Chapter 36: A Face to Match

Lin Zhao locked the cabinet and went to the kitchen to cook noodles.

After boiling the noodles, she rinsed them in cold water, sliced some cucumber and carrot threads, halved a boiled egg, mixed in seasonings and meat sauce, and the flavor was excellent.

Both boys ate without lifting their heads.

“Mama, the cold noodles are delicious, and the egg too—can we have them again tomorrow?” Er Zai buried his face in the bowl, slurping loudly, sauce smeared all over his cheeks.

Da Zai, watching his brother’s filthy little face, felt uneasy all over; he sighed like an old man, gritted his teeth against his disgust, and wiped his brother’s face. “Er Zai, eat slower!”

The five-year-old elder brother looked utterly burdened, his tiny eyebrows knotted together.

Er Zai tilted his chin to cooperate with his brother’s wiping, murmuring assent, then immediately forgot, still wolfing down his food.

Seeing Da Zai wipe Er Zai’s face, the Long Fengtai imitated Er Guoguo’s posture, pressing their little faces up to Da Guoguo’s, eyes bright with anticipation.

Da Zai: “...”

Da Zai let out a heavy sigh but wiped the faces of San Zai and Si Zai too.

“Thank you, Da Guoguo,” the Long Fengtai said in overlapping high-pitched voices, their rosy cheeks glowing.

Orange-yellow sunset spilled across the courtyard, casting a warm afterglow.

Lin Zhao smiled faintly; after dinner, she sketched the scene, planning to mail it to Gu Chenghuai in a few days.

“Zaizai,” she suddenly called.

“Aiy!” Da Zai and Er Zai answered in unison.

“...Aiy!” The Long Fengtai also responded belatedly, setting down their bowls and rushing over to crash into their mother’s arms, giggling.

“Mama, you have four zaizai— who are you calling?” Er Zai leaned in, grinning.

“I’m calling you and your brother,” Lin Zhao gently patted his prickly bald head. “I’m writing to your father— do you have anything to say?”

Er Zai shook his head without hesitation. “Nope. I don’t know Dad. Nothing to say.”

Lin Zhao drew in a breath, glaring at him. “How don’t you know him? Everything you eat and use is earned by him. He works hard, sweats and bleeds out there— you can’t talk like that, or think like that. We must love our father.”

To be fair, Gu Chenghuai was an excellent husband and father— better than many, especially the men in the village.

Calm, patient, diligent, always seeing what needed doing, capable of supporting the family and devoted to caring for it.

When he was home, she didn’t have to do a thing or worry about a thing.

Though villagers whispered behind her back, she knew they envied her.

Er Zai clamped his mouth shut. “I’m sorry.” He apologized immediately.

“Good. You know you’re wrong,” Lin Zhao’s expression softened. “Your father is a soldier. What’s a soldier’s duty? To defend the country. That burden and mission are heavy—he trains every day, it’s exhausting.”

Sometimes on missions he has to catch criminals, bleeding and sweating— harder than us. You can resent me all you want, but never resent your father. Comrade Gu is a good man.”

Da Zai listened intently, his face filled with worry at the thought of his father bleeding. “Mama, can I eat two bowls of rice from now on?”

Lin Zhao frowned. “Why, baby?”

The word “baby” made Da Zai’s head spin; his pale little face flushed crimson, and he forgot what he’d meant to ask.

“Zaizai?” Lin Zhao whispered.

Da Zai shook himself back to focus, ears still red, eyes glistening. He swallowed his embarrassment at being called baby. “I want to grow up fast and help Dad catch bad people.”

“I want to help Dad catch bad people too!!” Er Zai declared.

“I... I...” The Long Fengtai chimed in together, uttering only “I,” perfectly embodying the spirit of participation.

“Then you must study hard. Your father and I are both high school graduates—you must at least become college students,” Lin Zhao pumped them up again.

Da Zai was clearing the dishes when he suddenly looked up at his mother. “Mama, I study hard—I remember all the poems you taught me, and all the characters too.”

He paused, embarrassed. “I just can’t write them yet.”

The brush moved easily in Mama’s hands, but in his, it refused to obey—he couldn’t write well.

“I remember the poems too, and the characters, but my writing’s ugly. Bang Bang says my characters look like ghost scribbles,” Er Zai announced loudly.

“Your Bang Bang’s handwriting was ugly too when he was little. Writing takes practice—how else will you get good?” Lin Zhao’s own handwriting had been trained; she could even write with a brush.

Er Zai hated writing. Hearing he had to practice, his smile vanished instantly; he slumped, face heavy with gloom.

Da Zai asked Lin Zhao, “Did you practice too?”

“Of course. Don’t you think my writing’s pretty?” Lin Zhao said proudly.

It was just one small, unremarkable strength among her countless virtues—not worth mentioning.

“Pretty!” Da Zai nodded vigorously.

