"Brother Mingliang..."
Wang Xiaohong stared at the familiar cloth bag, her hands twisting together, fingertips turning white from the grip.
Tears wavered in her eyes, but she held them back with sheer willpower, turning her face away and forcing them down.
When she looked back at Li Mingliang, she managed a faint, strained smile. "Brother Mingliang, I knitted this sweater especially for you. Xiaoming already has one, so you keep this one."
Li Mingliang's smile faded a little. He pushed the cloth bag back toward her, his tone sincere. "Xiaohong, I appreciate your kindness, truly, but I really can't use it. You knitted it so well — it'd be a waste not to give it to Xiaoming." He paused, then added, "Thank you. I'll always remember your thoughtfulness."
The word "thoughtfulness" landed like a fine needle, pricking the softest part of Wang Xiaohong's heart.
She lifted her head sharply, that warmth surging back into her eyes. "Brother Mingliang, is it because Hongxia got the permanent position that you think she's so much better than me?"
Li Mingliang froze, not expecting that question. He quickly waved his hands. "Don't think like that! That's not it at all!"
Wang Xiaohong thought back to the embroidered shoe insoles Zhou Hongxia had made, the awkward look on her face that night, and just now — the two of them standing so close, whispering about something.
She sniffled, took the cloth bag, and hugged it to her chest. Her voice cracked with tears but she tried to sound lighthearted. "I get it. I was just fooling myself."
With that, she turned and ran out.
As she reached the entrance of the workers' compound, she nearly collided with Zhou Hongxia, who was coming out of the cafeteria.
Seeing Xiaohong's red-rimmed eyes, Zhou Hongxia stepped forward quickly. "Xiaohong, what's wrong?"
Wang Xiaohong stopped, glanced back at Zhou Hongxia, and said in a muffled voice, "Nothing! I'm going home!" Then she hurried off.
She'd been fine just a moment ago — what on earth had happened?
Zhou Hongxia furrowed her brow.
She knew Li Mingliang and Wang Xiaohong were close, and she was well aware that she owed her permanent position to Xiaohong's recommendation. She'd always carried that debt in her heart.
With New Year approaching, she'd planned to use her saved wages to buy Xiaohong a gift, to properly thank her.
Tomorrow, quite a few second-line workers and some first-line workers at the oilfield would be going home for the holiday, leaving only a few on duty. The cafeteria wouldn't close, but with fewer people eating, it wouldn't be too busy.
She'd even thought about asking Xiaohong to go with her to Qingshan Street market to shop for the gift, but given the way things looked, Xiaohong probably wasn't in the mood.
What had happened? Had she and Li Mingliang had a falling out?
Watching Wang Xiaohong's retreating figure, Zhou Hongxia was full of questions. She thought about asking Li Mingliang, but it didn't feel right — her relationship with him wasn't close enough for her to pry into such matters.
As for Wang Xiaohong, she stumbled out of the workers' compound. The cold wind hit her face, stinging her cheeks, and the tears she'd held back all the way finally spilled over.
She cried as she walked, letting all the hurt, the resentment, the bitterness pour out with her tears.
When she got home, Wang Xiaoming was splitting firewood in the shed. Seeing her red eyes and the cloth bundle clutched against her chest, he set down his axe. "What happened? Someone upset you?"
"Nothing!" Wang Xiaohong carried the bundle into the inner room, kicked off her shoes, and crawled into bed still wearing her cold cotton-padded jacket.
She pulled the blanket over her head and sobbed into the sweater.
She didn't know how long she cried. Finally, she wiped her face roughly with her hand and got up.
No matter what, life had to go on. The steamed buns weren't made yet. She went into the kitchen, rolled up her sleeves, and started mixing dough.
Wang Xiaoming carried an armful of firewood into the kitchen. Seeing her mixing dough, he grinned. "This firewood burns well — it'll get the steamer nice and hot!"
"Did you buy the couplets and firecrackers yet?" Her voice was still hoarse from crying, but her eyes had brightened considerably.
Wang Xiaoming blinked, then broke into a wide smile. "Bought them! All the New Year supplies are set. Just waiting for the big day!"
