Chapter Eight: Setting Sail

When Lu Kun returned home, he found Liu Liping helping their eldest daughter wash clamshells, while the younger daughter squatted off to the side, wailing loudly. Lu Kun knew how to make five-spice river snails, but he worried his skills had grown rusty and the dish might not turn out authentic or flavorful enough.

He had already prepared scallions, ginger, garlic, wild peppers, and basil. “Let me do the washing, wife. You take a couple of coins to the little shop and get some soy sauce,” he said, squatting beside Liu Liping and taking the clamshells from her hands.

“Why not just send the eldest?” Liu Liping replied, shaking the water from her hands.

“That works too. Just give her some money,” Lu Kun agreed. He was well aware that Liu Liping treated her little money box like a lifeline—if he touched it without her say-so, she’d surely explode.

Without another word, Liu Liping wiped her hands and went inside to fetch some money. Soon, she returned with fifty cents and instructed the eldest to take the soy sauce bottle and go. As her daughter headed out, she called after her, “Watch out! Don’t let the woman at the shop cheat you!”

“Alright,” the eldest replied, already some distance away. The younger daughter hurried after her, face flushed with worry, nearly on the verge of tears. The eldest had no intention of bringing her along; she understood how tight money was at home, how every penny had to be stretched. If she took her little sister, the girl would probably throw a fit at the shop, making a scene and wasting time.

In the eldest’s mind, the fifty cents her mother entrusted her with, though not a fortune, was still a significant sum for their household. After all, they only bought soy sauce four times a year—fifty cents each time, two yuan to last the year.

By the time the eldest returned, soy sauce in hand, Lu Kun and his wife had finished washing the clamshells. Liu Liping, never one to sit idle, had dragged out a large basket of tools, intending to snip the tails off the river snails, but Lu Kun persuaded her to wait. It was still early, not yet three in the afternoon, so there was no need to rush.

In the countryside, few people went to the county town, so there was no worry about traffic. Most folks passed their time chatting near the village entrance or by the little shop; few ever ventured far from home. Some never visited the county in their entire lives, spending birth, old age, illness, and death all within the village.

Lu Kun had been to town a few times before.

After all, his so-called “good elder sister” had left him behind in the village for the allure of city life. Lu Kun had long since stopped trying to keep in touch—there was neither love nor hatred, just a desire to stay apart.

When Lu Kun was only ten, his elder sister had left him behind, happily marrying into the city. She had left thirty yuan of betrothal money for her younger brother and took nothing but her own change of clothes. That was the period when Lu Kun cried more than any other time in his life. His parents were gone, and now even his only sister had abandoned him.

From that day, his sister, Lu Xiulan, never returned to the village, and Lu Kun never cared to visit her in the city. Only when she sent word through others for the full-month celebration of any of her three children would Lu Kun make an appearance.

At that time, thirty yuan was the standard sum for a bride price—about a city worker’s monthly wage. Lu Kun paid three years’ worth of school fees in one go, and with less than ten yuan to spare, scraped by from one meal to the next for years. Only by sheer luck, or perhaps stubborn fate, had he survived.

If he cycled quickly, he could reach the city in an hour and a half. That meant the snails could spend a bit more time purging their sand, and tailing them could wait a little longer. With nothing else to do, Liu Liping hurried off to kill the loaches for dinner.

The three loaches were delightfully plump, likely weighing over a pound, perhaps nearly two. Liu Liping chopped them into small pieces, sprinkled on some salt and soy sauce, and left them to marinate. The family sat in the yard, resting and chatting.

After about an hour, everyone joined in to remove the snails’ tails. With many hands, even dozens of pounds of snails were dealt with in no time. Then came the endless rounds of washing, ensuring no grit remained in the shells’ crevices.

Lu Kun’s skill at cooking five-spice snails might have faded, but he remembered each step clearly. After instructing Liu Liping carefully, he went out to fetch the bicycle from Shitou’s house. He had originally planned to let the snails purge sand overnight, but with their finances so dire, it was best to set out that evening. Earning money required swift action.

When he arrived at Shitou’s house, he said but a word, pulled out the bicycle, and was on his way.

Liu Liping and the eldest were more than enough for frying snails; Lu Kun had other tasks. He needed to make toothpicks. There was bamboo at home—no need to prepare specially. He split the bamboo, cut it into equal lengths, then carefully smoothed each one to prevent splinters that might harm the customers’ lips.

Liu Liping’s cooking was beyond reproach; after just one explanation, she managed to master the dish. The rich, savory aroma wafted through the courtyard, tickling Lu Kun’s nose. Their wok was small and the volume of snails great, so Liu Liping fried them in batches. The eldest tended the fire, while the youngest clung to her sister’s clothes, craning her neck to peer into the wok and swallowing her saliva repeatedly.

Liu Liping nearly lost her temper and kicked her out more than once, but restraint prevailed. With a stern face, she scooped two snails from the finished batch and shoved them into her younger daughter’s hands, shooing her from the kitchen.

The younger daughter was satisfied enough. She held the snail in her mouth, sucked out all the juices, then yanked out the meat, chewed, and swallowed happily.

Lu Kun produced a hefty bundle of toothpicks, at least several hundred, and felt reassured. In truth, only a few customers used toothpicks to eat snails; most preferred to simply suck them out.

Liu Liping was a natural-born culinary master. With no oil in the house, she first boiled the loaches to yield a broth rich with oil, which she then drizzled over the snails as they finished frying. Each snail gleamed, slick and inviting. The entire mound filled their bathwater pot to the brim.

Liu Liping brought out a bamboo basket, lined the bottom with twigs and branches, then placed the whole pot inside. The firewood was included so the snails could be reheated if needed—Lu Kun worried they might cool and become hard to sell.

She helped him secure the basket to the back of the bicycle, finally pausing for a breath. Suddenly remembering something, she rushed inside to fetch two pancakes made from their own cassava flour, stuffing them into his hand for the road.

“If you don’t sell them all, it’s alright—just come home early,” Liu Liping called after him as he pedaled away, her words echoing in his ears, while his bicycle sped up beneath him.