Chapter 21: Even Without Mentioning Steamed Buns, A Father's Love and A Son's Devotion Remain Unchanged

Before dark, sister-in-law Yang Yuanyuan insisted on being the first to return home to cook. Even so, she had to prepare the meal in dim light, and the whole family would have to eat by lamplight. But there was no choice; winter days were short, and if they wanted to get more work done, they had to waste some lamp oil. Their village still lacked electricity, so every household used old-fashioned kerosene lamps.

Yang Yuanyuan hurried into the yard and immediately spotted four large iron pots neatly arranged outside. Judging by her younger brother-in-law’s demeanor, she knew without a doubt that he had made them himself. Still, it was hard to believe—these were massive iron pots! The fact that their family yard held four such pots was astonishing.

“If Dad asked, I’d say someone left these here for me to exchange with the villagers. But if it’s you asking, then yes, I made them,” Qin Jun said with earnest pride, reminiscent of an ancient craftsman. Yang Yuanyuan couldn’t help but laugh softly at her brother-in-law’s earnestness. He was truly amusing, but she understood him.

“You made four pots in one afternoon?” she asked, holding one pot and eyeing the other three in disbelief.

“Yes, and the one you’re holding is for you,” Qin Jun said, recalling the white steamed buns she had made before and her dependable nature compared to their father. Giving her the pot didn’t feel like a loss at all.

“Giving it to me? We haven’t divided the family property yet!” she replied, slightly embarrassed.

Qin Jun rolled his eyes. “So, does that mean all four pots belong to all of us?”

“No, they’re yours, but if Dad finds out, who knows?” Yang Yuanyuan said with a hint of helplessness.

Qin Jun smiled. “So, these pots were left here by someone else. If you want one, it’ll cost at least twenty jin of wheat.”

“Twenty jin of wheat? That’s too little!”

“If you don’t want ration coupons, twenty jin of wheat is worth four yuan.”

“Each of these big iron pots costs three yuan eighty-five cents plus two industrial coupons.”

“I heard one industrial coupon sells for two yuan thirty on the black market; trading for twenty jin of wheat isn’t worth it—it’s a loss!”

Watching his sister-in-law calculate so clearly, Qin Jun felt a bit embarrassed. But on second thought, it was a little bittersweet. How much did she want to buy a big iron pot to know the market so well? Otherwise, she wouldn’t be so savvy.

“We’re not taking these pots for free. Here’s eight yuan, take it or leave it.”

With that, Yang Yuanyuan happily hugged the pot and went into the east room—was she planning to hide it?

“I’ll tell Dad it’s mine. If you want to trade for grain, you can talk to him yourself.”

Soon, she took out a small handkerchief filled with scattered coins. The largest denomination was one yuan; the rest were fifty cents, twenty cents, ten cents, and even some paper money worth one or two cents. How many years had it been since Qin Jun last saw such money?

“Sis, can I take your money? If you want to pay me, then don’t give me any more good food next time,” Qin Jun said. Though he was in urgent need of money, he couldn’t accept his brother and sister-in-law’s generosity lightly.

“Hah? We still have to eat good food. It doesn’t stop me from giving you money. You know, these big iron pots aren’t easy to find outside!” Yang Yuanyuan insisted, pushing the money toward him.

“If you say that, then I owe you for all the good food I’ve eaten before. I reckon eight yuan won’t even cover it!” Qin Jun spoke honestly. His sister-in-law had been married in for six or seven years and already had three children. Their eldest nephew was about six years old this year. Over the years, Qin Jun had eaten plenty of the treats she brought from her parents’ home.

After all, seven years ago, he was only seven himself. Yang Yuanyuan’s family doted on her, and whenever she visited, she returned laden with bags as if moving house. At first, the family thought it was because she was newlywed and her parents wanted to ensure she was well taken care of. But seven years later, it was still the same.

Her parents truly loved her and never minded giving away their belongings. Even Qin Zhihe, who liked to pinch pennies, found it overwhelming. So every time Yang Yuanyuan went home, Qin Zhihe tried to find something for her to take back, but invariably, she brought back more than she took.

Eventually, Qin Zhihe gave up because there was simply nothing left to bring. So Qin Jun had never lacked for snacks, fruits, and sweets brought home by his sister-in-law from her family.

Now, after just gifting a single big pot, his sister-in-law insisted on paying him. What’s more, Qin Jun hadn’t spent a penny—it was a pot he had forged himself.

Helpless, Qin Jun said, “I’ll take the money, but this pot is yours.”

“Ah? Eight yuan for two big iron pots?” Yang Yuanyuan’s eyes sparkled with delight.

Qin Jun chuckled. His sister-in-law was quite endearing. At twenty-four or twenty-five, she still held onto a certain innocence. She must be living a happy life. Life in the countryside was tough, but as long as she felt content, that was enough.

“Deal,” he said, genuinely needing the money and accepting the eight yuan with a bold face.

Though a little flushed, Yang Yuanyuan happily hugged another pot back to the room. When she came out again, she held a few calcium-fortified milk biscuits and handed them straight to Qin Jun. He felt embarrassed; those were snacks mainly for the elderly and children—he was no longer that young! Unable to refuse, he accepted them.

“Qin Han, this one is for you. It’s almost dark; go home now!” Qin Jun said, handing a big iron pot to Qin Han.

Qin Han didn’t know how to refuse and took it gladly.

“I’ll come by after breakfast tomorrow,” Qin Han said.

“First, we’ll go to the lime kiln. After that’s done, we’ll come back and work on the pots,” Qin Jun replied.

“Okay.” Qin Han, clutching a big pot, happily headed home.

At that moment, Qin Zhihe and the others arrived.

“Qin Han, is that a new pot?” Qin Zhihe’s puzzled voice came from outside the door.

“Yeah, my brother Qin Jun gave it to me. I’m going home to eat. I’ll come back tomorrow,” Qin Han said cheerfully, unaware of the mood.

Qin Zhihe’s expression darkened noticeably. Though he didn’t know where the third son had gotten the pot, was it something that could be given away casually? Their family only had one pot for four sons!

“Third son, where did you get that iron pot? Why did you give one to Qin Han?” Qin Feng, the second brother, asked with a sly look as they entered.

Qin Jun replied seriously, “Today I met a master iron caster and helped him for half a day. In return, he gave me and Qin Han each a big iron pot.”

He busied himself tidying the molds, speaking nonsense. If there were no molds or molten slag in the yard, they might have believed him. But seeing the still-glowing crucible, who else but Qin Jun could be the master iron caster?

In the past, the family wouldn’t have entertained such an idea. But with Qin Jun’s recent good performance, anyone seeing the scene would assume he had made the pots himself.

Qin Zhihe opened his mouth to say something but was stopped by their mother.

“Xiao Jun, did you eat the steamed buns at noon?” their mother asked with a smile, stepping forward to help him with the tools.

“Mom, you don’t have to. Many things are hot; be careful not to get hurt,” Qin Jun hurried to stop her, sensing her gentle approach.

If they didn’t mention the buns, father and son got along fine. But once brought up, it would surely cause a commotion.

Out of respect for their mother, Qin Jun still held back.

Though she looked much younger than her age, at forty—the prime of life—her hair was mostly white, and her face was lined with wrinkles. Most tellingly, in winter, her hands were cracked and rough.

This was his beloved mother, and seeing her always stirred his heart with pity.