After the family split up, my stepmother and scumbag father begged me to come home.

In the evening, Aunt Ding sent Chunfen to bring her some food: a bowl of stew, two cornbread buns, and a small dish of pickled vegetables.

The two sisters ate heartily on the kang (a heated brick bed) and went to bed early that night.

Lin Qianqian slept at the head of the kang (heated brick bed), and Hu Zi slept at the foot of the kang, separated by an old, rolled-up quilt.

Soon, the sound of Tiger sleeping soundly could be heard, his breathing as even as that of an exhausted calf.

"This child must be tired today," Lin Qianqian said, listening to the snoring.

She suddenly remembered that she still had a ginseng in her bosom. She reached into her bosom and carefully took it out. She glanced at it in the moonlight streaming in from the window—the ginseng was still there, its roots intact and not damaged.

She placed the ginseng beside her pillow, and perhaps exhausted from all the commotion, she slowly fell asleep.

The next morning, just as dawn was breaking and before Lin Qianqian had even gotten up, someone knocked on the courtyard gate.

Tiger was fast asleep and didn't wake up at first, but he scrambled to his feet on the second try. Still half asleep, he shuffled to the door, rubbing his eyes as he went, mumbling incoherently.

When the door opened, he was stunned.

"Mom, what brings you here?" Tiger rubbed his eyes, then rubbed them again to make sure he wasn't seeing things.

Aunt Ding stood in the morning mist, a basket slung over her arm, her clothes still covered in stove ash.

She flicked Hu Zi on the forehead and strode into the yard without another word: "I'm here to help! Your sister Qianqian's leg is like that, you're just a clumsy kid, don't hurt her."

Lin Qianqian also woke up. Hearing the noise, she hopped out of the room on one leg.

She held onto the door frame with one hand and pulled up her trouser leg with the other, hopping out on one foot like a clumsy chicken.

"Auntie, you're here." She greeted her with a smile.

Aunt Ding turned around and saw her jump out. Her face changed, and she rushed over in three strides, grabbing her arm with such force that it seemed she wanted to lift her up: "Didn't I tell you not to move? Little darling, why are you jumping around!"

Lin Qianqian, supported by her, waved her other hand twice and said, "It's okay, it's okay, I'm holding on. It's my left foot that's injured, my right foot is fine."

"That won't do!" Aunt Ding's tone left no room for negotiation. "You sit on the side and direct, Tiger and I will do the work."

Lin Qianqian had no choice but to nod, and was half-supported and half-carried by Aunt Ding to a small stool in the yard.

"There are some biscuits I brought in the basket. Eat first, and Hu Zi, take them to your sister," Aunt Ding instructed.

Tiger handed her a pancake, and Lin Qianqian ate it while looking at it.

Tiger knew all the previous steps—rinsing and changing the water—and did them quite well, but he didn't know the recipe.

Aunt Ding rolled up her sleeves, revealing her two strong forearms, and kept changing the water in the basin, ladle by ladle, until the water expelled by the snails became cool and clear.

Next, we started cutting off the snail's tail.

Aunt Ding held a snail in her left hand and a pair of scissors in her right, her movements clean and efficient, one snail after another without pausing.

One by one, in no time, a small pile of snail tails had been cut off from the bucket.

"Auntie, you're so fast!" Lin Qianqian, sitting next to her, clicked her tongue in amazement.

Aunt Ding didn't look up, her hands never stopping, but she continued, "It's something you learn from working." She paused, then snipped the scissors. "Back then, my family was poor, and when we didn't have enough to eat, we had to go up the mountain to dig for wild vegetables. At that time, almost everything edible on the mountain had been dug up. If you were slow, in the blink of an eye, that whole patch of land would be completely cleared, leaving you with nothing."

She cut another one, and the snail shell fell into the bucket with a crisp clink.

