Chapter 8: Xiezhang Village

The village where Xie Yihuang and her family lived was called Xiezhang Village. There hadn’t originally been a settlement here; in ancient times, people migrated from other places to develop the land. Fifty percent of the villagers bore the surname Xie, forty percent were Zhangs, and the remaining ten percent carried various other surnames. Since Xie and Zhang were the predominant families, the village was named Xiezhang.

Yet, Xiezhang Village was clearly divided: there was Front Xiezhang and Back Xiezhang. In Front Xiezhang, the Xie family was more numerous, as the Xie ancestral hall was located there. Conversely, Back Xiezhang had more Zhangs, their ancestral hall standing on that side. Still, the distinction was private—out in the world, people simply referred to the place as Xiezhang Village.

Xie Yihuang’s family lived precisely where Front and Back Xiezhang met, in an alley that served as the dividing line. The southern end of the alley belonged to Front Xiezhang, the northern to Back Xiezhang. As a result, the surnames along their alley were more mixed, with Xies, Zhangs, and others all living as neighbors.

Rural people were generally honest and straightforward. Despite ancestral divisions, everyone was a neighbor, and daily relationships were good.

The Xie Garden belonged to the Xie clan as well. In reality, all the Xies in the village shared a common ancestry, though after many generations, the blood ties had grown distant. Still, anyone surnamed Xie in Xiezhang Village was considered kin. Every year on the first day of the new year, the Xie families would gather in the ancestral hall to offer incense and honor their forebears, pooling resources for a communal meal—a family reunion for all the Xies.

Tracing back about four generations, the Xie Garden family and Xie Yihuang’s family were related, though the connection had grown remote. The Xie Garden family lived on the north side of the alley, while Xie Yihuang’s family was on the south; their doors faced each other diagonally. Xie Yuan and Xie Yuanfeng were the same age, so they attended school together.

“No, I was just giving it a try,” Xie Yihuang adamantly denied wanting to roast field frogs.

Xie Yuan carried a swim ring in her left hand and a basket in her right, the basket containing a few fresh water chestnuts. “Aman, Ayi, come and have some water chestnuts,” she called.

Aman was Xie Yuanfeng’s childhood nickname. It was said that when the twins were born, their father felt his life was perfect and wanted to call the girl Aman, meaning “fulfilled,” and the boy Asheng, meaning “alive.” But the elders insisted that such auspicious nicknames were not good for children, so they were changed to Aman and Asheng.

As for Xie Yihuang, her birth had been a surprise for her father, who’d thought having a pair of “good” children was enough. When Xie Yihuang came along, she was nicknamed Ayi, and later formally named Xie Yihuang, with her nickname following suit. The names had been chosen rather casually.

Casual as their names were, their parents treated Xie Yihuang reasonably well—at least she’d grown up safe and sound, though she never received the same attention as the eldest son or daughter.

“Yuanyuan, did your family buy water chestnuts today?” Xie Yuan’s father worked at the supply and marketing cooperative, so he often got fresh produce before others.

“Yes, the cooperative had water chestnuts today. My dad bought two jin, and we’re sharing them.”

There weren’t many in the small basket—perhaps six or seven—but even so, sharing was a generous gesture among children of that time.

Xie Yihuang ate one and had no more. “Water chestnuts are hard to digest. One is enough for me.” Even though her body was now fully healed, she had no intention of revealing it. She decided she would start exercising early in the mornings, giving the impression that her health was gradually improving.

Knowing Xie Yihuang had always been frail, Xie Yuan didn’t press her. The rest were split between Xie Yuanfeng and Xie Yuan.

Afterwards, the three of them headed to the riverbank. With their life preservers and swim rings, they had nothing to fear, and a few adults were chatting beneath an old mulberry tree nearby, so there was no cause for concern.

Xie Yihuang truly marveled at how good their environment was—at least the river was clean. Many families fetched their drinking water from it.

It was now 1980. While cities had begun installing tap water, rural areas still relied on natural sources. Xie Yihuang recalled that in the previous life, some villages wouldn’t use tap water even after it was installed, disliking the strong smell of bleach. Only when the river became polluted did people switch to using tap water.

At present, the village’s water sources were the river, wells, and rainwater. Nearly every household kept one or two large water jars under the eaves to collect rainwater, known locally as “heaven’s gift.” For daily chores like washing rice or clothes, everyone went to the riverbank. Since housewives often gathered at the same time, neighborly bonds were especially strong—if any family had an issue, the entire alley would rally to help.

She waded into the river. The water was warm, like a natural hot spring—a pleasure to swim in.

Such a feeling was impossible to find in modern swimming pools; it was nature’s unique gift.

Xie Yihuang didn’t swim for long. They entered the water at three thirty, and by four they were back on shore. She returned home, filled a large wooden tub—about a meter in diameter—with sun-warmed rainwater, and bathed. She could have used the small pond at home, but after playing in the river, she preferred the wooden tub.

After bathing, Xie Yuanfeng also returned and washed up. The sisters then did their own laundry.

Children in those days were remarkably independent—unlike in later years, when many university students couldn’t even wash their clothes. Back then, the older children looked after the younger, and all were adept at household chores.

By the time their mother came home, the sisters had already prepared dinner.

Their parents rarely returned before five. After work, they’d cook, so the family usually ate after six.

But Xie Yunfeng always came home ahead of time. Today was no exception; he brought back a small bucket of bamboo clams. In later years, such clams would fetch a good price, but at that time, no one cared for them, thinking the meat too scant. The Xie family, however, liked to fry up a bowl every now and then.

Xiezhang Village was located in Jiangnan Province. Most of the province’s residents were descendants of refugees or migrants from various places in ancient times, so the population was diverse. There were over sixty regional dialects—sometimes, just crossing a river, a hill, or a street would bring you to a new dialect.