Chapter Thirty-Seven: Younger Brother

Banxia, filled with reverence, offered incense before the tombstone and silently vowed, “Since fate has brought this child to me, as long as I have food, he will never go hungry. You need not worry.” As soon as she set the incense, a sudden breeze swept past.

“Is this Grandfather speaking to me?” the child asked.

“It’s Grandfather saying farewell. Come now, say goodbye to him, and let’s go home.” Banxia took the boy’s hand and led him away, stopping at the clothing shop at the crossroads to buy him three sets of clothes. Seeing that dusk was approaching, she decided not to open her store, instead buying groceries and returning home. She boiled a large pot of water and had the child bathe first.

“Today is your first day here; I'll help you bathe. Afterward, you'll learn to do it yourself, all right?” Banxia noticed the boy’s embarrassment, but his hair was so matted it needed a thorough cleaning.

He nodded shyly.

Banxia fetched some soap pods to wash his hair. The moment she parted his hair, her scalp tingled: his head was crawling with lice. Banxia dreaded such things, but steeled herself and carefully scrubbed his hair clean, wrapping it in a cloth afterward. Then she began to wash him.

Children like this little beggar were often bullied by older kids. Banxia checked him for wounds; thankfully, he seemed unscathed, a sign his grandfather had protected him well. But he was so thin from lack of proper meals that Banxia’s heart ached. Motherless children were like wild grass, suffering untold hardships at such a tender age.

“Miss, am I too dirty? Are you upset?” the boy asked timidly.

“No need to call me Miss; just call me Sister. What is your name?”

“Grandfather called me Anzi. My mother, before she died, hoped I would live safely.”

“What about your father?”

“I have no father. Grandfather never spoke of him. We didn’t live here before, but one day Grandfather returned from outside badly hurt and coughing blood. He took me away from our old home and said he was coming here to find a friend. We traveled for a long, long time. Grandfather was sick the whole way, and when we reached here, he died.” Anzi’s voice trembled, eyes welling with tears.

“It’s all right now; you have a sister,” Banxia soothed him, continuing to wash him. The dirt was so thick it took three buckets to clean him, but underneath, he was a fair, lovely child.

Banxia brought him new clothes and intended to burn the old ones, unsure if they harbored fleas.

Anzi hurried over and rummaged through his old garments, producing a small embroidered pouch which he handed to Banxia. “Grandfather gave me this before he died, saying it would help me find my father. But now I have a sister and don’t want a father anymore. You take it.”

Banxia opened it and found a jade pendant, smooth and lustrous—a rare item. Could this child’s background be more complicated? No matter, she thought, she’d deal with things as they came.

She put the pendant back in the pouch and gave it to Anzi. “This belongs to you. Sister doesn’t need it; keep it safe.”

“But I want you to have it. I saw you spend a lot of money today—sell this for silver.”

“No need; Sister has silver. This is for you to find your father someday.”

“He abandoned me; I don’t want him.”

“Perhaps your father had his reasons.” Banxia reasoned with him, but Anzi still refused the pendant. Finally, she said, “Then I’ll keep it for you. If you meet your father, I’ll return it.”

Anzi was unconcerned.

“Stay home and play for a bit. I’ll go to the pharmacy to buy medicine for those bugs in your hair.”

Anzi nodded obediently.

Banxia gave him a tangram from the counter to play with and went out.

Anzi watched Banxia leave. She’d said this was home—his home now. If he behaved well, maybe he wouldn’t be sent away.

He sniffed himself; he smelled sweet, just like Sister.

Banxia bought some stemona at the pharmacy and asked the doctor for instructions. Stemona kills lice without harming the body, making it ideal. When she returned, Anzi was still playing with the tangram, occasionally scratching his head—no doubt uncomfortable from the lice.

Banxia soaked the stemona in wine for a short while, then applied it evenly to Anzi’s hair, wrapping it tightly with a towel.

“This medicine is killing the bugs. It’ll be uncomfortable, but bear with it. When they’re gone, you’ll feel better. Now, I’ll start cooking. What do you like to eat?”

“I don’t know.”

“Then I’ll make minced meat porridge, steamed pork ribs, stir-fried tomato with egg, and shrimp tofu. Anzi, could you help Sister wash the tomatoes?”

“Yes!” Anzi replied loudly, eager to be useful.

Banxia seasoned the ribs and set them to steam. She watched Anzi wash the tomatoes carefully, occasionally grimacing—his scalp must be itching, but he remembered not to scratch, enduring it bravely.

