Chapter 11: The Name (4)

Jiang Dahai returned home at noon, carrying a hoe over his shoulder. He was humming a revolutionary tune, his face brimming with joy. His father had gone to the educated youth station early in the morning, presumably to get a name for his youngest son. Eager with anticipation, his pace was brisk, as if he were walking with the wind.

“Look at Jiang Dahai, that big oaf. Having a son really changed him,” joked a few men who had just finished work and were walking behind him.

“Wouldn’t you be different too? He’s the only one in the whole village with a son. The rest of us just have a bunch of girls,” another burly man chuckled.

“I’ve never liked that Jiang Dachuan and his family. Acts like a man but nags like a woman. Now that Dahai’s got a son, let’s see how long that guy can keep acting high and mighty.”

In Qingshan Village, the reputation of the two Jiang brothers was like night and day. Jiang Dahai was hardworking and loyal, always ready to lend a hand when someone needed it. Jiang Dachuan, on the other hand, was lazy and opportunistic, always scheming to take advantage of the commune. Despite his idleness, his family always seemed to eat better than anyone else in the village, which naturally stirred resentment.

“Dad, Mom.”

As soon as Jiang Dahai entered the house, Jiang Dani brought over a basin of well water for him to wash his face. The midday sun was scorching, and after a whole morning of work, he was drenched in sweat, reeking of it.

The freshly drawn well water was refreshingly cool. Jiang Dahai soaked the towel, didn’t even bother wringing it out, and began wiping his face and back while glancing over at his parents.

But as he wiped, his movements slowed. Something was off. His parents were sitting there, stone-faced. Who had upset them? The atmosphere reminded him of the days before he had a son. A wave of unease washed over him. Could it be that the girls had done something to make his parents unhappy?

His eyes fell on the table—on a coarse grain bun. Wasn’t that the one he gave to his daughters last night? Why was it now in his mother’s hands?

“Mom, I gave that bun to the girls. I didn’t tell you. If you’re upset, just scold me,” Jiang Dahai said, thinking that was the reason for their foul mood. He glanced at Jiang Dani, who was quietly signaling him with her eyes, and took the blame.

Grain in the household was strictly distributed by Miao Sanfeng. Everyone had to hand over whatever they earned or produced. Hiding anything from her was risky—if she found out, there would be hell to pay.

“You fool,” Miao Sanfeng sighed and didn’t say anything more. She stood up and went into the kitchen.

“Dani, go get Erni to help out. She’s not some noble lady from the old days who can just laze around in her room,” she shouted.

Jiang Dani quickly took her second sister to the kitchen to help.

Watching his mother storm off, Jiang Dahai scratched his head in confusion. It didn’t seem like she was angry about the bun after all. So what was it?

He looked at his father, who sat there with a stiff expression. Jiang Dahai lost his nerve and didn’t dare ask further.

Erni followed them into the kitchen. Jiang Dani lit the stove, told Erni to watch the fire, then moved a stool over to stand on. She stirred the pot of coarse grain porridge with a big ladle.

The porridge was made by boiling steamed sweet potatoes with cornmeal, sorghum flour, and various wild vegetables. The more water added, the more the flour expanded, making it seem like there was more food. It filled you up quickly, though you’d be hungry again just as fast.

This kind of porridge had to be stirred constantly; otherwise, the flour would stick to the bottom of the iron pot, leaving a burnt metallic taste and making cleanup a nightmare. Stirring it wasn’t light work, but Jiang Dani was used to cooking three large pots of pig slop daily. The process wasn’t much different.

And besides, the porridge smelled way better than pig slop. If she had to choose, Jiang Dani would rather stir porridge for the rest of her life.

Luckily, Miao Sanfeng had no idea what her granddaughter was thinking. She was currently shaping steamed cornbread, each piece about the size of a baby’s fist. She carefully scraped the leftover cornmeal from her hands and arranged the buns on the steaming rack.

The coarse grain bun from last night was gently dusted off and placed into the steamer as well.

Jiang Erni bit her lip watching her grandmother. If she’d known, she would’ve shared the bun with her sisters up on the mountain. Now that it was in Grandma’s hands, they wouldn’t get a single bite.

No matter how much they regretted it, Miao Sanfeng continued bringing dish after dish out of the kitchen.

“Dahai, have Dongmei bring the baby out. We’ll all eat together today,” Jiang Cheng, sitting at the head of the table, called to his son.

“Huh?” Jiang Dahai paused, then hesitated. “Should I bring Sanni and Sini too?”

“Of course!” Jiang Cheng slapped the table, irritated. “Those girls haven’t married off yet—they’re still part of our Jiang family.”

Already in a bad mood, Jiang Cheng was further annoyed by his blockheaded son. He itched to knock some sense into him with his tobacco pipe.

“Got it!” Jiang Dahai responded cheerfully and ducked into his room.

Inside, Jiang Laidi was lying side by side on the kang with his youngest sister. Jiang Sanni was crawling around the bed, occasionally poking or kissing one of them, not feeling the least bit tired.

