Chapter Twelve: Small Happiness

The village roosters always crow punctually at dawn, waking the villagers curled up beneath their quilts.

Lu Kun glanced out the window; the sky was still a blur, and he guessed it was probably just after five, maybe nearing six. There was no rush yet to get up and start the day's work. He stretched as he got out of bed, and his bones crackled noisily in protest.

Liu Liping had also awakened by now, unable to hide the smile on her face, her lips curled and her hands gathering her disheveled hair behind her head. Her eyes shone brightly; after a night's rest, the weariness had faded, and she radiated the alluring charm of a mature woman.

In the plain routine of married life, it always takes a sprinkle of artistry to make things vibrant and colorful.

Breakfast in the countryside was simple: a bowl of thin porridge, perhaps with some chili sauce or pickled radish, enough to bring joy to the table. Even a morning meal could leave one sweating all over. The sharp, invigorating spice banished the chill from one's body, effectively warding off rheumatism.

Liu Liping had gotten up to make breakfast, while Lu Kun, for once, indulged in a little more sleep. By the time he finally rose, his two daughters were already sitting upright, each with her smaller bowl, eating their porridge.

The younger daughter, Erya, still hadn’t mastered chopsticks and used a little wooden spoon her father had made for her. She ate as she ran about, making Liu Liping chase her in exasperation.

Today’s work was the same as yesterday’s: the whole family would head out together to catch field snails.

The older daughter, though she didn’t know how much money the snails fetched, could tell by her parents’ cheerful mood that there was profit to be made. In her young mind, as long as the family had money, there would be no need to sell their precious grain, and they could have enough to eat every day. The thought brought an unconscious smile of happiness to her face.

Small, tangible happiness—simple yet so real.

Er Ya, still young, hadn’t forgotten how the leeches had bitten her yesterday, making her wail miserably. Now, at the mention of catching snails again, her lips pouted high, and her eyes brimmed with tears.

Perhaps because they had already harvested yesterday, Lu Kun clearly felt there were fewer field snails to be found today. Neither he nor his wife voiced this thought, but their moods grew heavier.

Lu Kun understood well that people were quick to jump on trends. The business of fried snails likely wouldn't last long. If business was too good, it would inevitably attract envy, and a flood of people would rush in, ruining the market so that in the end, no one would profit.

He needed to save up enough capital to switch trades before this business collapsed, to make the path ahead smoother. For now, the biggest problem was the lack of raw materials—there simply weren’t enough snails to sell.

He pondered this silently.

Though there were fewer snails than yesterday, they’d caught a few more loaches. In the eyes of the children, loaches were far more valuable than snails—after all, that was actual meat.

The family, chatting and laughing, packed up and headed home.

On the way, some villagers eyed them curiously, puzzled that Lu Kun’s whole family could be idle enough to go snail-catching together. At this time, in the eyes of the village, anyone not working the fields but instead busy with such trivial matters was considered a layabout, not respectable.

The older daughter was well-behaved, but the younger, clever and quick-witted, could summon tears at will. She cried dramatically on the spot, “Daddy says there’s no more grain at home, so we have to catch snails in the fields to eat…”

Lu Kun had already warned Liu Liping and the girls not to mention selling fried snails for money in front of outsiders—keep it secret as long as possible. It wasn’t that he cared what people said, but he dreaded the creditors hearing that the family had made some money and coming in droves to demand payment.

In a strange twist, thanks to the family’s conscious or subconscious efforts, they had earned the dubious honor of being known as the village’s top “debt king.”

In times like these, you had to let people think you were destitute—lacking food, clothing, and with nothing left but your own life—so creditors wouldn’t bother you.

If the debt was owed to well-meaning neighbors who knew the family's situation, they’d understand the difficulty of paying back and might even let the debt linger until the family was truly prosperous.

With no rice left at home, there would be no lunch. Liu Liping fried four cassava pancakes, one for each of them.

Cassava pancakes were truly unpalatable, but they had one undeniable advantage: they filled you up. For anyone not doing hard labor, even a large, bowl-sized pancake could stave off hunger for half a day.

Once the snails were purged of sand and the loaches cleaned and marinated, the couple took their daughters out to the market.

Their 28-inch bicycle was a tight fit for two on the back, but just manageable. Lu Kun set Er Ya on the crossbar, told her to hold on tight, and happily ferried his wife and daughters to town.

There was no paved road from the village to town—only a dirt track. Fortunately, the road was fairly dry now, so a careful ride would do.

Lu Kun decided to buy a weighing scale and twenty pounds of brown rice.

Thinking that the children rarely got to visit the town, it seemed wrong to buy them nothing at all. He wanted to get them something, but finally yielded to Liu Liping’s advice: the family each had a bowl of rice noodles, two coins per bowl.

Poverty, as they say, makes one meek—just the price of the scale had the couple haggling with the shopkeeper for over half an hour.

The scale was costly—almost as much as the twenty pounds of rice. In the end, Lu Kun gritted his teeth and bought it. After all, with a scale, it would be easier to negotiate small deals in the future.