Chapter Four: Bare Walls and Empty Rooms

Little Ding placed the male wolf on the ground and had Zhao Laixi lead some men to carry both wolves into the courtyard, preparing to butcher them for meat.

Then, Little Ding reached out and picked up his younger sister, Little Pearl—she too was small and thin, clearly malnourished.

“Foolish Brother, does your wound hurt?” Little Pearl touched the injury on Little Ding’s face as she asked.

“It doesn’t hurt anymore, but you shouldn’t touch it—if you do, it’ll still sting,” Little Ding replied.

“Ah—” Little Pearl quickly withdrew her hand and stared blankly at Little Ding’s wound. Then, suddenly, she leaned in and kissed his cheek. As Little Ding stood there, still surprised, he heard Little Pearl say, “Mother says that if you kiss a wound, it won’t hurt anymore. Last time I scraped my knee, Mama kissed it, and then it didn’t hurt so much.”

Such magic?

Even though he knew it was a trick grown-ups used to comfort children, Little Ding found his little sister utterly adorable.

“I’ll roast a wolf leg for you in a while—do you want to try it?” Little Ding asked with a smile.

“I’d love to! Foolish Brother, you’re so good to me!” Little Pearl beamed, grinning from ear to ear. It seemed she had never tasted wolf leg before.

But then she shook her little head as if suddenly remembering something and continued, “But I can’t eat the roast wolf leg all by myself. Mother says that when there’s something good, Foolish Brother should have it first, then Father, and then the rest is shared with all of us.”

Little Ding was taken aback. He had not expected that, growing up in such poverty, this wild little child could be so thoughtful.

Nor had he expected that his family would treat a “fool” like him with such kindness.

“Little Pearl, you’re such a good girl…” Little Ding praised her with a few words, then carried her to the entrance of the courtyard.

There, four frail figures stood.

At the center of the group stood a middle-aged woman, her face lined with hardship, her body frail and prone to bouts of coughing. Behind her stood a slightly taller young woman and two shorter, thinner girls. The thing they all had in common was their extreme thinness, their bodies slight, their faces sallow and gaunt.

Clearly, the woman peering anxiously toward the gate was Little Ding’s mother, Madam Li.

At this sight, Little Ding felt an unexplainable rush of emotion. Lines surfaced in his mind unbidden:

“If you leave in the morning and return at night, I wait for you by the door; if you leave at dusk and do not return, I wait for you by the alley gate.”

(This comes from the “Strategies of the Warring States,” spoken by the mother of Wangsun Jia to her son, meaning, “If you go out in the morning and come home at night, I’ll wait for you by the door; if you go out at night and don’t return, I’ll wait for you by the alley gate.”)

These lines express a mother’s anxious longing for her child’s return. Little Ding understood their meaning, but he couldn’t fathom why they had suddenly come to him.

As Madam Li saw Little Ding carrying Little Pearl, she hurried forward.

When she saw that the stains on Little Ding’s clothes were blood, not dirt, and that his bare skin was covered in wounds, she cried out, “Oh, my foolish child!” Then her eyes rolled back, and she collapsed in a faint.

Luckily, the three girls behind her caught her before she hit the ground.

Poor are the hearts of all the world’s parents!

Yet, why did he have no memory at all of this mother?

Even with amnesia, he could recall the names of those women—so how could he have forgotten his closest kin?

Little Ding stood there, dumbfounded.

“Brother, why are you just standing there staring? Help carry Mother inside!” the thinnest of the girls called out.

Little Ding put Little Pearl down and was about to go forward, but Little Pearl scurried over to the thin girl and said, looking up, “Second Sister, let me help you with Mother. Don’t call Foolish Brother names—he’s hurt.”

Hearing Little Pearl’s words, the three young women finally looked up at Little Ding; before, their attention had been wholly on their mother’s fainting, not on Little Ding himself.

In the dusk, the torches’ light was faint—only up close could one see the wounds on Little Ding’s body.

“Let’s help Mother into the house together,” said the tallest young woman after scrutinizing Little Ding, addressing the two thinner girls.

“All right, Eldest Sister,” they replied in unison.

So the slightly taller one must be his eldest sister, Tian Xiaoya, and the skinny one who’d spoken was his second sister, Tian Xiao’e…

Wait, but who was the other black and skinny girl by her side?

He remembered Zhao Laixi telling him he had only three sisters—the youngest, Little Pearl, only five; the eldest, Xiaoya, eighteen; the middle sister, Xiao’e, was fourteen. So why was there another girl, about the same age as his second sister?

Puzzled, Little Radish-head Tian Xiaofu came over.

He had just circled the two wolves several times. Never in his life had he seen real wolves before. The older boys and uncles said the two great gray wolves had both been slain by his Foolish Brother. He hadn’t expected his Foolish Brother to be so capable! So, naturally, he had to get a good look at those fierce beasts.

“Eldest Sister, what happened to Mother?” Tian Xiaofu asked as he approached Xiaoya.

“She was shocked by seeing Big Brother hurt and fainted,” Xiaoya replied.

“Oh, let me help you,” Tian Xiaofu said, reaching out.

Little Ding steadied himself and stepped forward. “Let me do it,” he said.

Too much had happened today—his memory loss left him absent-minded. Yet to others, his dazed, foolish look seemed perfectly ordinary.

The three girls, so thin and weak, struggled to support an unconscious adult, so they did not stop Little Ding.

He lifted Madam Li in his arms and carried her inside.

The courtyard held two thatched huts, both sagging and dilapidated—clearly home to the family for many years. There were no side rooms, but against the western wall was a small lean-to, seemingly also used for living.

A small stack of new rice straw lay in the yard—apparently, the autumn harvest had just ended.

At the door of one hut sat a man in his forties, one leg bent, perched on a low stool, watching the gate. His features bore a striking resemblance to Little Ding’s.

“Father, move aside, let us through—Mother’s fainted,” Second Sister Xiao’e called as she hurried ahead.

“Alright, alright. Why has your mother fainted again?” Tian Dabao struggled to his feet with the help of two crutches and hopped to the side.

Only then did Little Ding notice—his father was lame; below the right knee, the trouser leg hung empty, and he moved by hopping forward on one leg, leaning on his crutches.

“She was startled when she saw Brother hurt,” Xiao’e replied hurriedly, then darted inside to find the oil lamp.

Little Ding carried Madam Li inside. Even without lighting the lamp, he could see the room clearly.

What was the meaning of “bare walls and nothing else”? This house was the perfect example.

Inside were two rooms, each with a big bed—though “bed” was a generous term, for they were only planks set atop earthen blocks. There were no quilts; instead, straw mats woven from rice stalks covered the boards. Rolled-up straw mats at the foot of each bed must have served as bedding against the cold. Little Ding doubted whether these mats might attract bugs.

He laid Madam Li on the outer bed. Glancing around, at the room and out to the yard, Little Ding frowned. Was this truly his home? If not, then where had he come from?

So it was:

One morning transmigrated to a poor home,
Bare walls and bitter cold, poverty alone;
Gone, the memories of my former life,
Save for a single image, carved deep in bone.