considered the opposite.
That the rumor would make them a target.
His mother's voice was quiet but steady. "It's not that I don't want to help. It's just — you can see our family has barely anything to eat as it is. Where would we find grain to lend?"
The village chief opened his mouth to respond but a voice from the crowd cut him off.
"Don't you smell that?" A man's voice, sharp and accusatory. "Eggs. I smell eggs. How come she says she doesn't have grain but she can waste eggs? Where did she even get them? They don't have any chickens in the house."
A murmur rose immediately, voices layering over each other, the crowd shifting and leaning in slightly, the energy changing from request to interrogation in the span of a breath.
The village chief's face tightened. "Be quiet. Be quiet!" He raised his hand and the crowd settled slightly. "I don't want baseless accusations roaming around our village. What would other villages think of you?"
His eyes moved to the crowd and settled on someone specific — a middle-aged man, maybe thirty-five, standing near the middle. Chen Jin. Technically a relative, though so distant the connection barely counted — four generations removed, sharing only the surname. Guowei called him uncle out of courtesy but there was no real family between them.
Chen Jin stared back at the chief, unrepentant, and said nothing.
Guowei's mind was racing.
What do I do.
He wasn't a complete idiot. He understood the situation perfectly. If they gave nothing after what had just been said, it would invite gossip — or worse. Theft in the night. Accidents that weren't accidents. And no one would help them when it happened because they'd already painted themselves as hoarders.
But giving it away for free was just as bad. That would establish them as a source. Every family in the village would be at their door within a week, and the food would be gone before winter even arrived.
He was still thinking when Lihua saw him.
Her face lit up immediately. "Big brother!"
She ran toward him without hesitation, without any awareness of what she'd just done, and the entire crowd at the door turned to look at him.
His eyes found Auntie Lang immediately.
She was standing near the back, half-hidden behind someone taller. The moment their eyes met she looked away, suddenly very interested in the color of the earthen wall to her left.
Guowei let out a slow breath.
Lihua ran past him and tucked herself behind his legs, exactly as she'd done with their mother. He stepped forward and positioned himself beside Xiaomei.
"Go get the corn," he said quietly.
She looked at him, eyes wide, mouth opening to say something — but then she saw his expression and stopped. She nodded once and went inside.
Guowei turned to face the crowd.
"Good evening, village chief." He kept his voice level, respectful, appropriate for someone his age addressing someone in authority. "Good evening, elders." He called out a few of them by name, asked after their health, their families, the small courtesies that people in villages exchange even in hard times.
Several of the older villagers looked uncomfortable. A few wouldn't meet his eyes. They were here asking for food from a boy younger than their own children — children who were home right now, healthy and able-bodied, doing nothing but farm work while this teenager was somehow feeding an entire family.
The shame of it sat visibly on some of their faces.
Guowei turned back to the village chief.
"Village chief, you know how hard it is for all of us. I understand how hard it is for our fellow villagers. But my family is also large, and I have to work to feed all of us—"
Aunt Fan Wei, standing near the front, opened her mouth as though to object.
Guowei raised his hand gently. "No need, auntie. I understand. The whole village is in hard times." He paused, let the silence settle. "I just started working. My boss liked me, so he allowed me to take my month's salary in grain. Grain — that's all I have at home. Just two bags of it."
He was very careful not to say it's not much. Because the moment someone in a starving village hears "two bags of grain," their eyes light up. And he saw it happen — several faces in the crowd shifting, attention sharpening, the calculation happening behind their expressions.
"Village chief, fellow villagers." He kept his tone measured. "It's not much, but I'd like to exchange one sack for the villagers' help."
The village chief opened his mouth but the crowd moved faster.
"What do you need, little Guowei?"
"Don't worry, just tell us!"
"We'll help, of course we'll help!"
Guowei nodded to himself. This was the moment.
"You know winter isn't far off. And my family is mostly women. If the villagers could help me gather some firewood—" He'd wanted to ask for mushrooms too, maybe some mountain produce, but that was a dream. The village had already ransacked the foot of the mountain weeks ago. "I just want my family to be warm this winter. And maybe I can ask the villagers to take care of my family when I'm away working."
He bowed.
Deep and sincere, the way he'd done a hundred times in his previous life in a completely different context. What was one more.
