Chapter 3: Duguan

Hearing this, Zhang Zhiyong looked up in disbelief: “Can’t be—Aunt Chun just passed away, she’s not home?”

As if to confirm his words, firecrackers suddenly crackled and popped at the crossroads.

Accompanying them were wails of grief—clearly the children and grandchildren mourning their dead.

According to local custom in Shangwan Village, as soon as a person drew their last breath, a string of firecrackers must be set off at the deceased’s doorstep.

Then one must go to Ma Huang Temple, set off another string of firecrackers, burn a stack of paper money, and stick in three incense sticks.

The elders say this notifies the Underworld to open the temple gates and guide the soul downward; otherwise, the spirit might wander the mortal world and become a lonely ghost.

As for the children’s mourning, beyond genuine sorrow, it’s also a required ritual—if skipped, it invites taboo, and villagers won’t dare come to help.

The Chen and Li families had severed ties, but almost no one in the village knew; on this matter, both families displayed an uncanny unspoken understanding, keeping it quiet.

Or rather, the heads of both households—Li Jianguo and Chen Gaoyuan—were men of vision and cultivation, their outlook unlike that of ordinary women; they still greeted each other when they met.

That’s why Zhang Zhiyong was so eager to help his brother arrange things.

The Li household sat at the crossroads, separated from the riverbank by seven or eight paddy fields; by the time Li Heng ran home, he was soaked through.

The main room door stood wide open; stepping inside, the strong scent of herbs filled the air. Li Jianguo squatted before a clay pot, simmering herbal medicine. His cheeks puffed as he blew hard into a bamboo blowpipe—clearly he’d just lit the fire.

Li Heng looked at his father’s dusty, patched Zhongshan suit, the soot smeared on his face and forehead, and felt a pang of sorrow:

“Dad, still boiling medicine?”

Li Jianguo wiped his forehead with his sleeve, half-turning to face him, his kind face lit with anticipation: “Back already? How was today’s catch?”

“You don’t even need to ask—I bagged at least five catties minimum.”

Li Heng proudly handed over his bamboo basket, filled with small fish, shrimp, loaches, and stone clingers.

Among them were a dozen river crabs, their claws removed.

A quick glance suggested no less than five and a half catties.

Though he knew nothing about farming and often slacked off during hard labor, when it came to catching loaches, fishing, climbing mountains for wild rabbits or pheasants—these side skills—Li Heng had natural talent, self-taught and unmatched. Among the twenty-odd households at the crossroads, he claimed second place, and no one dared challenge him for first.

Li Heng glanced around and asked: “Where’s Mom?”

Li Jianguo, unbothered by the smell, reached into the basket and fished around: “Feeding the pigs out back.”

Listening closely, Li Heng heard muffled pig grunts from the courtyard and immediately handed over his tea flowers.

Staring at the vivid crimson blooms, Li Jianguo looked astonished, then joked:

“What’s today? This isn’t proper.”

Li Heng gave him a look: “Don’t rush—it’s not for you. Take it to Mom.”

“Didn’t you used to give her flowers all the time? It’s been years since you last did.”

Li Jianguo stared at the tea flowers, then smiled warmly, took them, and turned toward the back courtyard.

Today’s wind carried romance back to the days twenty years ago when they first met.

Soon after, Tian Rune emerged, finding an empty bottle, filling it with water, and carefully placing each tea flower inside.

Seeing this, Li Heng leaned on the table and teased in a poetic tone: “Mom, you can’t lock all your love inside a vase.”

Tian Rune instinctively asked: “Then what should I do?”

Li Heng gestured: “When the petals wither, dry them and make a sachet to give back to Dad—that’s called staying by your beloved’s side forever.”

Tian Rune’s face flushed, and she softly scolded: “Smooth talker!”

Then she sighed inwardly—no wonder Chen Zijin, once so well-behaved, had been corrupted by this boy; that mouth of his…

Zhang Zhiyong stood stunned beside them, his mind screaming: “What the hell? You can do that?!”

Wet clothes clung uncomfortably; Li Heng hurried to take a shower.

Looking at himself in the mirror, he couldn’t help but marvel: Mom’s genes are incredible!

If he were cast in a movie, there’d be no need for Koji Takahashi.

He’d seen the film “Daisies” multiple times—it was nothing special to him. Why was this guy so popular in China these days?

Was this what they called “tough-guy tenderness”—rare things become precious?

His looks were fine; at seventeen, 178 cm wasn’t short in the south. But he was undernourished—those bony ribs made him shudder.

Small fish and shrimp needed no prep—just toss them in the pot. Loaches required a few days of fasting to purge mud and sand.

