A young boy from the 1970s, separated from his family, fled famine and led his younger brother into

That afternoon, Lu Xingzhou asked all his neighbors on both sides.

The first person Wang asked was the old man who was chopping firewood in the yard. After listening, he waved his hand.

"It's not from my family. I finished my batch of pickled bamboo shoots last month, there's no left."

Lu Xingzhou asked again, "Have you seen any strangers coming this way recently?"

Uncle Wang put the axe on the wooden stake, thought for a moment and shook his head, "I didn't notice, I got up late the morning before yesterday."

Aunt Li's house wasn't like that either; she listened to the conversation while leaning against the doorframe and then laughed.

"How would I know how to pickle bamboo shoots? I've never even touched a kimchi jar. You've asked the wrong person."

"Do you know which family in the alley has recently pickled anything?"

"I've never heard of that. Only Brother Wang's family in this alley likes to do these things."

Aunt Zhang, who lives diagonally across the street, was even more outrageous. When she opened the door, her hands were still covered in flour, and she paused for two seconds upon hearing the words "pickled bamboo shoots."

"Pickled bamboo shoots? You mean those pickled bamboo shoots?"

Lu Xingzhou nodded.

"It's not my home, I don't even know how to pickle it."

He walked along the alley from south to north, knocking on twelve doors, but each one shook its head.

Finally, he turned and went to Old Hu's tofu stall at the alley entrance.

Old Hu was squatting next to the stone mill, filtering soybean milk. His arms were covered with a layer of white soybean residue. He looked up at Lu Xingzhou.

"The morning before yesterday?"

"Yes, the day before yesterday, it must have been before dawn."

Old Hu wiped his hands, tilted his head, and thought for a moment.

Yes, there is.

"I set up my stall at 4:30 that day, before dawn, and I saw an old lady coming from the east side of the alley."

Lu Xingzhou squatted down to be at eye level with him. "What do you look like?"

"He walked with a hunched back, was short, wore a dark blue cotton jacket, had a gray cloth wrapped around his head, and carried a jar in his hand."

Did you speak to her?

"No, I called out to her, but she didn't respond, she didn't even look up."

Old Hu twisted the filter cloth and added another sentence.

"She stood at the gate of your courtyard for quite a while, about ten minutes, then put the jar next to the threshold and left."

"Which direction are you going?"

"He went east, back the way he came, but he was walking slowly; his legs seemed to be weak."

Lu Xingzhou took these descriptions home.

Su Nianci sat at the stone table in the courtyard and listened to the whole thing. She was braiding Banxia's hair with her hands, and she didn't stop, but she paused for two seconds while braiding the hair.

Banxia sat on her lap and turned her head to look up.

"Mom, you pulled my hair."

"No, don't move."

Su Nianci loosened her fingers, finished braiding her hair, and tied it with a rubber band.

Banxia jumped down and ran away.

Only she and Lu Xingzhou remained in the courtyard.

Lu Xingzhou sat down opposite her, resting his arms on the stone table.

"know?"

Su Nianci didn't reply immediately. Her gaze fell on a fallen petal of a Gesang flower on the stone table. After a while, she finally spoke.

Aunt.

Lu Xingzhou's fingers paused on his knee for a moment.

"Is it the one from back then?"

"Um."

"How are you so sure? Many older women have those characteristics that Lao Hu described."

Su Nianci picked up the petal and twirled it between her thumb and forefinger.

"The method of making pickled bamboo shoots uses small arrow bamboo, with a lot of salt, and pebbles are placed under the jar."

She loosened the petals, her voice very soft.

"No one else in the whole town pickles like this."

Lu Xingzhou leaned back in his chair and spoke after a long while.

"How did she know we lived here?"

"have no idea."

"So what does she want to do here?"

Su Nianci didn't answer, but tapped her finger twice on the table.

Lu Xingzhou changed the subject and asked.

"You mentioned to me before that you ran into her in the village that year, saying she gave you a bowl of pickled cabbage soup?"

"Yes, I accepted it, and we said we were even."

"Have you not contacted me since?"

"no."

Lu Xingzhou looked at her profile and hesitated for a few seconds.

"Do you want to go see her?"

Su Nianci placed the flower petals back on the table.

"Once we've settled our accounts, we're done. She left her things and went without leaving her name, which shows she knows the rules."

Her voice was flat.

"We don't need to see each other again."

Lu Xingzhou didn't ask any more questions and stood up to clean up the kitchen.

