Chapter 97: Baozhu’s Mother
Zhao Wenjun also put down his bowl and chopsticks and stood up. "I’m done, too. I’ll go. It’s usually my job, anyway."
"Alright, let’s head out together. I’m going to Third Master’s house," Zhao Wendong said with a nod.
Zhao Ergou, who was beside them, had finished eating a while ago. He also stood up to leave, planning to go home and check on his mother and younger brother.
Zhao Wendong handed him a large chunk of wild boar and a pheasant. Er Gou accepted them happily without any pretense, carrying them in his hand. He would take anything Zhao Wendong offered; he had decided to follow Brother San wholeheartedly from now on.
Just as the three of them were about to leave, Chen Yanmei pulled Zhao Wendong aside and whispered.
"Son, your uncle got beaten up. I was afraid it would worry your father, so I didn’t dare tell him."
"What?"
Zhao Wendong froze. ’Zhao Dahai got beaten up?’
"Okay, I got it. I’ll go check on him in a bit!"
Zhao Wendong nodded to show he understood. The three of them left the house and parted ways after a short distance. Er Gou headed home with the food, while Zhao Wendong and Zhao Wenjun went to fetch water.
The well in Dragon King Pond Village was located in the center of the village and was the only source of drinking water for everyone during the winter. By now, the area around it had become a slick sheet of ice. There was an old saying in the Northeast: "Better to walk three miles through snow than to step on the ice by the well." That’s how dangerous it was.
Because some water always spilled when being poured from the well bucket, the platform was covered in layer upon layer of ice. It was impossible to stand on it without slipping. An unlucky fall could mean a broken leg, or even landing hard enough to shatter your tailbone.
The well was ancient, decades or even a century old. The ice was smooth and shiny, as if coated in oil. Piles of packed, dirty snow lay around the edge of the platform. This mixture of snow and ice shards offered slightly better footing, but a single step toward the center put you on pure ice. It formed a gentle, cone-shaped slope, higher at the well and lower at the edges, and one careless move would send you falling flat on your ass.
Zhao Wendong vaguely remembered from his past life that a woman had come to fetch water, slipped, and fallen at the edge of the platform. She had hit her head, and by the time anyone found her, she was gone. But so many years had passed; he couldn’t recall many of the people and events clearly.
Zhao Wendong steadied Zhao Wenjun with a hand as his brother shuffled in tiny steps toward the well platform, not daring to take a full stride. He lowered his center of gravity, a bucket in each hand and arms slightly outstretched for balance. It felt like walking on cotton. With every step, he first scuffed the ice with the toe of his shoe, only daring to put his full weight down after confirming his footing was solid.
The old well’s windlass was mounted to one side of the platform. The wooden frame was frozen black, and the handle was coated in a thin layer of ice. The thick hemp rope, soaked and frozen solid, was wound around the axle in coils as stiff as iron rods.
Zhao Wenjun reached out and grabbed one of the wooden posts of the frame first. Years of being handled by countless hands had worn it smoother and left it with less ice, giving it a slightly rough texture. Holding onto it made him feel a little more secure.
The Willow Wood Barrel used for drawing water was frozen rock-hard. Holding onto the frame, Zhao Wenjun slowly turned the handle. The well rope turned with a loud CREAK, and the bucket slid down the side of the well, quickly disappearing from sight. All that remained was the dark, gaping mouth of the well and a series of CLANGS as the bucket hit the sides on its way down.
THUD!
After a moment, the Willow Wood Barrel hit the bottom with a muffled thud. Zhao Wenjun shook the rope hard to make sure the bucket submerged and filled completely. Then he began to slowly crank it back up. The frozen rope, now pulling a full, heavy bucket, was under great strain, and the windlass axle once again let out a pained, CREAKING groan.
When he finally managed to crank the bucket to the lip of the well, Zhao Wenjun braced himself, carefully lifted it over the edge, let out a little slack in the rope, and then poured the water from the Willow Wood Barrel into one of the buckets he had brought.
Watching from the side, Zhao Wendong’s heart was in his throat. He was terrified his brother would lose his footing and tumble into the well. The opening wasn’t wide, but in a freak accident, at just the wrong angle, an adult could still fall in.
