Xiaolu Village had a particularly difficult year. In the evening, Dahu came back from the mountains against the wind and snow, carrying a small bundle of tree roots on his back—he'd spent most of the day digging them up.
Recently, everyone had been rushing into the mountains. Even tree roots were hard to find now. The few roots on his shoulders didn't weigh much, but Dahu was hunched over, as if crushed by those few roots, his footsteps extremely heavy.
There were three children at home, and his father was already in his sixties. This little bit of tree roots was nowhere near enough to eat.
Dahu was worried! But there was nothing he could do.
Just as he reached the foot of the mountain, he saw his eldest son gathering firewood there.
"Huwa."
"Father, you're back!" Huwa was happy, but when he saw the tree roots on his father's back and his father's lips frozen purple, he immediately became dejected again, so sad he wanted to cry.
Dahu said: "Let's go home! Give me the firewood to carry."
Huwa hugged the tree roots and followed behind him, not saying another word the whole way.
When they got home that evening, Feng-shi went to the kitchen to cook.
The finest ingredients often need only the simplest preparation.
Feng-shi washed the tree roots, put them in the pot, poured in half a pot of water, covered it, and just boiled it like that. No oil, let alone salt. Very healthful.
Dahu's home had only two mud-walled thatched huts. They were probably quite old—the mud walls were full of cracks and looked like they might collapse at any moment. It was even shabbier than the dangerous, run-down house Fang Zichen had lived in back in Xiaohe Village. It seemed like if the cold wind blew just a bit harder, the house would cave in. The roof also had several holes, and the endless snowflakes kept falling into the house. The poor little hut was damp and miserable.
Feng-shi and Huwa stuffed straw into the cracks, but it didn't help much. The cold wind seeped in everywhere, and the house still leaked wind all over.
As dusk fell, Feng-shi and the children sat around the stove to keep warm. Dahu came out from the back yard and noticed there was still a piece of tree root left in the pot.
"Is this saved for me?"
"Mm!"
"Did you all eat?"
Feng-shi avoided his gaze and said: "We ate."
He'd only dug up three pieces of tree root, and now most of it was left for him. Could the family have eaten their fill?
The three children stared eagerly at the pot, then quickly looked away when Dahu glanced over.
The tree roots actually didn't taste good boiled — old and tough, almost impossible to bite through. They tasted like cucumber skin, a little astringent, and the texture was bad. You couldn't bite them apart, like chewing on old vegetable stalks.
[Not large tree roots, but thin, edible wild roots dug from mountain shrubs and plants as emergency food in times of famine.]
But even something like this, his children didn't dare eat their fill.
Dahu was so distressed he could barely stand steady.
Seeing him standing there with his head down, not moving, Feng-shi sighed and said: "The family depends on you. We..."
Before she could finish, Dahu's gaze slid across the three children's sallow, thin faces. He looked at their thin, patch-covered clothes, their bodies hunched and shivering, frozen beyond recognition. Huwa still wore straw sandals, his feet cracked from the cold, split open line after line. Dahu found it painful to look at.
Then he looked at his father. After winter came, the old man had gnawed on tree roots until his teeth were almost all gone. Now only three remained standing, and when he smiled, it was somewhat frightening.
Dahu's anger finally erupted. He grabbed a wood-chopping knife and charged toward the back yard.
"Husband, what are you doing?"
"Dahu."
Several people blocked Dahu. He swung the knife: "Let me go."
Feng-shi was filial. When there was food, she always gave it to the old father and the children. After winter came, she had been starving herself and had no strength left. When Dahu pushed her, she spun around three times before wobbling and nearly falling to one side: "Husband..."
Dahu's father quickly caught her.
Dahu rushed over, saw she hadn't fallen, and turned to head for the back yard again. Feng-shi hugged his leg. Dahu's eyes reddened: "I'm going to kill the ox. Let me go."
The family had raised these few animals, working all year, tending to them carefully. The cattle had grown fatter and stronger than the people, and yet they were about to starve to death. Previous years had been hard too, but not like this. Last year they could still dig up roots to eat as they pleased. This year, they couldn't even do that.
He'd searched the mountains for most of the day and only found three pieces of tree root. Everything else edible had been dug up by others. What would they eat tomorrow? His children were still so small. Could they survive this winter?
He'd thought about taking the cattle to sell before, but couldn't sell them.
Generally speaking, an ox's lifespan was about ten to twenty years, but farm oxen only lived about nine to ten years. Usually, by around seven years old, a plow ox could no longer plow well. Therefore, only oxen over seven years old could be slaughtered.
Beilu County had special soil conditions. Crops like grain, wheat, and soybeans didn't grow well—usually they produced empty husks. But pasture grass was quite abundant. So every household raised some oxen. And this year, the government had forced every household to raise at least three. Let alone selling them—no one would even buy. Dahu's oxen were still young. The butcher wouldn't dare take them either.
They could only bring them back and keep raising them.
Feng-shi lay on the cold snow, clutching his leg desperately, not daring to let go no matter what.
If Dahu really killed the ox, he'd probably be thrown in jail tomorrow.
"What am I supposed to do? I can't watch the children starve to death!" A man of iron and bone, in this moment, in front of his children, under all the pressures of life, was finally broken. In the end, he could only lie helpless on the ground and weep bitterly.
He was useless!
"Dahu..."
Dahu's father sat to one side, silently shedding tears. Watching his little grandson's belly grow bigger and bigger, he'd been so frightened lately he couldn't sleep. The family was already poor enough, and now they owed the government over a dozen taels of silver. Thinking of this enormous sum that threatened to crush their family, Dahu's father secretly wept, his eyes nearly going blind.
So much silver—how would they ever repay it?
This life couldn't go on anymore.
The family huddled together crying. The road ahead was pitch black. They could see no light.
The sound of crying from Dahu's house was loud, and several neighboring families came over. When they learned that Dahu wanted to kill his ox, they sighed, tried to persuade him a bit, and then went back.
Every household was struggling. There were plenty of people even worse off than Dahu's family, and no one could afford to worry about others.
This sort of thing had happened especially often this year in Xiaolu Village. It was the same in every village and every place, and everyone had grown used to it.
"Might as well go home and gnaw on tree roots! Otherwise, if you wait too long, they'll get cold and you won't be able to bite through them. These days, all the edible tree roots on the outer edges of the mountain have been dug up. Tomorrow, let's go look deeper inside!"
The deep mountains were dangerous, but there was no choice. Not going meant death. Going might at least bring back a mouthful of food for the family.
That night, Dahu's whole family huddled together to sleep in the kitchen. A fire was lit in the stove, a layer of straw was spread on the ground, and two torn blankets—so worn their original color could no longer be seen—were laid on top. But in below-zero weather, it was still cold, so cold that everyone's feet ached.
Dahu didn't dare sleep too deeply that night. Every so often, he got up to call out to the children. The warm breath from his mouth turned to frost instantly.
"Father, Huwa, wake up."
When they woke, Dahu let out a breath of relief. Only then did he lie back down and pull the youngest son into his arms, trying to warm him with his own body heat. He was truly afraid that if the children fell too deeply asleep, they might just slip away.
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