He handed the washed tomatoes to Banxia and looked at her expectantly.

“Sister will handle things here; you go play outside.”

Anzi went out but soon returned, sitting on the little stool he’d used to wash vegetables, playing with the tangram while watching Banxia cook. Children deprived of affection often lack a sense of security, so Banxia let him be.

Half an hour later, Banxia had all the dishes ready. She removed the ribs from the steamer and, while there was still daylight, took a stool into the courtyard to comb out the dead lice and eggs from Anzi’s hair—a meticulous task requiring patience. When her neck was sore, she finally finished, carefully checking for any remnants, then washed his hair twice more with soap pods.

She tossed the cloth that had wrapped his hair into the stove and burned it, ridding herself of that unpleasant feeling. Holding Anzi on her lap, she said, “Now our little Anzi is a clean, tidy baby.”

Anzi buried his head in her neck, smiling shyly.

They ate dinner together. Anzi was still reserved, sipping his porridge. Banxia placed a rib in his bowl. “Eat some meat, all right? You can’t just eat rice—meat and vegetables will help you grow tall.”

He ate the rib, and Banxia added some tomato. Whatever she offered, Anzi ate quietly. When Banxia judged he’d eaten enough, she asked, “Are you full?”

Anzi nodded. Banxia saw a little porridge left in his bowl. “Let’s finish this last bit, all right?”

Anzi obediently finished the porridge.

Banxia had never raised a child before, but Anzi was remarkably easy to care for. She was relieved; had he been troublesome, it would have been much harder.

Since it was Anzi’s first night here and he was so young, Banxia didn’t want him sleeping alone. Fortunately, her bedroom had a small couch, so she let Anzi sleep there.

She told him to sleep first and went to bathe. When she returned, Anzi was still awake, lying quietly and staring at the ceiling, unmoving.

Banxia sat by his bed. “What’s wrong? Can’t sleep?”

“Sister…”

“Yes?”

“Is all this just a dream? If I close my eyes and open them again, will everything be gone?”

Banxia suddenly recalled her own childhood. Once, she’d managed to see her father at home and stayed up all night, afraid it was just a dream. But somehow, she’d fallen asleep, and by morning he was gone, never to return. That sense of anxiety and fear of loss had always lingered.

“Touch Sister’s hand—isn’t it warm? Sleep now; I’ll be right here in this room. Tomorrow morning, you’ll see me again.”

Anzi said nothing, but cuddled her hand like a little beast.

“Sister will tell you a story, and then we’ll sleep, all right?”

“Okay.”

“Tonight, let’s tell the story of the little tadpoles searching for their mother. Once upon a time, there were four little tadpoles who had never seen their mother…”

Children sleep deeply, and after such an emotional day, Anzi didn’t even finish the story before drifting off, clutching Banxia’s sleeve. Banxia carefully slipped out of her outer robe and lay back in bed.

Raising a child isn’t easy. Banxia had taken him in on a whim, but she had no idea how to handle the future. If only Gansui were here—he was so clever, he’d know what to do. Where could he be now?

At that moment, Gansui was at an inn. Mr. Chuan and the Headmaster had gone out, leaving assignments for him and Lin You.

Lin You scratched his head, unable to write a single word, while Gansui, poised and confident, had already penned a long essay.

“Brother Gan, help me! I really can’t write anything.”

“No, you know Mr. Chuan said you have to do it yourself. It’s only two hundred words—how hard can it be?”

“Only two hundred? I don’t even recognize half the characters in this book, and now I have to write a reading reflection. Ten words are enough to drive me crazy, let alone two hundred—it’s torture!”

“Brother Gan, do you think the masters have gone out to indulge themselves, eating, drinking, and purposely leaving us behind?” Lin You complained bitterly. He’d thought traveling for study meant eating, sightseeing, and having fun everywhere, but instead, they had to study the writing styles of great scholars in each place and imitate them. Travel by day, study by night—Lin You felt utterly exhausted.

“Brother Gan, do you still have any of Banxia’s dried meat? Give me some.”

“What about yours?”

“I finished mine ages ago.”

“No way, that’s mine.” Tolerating his wife making things for someone else was already generous; if Lin You finished his share and wanted Gansui’s, that was unreasonable.

“Don’t be so stingy. I wonder what Banxia is doing now—I really want to go home.”

“Enough. Focus on your essay.” Gansui said, checking his own work. Gazing at the bright moon outside, he missed her dearly, wondering what she was doing at that moment. He picked up another sheet of paper and wrote: Beloved Banxia, as if we were face to face…