“Your grandfather taught me. Let me tell you—your grandfather’s handwriting was beautiful.” Lin Zhao remembered her father teaching her brush calligraphy, her eyes brimming with warmth.

“Every New Year, people came to our house with gifts, asking for couplets and lucky characters. So as a child, I was the most popular little girl—everyone slipped me treats. Back then, I loved New Year most of all.”

“I love New Year too,” Er Zai said dreamily, cheeks puffed, eyes shining. “It’s lively, and there’s so much good food.”

He counted off on his fingers. “We eat dumplings, meat, and candy. Couplets stick on the door, firecrackers pop—so loud and lively.”

“Mama, you never gave me and my brother lucky money before—will you give it to us this year?” Er Zai leaned close, eyes blinking hopefully.

“Of course,” Lin Zhao smiled. “I’ll make up for all the years I forgot.”

“When the house is built, I’ll have a carpenter make you a money jar. Keep your lucky money yourselves—you decide how to spend it.”

What did this mean to children?

Financial freedom!

Da Zai and Er Zai were happier than if they’d found ten yuan.

Having swallowed their mother’s promise, Da Zai beamed and went to wash the dishes; Er Zai followed to help.

Lin Zhao bathed the Long Fengtai, carried them to bed, and changed them into clean clothes.

San Zai and Si Zai were young, had little sun exposure, and their skin was as white as rice balls. These past days of good food had added a little flesh; their cheeks were plump, their arms and legs sprouted soft, tender rolls of fat, their eyes bright and clear—delicate and adorable.

“Be good. Mama’s going to pour out the water.”

As she spoke, she turned toward the door.

The little brother and sister on the bed squirmed urgently, limbs flailing, trying to slide off.

Lin Zhao heard the noise, turned, took three steps to the bed, scooped them up, and placed them back down.

Before she could speak, the Long Fengtai wrapped their arms around her neck, clinging tightly.

Lin Zhao felt she couldn’t breathe—where did these one-year-olds get such strength?

“Mama.”

“Mama.”

Two tiny, sweet voices echoed beside her ears.

“Mama won’t go,” Lin Zhao whispered soothingly.

The Long Fengtai blinked, their chubby arms slowly loosening—but still clutching her clothes, eyes fixed on her: “Not... go?”

Their baby voices carried hesitant tones.

“Yes, not going.” (She’d leave tomorrow.)

San Zai and Si Zai relaxed, grinning, revealing a few tiny baby teeth.

After washing the dishes, Da Zai and Er Zai noticed the bathwater hadn’t been dumped. They poured it out, washed their hands and faces, then returned to the room.

Since that night they’d taken their little pillows and slept with Mama, Lin Zhao hadn’t told them to return to their own room. The brothers assumed she’d silently approved—these past days, they hadn’t even opened the door to their own room.

Da Zai reached up on tiptoe to fetch the baby cream from the cabinet, rubbed it on his and Er Zai’s faces, then climbed onto the bed to play with his siblings.

The sun had fully set, but the sky still glowed; the room was scented with mugwort to repel insects, no lamp lit—dim, yet warm.

“Sigh,” Er Zai groaned, lying on the bed.

Lin Zhao smiled inwardly, glancing at him. “Why sigh?”

Er Zai propped his arms in front, rested his head on them, his right cheek squashed into a tiny dimple of baby fat. “When will we get electricity?”

“Yes,” Lin Zhao agreed. She too wished for electricity soon—how convenient it would be.

She caught Si Zai about to plop onto her brother’s head, gently patted her bottom. “Don’t bother your second brother.”

Si Zai, small but fiery, pouted, then stomped off to find Da Guoguo.

Lin Zhao shook her head helplessly. “How about buying a flashlight? It’d make nighttime outings easier.”

Er Zai sat up instantly, voice rising. “What’s a flashlight?”

Anything new fascinated him.

“About this big, cylindrical,” Lin Zhao demonstrated with her hands. “It has a switch—push it, and it lights up instantly, for illumination.”

Er Zai’s eyes sparkled. “Buy!”

He’d barely finished when he frowned. “Mama, is Dad’s remittance enough for a flashlight?”

“What if it’s not enough?” Lin Zhao wondered how he’d answer.

“Not enough?” Er Zai’s whole face scrunched up—then suddenly brightened. He grabbed her arm, eyes hopeful. “Mama, take me and my brother to town again—we’ll call Dad! I’ll ask him for money!!”

Lin Zhao: “...”

“You really are your father’s good second son.”

Er Zai thought he was being praised; he puffed out his chest, lifted his head, eyes crinkling happily, and pressed close to his mother, lips as sweet as honey.

“Yes yes, I’m Mama and Papa’s good second son.”

“Mama, when will Dad come back?” Even carefree Er Zai asked about his father. “If he doesn’t come back soon, I won’t recognize him when I see him on the road.”

Da Zai, playing with the Long Fengtai, also listened closely.

“I don’t know. Your father misses us too—if he has time, he’ll come visit.” Lin Zhao hugged Er Zai’s small shoulder.

