RYEY – Chapter 160 Heart-Wrenching Cry

When the figure of five hundred yuan was mentioned, everyone immediately fell silent. Let alone five hundred, they couldn’t even scrape together a hundred.

Even so, they still felt some resentment toward Cheng Qiao. Chai Jianmin shot Han Chunmei a cold glance, his mocking gaze unrestrained.

Han Chunmei’s heart tightened. She had never wanted Cheng Qiao’s job anyway—on one hand, she didn’t have the money, and on the other, she wasn’t suited to be a teacher.

Zhang Yuefang also felt sour. No matter how hard she tried, the money she had never exceeded one hundred yuan. The most displeased was Xiao Fang. Even if she couldn’t produce five hundred all at once, she could always owe it first and repay slowly, right?

Luckily, Xiao Fang was shrewd enough not to voice this thought—otherwise, she would’ve been scolded to death by the others.

But Cheng Qiao didn’t care what anyone else was thinking. Her heart was set on raising her child and studying medical texts. If she didn’t understand something, she would ask Ye Jun. The two of them often carried the baby up into the mountains to look for herbs.

Li Le’s eyes turned red with envy; she longed to follow Cheng Qiao into the mountains. But Cheng Qiao gave her a goal: by September of next year, she must be in the fifth grade.

Li Huan also went up the mountains with Cheng Qiao whenever he had free time. Besides setting traps, he had to chop firewood. Days quickly slipped into October—the start of the busy farming season.

When little Cheng Li was three months old, the harvest began. Except for Cheng Qiao, the whole family went to the fields. After feeding him, Cheng Qiao would lay him on the big bed in her hidden space before leaving to do chores.

So although she didn’t work the fields, her workload at home was no less. She had to keep two houses clean, cook, do the laundry, feed the chickens, and take the baby out for walks when there was time.

After breakfast, she washed the dishes, fed the chickens, did the laundry, swept the rooms, then went to the kitchen to prepare lunch. Left alone at home, Cheng Qiao always “cheated”—today she would steam some frozen dumplings, tomorrow some sorghum buns.

A couple of days later, she used a frozen chicken to make chicken stew with mushrooms, or pulled out two catties of meat to make steamed pork with rice flour. The rice she cooked was mostly white rice, mixed with a little sorghum.

While the villagers grew darker and thinner from the intensity of farm work, Mother Li and Li Le—who had time off from school—grew darker, yes, but certainly not thinner.

Another sunny day arrived, though the air had turned noticeably cold. Carrying a basket on her back and little Cheng Li in her arms, Cheng Qiao brought along some flawed fabric that Qiu Min had gotten her, and went to the fields.

The village women couldn’t help feeling envious. After childbirth, Cheng Qiao looked even prettier—fair skin, delicate features, and her figure hadn’t changed at all. Even her child was good-looking, and he carried the prestigious Cheng surname.

But since she was the village head’s wife, no matter how sour their hearts were, they still greeted her warmly. Cheng Qiao wasn’t stingy either—children under ten, as long as they spoke sweetly, would sometimes get a fruit candy from her.

Because of this, the villagers’ impression of her improved again. The silly, sweet girl was still silly and sweet—it was just that marriage had mellowed her somewhat.

Of course, Cheng Qiao knew what they were thinking. But in Xiangyang Village, a single candy could buy her a lot: news from the educated youth spot, Xu Laidi’s whereabouts, gossip about Chen Weimin and the like. All information she needed to keep track of.

“Qiao, why are you here again? I told you I’ll head back early to cook. You still have to take care of my precious grandson.”

Mother Li was delighted to see her coming with Cheng Li. She quickly washed her hands in the ditch and took the baby. Cheng Qiao set down her basket at once and handed over the lunch for Li Le and the others.

“Mom, you and Li Le eat first. I’ll go see Han Chunmei and ask her to make some winter clothes for Cheng Li.”

“Mom can do that. You don’t need to trouble others.”

Cheng Qiao only smiled. Han Chunmei was Cheng Li’s godmother, often skimping on her own rations to save money for his milk powder. Such kindness, she had to repay.

Mother Li realized at once she was being stingy again. This girl, Han Chunmei, truly treated her grandson well. It was only right for Cheng Qiao to look after her.

“Then go quickly. Take Cheng Li along too. That girl lights up whenever she sees him.”

Smiling, Cheng Qiao picked up her basket, took the baby back into her arms, and left.

“Sister Chunmei, come up here.”

Seeing her arrive with Cheng Li, Han Chunmei’s smile turned into slits of joy. She washed her hands clean in the ditch and rushed up, eager to take the baby.

“Sister Chunmei, take this basket home.”

“What’s this? I don’t want it.”

“There’s cotton cloth and cotton inside. Please make two padded jackets and three pairs of padded trousers for Cheng Li. Whatever’s left, make yourself a jacket—I noticed yours has already worn down to the stuffing.”

Han Chunmei’s nose stung. So many years had passed like this. That family in the city had long forgotten her. Not only had they not sent money, they hadn’t even sent a spool of thread.

So she deliberately forgot them too. After all, now she had Cheng Li, her godson. From now on, she counted as having family.

“There’s also a piece of cured meat and some pastries in the basket. Don’t go hungry at night.”

Cheng Qiao whispered in her ear, then took back Cheng Li and walked toward Mother Li.

Not far away, Xu Laidi watched her. Seeing Cheng Qiao grow fairer, prettier, and healthier by the day, her teeth nearly cracked with hate.

She glared at Cheng Qiao, while Chai Jianmin glared at Xu Laidi. Only after Cheng Qiao disappeared into the distance did Xu Laidi resume her work.

Suddenly, a baby’s cry rang out. It was her son. He had wet himself. With the weather turning cold, if his diaper wasn’t changed quickly, he could easily get sick.

Xu Laidi hurriedly set aside her farm tools to change him. Born premature, her child was weak—tiny in size, and even his cries came in weak, broken bursts.

She took out the carefully wrapped milk bottle, which held formula. Testing the temperature, she found it just right and fed it to the baby.

Perhaps hungry, the child drank greedily, though very slowly. Though anxious, Xu Laidi patiently let him finish.

Afterward, his eyes drooped shut and he soon fell asleep. She laid him gently in a large basket, covered him with a quilt, then gnawed on her own cold, hard rations.

All around, villagers ate their own food in small groups, chatting briefly before returning to work half an hour later.

Seeing her son sleeping soundly, Xu Laidi picked up her tools again. For his sake, she had to work harder, to earn more work points.

“Waa… waa…”

Suddenly, Xu Laidi heard her son cry out—a heart-wrenching, piercing wail. This was nothing like his usual cries from hunger or wetness. Alarmed, she dropped her sickle and ran toward where her son lay.