That night, Hoshino and Banxia both went to sleep, and the courtyard was so quiet that only the chirping of crickets could be heard.

Su Nianci sat alone by the stone table, with the earthenware jar in front of her. The moonlight shone on the glaze of the jar, reflecting a dim light.

She reached out and lifted the lid of the jar.

A sour smell rises up, strong and heavy, with the unique feeling of something that has been sealed in a jar for a long time.

She picked up a pickled bamboo shoot with her chopsticks and put it in her mouth.

Salty and sour.

There's also a lingering smell of smoke and grime from the old stove that can't be washed or scraped off.

She chewed twice, swallowed, and the taste in her mouth dissipated slowly, spreading from the back of her tongue to the depths of her throat.

When she was five years old, she huddled in a corner of the cowshed, where this kind of pickled bamboo shoots were being cooked on the stove. Her aunt cooked them in a chipped iron pot, adding a lot of salt because salt can prevent spoilage, and each batch would last for half a month.

Su Nianci put down her chopsticks, put the lid back on the jar, sat for a while, and then went inside.

The next morning, Lu Xingzhou went out for a run and almost tripped over something at the gate of the courtyard.

Looking down, I saw a paper package next to the threshold. It was wrapped in two layers of kraft paper and tied with cotton thread in a cross knot, all neatly wrapped.

He picked it up and smelled it; it had a cool, medicinal scent. He opened it and saw that it was a jar of ointment, dark brown in color, thick in texture, and with a mixed scent of mint and clematis.

There was no name written on it, and no note was left.

But he recognized the way the bag was made, the way the cotton thread was tied – it belonged to Su Nianci.

He took the paper package into the house and placed it on the cabinet on the porch, then glanced towards the kitchen.

Su Nianci was cooking porridge in front of the stove, her back to him, her apron neatly tied.

Lu Xingzhou leaned against the door frame, opened his mouth, but ultimately remained silent.

Three days later, someone knocked on the gate three times.

Su Nianci opened the door and saw Old Hu, who sells tofu, standing outside, still wearing his apron and with bean curd residue on his hands.

"Boss Su, that old lady is here again."

Old Hu pointed in the direction of the alley entrance.

"She's been standing there for ages, and she hasn't come in. I asked her who she was looking for, but she didn't say anything."

Su Nianci glanced towards the alley entrance.

"Is she alone?"

"A person, wearing the same clothes as last time, stood at the corner, neither moving nor standing still."

"How long has it been?"

"I saw it when I set up my stall, it must have been at least an hour ago."

Su Nianci nodded. "Understood, thank you, Lao Hu."

Su An had just come out of the house when he heard this, and without saying a word, he ran towards the alley entrance.

By the time he reached the corner of the alley, the person was already gone.

Only one old cloth shoe remained on the ground.

The shoes were made of coarse, grayish-blue cloth, with white threads showing through the worn soles. The uppers were crooked, and there was a small scratch on the curb next to the left shoe.

Su An squatted down, picked up the shoe, and turned it over to look at the sole.

He stood up, took a few steps back with his shoes in his arms, stopped, looked back at the empty road at the alley entrance, and then turned to look in the direction of the courtyard gate.

Su Nianci stood at the gate of the courtyard.

She was holding a bowl of medicine.

The bowl was white porcelain, the medicine soup was dark brown, and steam was still rising.

Su An clutched the old cloth shoe, looked at the bowl in Su Nianci's hand, and opened his mouth twice.

"Sis, she sprained her ankle and a passerby took her to the hospital."

Su Nianci held the bowl still, her eyes fixed on the shoe in his hand.

Which hospital?

Su An was stunned for a moment. "I didn't have time to ask, the person was already gone."

Give me the shoes.

Su An handed over the shoes, which Su Nianci took with her free hand and glanced at.

The lining of the shoe was worn thin, and there was a patch at the big toe with fine stitches, indicating it had been sewn up more than once.

Su An stood to the side, her voice a little muffled.

"Sis, didn't you say we were even?"

Su Nianci put her shoes on the threshold, picked up her bowl, and turned around.

"The medicine was made from the leftover ingredients of a traditional Chinese medicine ointment; it would be a waste to throw it away."

"What about the shoes?"

Su Nianci took two steps and then paused.

"Wash it clean and leave it; she still needs to wear it."

Su An watched her walk into the courtyard, his hands in his pockets, without moving.

The wind swirled up the fallen leaves at the alley entrance and roadside, then let them fall again.

Su Nianci's hand holding the bowl did not tremble.