She missed her zaizai’s father too.

“Mama, I want to see Dad’s photo,” Er Zai tugged her sleeve, voice softening, pleading.

“Wait,” Lin Zhao rose and fetched her marriage certificate with Gu Chenghuai.

What was called a marriage certificate was really just a piece of paper; afraid it would deteriorate over time, Gu Chenghuai had found some transparent plastic somewhere and sealed it, so for years it still looked brand new.

Er Zai rubbed his hands on his pant legs, confirmed there was no sweat, then carefully took the paper.

The photo showed a young man and woman.

The young man wore a military uniform, with deep-set brows and sharp, piercing eyes; his hair was cut extremely short, making his features even more striking and defined—his nose straight, his lips perfectly proportioned, radiating the boldness and resolve of a soldier—just one word: handsome.

The girl was unmistakably Lin Zhao: her nose was a nose, her eyes were eyes, her skin was fair, her eyes curved like crescent moons—anyone looking at her would agree she was a beautiful girl.

“Mom is so beautiful!!” Er Zai looked up at Lin Zhao, then down at the photo, repeating this several times, nodding as he spoke.

Lin Zhao cupped his face in her hands and gently turned his head aside. “Look at your father.”

“Oh.” Er Zai finally looked at his father, staring intently for a long time, as if lost in thought, saying nothing for a full while.

After a while, he suddenly spoke: “Mom, did you marry Dad because he’s so handsome?”

Da Zai also came over to look at his parents’ wedding photo.

Hearing his brother’s question, he turned to look at his mother too.

“Yes,” Lin Zhao smiled, the sweetness evident in her lips. “Who doesn’t like someone handsome?”

Her slender, pale fingers lightly tapped the photo on the marriage certificate. “Your father is handsome, and I’m not bad-looking either—that’s what’s called a perfect match.”

“If you didn’t have a handsome father and a beautiful mother like me, could you kids have turned out this good-looking?”

The Lin family all had good looks; Lin Zhao’s standards for partners had been raised significantly—appearance and ability had to be equally matched, neither could be lacking.

Da Zai thought his mother made sense, nodded seriously, and quietly repeated the phrase his grandmother often muttered: “Grandma said the first time she saw you, she thought you and Dad were made for each other.”

Lin Zhao smiled at him. “There’s another part, right?”

Da Zai smiled, lips pressed shut, saying nothing.

The quick-tongued Er Zai imitated Gu Mu’s tone: “...Too bad she’s a spoilt brat who doesn’t even care for her own children, sigh.”

Lin Zhao wrapped her arms around Er Zai’s neck, pulled him into her lap, and pretended to pinch his mouth, teasing him: “You keep talking like that, you keep saying it.”

Er Zai frantically covered his mouth, his grin radiant as the sun. “I won’t say it anymore, I won’t say it!”

“Brother, help me!”

Before Da Zai could react, Lin Zhao hugged him too.

“Hahaha…” The room filled with the cheerful laughter of two children.

The Long Fengtai, seeing their mother and brothers playing, also came over, looking from one to the other, giggling.

After playing with the children for a while, San Zai and Si Zai fell asleep, kicking each other’s faces and biting each other’s buttocks.

Lin Zhao followed her plan to teach Da Zai and Er Zai to recite poems, practice writing characters, and learn math, then took them to write a letter to Gu Chenghuai.

The two boys pressed their heads together, whispering, then asked to have their scribbled, illegible writing included in the letter and sent off.

Lin Zhao readily agreed. “Your father will be delighted when he sees it.”

The two boys felt delighted inside; after seeing the photo, their unfamiliarity with their father had lessened.

Lin Zhao placed the letter and the boys’ written papers into an envelope, took two pagoda candies from the cabinet, and handed one to each boy.

“One each. Eat them.”

Er Zai shoved his into his mouth without hesitation—it was sweet. “Mom, this candy’s delicious, I’ve never had it before. Are there more?”

“No. One each only. It’s for deworming,” Lin Zhao said.

Er Zai’s expression froze. “What worms?”

“...Roundworms in your belly.” In the countryside, children drank cold water as a matter of course—everyone had roundworms. The two boys ground their teeth loudly at night, suffered stomachaches and diarrhea, and absolutely needed deworming.

Worms?

They had worms in their bellies?!

Da Zai’s face turned fearful. He looked down at his stomach, his small voice trembling with tears. “Mom, are my brother and I going to die?”

Even Er Zai, who was never afraid of anything, turned pale.

He suddenly clung to Lin Zhao, wailing pitifully.

“Mom, I don’t want to die! If I die, I won’t see you anymore, I won’t get to eat your dumplings, sour cabbage fish, or cold noodles. I haven’t passed the college entrance exam yet, I haven’t helped Dad catch the bad guys—I don’t want to die…”

The more he spoke, the more heartbroken he became. “Which kid only five and a half years old has to die? Why am I so unlucky? Waaah!”

(End of chapter)