The crowd murmured approvingly. A few of the older villagers nodded. One or two looked genuinely moved.
Xiaomei reappeared at the door carrying the sack of corn, struggling slightly with the weight. Lin Yue was behind her, one hand on Guowei's shoulder trying to pull him upright, her mouth set in a firm line. She had a lot she wanted to say. He could feel it. But when she saw the look in his eyes she stopped and let her hand fall.
I'll ask him later. When they're gone.
The villagers saw the sack and the energy shifted again — this time toward satisfaction, relief, the particular lightness that comes when a tense situation resolves in your favor.
Even if it wasn't a lot, if kept properly at the village canteen and ground up with some wild greens mixed in, it would help stretch what they had. It would quiet the hunger for a little while longer.
The village chief's face opened into a smile. "Don't worry, little Guowei. I'll make sure they bring the wood to your home. More than enough for the whole winter."
"Thank you, village chief."
Guowei stood at the door and watched them filter out one by one, some still calling out praise, others nodding their thanks, a few looking slightly embarrassed now that the moment had passed. The village chief was the last to leave, giving Guowei one final approving look before turning and heading back down the path.
The moment the last of them disappeared from view, Guowei closed the door and slid the latch into place.
He let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding.
His mother and sisters were standing behind him in the dim light of the main room. Lihua grabbed his pant leg. He looked down.
She was pouting. Actually pouting, her small face scrunched up in an expression of such pure indignation that it would have been funny if it weren't so heartbreaking.
"Why did you give them Lihua's food?"
Her voice was small and tight, like she was trying very hard not to cry.
Something broke in his chest.
This was the same little girl who had hidden behind him not twenty minutes ago. And now here she was, angry that food was gone, because at eight years old in this era you learned very quickly that food was the only thing between you and the cold.
People from this time were forced to grow up too fast.
He crouched down and patted her head gently, smiling despite everything.
"Don't worry about that little bit of food. You don't like the cold, right?" He picked her up, settling her on his hip. "Big brother will get us a lot of firewood. So mama and Lihua and Xiaomei won't be cold this winter."
She looked at him for a long moment, processing. Then she wrapped her arms around his neck and buried her face in his shoulder.
He carried her inside.
His mother finally asked the question that had been sitting behind her eyes since the moment he'd made the decision.
"Why did you give them the corn?"
They were seated around the low table now, the house quiet again, the tension from earlier slowly bleeding out of the walls.
Guowei explained his thought process. If they hadn't given anything tonight, someone would have come back. Maybe not tomorrow. Maybe not the next day. But eventually. And when they did it wouldn't be polite. It would be a group of men in the dark and no one would help because the family had already marked themselves as hoarders who didn't care about their neighbors.
"Better to control it now," he said. "Let them feel like they got what they came for. Let the village chief owe us a favor for not making a scene. And we get firewood out of it — real firewood, enough to last the winter, which we were going to need anyway."
Lin Yue listened to all of it, her face unreadable. When he finished she was quiet for a long moment.
Then she nodded. "You made the right choice."
She paused.
"But Guowei—" Her voice was quieter now. "I think you should move the rest of the food into my room. Just to be safe."
He looked at her. She looked back.
She wasn't asking.
"Yes, mom."
They moved the remaining grain and provisions into her room that night, working quietly, not speaking more than necessary. When it was done Lin Yue closed the door and the house felt slightly emptier for it.
Dinner was simple. They had the rest of the chicken from the night before, reheated over the stove, the oil from it mixing into the thin porridge they'd prepared to stretch it further. It wasn't grandiose. It wasn't even particularly filling. But the oil in their systems was already more than most families in the village had, and no one said that out loud but everyone felt it.
They ate in relative silence, each of them turning over the events of the day in their own way.
After dinner they cleaned up together — the same routine, the same division of labor — and then drifted toward their rooms.
Guowei lay on his kang and stared at the ceiling.
The house was quiet.
Outside, the wind moved through the trees.
He thought about the crowd at the door. About Auntie Lang looking away. About the village chief's smile when he saw the sack of corn. About Lihua's face when she asked why he gave away her food.
He thought about Uncle Wei, somewhere on the other side of the stone, probably closing up his shop for the night, unaware that five sacks were missing from his back room.
He thought about a lot of things.
And then, eventually, he fell asleep.