Chapter Three: Carry My Sister Away

The mountain woods at night were tranquil and serene. The chirping of insects and the calls of birds intertwined under the veiled starlight, while a gentle breeze rustled the trees into a dance of shadows.

Following Little Ding, the group arrived at a small clearing where two enormous wolves lay sprawled on the ground. They were all struck with awe and disbelief.

Just moments ago, when Little Ding claimed he had killed two gray wolves, everyone had laughed at his foolishness, dismissing his words as nonsense. After all, they had just been discussing how those giant wolves had devoured several people. For him to claim he had slain not one, but two wolves—was that not the height of absurdity? They joked that, given his silly ways, he was more likely to serve as wolf bait than to slay any wolf himself.

Yet, when faced with their sneers, Little Ding did not bother to explain. He simply took Zhao Laixi by the arm and walked off. The others, exchanging uncertain glances, tagged along out of a mix of concern and curiosity for the two men’s safety.

Upon seeing the two dead wolves, the way everyone looked at Little Ding changed completely.

No wonder he was covered head to toe in blood; his wounds truly were earned in a struggle with wild beasts.

The wolves were a male and a female—though not quite as gigantic as the rumors suggested, each was nearly the size of a young calf. Their sinews and bones were sturdy, and the gaping jaws could easily have closed over half a grown man’s head.

The others believed Little Ding had slain both wolves himself, but only he knew the truth: he had killed one, and the other had died by a strange accident—crushed beneath him as he fell from above. He himself had no idea how he had come to fall from the sky and kill that wolf, and explaining it to the others was out of the question. So he remained silent, letting them assume he had killed them both.

Little Ding hoisted the male wolf onto his shoulders, and Zhao Laixi quickly moved to help him. This time, Little Ding did not refuse.

“Thank you all for your efforts tonight. When we get back, everyone come to my father-in-law’s home—we’ll stew wolf meat together!” Zhao Laixi called as the others helped lift the second wolf, inviting them all.

“Great! Let’s go eat wolf meat!”

“I haven’t seen a morsel of meat in half a year…”

“Wolf meat! Wolf meat! Don’t forget to save me a piece of the wolf’s heart!”

“Haha, and the wolf’s whip for you as well! That’s good tonic!”

“And the wolf’s balls—all yours, so your wife will stop calling you useless!”

Laughter erupted.

The promise of meat put everyone in high spirits, and merrily, with jokes and jests, they carried the two wolves down the mountain.

On the way, Little Ding chatted with Zhao Laixi, explaining that he might have a head injury, as he couldn’t remember much. He asked Zhao Laixi to tell him a bit about himself.

According to Zhao Laixi, Little Ding’s full name was Tian Xiaoding—nickname, Little Chick. He was twenty-two years old. In their village, it was customary to give children pet names, and it was commonly believed that giving a child a humble name made them easier to raise. Thus, names like Doggie, Dog Egg, Second Ox, Third Donkey, and so on—names after domestic animals—were widespread.

Little Ding wasn’t the only one with such a nickname. He had three younger sisters and a brother, each with their own: Little Duck, Little Goose, Little Dog, and Little Pig.

When Zhao Laixi recounted this, Little Ding burst out laughing. So among the five siblings, there was Little Chick, Little Duck, Little Goose, Little Dog, and Little Pig—the whole barnyard!

“That’s all your father—my father-in-law, Tian Dabao’s doing. Your mother said he named all of you himself,” Zhao Laixi said, barely suppressing his own laughter.

“I see. My name is Tian Xiaoding, but what are my siblings’ full names?” Little Ding wondered what kind of eccentric father he had, especially since he couldn’t recall anything about him.

“Your eldest sister is Tian Xiaoya—Little Duck—eighteen years old, and she married me three years ago. Your second sister is Tian Xiao’e—Little Goose—fourteen, not yet married. Your brother is Tian Xiaofu—Little Dog—eleven, and already helps with farm chores. Your youngest sister is Tian Xiaozhu—Little Pig—just five, but she can help with plenty of things already,” Zhao Laixi explained, suddenly noticing that although his brother-in-law seemed confused today, he didn’t appear as dull-witted as before.

