Chapter 8

After leaving the village school, Shen Mo’er carried a bamboo basket containing two high school textbooks toward the private plot.

Since voluntary labor had begun today for those other than the main able-bodied workers, and because grain had just been distributed yesterday, every household had enough to eat for the time being. Consequently, not to mention the women, the village elders were mostly at home resting.

As Shen Mo’er passed by Auntie Chen’s house, she saw a group of village matrons sitting under a large tree by the roadside, chatting while each waved a large cattail-leaf fan.

Seeing Shen Mo’er, Auntie Chen fanned herself and asked with concern, "Mo’er, are you feeling any better today? Now that you’ve brought the grain home, you should be able to have a full meal, right?"

"Yes, I’m full," Shen Mo’er replied with a shy smile. "I owe it all to you, Auntie Chen, Auntie Cai, Auntie Lu, Auntie Wang, Auntie Yang, and Auntie Zhang. If not for your help, I’m afraid it wouldn’t have been so easy to get my family’s grain back. Thank you all so much!"

Even though they had merely joined in on the commotion, being specifically named and thanked so solemnly by Shen Mo’er made the matrons feel as though they had truly championed justice. Their chins rose with pride, and they couldn’t help but pull Shen Mo’er aside for a bit more gossip.

When they heard Shen Mo’er say she was going to her private plot, the matrons enthusiastically insisted on joining her to have a look.

It was a mystery how the father and daughter had nearly starved to death in such a good year. Even if their grain had been stolen, any other family would have managed to scrape by—whether by foraging in the mountains, fishing in the river, or picking from their own plots.

As expected, when the group arrived at the Shen family’s plot, the state of the patch was truly dire. A few clumps of water spinach were cut down to the roots; the cowpea vines were sparse, with even fewer beans; as for the sweet potato ridges, whatever was buried was invisible, but the leaves above ground had been picked clean.

The matrons sighed incessantly. The father and daughter must have been so hungry they had picked every edible thing from the land.

Moreover, they were simply too honest.

If it were anyone else, even if their own plot were picked clean, they would surely have been tempted to reach into a neighbor’s plot when facing starvation. Yet, on their way here, all the other plots were neatly kept. Even a pumpkin from old man Zhou Guoguo’s patch that had grown into their area remained perfectly untouched, even though it was already fully mature.

"This Old Seven Shen... his wife didn't do much field work when she was alive. After she passed, no one taught him, so his farming skills are truly poor."

With that, the matrons rolled up their sleeves and got to work. They fetched tools from the nearest house—Auntie Yang’s—and began loosening the soil and watering it. Each of them pulled seedlings of amaranth, pumpkin, and carrots from their own private plots and planted them in the Shen family’s patch with busy hands.

They were all experienced laborers, and their movements were swift. By the time Shen Mo’er had carried two buckets of water, the vegetable plot had been completely transformed.

Shen Mo’er hadn't expected the matrons to be so warmhearted. Back when she was a princess, the servants who worked for her were always efficient and thoughtful, but that was something she would have rewarded with money.

However, having arrived in this strange world, she was empty-handed, and these people were not part of a royal household. Their help in tidying her vegetable patch was purely out of what they called "proletarian camaraderie." Feeling a sense of novelty, Shen Mo’er decided to keep this kindness in her heart and find a way to repay them later.

These village matrons could be truly annoying when they wanted to be—gossiping about everyone’s business and meddling in affairs—but when they were kind, they were truly kind. Without Shen Mo’er saying a word, once they finished with the plot, they hauled her along to the Brigade Leader’s house.

The Brigade Leader had gone to work, but his mother and wife were home. The matrons chattered away, airing grievances on behalf of Shen Mo’er and her father, pointing at the emaciated girl and berating the other branches of the Shen family for their black hearts.

Consequently, as soon as Zhou Mancang returned home from work, his mother and wife urged him to stand up for Shen Old Seven and his daughter regarding the housing dispute.

His wife, Xu Hongmei, was literate—having completed primary school—and spoke with righteous indignation: "The people’s production team is for the people. The proletariat needs unity, not oppression. Shen the Eldest and the others are just bullying Shen Old Seven because he is honest and has no one to support him. If the brigade doesn’t manage this, who will?"

Zhou Mancang was speechless: "Why didn't I hear you say that before?"

Xu Hongmei replied, "Well, they didn't speak up for themselves before, did they? We couldn't just meddle blindly, could we?"

The old lady chimed in, "Exactly. I’ve always thought the girl Mo’er was pitiful, but Shen Old Seven never made a sound, so we didn't want to overstep. But it’s different now. I’ve heard that if you don’t uphold justice, the poor girl is ready to hang herself at the brigade office door. You have to handle this, if only to prevent a tragedy!"

Zhou Mancang had been skeptical that Shen Old Seven had changed his nature overnight and was ready to fight for his daughter. That was why he had suggested the brothers negotiate at the threshing floor yesterday—he had intended to stall for time.

Perhaps after a few days, the anger would dissipate, and Shen Old Seven would return to his old self?

But now, the fire was burning not just on him, but in his own home. And Zhou Mancang knew very well that behind his mother and wife stood a whole group of other village women.

