The biting cold wind blew through the open door of the He Family Clinic. A young woman wearing a rabbit-fur hat walked in, carrying a bamboo basket on her back.
Ye Ming, who was sorting herbs, looked up. A flicker of surprise crossed his eyes. Wasn't this the young lady who had been clamoring to become an apprentice and study medicine?
"Give me half a liang of every herb listed on this paper."
If it weren't winter, Song Jinzhao would have taken Song Shixue up the mountain herself to gather herbs and learn every plant in the "Hundred Herbs Compendium."
Ye Ming noticed that every herb written on the paper was correct. It seemed this young lady had indeed read medical texts.
After portioning out all the herbs, worried she might only know the basics, he carefully instructed her on a long list of medicinal taboos.
After leaving the He Family Clinic, Song Jinzhao went to a bookstore.
"Do you have any good poetry collections?"
The shop assistant handed her a printed copy of "Three Hundred Famous Poems." "Every poet in this collection is renowned. It's a must-have for every scholar."
Song Jinzhao flipped through the book; it looked quite good.
"Do you have any medical books here?"
The shop assistant hadn't expected this question. Usually, medicine was passed down through families or taught master-to-apprentice; few people bought medical books from shops.
"We do, but they're quite ordinary, with only superficial knowledge."
He led Song Jinzhao to a corner of the shop, which held miscellaneous books that rarely sold.
Song Jinzhao found a few medical books and leafed through them. In the end, she only bought two: one on medicinal properties and another on human acupuncture.
The temperature at the border had already dropped to three or four degrees Celsius. Old Man Song had said it might snow in a couple of days, so this was Song Jinzhao's last trip to Xining City for the year.
After leaving the bookstore, she bought ten pounds of pork.
Although the house had preserved meats and dried rabbit, since she was in the city, she ought to bring something fresh back to eat.
...
The snow fell heavily outside the window, the accumulation on the ground growing thicker.
The door to the main room was shut tight, with only a crack left in the window for ventilation.
The family of four sat on the heated kang, their bottoms warm, feeling no cold at all.
The four-month-old baby was becoming more active, lying on the bed, occasionally lifting its chin to reach for the little pom-pom on Song Shixue's collar.
With nothing to do cooped up at home in winter, Song Qiming had become exceptionally diligent ever since learning Song Jinzhao wanted him to attend the village school and take the imperial examinations.
He memorized a poem every day from the collection Song Jinzhao bought, and sometimes even tried composing his own, though his attempts never quite took shape.
Various medicinal herbs were spread on the table. Song Shixue held a book, checking them one by one, memorizing them, then closing the book to identify them from memory. Song Jinzhao would point out any mistakes.
Thump, thump, thump!
Someone knocked on the main room's door.
Song Jinzhao got down from the kang, peered through the crack, and quickly opened the door. "Elder Aunt Song!" she called out.
Elder Aunt Song stood outside holding an umbrella, its surface covered in snow. When she closed it, the snowflakes pattered to the ground.
"Tomorrow is the Winter Solstice. Your grandmother sent me to check on you."
In Song Village, every household paid respects to their ancestors on the Winter Solstice. Because the original host's parents had passed away just this year, the Song family needed to visit their graves tomorrow.
After entering the room, Elder Aunt Song rubbed her hands together.
Brick houses were truly warmer; it was much cozier inside than in the old house.
She saw not only was the kang heated, but a charcoal brazier in the middle of the main room was also lit. A clay pot placed on an iron rack was simmering with red dates, honey, and goat's milk.
Elder Aunt Song couldn't help but inwardly marvel at how comfortably they lived.
Song Qiming climbed down from the kang, ladled a bowl of the red date goat's milk, and handed it to Elder Aunt Song.
Elder Aunt Song took a sip, feeling warmth spread through her body. "Your grandfather says we'll go to your parents' grave tomorrow at si hour (9-11 AM) to pay respects. After that, come to my house for the meal. It's cold and snowy at night, so no need to come over later."
After Elder Aunt Song finished the milk, Song Jinzhao took her to the kitchen to see the preparations.
"I made dumplings with cabbage and pork filling yesterday. This is a chicken slaughtered this morning. The spirit money and rice wine were bought on a trip to Xining City before winter. Tomorrow morning, I'll prepare a few rice balls. Will that be sufficient?"
Elder Aunt Song nodded with satisfaction. "That's more than enough. Your parents never ate such fine things when they were alive."
If she could have such bountiful offerings after her own passing, she'd be overjoyed in the underworld.
"Can you still buy pork now? Did you go to the city yesterday?"
Song Jinzhao shook her head. "I bought it on my last trip to the city before the snow. It started snowing before we could finish it, so I stored the rest frozen in the yard."
The next day at si hour, all fifteen members of the third branch of the Song family, including Old Man Song and Old Lady Song, gathered neatly before the graves of the original host's parents to burn spirit money. Even Song Anhao, who was still practicing rolling over, was held in Song Jinzhao's arms.
Song Qiming and Song Shixue's eyes turned red. Standing before the grave, their longing for their parents was stirred up anew.
The offerings before the tombstone were even more lavish than those for the New Year. Not only had Song Jinzhao prepared them, but Old Man Song and Second Song hadn't come empty-handed either.
Even though Second Song had only brought a plate of glutinous rice balls, the sentiment was there.
Song Jinzhao gazed at the tombstone, which had only been used for four months. Weathered by wind and sun, the simple wooden plank had already darkened and cracked, the inscription becoming somewhat blurred.
"Father, Mother, next year at Qingming Festival, I'll replace this with a tombstone made of cypress wood. It will be very imposing."
Old Lady Song's eyes grew hot, tears welling up. The wind made them feel like they might freeze.
"Third Son, rest easy in the underworld and prepare for your next life. Jinzhao and the children are living much better now. They've built the largest brick house in the whole village, incredibly comfortable. Don't you worry. Don't keep fretting about home. Your father and I are here watching over them for you."
After the spirit money burned, they waited for the wind to scatter the ashes. Then the Song family carried the offerings used for the graveside ceremony back to the old house to start cooking.
Grain was precious; every household did this. The offerings were used for just a short while, ultimately ending up in the bellies of the living.
Second Aunt Song bustled happily in the kitchen. "The Jinzhao household certainly eats well. To slaughter such a plump hen, they must be willing! It would have been better kept for laying eggs."
Old Lady Song felt uncomfortable hearing this and shot her a look. "That's because Jinzhao and the children are filial. Not like you and Second Song, showing up empty-handed every festival. I haven't seen a single chicken feather from you."
Second Aunt Song fell silent, muttering under her breath, "The family is poor. How could I bear to slaughter a chicken?"
Elder Aunt Song nudged her foot under the stove, signaling her to stop talking. How could her mouth still run when there was food to eat?
If Jinzhao hadn't killed the chicken, where would you be getting chicken soup now?
After the midday meal, Song Jinzhao stayed at the old house for a while before taking her three younger siblings home.
Although relations between the family branches were more harmonious than before, it was never as comfortable as being in one's own home.