Just then, a woman carrying a shoulder pole also arrived to fetch water. Zhao Wendong turned to look and saw it was Granny Liu’s daughter-in-law, Baozhu’s Mother.
WHOOSH!
Memories suddenly flooded his mind. The instant Zhao Wendong saw Baozhu’s Mother, he remembered. ’The woman who had fallen to her death while fetching water here in my past life—wasn’t it her? Back then, I was still lost in grief over my father’s death, just going through the motions every day. When Baozhu’s Mother died, I just went to take a look and then left.’
"Auntie, you’re here to get water, too!"
"Mm."
Baozhu’s Mother was normally very introverted, a woman of few words.
"Here, let me get that for you!"
Zhao Wenjun offered to draw the water for her, but she didn’t speak, simply shaking her head in refusal.
Zhao Wenjun repeated the process three more times, then carefully slid off the platform carrying his two full buckets. Zhao Wendong watched as Baozhu’s Mother shakily made her way onto the ice, and he remained where he was, lost in thought.
"You coming, San?"
Zhao Wenjun tugged on Zhao Wendong’s arm, but Zhao Wendong shook his head. "Not yet. Let’s watch for a second."
Baozhu’s Mother had just drawn her first bucket when her feet slipped. She lost her balance and cried out as she fell backward. A fall like that, landing on the back of her head, would leave her severely injured, if not dead. At that critical moment, a figure rushed forward—it was Zhao Wendong, who had been waiting by the side.
Baozhu’s Mother fell with a THUD into Zhao Wendong’s arms, and they both tumbled off the platform together. Fortunately, Zhao Wendong had been prepared. The fall just left his rear end a bit sore; neither of them was seriously hurt.
"Dong-Dongzi, are you alright?"
Baozhu’s Mother was stunned with fear. It took her a moment to react before she scrambled to her feet to check on Zhao Wendong, whom she had landed on top of.
"I’m fine. Are you okay, Auntie?"
Zhao Wendong got up, grimacing in pain, but still remembered to ask after Baozhu’s Mother.
"I’m fine!"
Baozhu’s Mother glanced at the icy platform, a wave of fear washing over her as she replayed the fall in her mind. If Zhao Wendong hadn’t been there, that would have been the end of her.
After that, there was no way they could let Baozhu’s Mother draw water by herself. Zhao Wenjun got back onto the platform and finished the job for her. Baozhu’s Mother thanked them profusely before shouldering the pole and heading home. The weight of the water bent her already frail frame to the side by a good twenty or thirty degrees. But there was no helping it. Zhao Baozhu was still little, only eleven years old, and with no man in the house, she had to be both father and mother to him.
"Sigh... It’s a real shame about Old Uncle Nine."
Zhao Wenjun sighed. The Old Uncle Nine he was talking about was Granny Liu’s son, Zhao the Ninth, who had died of tuberculosis. He and Zhao the Sixth shared the same grandfather. Their great-grandfather and Zhao Dahai’s great-grandfather had been paternal half-brothers—both sons of the great Elder Zhao of Dragon King Pond, an ancestor of Zhao Wendong’s who’d had five wives.
Zhao Wendong couldn’t keep all the tangled village relationships straight himself. But he knew the important part: by his generation, the blood connection to Zhao the Ninth’s children, like Zhao Baozhu, was more than five generations removed.
Zhao Wendong didn’t reply. He stared at the slick ice of the well platform, his mind racing. ’I was just lucky enough to be here to prevent the tragedy with Baozhu’s Mother this time, but there’s no guarantee it won’t happen again. And plenty of villagers fall and hurt themselves fetching water every winter. If I want to build up some real prestige in the village, this well is a problem I could tackle.’
The two brothers walked a short distance before parting ways. Zhao Wenjun took the water home, while Zhao Wendong headed straight for his grandparents’ house. He had originally planned to go to Third Master Zhao’s, but now that Zhao Dahai had been beaten, he had to go check on him, no matter how much he disliked the man. ’With Dad laid up on the kang,’ he thought, ’I’m the official representative of our family now. When something like this happens, our family has to show up.’