"I've even eaten tree bark," she said, as casually as if she were talking about what she ate that morning. "Elm bark is the best. Grind it into powder and mix it into flour. It's sticky and can be used to make noodles or dumplings. But it takes a lot of effort. First, you have to scrape off the outermost layer of bark, take the inner white layer, dry it, crush it, sift it, and grind it again and again. You can't grind much flour from a big elm tree."

Lin Qianqian listened intently and asked, "How do you eat the bark? How tough is it?"

Aunt Ding smiled, but there was no bitterness in her laughter. "Grinding it into powder and mixing it in is alright. Elm bark flour is very sticky. If you put a little bit in the mixed flour, the coarse grains can be kneaded into a ball and cooked without falling apart at the slightest touch."

She snipped off another one, splashing a small drop of water from the bucket. "Elm trees are precious; in times of famine, they're called 'lifesaving trees.' But elm trees that have been stripped of their bark won't survive; every one stripped is one less to go around."

"Back then, who cared about whether it tasted good or not?" Aunt Ding pushed the snails she had just cut aside, wiping the sweat from her forehead with the back of her hand. "If you didn't eat, you'd starve to death. During droughts, when you couldn't get water from the wells, the thirst was worse than being hungry. Your throat would be parched, and your lips would crack. Some people were so thirsty that they would lie down and lick the little bit of moisture from the muddy puddles."

She lowered her head and continued cutting, snip, snip.

"The Ding family ancestors were not from Qinghe Village. They fled from the south during a famine year. They traveled hundreds of miles, and all they saw along the way were other famine refugees, carrying their families on their backs or in their arms. The bark of the trees by the roadside had been gnawed off, and the bare, white trunks stood like skeletons under the sun."

Tiger, who had been squatting nearby listening without anyone noticing, suddenly interjected, "Where did the Ding family's ancestors come from?"

Aunt Ding paused for a moment, then shook her head: "I don't know. You'll have to ask your father; he has a good memory and knows a lot about things passed down from the older generation."

While we were chatting, we had already cut off the tails of a whole bucket of snails.

Lin Qianqian directed Hu Zi to put the ingredients into the pot.

Tiger was in a flurry of activity, grabbing handfuls of this and scattering a few of that, his brows furrowed and lips pursed, looking as if he were facing a formidable enemy.

Aunt Ding stood to the side for a couple of seconds, then couldn't bear to watch any longer. She rolled up her sleeves and said, "Get up, I'll do it."

She pushed Hu Zi aside and stood in front of the stove, deftly preparing the ingredients.

Both pots were started working, the flames in the stove licking the bottom of the pots, the water in the pots bubbling and churning, and the aroma gradually wafting out.

"Auntie, Tiger and I can handle the rest. As for your milk tea..." Lin Qianqian hurriedly said.

"I had Chunfen do it. She's done it several times already, and she's pretty much got it right." Aunt Ding patted the dust off her hands and wiped them on her apron. "It's alright, I'll go back and check it out too. I don't want it to taste bad and ruin the reputation."

She was already walking towards the courtyard gate when she turned back halfway and glanced at Lin Qianqian's feet. "Don't try to be brave with your feet today. Tiger—" she called out.

"Hey!" Tiger straightened up as if by reflex.

"Listen to your sister Qianqian."

"Yes, Mother."

Aunt Ding has left.

The two pots on the stove were bubbling away. Lin Qianqian and Hu Zi waited until the broth had reduced enough before they started scooping out the snails.

When Uncle Ding's oxcart arrived at the door, everything was already packed and ready.

"Don't worry, Ah Long, we'll go pick him up." Uncle Ding carried the buckets onto the truck one by one, the cowbells jingling.

"Thank you, Uncle Ding. Please add five catties of mutton to my plate when you come back." Lin Qianqian thought about making Ah Long a good meal when he returned.

Uncle Ding waved his hand, "No need to thank me, we're neighbors." He jumped onto the cart shaft, cracked the whip in the air, and the old ox slowly started moving.

A little while later, Ah Long returned.