He remembered when he first married Xiaoya, his mother-in-law had warned him to be patient with this “foolish” brother-in-law, saying his condition wasn’t congenital and might improve over time. She’d reminded the other siblings similarly, so the whole family treated Little Ding with patience.

Could such a condition really be cured? Zhao Laixi wondered.

Little Ding had another question. “Why am I called Xiaoding? It sounds a bit odd to me.”

“Your mother said that shortly after you were born, a passing Taoist read your fortune and declared you were born in the year, month, and day of Ding—a very auspicious sign, promising future wealth and prosperity. The family was overjoyed. The Tian family adding a ‘Ding’—a son—was already a happy event, and with the Taoist’s blessing, your father immediately named you Tian Xiaoding, which is a homonym for ‘adding a son’ and also marks your birth on the Ding day. Unfortunately…” Zhao Laixi paused, glanced at Little Ding, and continued, “Unfortunately, when you were five, you got too mischievous. Seeing a donkey tied outside Landlord Xue’s gate, you boasted to the other children that you dared to pee on it. You only got halfway through when the donkey kicked you in the head… After that, you became simple-minded. Nobody believed in the Taoist’s prediction of your bright future anymore.”

“Uh… I was kicked in the head by a donkey?” Little Ding was speechless. “Since my name sounds like ‘adding a son,’ why is there a ‘Xiao’—‘little’—in the middle?”

“That’s because your generation in the Tian family genealogy happens to use ‘Xiao’ as the generational character. Everyone in your generation has a name with ‘Xiao’ in it,” Zhao Laixi explained.

“Oh, I see.” Little Ding finally understood the origin of his name. He was about to ask Zhao Laixi more when the group arrived at the entrance to the village.

The walk wasn’t far—down the mountain and perhaps five or six li brought them to the village outskirts.

The first house on the west side of the village was Little Ding’s home: a low fence, a short wooden gate nailed together. Through the fence, one could make out a rickety thatched hut, seemingly on the verge of collapse at the slightest breeze.

This was his home? How shabby!

Before they reached the yard, the gate opened. The group’s noisy chatter had echoed far in the night, and those waiting inside had already spotted the approaching torches.

First to dash out was a scrawny little boy, dark-skinned but loud-voiced. “Brother-in-law, brother-in-law, did you find my foolish brother?”

Zhao Laixi quickly pointed to Little Ding, who was carrying the male wolf. “Little Doggie, look who that is!”

“Don’t call me Little Doggie!” the boy protested, disliking his nickname. Then he turned to Little Ding. Seeing his brother covered in blood, he was startled and cried out, “Brother, is that you? Are you hurt? Why are you bleeding so much?”

Little Ding grinned. “It’s nothing. These wounds are no big deal.”

Looking at this little fellow, Little Ding thought, this must be his brother, Tian Xiaofu—his name probably meant “adding blessings.” Yet, the child hardly looked eleven, more like seven or eight.

As they spoke, the group reached the gate. Just then, an even smaller child tumbled out—hair in wild disarray, thin and sallow, but her little legs carried her swiftly to Little Ding. She craned her head up, a sweet, childish face beaming as she piped, “Silly brother, where have you been? Come hug me, I missed you.”

Before Little Ding could reply, Zhao Laixi crouched down and reached out, “Little Pearl, come to brother-in-law—I’ll hug you. Your silly brother’s carrying a big gray wolf.”

But the little girl slapped his hand away. “I don’t want you; I want my silly brother. If you want a hug, go to my sister.”

“Well, you little rascal!” Zhao Laixi stood up, embarrassed and at a loss for words.

Laughter exploded around them.

Little Ding watched the scene, his face lit with delight—he hadn’t expected his youngest sister to be so mischievous and endearing.