I couldn't take it anymore; when I went home for Chinese New Year, the family genealogy book ha

Jiang Wanhai sat in that chair, without moving.

People in the square started drinking and eating meat again, and laughter and shouts gradually returned.

But Jiang Wanhai wouldn't listen to anything.

The bowl of stewed pork in front of him was steaming hot, but he hadn't touched it.

Holding that cup of corn liquor in my hand, my knuckles turned white.

He stared at the old man Jiang Wanshan, who was diagonally opposite him.

His older brother.

The two brothers were separated by only a round table, but they had been walking across that gap for almost fifty years.

Jiang Youfu's cries still echoed in his ears.

The incident of stealing the incense burner thirty years ago was simply dismissed by the older brother with a simple "it's all in the past."

In one sentence, a 30-year-old knot in my heart was untied.

What about him?

His grudge against his elder brother dates back more than thirty years.

The family separated fifty years ago.

Of the ten mu of paddy fields, the eldest brother got six mu, and he got four mu.

The difference of those two acres was like a thorn stuck in his heart, a thorn that had been there for half his life.

Because of those two acres of land, he and his elder brother had a lifelong feud in the village.

The older brother said to go east, but he insisted on going west.

He was always the first to object to whatever decision his older brother made.

He knew he had lived a conflicted life.

But he couldn't bring himself to do it.

Until a few days ago, he saw the box of gold bars in a secret room under the ancestral hall.

He wanted to snatch it again.

Fifty years have passed, and he hasn't learned anything.

Jiang Wanhai downed the wine in his glass in one gulp.

The corn liquor went down his throat, making him cough twice from the spiciness.

He stood up.

The chair leg squeaked on the concrete floor.

Jiang Baichuan, who was sitting next to him, turned around and glanced at him: "Wan Hai, what's going on—"

Jiang Wanhai did not answer.

He walked to the makeshift wine table in the back kitchen, took two clean white porcelain bowls, and scooped two full bowls of corn liquor from the jar.

Holding two bowls of wine, he walked step by step through the crowd.

His legs were shaking slightly.

It wasn't the alcohol kicking in—it was my heart trembling.

He walked up to the old man and stopped.

The noise in the square subsided a bit.

The incident involving Jiang Youfu had only occurred a few minutes earlier, and the crowd's attention had not yet completely dissipated.

When everyone saw Jiang Wanhai standing in front of the old man again, they put down their chopsticks.

Jiang Chen leaned back in his chair and looked at his third grandfather.

He didn't move or say anything.

Jiang Wanhai held two bowls of wine, his hands trembling.

The corn liquor spilled from the rim of the bowl, dripping down his fingers and pattering onto the ground.

He pushed one of the bowls forward.

"Big brother."

When those two words were squeezed out of his throat, it felt like he had used all his strength.

Jiang Wanshan sat there without reaching out to take it.

He looked at his younger brother, who was two years younger than him.

He was seventy-six years old, still with a straight back, but his hair was completely white.

On that deeply lined face, the light in his triangular eyes was no longer scrutiny, but something indescribable.

The hundreds of people in the audience held their breath.

Jiang Wanhai's lips trembled slightly.

"When we separated the family property, I blamed you for being biased."

His voice wasn't loud, but in the quiet square, not a single word was missed.

"Four mu of paddy fields versus six mu of paddy fields, it's just a difference of two mu. I've hated you my whole life."

Several elderly people at the next table exchanged glances.

Everyone in the village knows about this old grievance, but no one has ever dared to bring it up in person.

Jiang Wanhai's eyes reddened.

"I'll always stand up to you in this life. I'll oppose whatever you say. If you let Chen-ge'er do land-for-shares, I'll be the first to jump out and make a scene."

He sniffed.

"A few days ago in the secret room, I saw that box of gold bars, and I had another wicked thought. If Chen-ge hadn't stopped me, I might have tried to take it from you again."

At this point, Jiang Wanhai took two deep breaths, as if gathering his strength.

"Just now, I saw Youfu kneeling in front of you to admit his mistake, and you let him go with just one sentence. I was sitting there, and only one thought was on my mind—"

He raised his head and looked straight into the old man's eyes.

"I'm not even as good as someone who steals an incense burner."

"Others dare to admit to things that happened thirty years ago, but I don't even dare to mention things that happened fifty years ago."

Jiang Wanhai raised the bowl of wine in his hand above his head.

"Brother, this bowl of wine is my way of apologizing to you."

He tilted his head back and gulped down the entire bowl of corn liquor in two big gulps.

Sixty-proof liquor dripped from the corner of his mouth, running down his chin and onto his faded blue work suit.