Of course, the old lady was right; if a death occurred, he, as the Brigade Leader, would bear heavy responsibility.

Originally wanting to avoid trouble, Zhou Mancang sighed, took a puff of his cigarette, and said, "Fine, I’ll mediate this afternoon."

After wandering around, Shen Mo’er had not only gained a brand-new vegetable patch but also a generous gift of vegetables from the matrons: cowpeas, water spinach, tender pumpkins, and even a golden muskmelon.

The house had not a drop of cooking oil and no seasonings other than salt. Shen Mo’er washed a handful of water spinach, lit a fire to make a vegetable soup, and that was all. For lunch, the father and daughter ate their soup along with some pastries.

The pastries had been made by the most skilled cook in the royal manor, and they were delicious, but they were all gone after this meal.

Fortunately, the stolen grain had been recovered, and with the brigade’s recent distribution, they didn't need to worry about food for now.

Of course, they were used to a life of refined delicacies, and it would be hard to adapt, but they would have to adjust slowly. After all, they would have to live in this world from now on.

At dusk, every household finished dinner before it grew dark.

After eating, Shen Mo’er moved a rickety chair to the doorway. As the cool evening breeze blew, she deftly took apart a tattered cotton-padded jacket, pulling out the cotton batting—which had become matted from the rain—piece by piece, tearing it until it was fluffy and tossing it into a bamboo basket at her feet.

Now that they were penniless and destitute, even this matted cotton could be salvaged and used after a good cleaning and sun-drying.

Shen Shaoyuan, exhausted from a day of labor, leaned against the wall. He watched his precious daughter, then looked at her again, unable to stop himself from heaving a long sigh.

His little Mo’er, who had been a golden branch and jade leaf in Da Liang, more pampered than any princess, had learned needlework from the finest embroiderers—not to stitch her own wedding dress like other young ladies, but simply to embroider a pouch for her father. Now, this skill was only used to mend rags.

Shen Shaoyuan couldn't help but feel a pang of sadness.

When Zhou Mancang arrived, this was the scene he witnessed: a young, emaciated girl holding a patch-covered jacket while dismantling the cotton, and beside her, the equally emaciated Shen Old Seven, looking so heartbroken he was on the verge of tears.

Zhou Mancang could understand Shen Shaoyuan’s mood. If it were his only daughter, raised to be like this and nearly starved to death, he would be crying too.

While Zhou Mancang had felt forced into this matter earlier, he now genuinely wanted to help this pitiful pair.

When the Shen family gathered in the brigade office, Zhou Mancang found himself unconsciously speaking up for the pair he pitied.

"Before the old man passed away, the house was divided. Each of you brothers received two rooms. Village cadres and clan elders witnessed it at the time; you cannot deny that. As for how you swapped houses later, as long as it was mutual, it’s not for us to interfere."

Zhou Mancang continued, "Old Seven’s intention now is to trade back. I’ve just asked, and there were no written agreements or price adjustments when you swapped. You said it was a loan from the start, so it is reasonable for Old Seven to take them back now."

Shen the Eldest, Shen Shengli, whose dark, weathered face was etched with deep lines, frowned and said, "Brigade Leader, this is a family matter between brothers. There’s no need for the brigade to get involved. We can discuss it ourselves."

His family was the largest, and they occupied one and a half of Shen Old Seven’s two rooms. If they were forced to move back, his second and third sons would have to sleep on the street with their families.

Shen Shengli regretted it deeply. If he had known this would happen, he would never have taken his family to the back mountain brigade for that wedding banquet. If he had been in the village yesterday when the grain-snatching incident erupted, he would have forced his third brother’s family to apologize to Old Seven, and he certainly wouldn't have let the fire reach the housing issue.

"Old Seven, you too. Even if we don’t share the same mother, we are still brothers. Your mother died early, and Father was old; I’ve helped you quite a bit since you were young, haven't I? It was wrong of the third brother’s family to take your grain. I will talk to them later and make them apologize to you and your niece. How about that?"

Shen Shengli felt he understood this half-brother well—a man with a soft, pliable nature just like his stepmother, and no cunning to speak of. He had been like this since childhood; a few kind words could trick him into giving up his belongings, and he was easily led around by his nephews. That was how they had swindled him out of those two rooms in the first place.

He assumed the younger brother was just backed into a corner by the third brother’s wife, but Shen Shengli believed that if he could just stall, the anger would fade and the matter would resolve itself.

To his surprise, before he had even finished speaking, Shen Shaoyuan waved his hand and spoke up: "The grain issue was settled yesterday, so let’s not talk about that. Today we are talking about the house. Eldest Brother, don’t try to drag other things into this; I’m afraid if we keep going back and forth, I’ll be tricked again."

Ignoring Shen Shengli’s expression, he turned to Zhou Mancang: "I’m not a very smart man, but I’ve figured one thing out: the people’s production team is for the people, and when there is a problem, the organization is the place to go. Brigade Leader, that is the situation. I trust the organization, and I trust you even more. My daughter and I are counting on you to uphold justice for us."

Shen Shengli: "..."

*You aren't smart? Your flattery is plenty sharp!*