Larger stone clingers, crucian carp, and carp had to be cleaned with bamboo skewers to remove their innards.

As for river crabs—once worth a fortune in the future—hey, back then they were too common, mostly used as fertilizer. Only the especially greedy would eat a few.

Though five and a half catties of fish and shrimp seemed like a lot, under the swift hands of Li Heng, Li Jianguo, Tian Rune, and Zhang Zhiyong, it visibly dwindled.

As the four chatted while cleaning the catch, a middle-aged man strode straight across the road—Chen Gaoyuan.

Dressed in mourning, Chen Gaoyuan entered and knelt before Li Jianguo and Tian Rune: “My mother has passed. Please help me.”

Kneeling was local custom: when someone died, the filial son would wear white cloth and visit every household to invite help.

Shangwan Village had roughly three thousand people; apart from Chen’s exceptional family, Li Jianguo was the village’s only college graduate, worldly, and skilled in handling affairs.

Because of this, whenever there was a wedding or funeral, everyone naturally came first to him to ask him to serve as “Duguan.”

“Duguan”—literally, “one who manages everything.”

He decided how much to spend, which neighbors to invite, what tasks each neighbor would handle, how many bowls for the feast, which dishes to serve, and arranged all purchases and summoning of Daoist priests—all on behalf of the grieving family.

This job was beyond ordinary people.

Li Jianguo had excellent oratory skills, strong ability, wide connections, and fair judgment; elders and youths alike trusted him—he was the undisputed choice for Duguan.

Some even joked that Li Jianguo’s expulsion was a blessing: since the old village chief died, no one else had emerged capable of handling major affairs.

Li Jianguo immediately dropped the stone clinger he held, rose, and helped Chen Gaoyuan up: “Gaoyuan, please accept my condolences. I’ll change clothes and come right over.”

Chen Gaoyuan stood, then turned to Tian Rune: “Sister-in-law, your cooking is the best—please help organize tonight’s meal.”

When an elder passed, the filial descendants were overwhelmed with duties; serving tea and cooking fell to neighbors.

Ever since Chen Gaoyuan’s wife refused the marriage proposal between the families, though they lived just across the road, she hadn’t set foot in Chen’s home for half a year.

In a sense, the wives of the Chen and Li families were now openly hostile.

The thought of stepping into Chen’s home made Tian Rune deeply uneasy—she had a thousand reasons not to go.

But the dead deserve respect, and Chen Gaoyuan, a man of status and reputation, had come personally to ask—she couldn’t refuse without earning a reputation for petty spite.

After weighing it, Tian Rune finally agreed, softly saying: “Alright, I’ll get a string of firecrackers.”

Old customs dictated that when visiting a deceased’s home, one must set off firecrackers—this was called “kan huo,” an unspoken rule.

But the firecrackers could be large or small; groups of ten or twenty could enter together—no one counted. It didn’t matter; it cost little.

After Li Jianguo and Tian Rune left the main room, Chen Gaoyuan’s gaze naturally fell on Li Heng.

For this boy who had seduced his eldest daughter, he didn’t react as violently as the women in his family, but his emotions were deeply complicated.

After the scandal broke, he’d once quietly asked his daughter: “Zijin, what happened between you and Li Heng?”

At the time, Chen Zijin blushed and lowered her head, pleading for him: “Dad, I did it willingly—don’t blame him.”

That single word—“willingly”—made Chen Gaoyuan suppress all opposition at home, keeping the matter quiet, never letting it surface.

Even when he returned to his hometown, he’d still offer Li Jianguo a cigarette and chat a few words.

This was why neighbors didn’t know the wives of the Chen and Li families had secretly broken apart.

Memories surfaced in his mind; Chen Gaoyuan asked Li Heng: “When do you go back to school?”

Li Heng replied: “Twelfth, for the new term.”

Today was the fifth day of the Lunar New Year—still a week before classes resumed.

Hearing this, Chen Gaoyuan silently patted Li Heng’s shoulder and said, “Study hard, get into a good university,” then left.

Perhaps seeing Li Heng had stirred something; back home, Chen Gaoyuan found his wife and again, in a gentle tone, said:

“Alan, what if we let Zijin come home? To see her grandmother off.”

Zhong Lan exploded at once, her calm face instantly twisted with fury:

“Chen Gaoyuan, what are you thinking? If you make our daughter come back like this, I’ll smash my head against the wall!”

Chen Gaoyuan, hardened by years of hardship, remained calm, sighing: “I just fear Zijin will blame us later.”

Zhong Lan turned away, cold and silent.

Seeing this, Chen Gaoyuan gave up entirely on bringing his eldest daughter home.

(End of Chapter)