Chapter 7: Old House

The morning after the rain carried the faint scent of wheat fields in the breeze.

Insect chirps were noisy, but birdsong was sweeter.

Maybe bugs shouldn’t rise early—they’d get eaten by early birds.

Sang Shen’s mind wandered with silly tales of bugs and birds.

But soon, the gurgling of boiling water, nudging the kettle’s lid, snapped him back.

No proper pot at home, so boiling water was the only option. Water was always needed, and hot water could make instant noodles…

So, after washing up, the first task was boiling water.

He poured the boiled water into a plastic thermos. Then placed it on the red lacquered table in the living room, beside yesterday’s Chinese pastries.

Sang Shen picked an old-style cream cake. Unlike typical cakes, its cream didn’t melt easily in summer. Of course, it was hard as rock, barely like cream.

He still hadn’t figured out what it was made of. Adults called it cream, so he did too.

“Uh… my thoughts are all over the place today, thinking random stuff…”

Sang Shen tapped his head. He set aside half the pastries in a large bowl, covering it with a plate to keep bugs out.

The other half he repacked carefully. He tied it with red plastic string, making it look unopened.

“Phew, done… This’ll be a thank-you for Lin Qing. She really helped me out yesterday, riding me over, even got hurt.”

Sang Shen held the pastries gently.

“Not checking on her would seem too cold… Yin Xing’s probably still asleep. She’ll find something to eat when she’s up, right? I’ll drop these off at Lin Qing’s first—”

He muttered to himself, double-checking he forgot nothing. Then he stepped over the threshold and left.

But before heading to her place, there was something more important.

He needed to ask someone where Lin Qing lived…

***

The newly paved asphalt road was wide and empty. Rice fields flanked it, with distant mountains in harmony. The early sun wasn’t scorching, lifting Sang Shen’s mood.

Compared to endless seas, he preferred mountains.

Being surrounded by them felt safe.

“Hey, who’re you, young man?”

An old woman’s voice broke his enjoyment of the quiet morning scenery.

She stood at a small Western-style house’s door, splashing water with a gourd dipper. Her wrinkled face held gentle curiosity.

“I’m Sang Shen… uh…”

He scratched his head, about to say his father’s name. Then he switched.

“I’m Sang You Zhong’s nephew.”

“Oh, You Zhong’s nephew?”

The old woman smiled, her Mandarin tinged with dialect.

“Yeah…”

“Where you off to so early?”

“To my uncle’s…”

Sang Shen hesitated, then tried.

“Grandma, do you know where Lin Qing lives? The girl always on a bike, sometimes in a floral skirt.”

The old woman looked puzzled, maybe unfamiliar with the name or his standard Mandarin.

“She said she lives deep in, past the lake—”

He gestured, seeing her confusion. He was ready to give up.

“Uh… you probably don’t know, right?”

“Oh… I know, I know.”

Her face bloomed into a wrinkled smile, like a crumpled flower.

“The post office girl, right?”

“Post office… girl? Anyway, she’s really helpful.”

“That’s her, I know. Lin girl.”

“She’s surnamed Lin…”

Sang Shen coughed, thinking of Dream of the Red Chamber’s Lin girl. But that lively, healthy body was nothing like Lin Daiyu…

“That way.”

The old woman pointed deeper down the village path.

“A three-story green building, that’s it.”

“Great, I’ll head there, no need to ask Uncle.”

Sang Shen said gratefully.

“Oh, what’s your name, Grandma?”

“Just call me Fruit Tree Ma.”

Here, “Ma” meant “grandma” or “auntie.”

Fruit Tree Ma was like Fruit Tree Grandma.

Sang Shen nodded.

“Oh, you’re her! Lin Qing said she bought a phone card in town…”

“Yeah! She’s a good girl.”

Fruit Tree Ma’s face lit up, as if recalling something joyful. She grabbed Sang Shen’s arm, tugging him toward the house.

“Come, come, you’re going to her place, right?”

“Yeah, what’s up?”

She didn’t answer. She nimbly crossed the high step into the house. Minutes later, she returned with two red plastic bags.

She handed him two equally heavy bags, straightening slightly.

“Take these plums! This bag’s yours, that one’s for her!”

“Huh, for me too? That’s… too much…”

Sang Shen shook his head, trying to return his bag. Not just politeness—he didn’t like sour fruit.

“Hey, don’t be shy! All grown at home! Come back when you’ve got time!”

Sang Shen half-understood, catching she meant don’t be formal and visit again.

For an old woman with kids away, this wasn’t courtesy. She craved company.

He agreed eagerly. After bidding the warm grandma farewell, he quickened his pace deeper into the village.

Maybe it was her kindness, but he felt lighter. Fields and mud houses flew past behind him.

***

Past a mirror-like mountain lake, along a winding road with no houses, the deeper he went, the more it felt like the heart of the forest.

But soon, the view opened up. A few mud houses appeared.

The asphalt road stayed wide and smooth, but the houses were shabbier than those outside.

A few more steps brought him to the green-painted building Fruit Tree Ma mentioned.

It resembled an old factory dorm, rundown enough for demolition in a city. But compared to nearby mud houses, it was practically new.

The low building had three floors. The corridor walls were open, maybe to save materials or for ventilation.

Each floor housed three families. A moss-covered water tank sat on the roof.

Two trees grew by the entrance: a ginkgo on the left, a mulberry on the right.

They were about the same size, but the ginkgo must’ve been transplanted—it shouldn’t grow that big naturally…

Sang Shen gazed at the building, his expression dazed.

The place his parents rented in the city was like this, just two floors taller.

If not for the surrounding mountains, he’d think he’d returned to the capital.

A porcelain sign by the entrance read “Youhu Village Post Office Workers’ Dormitory.”

Below was a date, likely built in 1965.

“Lin Qing lives here… But which room’s hers…”

Sang Shen frowned. Then a hard pat on his shoulder made him yelp.

“Ah!!”

“Ehehe, scared ya?”

“Phew… anyone’d jump if patted while thinking…”

Sang Shen coughed, defending himself.

“It’s you, Lin Qing. How’s your injury?”

“No big deal, barely hurts now.”

“Good… You live in a place like this?”

“Yup, old post office workers’ dorm. But I’m the only one living here now~ I’m on the third floor, right side.”

“You live alone?”

“Cuz Youhu Village’s post office merged with another village’s. No one’s here anymore. But since I’m still around, water and power stay on.”

“Aren’t you scared at night, alone?”

“Hm—nah, it’s fine? Oh, come sit at my place! I just picked some wild veggies.”

Before Sang Shen could answer, the bold girl grabbed his wrist. She jogged him to room 303’s door.

The iron door, long left open, was thick with spiderwebs. She seemed to only lock the inner wooden door.

Inside was a tidy living room. The floor was green-painted, as was the lower half of the walls. An unpainted old wooden table stood in the center, one leg broken, propped up with a stack of books.

“Oh… right, this is pastries, uh, for you.”

“Pastries? Thanks!”

“And this, from Fruit Tree Ma, plums for you. I don’t like sour stuff, so you can have my bag too.”

“Sweet.”

Lin Qing didn’t hesitate, grinning as she took everything. She dashed to stuff them in a dark green fridge.

“Can I wear these slippers? Dunno why, but your place feels comfy, like home. Maybe the layout’s like my city place…”

“Sure, those are for you.”

“Huh? For me?”

“Yup, the white pair’s for Yin Xing.”

“You bought them yesterday?”

“Nope.”

Lin Qing handed him a glass of iced barley tea.

“Cuz I knew you’d come—the other ‘me.’”

“…!?”