Over the past six months, so much had happened in the family, and everyone had been wound tight.
Wang Xiaoming was hoping the festive spirit of New Year would wash away the gloom, letting them leave all their troubles behind — new year, new beginnings, and a fresh start at living well.
That night, Wang Xiaohong sat in bed and picked up the sweater. Her fingertips traced over the fine, tight stitches.
She'd stayed up seven whole nights to knit it. Every stitch carried her feelings and her hopes, and in the end, it had been gently rejected.
She folded the sweater neatly and placed it in the wardrobe, silently telling herself, "Wang Xiaohong, don't be so pathetic. You can live fine without anyone." Even so, her eyes welled up again.
The cold moonlight filtered through the plastic sheeting on the window, casting a pale glow on her flushed face.
Not far away, in the workers' compound, Li Mingliang thought of Wang Xiaohong's red-rimmed eyes and let out a soft sigh.
Fate can't be forced — not like his feelings for Chuntao, which had always been one-sided.
He'd learned from Zhou Xiaowei that Chuntao and Zhou Zhijun had gotten their marriage certificate and were now legally husband and wife — and she was pregnant.
At this point, all he could do was quietly wish her well.
When you love someone, you're supposed to want what's best for them. But he wasn't a saint, and there was no avoiding a bit of bitterness.
New Year's Eve arrived as scheduled.
On that night, every household set off firecrackers and boiled dumplings — a scene of joyful celebration. But beneath the surface, each person carried their own hidden sorrows and frustrations.
Chuntao sat propped up in bed. Zhou Zhijun walked in with a steaming bowl of dumplings and sat on the edge of the bed.
First, he scooped up a little of the dumpling broth with a spoon, blew on it gently, and carefully brought it to her lips. "Here, have some broth first to warm you up."
Chuntao's little face was flushed pink, her lips soft and delicate, like a porcelain doll.
She obediently opened her mouth and drank the soup. After a few spoonfuls, Zhou Zhijun set down the spoon, picked up chopsticks, and lifted a dumpling to her mouth. "Here, eat a dumpling. It's delicious!"
Chuntao took a bite, juice running down the corner of her mouth. She smiled. "Mmm, it really is!"
In past years, dumplings were filled with radish and vermicelli — not a trace of meat. This was her first time having meat-filled dumplings, and the taste was something else entirely.
"Then eat plenty! After tonight, tomorrow is the New Year. This year, we're going to be good and happy, come what may!" Zhou Zhijun said softly.
In the midst of this family reunion night, listening to the firecrackers crackling outside, Chuntao suddenly thought of her grandmother.
This winter had been unusually cold, and her grandmother's asthma must be flaring up badly again.
She was so old now... Chuntao wondered if she'd make it through the season.
"I'm afraid I won't make it through this New Year..."
In Lijia Village, Grandma Shen lay in bed, coughing so hard her lungs felt like they were coming loose.
The dumplings Li Dazhuang brought over sat untouched on the bedside table as she coughed and coughed.
Li Dazhuang set the dumplings on the old, paint-chipped cabinet, gently helped her up, and let her lean against the headboard.
His voice was hoarse, choked with tears. "Grandma, don't talk like that! You're going to be fine. Today's the thirtieth — tomorrow's New Year's Day, and we're going to celebrate together!"
Ever since winter set in, Grandma Shen's asthma had flared up, and this year it was worse than ever.
The only reason she had held on this long was that something weighed heavily on her heart.
She wanted to see Chuntao one last time before she went, to give her that silver ring, but suddenly she was terrified—terrified she would never get the chance…
"Dazhuang…"
Grandma Shen's chest felt like a huge boulder was pressing down on it, suffocating her; her face and lips had turned purple.
Trembling, she reached under her pillow and pulled out the handkerchief bundle, holding it out to Li Dazhuang with shaking hands. "Dazhuang… when you see Tao'er… give this to her…"
"Just say… Grandma is sorry for her… this is what her own mother left behind… her mother was—"
Before Grandma Shen could finish, her hand went limp and dropped. The handkerchief bundle fell onto the quilt, making no sound at all.