As he put the bowl down, tears streamed down his face.

No one in the room uttered a sound.

Song Daming raised his thermos to his lips, but forgot to drink from it.

Hu Lahua's large iron ladle hung in mid-air, dripping with oily soup.

Jiang Shitou held the half-chewed pig's trotter in his mouth, motionless.

Grandpa Jiang Wanshan sat in a chair, looking at his younger brother.

Something was shifting in his cloudy eyes.

Silent for a long time.

Jiang Chen thought the old man had no intention of responding anymore.

Then, the old man moved.

He put down his copper pipe.

He gently placed the old pipe that had been with him for decades on the table.

He reached out and took the empty bowl that Jiang Wanhai handed him.

A bowl was slowly filled from the wine jar on the table.

Pick it up.

drink.

Not a drop left.

The bowl made a dull thud when it was placed back on the table.

Then, Jiang Wanshan stood up.

This 78-year-old man stood ramrod straight.

He took a step forward.

She hugged Jiang Wanhai tightly.

Two white-haired old men stood in the middle of hundreds of tables, under the gaze of thousands of people, and embraced each other.

Jiang Wanhai's body stiffened for a moment—he couldn't remember the last time his older brother had hugged him. It was probably when he was a child.

Then he raised his hand and hugged the old man's back tightly.

Neither of them spoke.

But both of their shoulders were shaking.

After a few seconds of silence, Jiang Wanhai burst into tears.

It wasn't howling, but the kind of whimpering that only old people have, a sob that finally comes out after being suppressed for too long.

"Big brother... I was wrong..."

The old man patted his younger brother's back twice.

"You're not wrong. It's just that people were too poor back then. It's just a matter of two acres of land; it's not worth holding a grudge for a lifetime."

Jiang Wanhai cried even harder.

The sound of sniffling came from all around the tables.

Hu Lahua stood next to the big iron pot, not covering her face with her sleeves, but directly wiping the corner of her eyes with the back of the greasy iron spoon.

Fang Cui's eyes were already red, and she pretended to turn around to get a bowl and wipe her face.

Jiang Mancang lowered his head and ate his rice—but there were clearly a few extra drops of water in his bowl.

Jiang Taohua cried the loudest, muttering, "I knew it! Brothers don't hold grudges overnight..."

Jiang Chen sat in the chair and picked up the glass of corn liquor in front of him.

I didn't toast anyone.

He tilted his head back and drank it himself.

The alcohol made my throat burn.

He put down his cup and looked at the two white-haired old men embracing each other.

Fifty years have passed.

A bowl of wine.

enough.

Su Qing sat down next to Jiang Chen and gently squeezed his hand. She didn't say anything.

At the other end, Wang Dagou tilted his head back, finished a glass of wine, and then wiped his face hard with his sleeve.

"Damn, this pork stew made me cry."

The security guard next to him glanced at him and said, "Captain, you've got snot in your wine bowl."

"Get lost! Those are tears of emotion!"

Laughter slowly emerged from the crowd.

First there were a few, then more and more appeared.

The atmosphere in the square gradually dissipated from its somber mood and became lively again.

The clinking of glasses rang out again.

The loudmouth shouted again.

The pork bones were being gnawed on with a crunching sound.

The corn liquor was being poured and bubbling loudly.

Jiang Wanshan and Jiang Wanhai let go of each other's hands and sat back down at the same table.

This is the first time in fifty years.

The old man personally served his younger brother a piece of pork belly with minced garlic.

"Eat. You've lost weight."

Jiang Wanhai took it, popped it into his mouth, chewed it twice, and nodded vigorously.

"Mmm, delicious."

Two old men in their seventies sat side by side, eating meat and drinking wine.

The matter of separating the family was not mentioned again.

The gold bars were not mentioned again.

They didn't mention those two acres of paddy fields again.

Some things, once they're over, are over.

The pig-slaughtering feast continues.

The more they drank, the more they talked, and the louder their laughter grew.

The people from the neighboring villages ate their fill, and as they walked away, burping contentedly, they kept saying, "We'll come again next winter solstice!"

Late at night.

The moon hung on the treetops of the back hill, and a cold wind blew across the square, making the red tablecloth on the table rustle loudly.

Jiang Chen stood up and stretched.

I drank quite a bit, and I feel a little dizzy.

But my heart is warm.

He glanced around the square—there were still a dozen or so tables of people playing drinking games.

Where is Su Qing?

He looked back—Su Qing's chair was empty.

Her phone was on the table, its screen still lit.

Jiang Chen picked it up and looked at it. There was a line written in the memo:

"We're still short 8. We're out of thread, we'll go to town to buy some tomorrow."