With Honey, It’s Not Bitter
Only then did Wu Yunzhu realize that her arms had broken out in a layer of fine goosebumps.
She mechanically pulled her coat tighter and followed her mother home.
The dirt path beneath her feet was so familiar she could walk it with her eyes closed, yet today it felt like stepping on cotton—each step unsteady and weightless.
“Mom, I’m fine.” Wu Yunzhu spoke before her mother could, forcing a smile. “I’m just… not used to it yet.”
Sun Hongying said nothing, only reached out to tuck a loose strand of hair behind her daughter’s ear.
The gesture was so gentle, like handling a newborn, that Wu Yunzhu’s nose suddenly tingled. She quickly lowered her head, pretending to adjust her sleeves.
When they got home, the courtyard still held traces of the morning’s lively send-off.
Several small stools were scattered about, and gift wrappings from the villagers lay on the ground.
Wu Yunzhu bent down to pick up an empty bamboo tube—the one Tiezhu had used for his dagger. The words “Peace and Safety” were crudely carved into its surface.
“Go rest for a while. I’ll call you when lunch is ready.” Sun Hongying took the items from her daughter’s hands and gently pushed her shoulder.
Wu Yunzhu shook her head. “I’ll help you cook.”
She hurried toward the kitchen, as if afraid that stopping would let some emotion catch up to her.
The kitchen still carried the aroma of last night’s chicken soup.
Wu Yunzhu picked up the gourd ladle to scoop water. The water vat reflected her haggard image—
Red, swollen eyes, a pale face.
She suddenly plunged the ladle into the water, shattering that pitiful reflection.
“Zhu’er,” Sun Hongying followed her in and took out a package of dried mushrooms from the cupboard. “Soak these. We’ll stew tofu for lunch.”
Wu Yunzhu took the mushrooms, her fingertips registering their dry, rough texture.
She mechanically poured the mushrooms into a basin, watching them float on the water’s surface, spin, then slowly absorb water and sink.
Just like her heart, being dragged bit by bit toward the depths by some invisible weight.
“Mom, how did you… get through it back then?” Wu Yunzhu suddenly asked, her fingers unconsciously stirring the water in the basin. “When Dad went to suppress the bandits.”
Sun Hongying’s knife paused mid-chop, the blade leaving a shallow dent in the cutting board.
She lifted her head, her gaze traveling past the kitchen’s small window toward the undulating mountains in the distance. “The first few days were the hardest. I kept feeling like he’d push the door open and walk in any second.”
She gathered the chopped scallions onto the blade. “Later I started counting days, making a mark for each one. After a hundred marks, he came home.”
Wu Yunzhu studied the gentle lines of her mother’s profile, suddenly noticing the scar behind her ear, almost hidden by white hair.
That was from when her mother had fallen while rushing through the mountain paths at night when Father had been injured.
“Were you afraid?” Wu Yunzhu asked softly.
Sun Hongying set down her cleaver and wiped her hands on her apron.
She walked to her daughter’s side, pulled those hands that had turned white from soaking out of the cold water, and warmed them with her own palms. “Of course I was afraid. How could I not be? But being afraid doesn’t stop life from going on, does it?”
She gently squeezed her daughter’s fingers. “Your father always said that living is like the mountain streams—when you meet a rock, flow around it; when you meet a cliff, leap down. Either way, you keep moving forward.”
Lunch was simple—mushroom stewed tofu, stir-fried wild vegetables, and yesterday’s leftover chicken soup.
Wu Jianguo ate in silence, occasionally serving food to his wife and daughter. Wu Yunzhu counted rice grains as she put them in her mouth, everything tasteless as wax.
“This afternoon I’m going to the riverside.” As she set down her chopsticks, Wu Yunzhu suddenly said.
Sun Hongying and her husband exchanged a glance. “Go ahead. Remember to take an umbrella—it looks like it’s going to rain.”
Wu Yunzhu nodded, took a small cloth bundle from inside the house containing needles, thread, and that unfinished piece of red fabric.
Before leaving, she hesitated, then turned back and retrieved the photograph Yuan Ye had left from her desk drawer.
In the photo, the young man had striking eyebrows and bright eyes, his arm around her shoulder as he smiled brilliantly, with the shimmering river surface behind them.
The riverside reeds remained the same, only missing that tall figure.
Wu Yunzhu sat down on the large rock where they used to sit and took out her needles and thread from the cloth bundle.
Several cloud patterns had already been embroidered on the red fabric—a homophone for the “ye” character in Yuan Ye’s name.
She bit off the thread end, rethreaded a gold thread, and began embroidering the next one.
The subtle sound of the needle piercing the red fabric mixed with the gurgling water. Wu Yunzhu’s thoughts drifted far away with the current.
She remembered that night when Yuan Ye first taught her to recognize the Big Dipper. His rough fingers traced the night sky, saying it was his guide during marches.
She remembered the rainy day he carried her across the swollen stream, his back warm and solid.
She remembered that kiss mixed with tears on the night before parting, salty yet sweet…
“Ouch!” The needle pricked her finger. A drop of crimson blood welled up and fell onto the red fabric, blooming into a tiny flower.
Wu Yunzhu quickly put her finger in her mouth, the metallic taste spreading across her tongue.
Just then, a drop of icy liquid fell on the back of her hand.
It was raining.
The raindrops grew denser, striking the river surface and stirring up countless tiny ripples.
Wu Yunzhu hurriedly gathered her things to leave, but heard a familiar call from behind. “Zhu’er!”
Sun Hongying came quickly with an oiled paper umbrella, her pant legs already soaked by the rain. “I knew you’d forget to bring an umbrella.”
She tilted the umbrella toward her daughter, and half her shoulder was soon soaked through.
On the way home, mother and daughter shared one umbrella, neither speaking.
The rain washed over the mountain path, the air filled with the fresh scent of earth and grass.
Wu Yunzhu stole a glance at her mother’s rain-soaked sleeve and quietly pushed the umbrella more toward her side.
After dinner, Wu Yunzhu returned to her room early.
She felt under her pillow for the metal box Yuan Ye had left.
He’d used it for storing photos. Now it held all their memories: two movie ticket stubs, a dried maple leaf, a few brief letters, and that bullet casing taken from her sachet.
She took out writing paper and dipped her fountain pen in ink, but couldn’t bring herself to write for a long time.
Outside the window, the rain intensified, beating against the tiles with crisp sounds.
Finally, she wrote the first line: “Yuan Ye, it rained today…”
Halfway through, tears blurred her vision, the ink smearing and bleeding.
Wu Yunzhu quickly wiped her eyes with her sleeve, but the more she wiped, the wetter they became.
She buried her face in her arms, her shoulders shaking silently.
“Zhu’er?” Sun Hongying gently pushed open the door, carrying a bowl of steaming medicinal soup. “Mom made you some calming tea.”
Wu Yunzhu hastily wiped her face and turned the letter paper over. “Thank you, Mom.”
Sun Hongying set down the bowl and sat on the edge of her daughter’s bed.
She didn’t ask why her daughter was crying, only gently stroked her long hair, just like when she used to coax her to sleep as a child. “The village elementary school opens tomorrow. Teacher Li wants you to substitute teach for a few days. He says the children all want to hear you tell stories.”
Wu Yunzhu raised her head, a glimmer of light flashing in her red, swollen eyes. “Can I… can I do it?”
“Why not?” Sun Hongying smiled. “You’ve always been quick-witted with words since you were little. Even your father couldn’t out-talk you.”
She pushed the medicinal soup toward her daughter. “Drink it while it’s hot. I added honey—it’s not bitter.”