Gu Dongmei sat by the small kang table, sewing clothes and keeping an eye on the three children.

“Dad wants us all at the table. Must’ve gotten a name for the boy from Zhang the educated youth and wants everyone’s opinion,” Jiang Dahai said quietly as he gently picked up his youngest son. He gazed fondly at the little one’s gradually pinking skin and increasingly alert expression.

“Ah—” Startled, Jiang Laidi let out a cry. At just over two weeks old, his vision was still limited to within half a meter. Everything beyond looked like it was behind frosted glass. Suddenly having a big face pop into view gave him quite a scare.

“Dongmei, I’ll take the boy out first. You bring the girls out in a bit,” Jiang Dahai said gleefully, not noticing his son’s clear discomfort.

Sanni, sucking her fingers, looked longingly at her brother being held in their father’s arms. But then she remembered she was already four years old. Her eldest sister always told her to let the younger ones have more. Still, she felt a little sad and looked down.

Sini, still a toddler, didn’t understand much. She lay sprawled on the bed, staring at the ceiling like it was the most interesting thing in the world.

Gu Dongmei noticed Sanni’s pitiful expression and picked up both girls—one on each arm. Sanni gasped in surprise, then beamed. To her, having Dad hold the baby and Mom hold her and Sini meant everyone was loved. That was perfect.

Jiang Cheng’s mood improved when he saw his youngest grandson. His other two grandsons had already been spoiled rotten. He didn’t want this one turning out the same.

The family gathered around the table. It was square, made from timber cut from the nearby mountain. One corner was worn down and propped up with a stack of old newspapers. Simple benches were placed on each side.

Jiang Cheng sat at the head, with Miao Sanfeng to his left. Jiang Dahai and his wife sat on the right, a seating arrangement that reflected the family hierarchy.

Jiang Dani held Sini while Jiang Erni held Sanni. They squeezed together on one bench. The hot food filled the room with fragrance. Sanni sniffed hungrily, but when she saw her stern-looking grandfather across the table, she didn’t dare move.

“Before we eat, let’s talk about the name I got from Zhang the educated youth.”

Jiang Cheng pulled a slip of paper from his shirt pocket. He had never been to school and couldn’t read. Jiang Dahai had studied for a couple of years but wasn’t very bright and eventually gave up. His younger sister, Jiang Dazhen, had a knack for studying, so he gave his opportunity to her. That’s why she respected him so deeply.

Years later, Jiang Dahai had forgotten almost everything he’d learned. As for the paper, he couldn’t make sense of it.

But Jiang Cheng had memorized the name on the way back by repeatedly reciting what Zhang had told him.

Jiang Laidi was quite curious about the name he’d get in this life. In his past life, his grandmother had casually named him Laidi (meaning "bring a younger brother"), hoping for a grandson after him. But his mother never conceived again, and the old woman blamed it on his birth, treating him coldly ever since.

Now reborn as a boy, what kind of name would he receive?

“I told Zhang not to make the name too common. In our village, you shout ‘Aiguo’ or ‘Jianguo,’ and two or three kids come running. But it can’t be too bourgeois either, or people will gossip. Zhang’s a high school graduate—he really has culture. The name he gave is great.”

Jiang Cheng laid the paper on the table.

“Dad, just say it already. I remember the surname and that the middle character was Yi. What’s the last part again? Stop keeping us in suspense.”

“Liu. That’s the character for ‘stay,’” Jiang Dani said softly, reading the note.

Jiang Cheng looked at his eldest granddaughter in surprise. “You can read that?”

All eyes turned to Jiang Dani, making her blush. She nodded shyly. “It was taught by Sister Xianghong from Captain Mo’s family. It was in one of our lessons.”

Mo Xianghong was one of only two school-going girls in the village. Like her parents, she was kind-hearted. On her days off, she taught other girls who wanted to study but couldn’t afford school. Jiang Dani always ran over after finishing her chores and had learned a fair bit over the years.

Jiang Laidi watched his sister, clenching his tiny fists. In his past life, she’d longed to go to school like her younger sisters, but she was already married, burdened with endless chores and beatings. This time, he was determined to make sure she got an education and a different life.

“Yiliu—Jiang Yiliu! What a name! Way better than something like Erlu or Sanliu,” Jiang Dahai said happily, confident that his son would live up to such a name.

Jiang Cheng shot his foolish son a glare. “It’s ‘liu’ as in ‘stay,’ meant to bless the child with peace and safety—not the ‘liu’ you’re thinking of.”

Jiang Cheng had the same misunderstanding when he first heard it, until Zhang the educated youth explained it. But in front of his son, he’d never admit that.

The child was still young, and who could predict the future? What mattered most was his health. Jiang Cheng was quite pleased with the name.

Jiang Yiliu silently repeated it in his heart: *Jiang Yiliu*. In this life, he would be Jiang Yiliu, never again the Jiang Laidi of his past.

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Chapter 11: The Name (4)